by Beanie Sigel
“I believe you plan on destroying my career the same way you sabotaged, Marty’s. But, what you don’t realize is that you failed in destroying Marty’s spirit. And I won’t give you a chance to ruin the reputation that I’ve worked so hard to build. I quit, Jack.”
The laughter that bellowed from Jack’s gut was so immense that it confused the entire situation. “What do you think your resignation will do? You can’t stop the world from turning. Only money can. There’s a line of young men and women praying that you quit so they can assume your position with no questions asked. As a matter of fact, now that I see you’re unfit to be under this company’s employ, I’m relieving you of your position effective today.”
Unable to find the perfect words to combat Jack’s, Vincent stood up, and turned to leave. Before his hand grasped the shiny brass door knob, Jack yelled out, “By the way, if any of this conversation gets out, I’ll show you how much power I truly have!” He released another deep, hearty laugh.
“We’ll see who has the last laugh, Jack!” he shouted before exiting the office.
On the opposite side of the door, he removed the phone from his pocket, hoping the recording app worked properly. He turned the phone off and replaced it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Vincent’s heart felt as if it was going to beat its way out of his chest. Perspiration seeped out of the pores of his armpits, chest and forehead. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. He had challenged King Kong in his own jungle. His body moved on auto pilot while his brain raced to put everything into perspective and figure out what his next move would be.
Before he knew it, he was back in his office, pacing back and forth. Time was of the essence. He called Marty and explained what had transpired. Marty gave Vincent a few instructions before they hung up.
There was no one Marty wanted to experience the feeling of having everything taken away from him more than Jack. The same man Marty admired as a friend and mentor had single handedly shattered his life. Not only did he strip him of his life’s accumulations, he also stripped him of his wife. Marty knew that Jack didn’t love Kate. He simply kept her as a trophy for his accomplishments.
They made their decisions and Marty had made his. He was going to do everything he could to bring Jack The Ripper down. He was aware that this battle would be bigger than David versus Goliath. For him to dethrone Jack, he needed the blessings of God, luck, and every other imaginable force on his side. Balls the size of grapefruits, too.
Marty scrolled down the numbers stored in his phone until he came across the name he had been searching for: Andy Merolla.
On the third ring Andy picked up. “Hello?”
“Andy, how are you doing? This is Marty.”
“Marty?”
“Yes, we met at the black tie event.”
There was a slight pause.
“...Oh, yes. Marty Frankel from New York City. What’s up, pal? How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well. Listen, at the event you told me that you heard about what happened to me as a result of placing my trust in Jack.”
“Yes. I’ve known Jack for a very long time. I hate to say it, but what he did to you is not out of his character. We are his main competitor. I’m well aware that he would love to bring me down. But I’ve been fortunate enough to stay a step ahead of him.”
“Well, he now has an enemy who’s hell bent on destroying him. I’ll be honest with you, I have a little dirt on him, but it’s nowhere near enough to topple him. I’m not sure if, or how, you can help, but any assistance you can provide will be greatly appreciated. And, you have my word that nothing will come back on you.”
There was another pause. This time it was longer. Finally, Andy broke the silence. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I have something that may help you. Give me a safe and secure address and I will send you what I have on a flash drive...”
CHAPTER 34
Jihad wrapped the thick, blue rubber band around the final ten thousand dollar stack of money. He placed it on the table next to the others and looked at the bundles of currency approvingly. There were twenty-five stacks in all for a total of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, enough to purchase ten kilos of cocaine.
The money was supposed to be dropped off to Julio’s garage by Shawn. However, Jihad had been calling and texting Shawn since the day before but had not reached him. Fuck it, Jihad thought as he began to drop the stacks into a green book bag. If that nigga ain’t serious about this money, then I’ma get it all.
Jihad then called Terry. He told him that he needed to speak with him right away, and that it was concerning their arrangement. Terry informed him that he was at Dr. Denim on South Street and to get there within the next fifteen minutes. He grabbed the book bag containing the money and left.
During the drive to meet Terry, Jihad’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Wassup? Where you at?” Shawn asked.
“Nigga, where you at? I been callin’ you since yesterday!”
“Long story. I’ll explain it to you later. Did you put your half together?” Shawn asked, referring to his one hundred and twenty five thousand to purchase five of the ten kilos.
“Bruh, you’re too late.”
“Watchu mean?”
“I had to take everything to Julio earlier,” Jihad lied, “that’s why I was blowin’ your phone up.”
“Aaight, well I’ll give you back your bread that you put in for me.”
“I didn’t have all the money. I had to call a couple of niggas and tell them to give me their money in advance. Now I have to give them theirs off the top. I wouldn’t have to do that if you would’ve picked up ya fuckin’ phone,” Jihad’s frustration was apparent.
Shawn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had made a deal with the Philadelphia Narcotics Unit to give them a bust within a week. His plan was to purchase the five kilos and use one of them to set up an unsuspecting buyer. Now his plan seemed to be unraveling and he couldn’t afford for that to happen.
