by K'wan
“You mean like how you gave me your word that you would change my life but left me hanging?” Jonas questioned.
“Wrath, one thing you will learn about me is, even when I’m late, I’m always right on time. I would’ve come to pay a call on you sooner, but I’ve had my hands a little full. So many moving pieces on the board that it can sometimes get overwhelming. Do you play chess, Wrath?”
“No,” Jonas replied.
“You should learn. Chess is a thinking man’s game. A game of strategy and anticipation. Every great ruler in government and the streets has had at least a working knowledge of the game. It will help you to stay one step ahead of your enemies.”
“I don’t have any enemies.”
Detective Ceaver laughed. “You were born black. That automatically puts you at odds with the world. Do you know why 2Pac was murdered?”
“Over the East vs. West beef,” Jonas replied as if the answer should’ve been obvious. You had to have been living under a rock if you didn’t know the story of the tragic rise and fall of Tupac Shakur.
“So the media would have you to believe. 2Pac getting killed by a rival crew is a far easier explanation for the public to digest rather than the truth. I won’t say that his affiliation and antics hadn’t put him in a dangerous position, but it isn’t why he had to die. 2Pac was assassinated because he represented something that threatened to upset the natural order of things . . . hope. Millions of young eyes watched as he rose from poverty to almost godlike status. In him, kids from the ghetto saw someone who looked just like them beat the odds. One man can inspire thousands, and a thousand men can inspire millions. Had Pac lived long enough to reach his full potential, he could’ve shifted the balance of power. All it takes is one spark . . . and game over. Those in real positions couldn’t have that. There’s more money to be made from hopelessness than there is hope.”
That was heavy.
“Sorry, I’m going off topic again,” the detective continued. “I tend to do that sometimes when I have a lot on my plate, and right now, my plate is full.”
“I wish mine was too,” Jonas said.
“Aren’t you the direct one these days?” Detective Ceaver smirked at him. “That’s actually why I’ve come calling on you today. I’m sure you’ve heard through the ghetto grapevine by now that Bruiser is no longer a thorn in anyone’s side. With him gone, that erases the final stain of Eight-Ball’s reign. When conquering, it’s never enough to kill whoever is holding on to what you’re laying siege to. You have to wipe them from the history books completely. Don’t forget that. Now that it’s been taken care of, it’s time to start your ascension.”
This was music to Jonas’s ears. He’d been waiting a long time for the detective to make good on his promise. “So, you gonna put me in control of Eight-Ball’s old territory?” he asked eagerly.
“Slow down, Scarface. That’s been promised to another. You’ll get your turn to sit in the big chair, but you’ll have to crawl before you walk. I’ve got a way for you to get some quick start-up, though.” Detective Ceaver fished a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Jonas. On it, an address was scribbled. “Be there at 5:45 p.m. tomorrow.”
“And what I gotta do when I get there?” Jonas asked.
“Nothing. Just make sure you’re on that corner at that exact time. Not a minute later, understand?”
“Yeah,” Jonas said with a frown.
“Now get out. I’ve got something to handle.”
Jonas looked up and realized they had ridden fifteen blocks from his neighborhood. “What? Am I supposed to walk?”
“Unless you’ve sprouted wings since you got in here. Now go—and don’t forget to be on time tomorrow.”
The next day, Jonas went to the address the detective had given him. When he arrived, he thought he had been the butt of a bad joke. The building was abandoned and looked like it had been for a while. What could be there that could put some money in his pocket? He reasoned that maybe the detective was sending someone to meet him, so he waited. A few minutes had gone by, and he was thinking about leaving when he heard the screeching of tires, followed by the sounds of police sirens. A black car bent the corner so fast that it almost jumped the curb. A blue and white squad car was on its ass. The window rolled down, and a plastic bag came flying out as the car sped past him.
