Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler

by J. M. Benjamin

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  My moms and grandmother made all the funeral arrangements. I told them to pick whatever type of burial they thought was best for Mal, regardless of the cost. Dana had shirts made up with his picture on the front and R.I.P. GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN on the back. Everywhere I drove throughout the town, somebody was wearing one of the shirts. They thought they were paying respect to my brother, but what they really were doing was hurting the people who truly loved and would miss him, because every time I saw the picture on the shirt it pained me more, and reminded me of the fact that my other half was gone.

  The turnout at the wake alone was ridiculous. More people than Ant’s and Trevor’s wakes combined had shown up. People we knew from all over came out from New York, B-more, Philly, VA, NC, SC, Florida, ATL, Ohio, Indy, Detroit, and even Chicago. We had to schedule two viewings because there was so many. Flowers were everywhere, wall to wall, in the room. The casket they chose for Mal was marble green, with real gold trimming, which were his favorite colors. They dressed him in a solid green suit that almost looked black, with a beige shirt, and a green and beige tie, with the matching handkerchief.

  My mother broke down when she went up to the casket. I had to go get her and escort her to her seat, while the usher aided me by fanning her. Monique wouldn’t even go up there, and Jasmine passed out when she did. The whole while I fought back my own tears and stayed strong for the family. My grandmother kneeled down on her knees and said a prayer for him. When she got up, she began to praise dance and call on Jesus. My dad leaned into the casket, gave my brother a kiss on the forehead, and then walked out.

  After Dana went up with Mal Jr., and Keya went up with Fisa, I went up. I didn’t even recognize him at first. I knew it was him, but it didn’t look like it. We no longer looked alike. I wondered if that was how I would look when my time came. I stared at my brother for a moment, studying his facial expression. He looked at peace. I could not remember the last time I’d seen him looking so peaceful. It had been a long time. Not since we were kids. I kneeled down like my grandmother had done, and I began to talk to my brother.

  “What up, kid? How you doin’ up there?” I began. I felt myself started to get choked up, but still I fought it off. “I know you’re maintaining. I’m tryin’ to hold it down on this end, but shit is crazy for me down here. I know you gotta be feelin’ the way I do too right about now ’cause we not used to being separated like this for so long. Moms and them are going through it, but they’ll be all right ’cause they strong. Hell, they gotta be strong if they raised us, right? I thought it was gonna get ugly between Moms and Pops, ’cause she let him have it.” I smiled. “But Dad bowed down on some respectful shit.

  “The kids are all right. Don’t worry about Fisa and li’l Mal; you know they covered for life. I got you. Oh! I meant to tell you, you were right. It was a boy, so you ain’t the only one with a son now to keep the legacy going. I can see the two of them together now, inseparable like we were.” I wiped a tear from my face that had escaped my right eye. “But they ain’t gonna be nothing like us, except good looking.” I chuckled. “They gonna be better than us. I named my son Khalif Ali Benson. You know I got the Ali from Mu’s name.

  “Yo, let me ask you somethin’. Why did you pull off like that, kid? Damn! I know you used to always say how you wasn’t never goin’ to jail, but damn, dawg, you was more valuable alive than dead.” I shook my head as four drops managed to release themselves from my barrier. “I don’t know, maybe I would’ve done the same thing, ’cause you know great minds think alike. It don’t even matter; you did what you did and it’s over and done with.

  “Moms and them went all out on the funeral. You would’ve approved. You’re probably lookin’ down at us right now checkin’ out the whole scene. If you see Ant and Trevor tell them niggas I said one love and I ain’t forget about them. Look at all these niggas and chicks up in this piece who came out to pay their respects like you were the last Don or something.” I couldn’t resist another chuckle.

  “I know you smiling right about now, nigga.” I could’ve sworn when I looked up he had a grin on his face. “Yo, anyway, I’m gonna put that work in twice as much as before now that you’re gone, to make sure that the li’l ones don’t ever have to go through the things we went through. We went through some wild shit when we were kids. Before I get out the game I’m gonna go to the Keys and cop that boat for you, too, and then after that it’s over. The game is over for me. Believe that!” I promised my brother.

  “All right, kid, I’m gonna talk to you later, but if you see me slippin’ or something, get at me. Let me know. Show me a sign or something. I love you, Mal.” I got up and, like my dad, I leaned in and gave my brother a kiss on the cheek. “One love, bro. Rest in peace.”

  I could no longer hold them back. The levy had been broken and my tears came pouring out like a tidal wave. They stained my brother’s face. When I turned around, I could have sworn I saw my brother walking out of the church. I wiped my face with my handkerchief and tended to my family.

