Authors: Wahida Clark
Tags: #Urban, #African American, #General, #Fiction
“Who is the perp?” he asked Boyd.
“His name is Mujahid. That’s all we got from him so far. He didn’t even have a driver’s license on him.”
Ronnie peered around Boyd. He took a few steps toward me. “Wait a minute. I know him.”
“You do? See—”
Ronnie had left Boyd standing there in midsentence and was almost to where I was. I stood up.
“Ronnie, you better get these fuckin’ handcuffs off me and let me call my lawyer and my wife.” We stood damn near nose-to-nose.
“Chill out, and follow my lead,” he gritted as he fumbled for his key to take the cuffs off my wrists.
“Your muthafuckin’ family is gonna pay for this,” I gritted right
“Shut the fuck up, and use the phone while you got the chance. I’ma stall him.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
“Do you realize—”
“Boyd! Let me talk to you.” He cut me off and went back over to Boyd.
He left me standing there, and I snatched up my phone and called Jaz, who answered on the first ring. “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on? Snell just called me,” she rattled off.
“Call Steve. Tell him they got me at Club Mix off of Candler Road. There are bodies, including my son, Lil’ Faheem.”
“Lil’ Faheem? Is he okay? What do you mean, bodies? Baby, talk to me. What happened?”
“He’s gone, Jaz. I hardly knew him. I’ma kill that bitch!” I tried to remain calm but I couldn’t. “That bitch! I swear on every—” I couldn’t get the rest of the words out before Jaz cut me off.
“Faheem, baby, listen to me. Don’t do anything until I get there. Do you hear me?”
“Jaz, this shit is all her fault. My son is gone.” I cried into the phone. “Faheem, baby, I’m on my way. Please don’t do anything until I get there. Please. I’ll call Steve right now.”
I ended the call, noticing the commotion. Boyd was signaling to a couple of the other officers who were on the scene.
Ronnie rushed over to the farthest body, which was Steele’s people. He lifted the sheet, took a peek, and covered it back up. He then went over to Lil’ Faheem. He bent down, lifted the sheet back, and I swear his rich brown complexion looked like it turned blue-black. He stood up and stumbled backward.
Ronnie went over to Wali’s body and lifted the sheet. “No! No!
No! No!” he kept saying. Then he took out his phone and made a call. He looked at his uncle again, looked over at me, and came charging. Two of the officers tackled him down.
“I’ma kill you, muthafucka! I’ma kill you!” he yelled at me.
I managed to laugh. It wasn’t your typical laugh. It was sinister mixed with sarcasm. “Surprise muthafucka! You see what his ho ass did to my son? You’re all dead! You’re all dead!” I yelled.
“I’ma kill you!” He kept yelling as they dragged him outside.
The white officer named Weber and the officer who came in with Ronnie, whose name was Johnson, came over to where I was. Johnson asked, “You want to tell us what that was all about?”
“Not without my attorney present. Once he gets here, you can ask all the questions you want.”
“Oh, you’re gonna answer some questions right now,” Johnson said as he cocked his head to the right and then to the left, stretching his neck.
The way I was feeling, I wanted this muthafucka to jump. As Johnson and Weber turned to walk away, Ronnie, Boyd, and the other officers came back inside. They all migrated over to a corner, giving me the screwface and talked amongst themselves.
They all appeared to be trying to console Ronnie. I turned my attention to the three people wearing coroner’s jackets. They were snapping pictures, using a tape measure, and taking down notes. One female was talking into a recorder. I noticed that a few walkie-talkies were crackling, the front door opened, and another cop motioned for Boyd. They all rushed to the door. I heard a female’s voice, some arguing, and then Oni came rushing in.
I don’t know what came over me. I was up and over to her in seconds, yoked her up with both hands, and shoved her into a corner. “Bitch, I hope you don’t think for a minute that I’ma let you live.”
“Get off me! That is my son, too.” She was crying and trying to remove my hands from around her collar. “No, not my son!” she screamed.
“And it’s your fault that he’s gone. All because of you and your bullshit along with your punk-ass brothers.” I was choking the shit out of her. I wanted to detach her head from her shoulders.
“Get off her! Get off her!” Ronnie yelled out.
Then I felt a sharp pain against my back and across my head. I turned around, and his punk ass hit me across the face.