Jonas waited for a few minutes before going to the spot where the bag had landed. He didn’t look inside, just tucked it into his book bag and got out of there. When he was a safe enough distance away, he dared to peer inside. A broad smile crossed his face. The bag contained a bunch of small vials of crack. There was at least a thousand dollars’ worth. Jonas didn’t know much about selling drugs, but he knew someone who did. Ace. With Ace’s help, they sold all of the crack. They then took part of what they had made and went to see Drew, who gave them a good deal on an ounce of cocaine. They were officially in business.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m sorry, Wrath.” Tavion broke Jonas’s train of thought.
Jonas cast his eyes to the youngster. “For what?”
“I let you down back there. You know, by not getting the money off Tito,” Tavion said shamefully. It was the first time Jonas had trusted him to do something of such importance, and he had come up short.
“Nah, you did good. Better than some would’ve, considering you were outnumbered and unarmed,” Jonas told him.
“But I didn’t get the money, and you ended up catching a body because of it,” Tavion pointed out.
“It was never about the money. I knew I was going to kill Tito when I woke up this morning. I just wanted to see how you handled yourself in a delicate situation,” Jonas confessed.
“So, this was all just a test?” Tavion asked.
“Isn’t it always?”
“You did get your ass whipped, though,” Mula laughed. He continued giving Tavion grief for the rest of the ride.
Jonas could tell that Tavion was getting pissed, but he didn’t intervene. That was just Mula’s way. If he had love for you, he made it a point to pluck your nerves every chance he got. Being a pain in the ass was how he showed affection.
It had been the same way with Jonas when Ace had first started bringing Mula around. It seemed like everything Jonas did or said, Mula found a flaw in or made a joke about. They had gotten into plenty of fights over Mula’s constant harassment. It wouldn’t be until sometime later that Jonas would come to realize that it was just Mula’s way. He hadn’t had the traditional upbringing; none of them had, but Mula’s situation was different. He didn’t know his dad, and his mom was hardly around. He had been raised by his uncle Fish, who spent most of his time in prison, and when he wasn’t locked up, he was training Mula to be a soldier. More often than not, he was on his own and had to learn the ways of the world with no proper guidance. Basic things like love and being loved were alien to him, so he tended to fumble when it came to show people that he cared about them. Mula expressed his emotions in either one of two ways: harassing you or trying to hurt you. When he got on your nerves, it was only because he wanted your attention and didn’t know any other way to get it.
Jonas and Mula were tight, but there had been a time when he wondered if the two of them would be able to coexist in the same crew without one of them getting hurt. His feelings toward Mula would change when the youngster paid him an unexpected kindness. It had been a little over a year since his mother was raped. Only his sisters, Ace, and Fat Moe knew what happened to his mother that night. Janette had decided that she didn’t want anyone to know and refused to file a police report. She was ashamed of what had happened—as if it had been her fault—which it wasn’t. Regardless of whether Janette sold pussy, she still didn’t deserve to be violated.
Another reason she kept quiet was that Eight-Ball had been found dead the same night. To out him as her rapist would’ve raised some uncomfortable questions about who had killed him. No one could say for sure, but Janette had an idea. She never came
out and said it, but something about the way she started looking at her son after that told him that she knew something. So, to protect her son, she was forced to suffer in silence. It was a twisted situation.
Slick had been MIA since it happened. He never came back to the house for any of his clothes or even reached out to check on Janette. He was just gone. Jonas had been looking high and low for him. Ace had even offered up a few dollars to anyone with information on Slick, but so far, it was all quiet. This would soon change.
Jonas was sitting on his stoop talking to Prince one night when Mula pulled up on them. He was pushing a Lincoln Town Car that had seen better days. It looked like he had stolen it from a taxi driver. He double-parked and hopped out, ambling up to the building.
Jonas tensed when he saw him. The night before, the two of them had gotten into a fistfight over something so small he could barely remember what it was about, but Mula was notorious when it came to holding grudges. He eased over on the stoop, closer to the garbage bag Jonas had his gun stashed in.
“What y’all two doing? Jerking each other off?” Mula started in on them.
“Fuck you,” Prince laughed.
“Yo, Wrath, I need you to bust a move with me right quick,” Mula announced.
“Where we going?” Prince asked.