  * * *

  On June 15, 1999, there were just as many people at the funeral as there were at the wake. The chain of whips that followed the hearse and family car was well over a hundred. I rode in the limo with my moms, grandmother, and sisters while my father drove my car. He respected my mother’s wishes and kept his distance. I admired him for that.

  When Mal was laid to rest, I skipped the reception and me and my pops flew back to South Carolina. I had grieved enough for a lifetime, and now it was time to tie up some loose ends. Now that my brother was gone, there was no need for me to continue playing the game that had plagued our family and friends for decades. I hated that it took for me to lose someone who meant the world to me to get me to see that what I was doing was never worth it.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Six months had passed, and I had sold most of the things that reminded me of Mal. I sold his house in the South, his Range, Lex, Navi, and bike. I let his wifey Deb keep the trailer for being a trooper, though. On top of that, I sold the club we had down there too because I didn’t have the desire to party anymore now that my partner in crime was gone. It just wouldn’t have been the same.

  All the money I got from selling Mal’s whips and other material things I put in trust funds for Fisa and Mal Jr. for their college educations and future. A shorty in Florida was pregnant by Mal. She told me she was going to surprise him with the news the day he was scheduled to come back from New York. I stayed in contact with her so I could make arrangements to set up my niece or nephew when they arrived into the world.

  Everything Mal owned in Jersey I let Dana keep: the house, the whips; plus, I set up a bank account for her with fifty grand to start to take care of her and Mal Jr. I put another fifty grand in an account for whenever Fisa was old enough. It took me a year to get everything in order, but I had done it, and I was back on top of my game, as strong as ever.

  June 10, 2000 was my son’s first birthday and Tia and I decided to have it in Jersey at Chuck E. Cheese’s so that his sister, cousins, and the rest of the family like Moms and them could be there. It was also better for me, because it was also the one-year anniversary of Kamal’s death, so I would be able to visit his gravesite before we went back down South.

  The birthday party turned out to be fun and tiring. All the cats from the projects brought their kids, and even chicks Mal and I had messed with in the past brought theirs. A few of the kids looked like they could be either mine or Mal’s and I laughed to myself on the inside. Jamiyah and Kamiyah were playing with Khalif over in the bullpen. Both Fisa and Mal Jr. came too. Each time I looked at them, my heart ached because they were both spitting images of their father. Anyone with eyes could see how close they were by the way they stuck together at the party at all times.

  I was sitting in the corner just watching everything, trying to digest the whole pan of pizza I had eaten earlier, when I saw Fisa and Mal Jr. coming toward me.

&
nbsp; “Hey, Uncle Mil!”

  “Hey there yourselves.”

  “Why you over here by yourself?”

  “’Cause you kids wore me out, that’s why.”

  “You miss our dad don’t you?” Mal Jr. asked.

  I smiled and picked him up, placing him on my lap. “I sure do, man.”

  “We do too,” he said.

  “Uncle Mil, you look just like our daddy,” Fisa said.

  “Oh, yeah, you think so?” I said, playing along with her.

  “Yup!”

  “Well, you and Mal Jr. look just like your dad too and your cousins Jamiyah, Kamiyah, and Khalif.”

  They laughed. “Were you and my daddy twins?” Mal Jr. asked.

  “No, man, but we were just alike, and we used to be together all the time like I see you and your sister be.”

  “Can we come stay with you one summer down South, Uncle Mil?” Fisa asked.

  “Sure, you can. It can be anytime you want; just call me and I’ll be there. And if the two of you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask, you hear me?”

  “Yes,” they both said together.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  “What’s the deal, bro? You missed a good party a couple of days ago. My li’l man turned a year old and we celebrated his birthday at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Fisa and Mal Jr. was there. They told me I look just like you. That shit made me laugh ’cause they look more like you than I do. They wanna come down South with me for the summer so I’ma try to make that happen. You know Keya be buggin’, but not too much since you been gone. If I don’t get ’em this summer I’ll definitely have ’em before the year ends.

  “Yo! Guess where I’m going after I leave here? To the Keys, nigga! I’m goin’ to cop a boat for you. Yeah, that’s how I’m doing it for the new millennium! Shorty down there had a little girl. She named her Jasmyne Malika Benson. I told her that we had a sister named Jasmine so she spelled it different. The way she be talking, I know that girl really loved you. I sold damn near everything and put the dough in Fisa’s and Mal Jr.’s names, plus laid out extra cash for whenever they need something.

  “I took the coke game to another level since this German I was locked up with taught me the whip game. He showed me how to turn one into two or at least into an extra seven hundred and fifty grams. All that shit is free paper right there. I don’t party no more since you been gone, but I be everywhere on some business shit. Niggas stay hittin’ me on the hip for them thangs. On the cash tip alone I’m hood rich, a ghetto millionaire, but ssh! Don’t tell nobody!” I joked.