“Get your hands off of her,” the big officer Johnson threatened.
That’s when I went ham on his ass, not caring that he was the police or about the fact that I was outnumbered. I remember grabbing him, lifting him up into the air, and slamming him onto the concrete. This nigga was going to get the beating of his life. “Training time bitch! I am sure the academy don’t teach you this!” I heard myself saying. My intentions were to break his bones up into little pieces. I heard him cry out, and I knew I was beating the shit out of him. It’s always them big, cock diesel muthafuckas that can’t fight. Next thing I know, it seemed as if everybody was beating on my ass. Then shit faded to black.
• • •
When I woke up, my left leg was in a cast; it hurt like hell, and so did the rest of my body. Steve, my attorney, was surrounded by badges and what appeared to be some reporters. He never missed a chance to get in front of a camera. I was handcuffed to the bed. When I let out a groan, all eyes shifted on me.
“Everybody out!” Steve yelled. “I need to talk to my client.”
A nurse rushed in and made sure everybody was out and then closed the door. The cop on duty remained with us.
“Give us a few minutes, please,” Steve said to him. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Sorry, I have to stay in the room as long—”
“Five minutes, man. Attorney-client privilege. Five minutes. You can even leave the door open. Damn.”
“I’m on duty, man, sorry.” He hunched his shoulders but did turn his back to us.
As the nurse probed and checked my vitals and whatever else, I asked, “What the fuck happened to my leg? Where’s my wife, Steve? Why am I handcuffed to this bed?”
“I spoke to her. She is on her way here, and as far as your leg goes, they felt that you had it coming. There were bullets from weapons that were not on the scene. You are their main suspect for now. But listen to this.” He turned up the TV, and on the screen was the club, police tape, footage of body bags, and Oni crying.
“Amelda Stone, tell us what happened there.”
“Well, John, authorities are being pretty tight-lipped concerning this bizarre scene here at what used to be Club Mix in Decatur, Georgia. As you remember, John, Club Mix was shut down last year when a tip led the FBI and the DEA right here and a street value of almost six million dollars of ecstasy, heroin, and crack cocaine was confiscated. Back then, this club was owned and operated by the notorious East Atlanta Gresham Boys. And today a known and wanted member of the organization, Dwayne ‘The Gatekeeper’ Morgan, was found dead. He had one gunshot wound to the back of the head and one in the leg. Ironically, that is how
the Gatekeeper was known to leave his own victims. One shot in the back of the head.
“The two other bodies are unidentified, but there is speculation that they are also members of the East Atlanta Gresham Boys. But John, the sad news is that there was the body of a child found dead at the scene. What a child was doing there, we don’t know yet. And the child’s father—”
“Turn it off, Steve. Turn it off.” When they mentioned my son, it took me right back to that cold, dark warehouse. All I could do was turn my head to the window as the tears rolled down my cheeks.
By the skin of my teeth, I managed to get a red-eye flight from Philly to Atlanta. I had to pay my cousin Pat to stay at the hospital for the rest of the week with my granny. We learned that she had Type 1 diabetes and that they were going to get her sugar leveled and run some tests on her leg. I was praying that they wouldn’t have to amputate it.
Kaeerah and I arrived at the Emory University Hospital in Atlanta around three thirty in the morning. Just like me, she was wide awake. Stepping off the elevator, I knew what room Faheem was in because there were several policemen stationed out front. The sound of our shoes hitting the shiny hospital floors echoed as we walked faster. I felt my daughter squeeze my hand as I led the way down the hall that smelled of disinfectant, medicine, and death.
“Daddy!” Kaeerah let go of my hand and rushed to her dad’s bedside.
I could tell that Faheem was drugged up. “There she is! What’s up, Eerah?” He mumbled his pet name for her.
My heart sank when I saw that he was handcuffed to the bed and a police officer was on duty looking out the window. “Are you able to sit up?” I rushed over and propped his pillow up behind his head and raised the top part of the bed slightly.
“Daddy, what happened to your leg? Is it broken? My friend Camille had a cast on her leg when she broke hers. Why are you locked up to the bed?”
“Yeah, it’s broke, baby.”
“How did you break it?”
“Got into a scuffle.”
“That’s why you are locked to the bed?”
“Kaeerah, you can ask Daddy more questions later. Let Mommy talk to him. Go have a seat over there,” I said.