“Nigga, is your name Wrath?” Mula asked. “I got something I need to talk to Wrath about; it’s kind of personal.”
“Why can’t you talk to me right here?” Jonas asked suspiciously.
“Because I need to provide you with some visual aids,” Mula said with a devilish smile. “Just come on. It’ll only take about a half hour.”
“Cool, you can go to the car. I’ll be right behind you,” Jonas told him.
“Bet.” Mula started back toward the car. “And you can leave that bum-ass gun under the trash. You won’t need it,” he called over his shoulder.
Five minutes later, they were in the Lincoln and headed uptown. Mula seemed to be in better spirits that usual. In fact, he seemed happy. This worried Jonas. Mula was a sour kid by nature, and the only time you saw him smile is when he was about to do something to somebody. Jonas wasn’t sure what he had up his sleeve, but if Mula tried some funny business, he would learn that Jonas was harder to kill than most.
“Yo, Wrath, you remember that night you caved that nigga Black’s skull in?” Mula asked, going across the 145th Street Bridge into the Bronx.
“Hell yeah! That dude nearly killed Ace,” Jonas laughed, recalling the incident.
“He nearly killed all of y’all. Luckily, you came through with that baseball bat on some Ken Griffey shit. Man, I wish I could’ve seen you split his shit open! I shot a few cats in my day, but I never beat anybody to death. What was it like?”
Jonas thought about the question. “Honestly, I don’t know. Everything happened so fast that I just reacted.”
“You still think about it?”
“Sometimes, but not as much as I used to. After a while, the people we do shit to start to become just nameless faces,” Jonas said.
“Not for me. I can remember the names of everybody I ever twisted. I keep them written down on the wall inside my bedroom closet,” Mula told him.
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because when God judges me, I don’t want to have to wonder what I did.”
Jonas gave a nervous chuckle. “You’re one strange dude, Mula.”
“We ain’t so different, are we? We’ve both killed people.”
“Black didn’t die,” Jonas corrected him.
“I ain’t talking about Black. I think we both know that.”
“Mula, where we going with this?” Jonas asked, not liking the direction of the conversation.
“To the end of the rainbow,” Mula laughed, making Jonas even more uncomfortable than he already was. Seeing that Jonas was on edge, Mula softened his approach. “You’re one cagey dude, Wrath, I’ll give you that. You fly under the radar like you’re still some square-ass kid off the block, but deep down, you’ve got a vicious streak in you that, frankly, I’m kind of jealous of.”
“Mula, you’re tripping. I get busy in the streets, but you know I ain’t no killer,” Jonas lied.
“You think I don’t know my own kind?” Mula questioned. “I can smell the blood on you. It’s almost like how a wolf can pick up the scent of its pack mate from a mile away.”
“Stop the car,” Jonas ordered.
“What?”
“I said, stop the muthafucking car!” Jonas barked.
Mula finally relented and pulled over on a dark block, killing the engine. “Jonas, what’s good with you?”
“What’s good with me? I ain’t sure if I like the direction of this little chat. What? You wired or something?” Jonas started patting Mula down, but he swatted his hands away.
“You know my pedigree. Don’t try to play me,” Mula said defensively. “Look,” he turned his tone down, “I’m trying to tell you something, but ain’t sure how to say it.” He sounded almost like the child that he was.
“Spit it out, or let me out of the ride,” Jonas said.
Mula sat there for a while, staring at Jonas, not sure what to do next. “I can show you better than I can tell you.” He jumped out of the car and started for the trunk. Noticing Jonas wasn’t following, he tapped on the window. “C’mon, I ain’t gonna kill you,” he half-joked.
Jonas reluctantly got out of the car. Using extreme caution, he made his way toward the back, where Mula was standing there with the trunk open. As Jonas neared it, he caught the scent of something familiar . . . death. He peered in the trunk, and sure enough, there was a corpse wrapped in plastic.
“Mula, I know damn well you ain’t had me riding around all night with no body!” He was furious.