“Listen, bruh, I can’t wait for the next time. I’m counting on this. You have to give them their bread back.”
Jihad grinned at the sound of desperation in Shawn’s voice as he drove through the Philadelphia streets. He had to put an end to this conversation because he was approaching Dr. Denim where Terry awaited.
“Man, you know I can’t just take them dude’s money and not bring them what they’re expecting. What I’m gon’ tell ‘em, that the work didn’t come through? Then what’s gon’ happen when they find out I got work?
I ain’t no sucka, but I gotta respect their gangsta. That’s asking for trouble. I’ll tell you what, I got five of my own. I’ll sell you two.”
“Two?” Shawn spat. “What the fuck am I-” Shawn fought to hold his tongue. “Alright. I’ll holla at you tomorrow. He hung up before Jihad could respond.
Fuck it. I’ll have eight birds for myself. Jihad thought. If this nigga slip again, I’m gon’ cut him all the way out.
As Jihad drove down South Street, he spotted Terry’s Mercedes, and parked in front of Dr. Denim. Terry was inside his car. Jihad got out of his SUV and into the passenger side of the Mercedes.
Jihad explained to Terry that he understood the protocol was for Shawn to drop the money off, but he hadn’t heard from him in days. He asked for Terry’s permission to make the drop this time. Terry grudgingly consented, then called Julio and explained that he would be seeing Jihad on two occasions: both the drop off and the pickup. Jihad thanked him and left. He returned to his SUV feeling exuberant. He headed to Julio’s garage to drop off the money.
TWO DAYS LATER
At 7:16 a.m., Jihad was dressed and prepared to leave his house. He was expected to be at Julio’s garage no later than 8:00 a.m. He had been up for over an hour anticipating the transaction. For the first time, he would have eight kilos of cocaine to himself.
He figured he’d sell Shawn two ki’s...this time. But, Jihad had been questioning his partn
ership with Shawn. He had used Shawn to get as far as he could. He was no longer needed. On the next purchase, Jihad had decided he would take everything, including Shawn’s life.
One of the garage doors to Julio’s shop was raised, and Jihad pulled his Grand Cherokee inside. As soon as he killed the engine, one of the servicemen lowered the door.
Julio was leaning inside the raised hood of a Ford F-150 tinkering with the engine when Jihad approached.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jihad quipped. His generous smile negated the intimidating appearance of his large and solid frame.
Julio straightened up. “If I don’t then I’ve been lucky for a really long time. How’s it going?”
“Everything’s okay. Nothing to complain about.”
Julio gave Jihad a curious look as if to say: Are you sure? Jihad noticed it, but didn’t comment. “Mr. Lajas called this morning,” Julio said. “He wants Terry to give him a call from a secured phone right away. He said there will be no more business until they speak.”
“Alright, Julio. I’ll be sure to let him know.”
“The Cherokee is ready,” Julio stated, then leaned into the F-150’s engine bay again.
Normally, they held a small conversation, but this time Julio was short on words.
Jihad didn’t push the issue. He walked back to his SUV and hopped in. He turned in his seat and gave a quick glance behind him. On the floor in the rear was a black book bag. Jihad smiled, knowing that ten kilos of quality cocaine was inside. The door raised and he backed out of the garage.
While driving down Broad Street, Jihad thought about the brief conversation he had with Julio. Not only did Mr. Lajas, the connect, want to speak with Terry, but Julio’s demeanor wasn’t the same. He was distant. Maybe Terry wasn’t fulfilling his obligation with the cartel. Jihad had been working on establishing a relationship with Julio in order to somehow slide in and eventually cut Terry out. He hated being told how much cocaine he could buy, as well as paying Terry and Mack an extra percentage on each shipment. Jihad was having second thoughts of selling Shawn those two ki’s just in case things dried up for a while.
He came to a stop at Broad and Erie Avenue. A black cargo van came to a screeching halt directly in front of Jihad’s Cherokee. Men wearing all black poured out from the rear of the van, swarmed the SUV with handguns aimed at Jihad. His heart froze with fear as he thought: It’s a hit! I’m dead!
After about three seconds – which felt more like ten minutes – without the crackling sound of gunshots, he focused on the assailants enough to notice gold badges hanging around a few of their necks. His brain then allowed him to register the words being shouted at him.
“Police! Keep your fucking hands up!”
Jihad rapidly swiveled his neck left to right, his wide eyes frantically searching for an escape. There was no way out. Unmarked cars were positioned behind him. A minimum of eight police officers yelled aggressively with their guns trained on him. One false move and his life would come to a brutal and bloody end. He put the Cherokee in Park and raised his hands toward the roof.
Two burly officers snatched the driver’s door open. Each one grabbed one of Jihad’s raised hands, pulled him out of the SUV, and slammed him violently to the ground. He was handcuffed, searched, and placed into the rear of a black unmarked police car. No one said a word to him. He watched in dismay as they began to search his SUV. An officer removed the black backpack, unzipped it and peered inside. Jihad watched his eyes light up. The officers began giving one another high fives and pats on the backs.