“Aww, man,” she whined as she headed to the chair in the corner.
“Excuse me?” I snapped my neck and turned my head towards her.
I turned back to Faheem and kissed him on the lips. “What happened, baby? Why are you still handcuffed?”
He gave me the short version of what happened and mentioned all of the key players. Then he said, “Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. But my son, Jaz . . . they didn’t have to kill my son.”
I hugged him, because I did not know what to say. Words were not going to bring back Lil’ Faheem. Something in me clicked. I was sick of this bitch Oni and her family. What if that would have been my baby? Now this ho had hurt him to the core. And that was enough to make me want to kill the bitch.
I looked over at the officer who had his back to us, and I whispered in Faheem’s ear, “Let me take care of this. You have
all of this heat on you. Let me handle this.” I knew the one thing that would make him feel better.
“What did you just say?”
“Let me do this.”
I didn’t speak. Even though he was groggy, I knew that he thought it was funny that I would even say some shit like this. But I was for real. “No. Oh, hell, no. Jaz, don’t even think about it. You might as well get that shit out of your mind right now. You don’t even know these niggas.”
“What do you mean, don’t even think about it? You laying up in a hospital bed with one good leg, the other one in a cast. You can’t walk, and you are chained to the bed. The police are all over you; they will be watching the house and watching you. Face it, Faheem, you are hot right now. You already told me all I needed to know. Let me do this.”
“Jaz, I’m not playing with you. You’re not a fuckin’ gangsta. Just because you did a few weeks in jail don’t mean shit. Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”
“That’s your problem, Faheem. You always underestimate me. But after this, you’re gonna respect me. I’ma leave you alone to think about it.” We continued to argue back and forth in whispers. Shit, there was nothing he could do to me right now but talk and shoot verbal threats. He damn sure couldn’t chase me. “Let’s go, Kaeerah. We’ll come back in the morning to see Daddy.”
“Jaz, don’t make me—”
“Make you do what, Faheem? You’re laid up with a cast on your leg. What you gonna do? Run over her and stop me?”
The nigga Steele needed to be dealt with. Oni was another story. I was not about to let what happened to Trae and Tasha
happen to Faheem and me. No bitch was going to destroy my family. I was nipping the shit in the bud. Something I should have done a while ago. If I’d gotten rid of her when I first thought about it, Faheem would still have his son. The more I thought about taking her out, the more excited I became. I grabbed our daughter’s hand, and headed for the door. He slammed his fist down on the bed as we walked out of the room.
Whoever said pussy could get you killed didn’t lie. How do I know? Shit, I am a living testament of that even though I am not dead. Not once but twice this nigga has come for me over some pussy. Don’t get me wrong, the pussy is like that, but my hustler creed is MONEY OVER BITCHES.
I’m still laid up in this hospital and don’t even know how long I’ve been here. I only know it’s been long enough to think about how I’ma kill Trae’s bitch ass. Because of his nose all up in Shorty’s ass, he sees himself getting me out of the way by stabbing me in the throat. Who the fuck is stabbing niggas? My whole bid I had to worry about niggas trying to stab me. Who would have ever thought I would be on the streets and get knifed?
I’m lying here with my eyes closed, acting as if I’m asleep, listening to Mari pace back and forth in stilettos about to run
a hole in the floor. She cries for a few minutes, and then she calls somebody, hangs up, and cries some more. I was introduced to Mari by my attorney right before I got sentenced and sent Upstate. She is a corporate attorney I hired to handle my business while I was locked up. Not only did I want to keep all of my shit, but I needed my shit to grow while I was down. She helped me to do just that and more. When I stepped out of the prison, I had more dough than I did when I went in. I came home with four prime pieces of real estate and a serious dope connect, all because of her. All she wanted in return was my heart and for me to work that connect, which belonged to her family. But she wanted me to move when she said move and act how she thought I should act. I wasn’t built like that. She obviously didn’t get the memo.
“I swear to you, Kyron, if I didn’t love you so much and hadn’t invested so much of myself and my time, I would kill you myself and leave you right here for dead.” She turned to Kendrick and said, “I can’t believe you are just going to let Trae get away with this! I don’t give a damn about your no-snitch rule. He needs to be dealt with. And if you aren’t willing to deal with him, then move out of the way and allow the law to deal with him.”