Honor Thy Thug

2




JAZ

“I feel so bad, Jaz. We need to be out there seeing what’s up with Tasha. You know she would be here for us. But it’s so much going on right now with this business, I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,” Angel revealed.

We were on the phone for the last twenty minutes, trying to justify why we weren’t there for Tasha. However, I was on my way to see my girl. She needed us. Angel wasn’t sure when she would be able to get away to get out there. She was doing something she said she would never do, and that was to let life come between our friendships. It didn’t matter that she was in New York; hell, I lived in Georgia, but it wasn’t stopping me. Tasha had just had a miscarriage and a fling that almost cost her her marriage and her family. We needed to be there for her.

“Let me go, Angel. I’m pulling up in front of my granny’s.” I disconnected the call and got out of the car.

Faheem had dropped us off at the Hartsfield Atlanta Airport at the crack of dawn. I had a six-and-a-half-hour layover in Jersey, so I went to visit my family, who were literally in the same place I left them years ago. However, I couldn’t have cared less about them grown-ass niggas. But the clincher was when I stepped inside my granny’s house. Her house was so caked with dust that I was choking and surprised that she was still breathing. Everything was neat and in place, but it was obvious that a dust cloth, broom, and mop had not been used in a long time. It was also obvious that no one was checking on her.

I rolled up my sleeves, found some bleach, a bucket, a broom, a mop and got to cleaning. Kaeerah entertained her grandmother with stories of her classroom, her teacher, her piano lessons, and her new brother. It took damn near three hours to get the house dust-free. I wiped the tears that welled up in my eyes as I wondered how they could allow her to live like this. Hell, this was the same woman who helped raise all of us. I put away all of the cleaning stuff and decided that I wanted to cook her a hot meal, but first I needed to clean her up. That pink, raggedy housecoat she had on was dingier than the slippers on her feet.

“Granny, I looked in your closet, and you have brand-new housecoats. Why are you wearing the raggedy one?”

“Don’t come around here sassing me, girl,” she snapped.

“Granny, I’m not sassing you. I just want to get you into something fresh and clean. And look, Granny.” I held up a new pair of slippers. “You have slippers in here that you don’t even wear. Now, let me help you get cleaned up.” I had cleaned up the bathroom real good, and Kaeerah ran her tub water. I took off her robe, balled it up, and tossed it into the corner. First chance I got, it was going into the trash can.

“Mommy, look!” Kaeerah was pointing down at Granny’s calf.

There was an open wound the size of a golf ball. I gagged. “Granny.” I gagged again. “What happened to your leg?”

“Now, there you go meddling. Get on out of here so I can take my bath.”

“Granny, no! I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” I had never seen an open wound that size before, and it was grossing me out. Now I really felt like shit for not coming to see my granny much sooner.

“Hospital for what?” she countered.

“Granny, your leg is infected, can’t you see it? This is not normal. It’s not good. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

• • •

So here I was almost twenty-four hours later, still in New Jersey, luggage probably still going in circles somewhere, never making it to California to check on Tasha. After eating all I could from the vending machine, I picked up my cell to call Angel. I needed to pass some time.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be at the hospital?” Angel asked me.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure they are going to admit her. I can’t leave her until I know that she’s squared away. She needs a nurse at home with her at least during the daytime. What about you? How soon can you get free?”

“Shit, I wish I knew. Lil’ E still likes f*cking with them hood niggas. And because of that, the feds came and kicked down her door, had a search warrant and everything.”

“That girl is a white and a platinum-selling rapper. What dumb shit did she do now?”

“She ain’t do shit. It’s them hood niggas she likes to f*ck with. Thank God her house was squeaky clean, because they didn’t find anything. She knows Kaylin don’t play that mess. So because of her, I’m stuck here babysitting her ass and trying to keep her squeaky clean. She’s scheduled to go on tour overseas week after next, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize that and have to cancel because of some bullshit.”

“Hold on! Someone is trying to get through. I’ll call you back.” I hung up on Angel and clicked over.

“Jaz?” It was a male voice that I didn’t recognize.

“Who is this?”

“Snell.”

“Snell? You sound different.”

“Jaz, you there?”

I didn’t like the sound of his voice. “I’m here. What’s going on?” My stomach began to knot.

“Fah told me to call you. He said to come home, now.”

“Is everything okay?” My voice cracked, anticipating some bad news.

“Just get to the house. He needs you. He’ll answer all of your questions when you get there.”