Everything felt surreal to Jihad. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He dropped his head into his chest, struggling to come to grips with reality.
He was driven to the Thirty-Fifth Police District and escorted into the interrogation room where he sat for hours. During this time, Jihad raked his brain in an attempt to figure out who was responsible for informing the police on him. This was not a routine traffic stop. Who was behind it? There were only four people who knew the date and time he would pick up the drugs: Julio, Shawn, Terry and Mack. He was in the process of weighing the possibilities of each person being involved when the door opened and Melendez walked in. He dropped a thick folder onto the table and sat down. There was no introduction.
“Jihad Wilson, you are being charged with Possession of a Controlled Substance for ten kilos of cocaine that was recovered from your vehicle. The Narcotics Unit has just secured a search warrant for Julio’s garage. Depending on what’s found you may face additional charges, chiefly, conspiracy.” Melendez thumbed through the paper work inside the folder, shook his head, and then chuckled. “You are so finished. I sure hope you enjoyed your last piece of pussy because you’ll never get any more. Well, better you than me.”
“Man I...”
“Wait, before you say anything, let me read you your rights.” Melendez recited Jihad his Miranda Warning rights, advising him of his right to remain silent, right to have an attorney present, and the fact that anything he said could and would be used against him in a court of law. “Do you understand your rights?”
“Yeah.”Jihad answered.
“Good. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you’ll never enjoy your freedom again. If you do happen to avoid getting a life sentence, by the time you get out you’ll be too old to wipe your own ass after you take a shit. There’s only one way for you to get out of this, big guy. Either you can help yourself or you can spend the rest of your life rotting in a cell.”
Jihad sat in silence as Melendez’s harsh words bore down on him like a heavy weight. In the streets, he had used his intellect and his gun to get him out of life altering situations. Now, for the first time, he was in a position that he couldn’t shoot or manipulate his way out. Jihad made direct eye contact with Melendez. “If I can tell you about three murders, can you get me out of this?”
“Son, you can tell me who killed Biggie Smalls and I won’t be able to wipe this clean. If you have information that can lead to the arrest and conviction of three people for murder, I’ll talk the judge into giving you no more than eight years for your charges.”
Jihad weighed the options in his mind. It was either stand up and face his consequences like a man or scurry away like a rat. Fuck that shit, Jihad thought. My loyalty has been gone. “Okay, I can tell you who’s responsible for the murders of Keith and the twins Kahdeem and Quadir.”
Melendez wrote the names down. “Tell me something the cops don’t know.”
“I know where the gun that killed Keith is at, and I witnessed the twins’ deaths.”
“Alright, let me find out who’s investigating these homicides.” Melendez closed his folder and stood.
“Before I go any further, I need you to make sure that I’ll get no more than five years,” Jihad said, lowering his potential term of imprisonment.
“I’ll look into it right now.” Melendez took his folder with him, leaving Jihad alone.
The next day, Detective Todd Reed entered the precinct and made his way to his cubicle. After getting himself comfortable, he turned on his computer. He checked his emails, quickly skimming through the unimportant ones, until he opened the email from Detective Melendez. He read that Melendez had a suspect in custody who claimed to be a direct witness to two unsolved murders, and had compelling evidence on another murder that he was actively investigating. If the suspect proved to be legitimate, this meant that this person would positively identify Terry and Mack as the killers.
He snatched the phone up and called Latrice. She hadn’t checked her email, so he broke the great news to her. After hanging up with her brother, Latrice called Detective Melendez. He briefed her on all that he knew, including the name of the potential witness and the possible deal that would be given to him if he could produce all that he said. Latrice thanked him, then called the precinct and arranged for Jihad to be escorted to an interrogation room. She was told he would be there within ten minutes
It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the interrogation room door. Detective Todd opened it. Jihad was wearing dark blue pants and a light blue top. The detectives directed him to an empty chair and Jihad took a seat.
They reviewed their recorded footage dozens of times. He was one of the men who appeared to be in a heated discussion with Terry and Mack.
After introducing themselves, they got right down to business. Jihad was questioned for over two hours. During this time he gave the officers in depth statements on Terry, Mack and Shawn, implicating them with drugs and murders. After signing the statements, the detectives took their information directly to the courthouse and secured four search warrants. Terry, Mack and Shawn were officially wanted for murder...
CHAPTER 35
Detectives Todd and Latrice had no time to waste. They weren’t attempting to apprehend the average street fugitives. Terry and Mack were seasoned criminals who had built a multi-million dollar empire from drugs and murder. Although Shawn was on the lower level of the totem pole, he was just as guilty and dangerous. The thugs needed to be removed from the streets before they knew warrants had been issued for their arrests.
Todd and Latrice spent all evening briefing the Warrant Unit on their targets. At nine o’clock the next morning, twenty specially trained officers sat in a large unit that resembled a school’s classroom. The projector displayed blueprints of dwellings.
Shawn, whose cooperation with authorities led to Jihad’s arrest, and the subsequent domino effect, had been brought into custody minutes ago. It was now time to take down the two heads of the operation.