“This ain’t just anybody.” Mula produced a pocketknife and cut a hole in the plastic. The stench grew. He stood to the side and motioned for Jonas to take a closer look.
When Jonas realized who the dead man in the car was, his jaw dropped. Half of his face had been blown off by a high-caliber handgun, but Jonas would know that face anywhere. It was Slick. He had been searching for him for months, with no success, and Mula pops up with him in the trunk of a car. “What is this?” He still didn’t understand.
“You killed the man who broke my family, so I killed the man who broke yours,” Mula told him. Seeing Jonas still didn’t understand, Mula explained. “Me and Eight-Ball had history.”
Mula and Jonas drove the stolen cab to a field upstate where they buried what remained of Slick. As they did so, Mula told Jonas the story of how Eight-Ball and his mom had once had dealings. It was Eight-Ball who introduced her to drugs, and Eight-Ball who had sold her the batch of bad heroin that had killed her. He had been planning to kill Eight-Ball himself but could never get up the nerve. It was Mula’s greatest shame and darkest secret. A secret that Jonas would never share with another soul, including Ace.
Chapter Twenty-one
About an hour after murdering Tito, they arrived back on the block and found Ace posted up in front of Jonas’s building waiting for them. He was sitting on the steps chatting away with Prince and two girls who lived in the next building. There was a third man with them. This one, Jonas didn’t know, but he looked slightly familiar. A high yellow man with a powerful build. A red bandanna was tied around his head, letting everyone know he was affiliated with the Bloods. The L.A.-based gang had become increasingly stronger in New York over the last decade or so. Gang banding had never been Jonas’s thing, but he had some friends who rode under their flag.
The stranger’s eyes turned to the car, and a warning went off in Jonas’s head. There was something about him that screamed bad news. Jonas didn’t like new faces, and he especially didn’t like them hanging out where he rested his head. Ace knew better than that, and Jonas was going to check him about it when they were alone.
“Who is that?” Tavion picked up on Jonas’s thinking.
�
��No clue,” Jonas said, and got out of the car, intent on finding out.
When Ace noticed Jonas and the others coming his way, he dismissed the girls and straightened up. He was wearing a pair of red sweatpants, white sneakers, and a white T-shirt that looked like it was struggling to contain his thick chest and arms. Over the years, Ace had put on a bit of muscle. This was courtesy of the eleven months he had spent working out on Rikers Island while fighting a case. He had been picked up in connection with a robbery, but while in custody, the assault on Black had come up. Ace had been ducking it for years, and they finally had him. With the attempted murder charge on top of the robbery, Ace was facing at least ten years, and that’s if he was lucky. Thankfully, the only witness they had against him, the girl who had been at the desk on the night in question, had suddenly vanished before the trial came up. This was thanks to Jonas tracking her down and sending her on a one-way trip to the afterlife. She had been Jonas’s first official murder. Black and Eight-Ball had only been warm-ups, but with the girl, he had gone all the way. He made it clean, though; two to the back of the head, and he left her where she dropped. Without her, they had no case. Ace ended up getting time served and five years of probation for the robbery.
“Look at these degenerate criminals,” Prince joked in the way of a greeting.
“Fuck you.” Mula gave him dap. “Yo, why you always dressed like you going on a job interview or some shit?”
“A wise man once said dress for the job you want, not the job that you have.” Prince popped his collar. He was wearing a Ralph Lauren button-up shirt, straight-legged jeans, and a pair of Prada sneakers. When Prince had taken over Doug’s business, it had opened his nose to the other side of the coin. He went all in with the hustle. In addition to the people he had stealing and reselling goods all over the hood, he had also established a small drug operation in Maryland. He was plugged in with some strippers who worked a few of the clubs in the DMV area. He’d supply them with Ecstasy, Xanax, Percocet, or whatever was in demand, and they’d sell them in the clubs for double what he paid. Jonas had fronted him the initial cash to invest, and they were making money hand over fist. Ace and Mula were always low-key hating because they hadn’t wanted to get involved when Prince first presented the idea. They had definitely missed the boat.