“Snell, is he okay?” I pressed. Hell, I was in Jersey, not just across the street.

Frustrated with all of my questions, he snapped, “You need to get your ass off the phone and get your ass home!”

“Snell, what . . . Snell? Snell?” He hung up on me.

“Mommy, who was that?” Kaeerah was following closely behind me. Even my daughter could sense that something was wrong.

“Your Uncle Snell.” I stood and began pacing back and forth. I called Faheem but didn’t get an answer. I had to get somebody up here to the hospital so that I could take my ass back to Georgia to see what was going on with my husband.


FAHEEM

My heart sank to my feet, and my body became numb as I struggled to accept the fact that my son was lying in there on the floor, murdered in cold blood. The paramedic was treating my wound. It was two bullets that hit my shoulder. He said it appeared that a piece of bone was shaved off and that I would survive. I didn’t care one way or the other.

“We need you to answer some questions first.” The detectives were standing over me, as if I was a prisoner trying to escape.

“Not before my attorney gets here. For now, I’m going in there with my son.”

“Sir, there are, from what we can see, at least three dead bodies lying in there. Your son is not going anywhere. You are shot, your son is dead, and you’re still telling us that you don’t know anything?” the detective asked.

I jumped up and headed for the club with the detective on my heels.

“Mr. Mujahid,” the lead detective called after me. “Cuff him!” I heard him yell out. Three officers surrounded me and pushed me into a corner.

“Look. I’m just trying to be with my son. You haven’t arrested me, my prints are on none of the weapons, so get the f*ck outta my way. This is bullshit. I need to call my attorney.”

“Mr. Mujahid, this is a crime scene. We are gonna have to ask you to sit right here and turn your cell phone off,” the detective who identified himself as Boyd said to me. “We just need to ask you a few questions. Please, sir I know you are upset. But let us ask you a couple of questions and then we can let you go.”

“That’s my son, man.”

“I understand. But this is a crime scene.”

“How y’all gonna just disrespect my son and leave him on that cold floor?”

“Sir,” the other detective with the limp interjected. “We need you to have a seat. You still have not answered our questions.” Hostility was evident in his voice.

“I’m not answering shit until I speak to my attorney.”

The muthaf*cka with the limp had the nerve to lunge at me, but Boyd jumped in between us. He mumbled something to Detective Limp and then asked me to have a seat.

“I need to call my attorney and my wife.” I reached for my cell, and they both charged at me, and Limp snatched the cell from me. They finally got me into some cuffs.

“I told you to sit down and stay down.” Boyd hissed. “I will place your phone right here. And like I said, we need to ask you some questions.”

“My son is over there on the concrete, dead. I’m shot, and you take my phone, won’t let me call my attorney, and you put me in cuffs?” I couldn’t believe it.

“Hey, Boyd! Guess who we got laying over here?” Another one of the officers rushed over to where we were having our altercation.

Boyd turned around, and I was all ears. “Who?”

“Morgan. Dwayne ‘The Gatekeeper’ Morgan.”

“No shit!” Boyd and the rest of the officers turned and looked at me. “Damn, Mujahid. You are running with the big dogs.”

“I don’t run with nobody. I told you, officer. I don’t know these cats. I need to call my attorney.” Just as I said that, who rushed into the warehouse but Oni’s cop brother, Ronnie.

“Boyd, what’s happening here? I heard the call and was in the area. Did I hear correct? A kid? What the hell happened here?”

“You heard right,” Boyd told him. “It was a massacre, and this perp has the nerve to be tight-lipped.”

Ronnie didn’t want to look over at me. He knew all about today’s meeting. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he sees his bitch ass brother dead on the floor with a hole in his head and his nephew. How would he squirm his way out of this? His little cousin and his uncle both murdered at what looked like a drug deal gone bad. He was on my list of niggas to dead, but the more I thought about it, I figured that I wouldn’t be the one to take him out of his misery. Let the nigga suffer. I was anxious to see how he would play his hand in front of his colleagues.

“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 f*ckin’ 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 muthaf*ckin’ family is gonna pay for this,” I gritted right back.

“Shut the f*ck 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, muthaf*cka! 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 muthaf*cka! 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 muthaf*cka 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 muthaf*ckas 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 f*ck 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.


JAZ

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.

“Nothing, Mom.”

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.”

“Do what?”

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 f*ckin’ gangsta. Just because you did a few weeks in jail don’t mean shit. Have you lost your f*ckin’ 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.