  “Like Mu told me back in the day, once he taught me all he knew I was gonna be a ‘Ghetto Genius,’ and that’s what I’ve become, kid; but I ain’t letting that shit get to my head ’cause none of this shit means nothing without you here, bro. I miss you like a muthafucka and I’d give it all up if it would bring you back.

  “Speaking of Mu, I’m goin’ to see him this weekend. He wrote me a letter and said he had to talk to me about something important. Yo! When I cop that boat I’m gonna pop the first bottle of Cristal and pour it out for the ones who ain’t here; then the second bottle I’ma pour out strictly for you; and the third bottle I’m gonna toast to you and drink it to the head. I love you, big bro. Take care; see you next time I come through.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  When Mu appeared in front of the Plexiglas, I had to do a double take. He was big like my dad used to be when I was a kid, only he was scary big. He had muscles popping out in places I didn’t know muscles existed. He was so huge he didn’t even have a neck. To top it off, he had traded his beehive waves for shoulder-length dreadlocks, and his once chin-strapped beard for a long, fluffy full-sized one. He also sported a pair of what seemed to be reading glasses. I just stared at him like the first time I had when he had picked Mal and me up that day in his car. He sat down and grabbed the phone.

  “Peace, akhi,” he greeted me.

  “What’s goin’ on, big bro?” My excitement showed in my voice. It was good to see him and I told him that. This was the first time in all those years he had been locked up that I had come to see him.

  Mu smiled.

  “How’s everything?” I asked.

  “As good as they can be under the circumstances,” he replied.

  “That’s good to hear. I’m sorry for—” I didn’t get a chance to finish. Mu held his hand up and stopped me.

  “No need for apologies or regrets. The important thing is that you’re here now,” he told me.

  “You’re right,” I agreed. Even after all those years, Mu was still schooling me.

  “My condolences.” His tone lowered.

  I just nodded.

  “He’s with Allah now.”

  I didn’t want to talk about my brother so I changed the subject. “So, is everything good? You said you had something important to talk to me about.”

  Mu ran his hand down his face then stroked his beard. I could tell he was collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, I do. I wanna tell you a story,” he said.

  I gave him a confused look.

  “Just listen,” he told me. “When I was eight years old, my mother introduced me to this man as her friend. He would come by every now and again and spend time with my mother and me. Every time he came around my mother would be on top of the world and whenever he didn’t she was miserable. He would come by and take her out while a neighbor watched me or he would take the both of us somewhere nice. Every time a holiday came around, he never came through without bearing gifts. He would always ask me what I liked or what my favorite toy was and then a few days later he’d come back with it. My mother would always get on him about spoiling me and she would say that I was going to wind up being like him if he kept treating me the way he was.

  “One day, after coming home from a half day of school, I accidentally walked in on my mother’s friend mixing up some drugs in her bedroom, while my mother lay in bed asleep. When he saw me, he put his finger to his lips and stood up. He escorted me into the kitchen. There, he taught me what he was doing and everything else he knew. By the time I turned thirteen I knew everything about the drug game there was to know. Even though he taught me all of that, he always made me promise to stay in school and get an education.

  “My senior year, I came home to find my mother in tears. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that her friend had gotten arrested. Shortly thereafter, things began to get rough for my mother and me. So, one night I caught the train over to New York, over on 145th Street in Harlem, where my mother’s friend told me he went to get his product, and I posted up. I watched as jokers who looked like drug dealers approached Spanish dudes. Within minutes, I witnessed drugs and money transactions between the Black and Spanish hustlers. I waited until I thought I had found the right hustler and then I followed him. I followed him all the way to the subway station and then, right before he made it to the steps, I made my move. He never saw it coming.

  “I crept up from behind, yoked him up, and put the knife I had hidden behind my back up to his throat. I told him to run his pocket or I would slit his throat, and I meant it. He reached into his pocket and gave me a small brown paper bag with a piece of tape on it to conceal it. I took the package with my left hand while holding the blade firmly up against his neck. Everything was going smooth until he made the fatal mistake of reacting. To this day, I don’t know what he was trying to do, but he never got the chance to do it because, without hesitation, I slit his throat from ear to ear with the Rambo knife I had.

  “I remember being scared to death, and I ran for my life. I ran nearly nonstop all the way down to 125th Street. I made my way to the 125th Street train station, headed back to New Jersey. I was paranoid the whole while. When I got home, I tore open the brown bag. Based on the color I knew it was coke. I went and got the scale I knew my mother’s friend kept in the house. When I placed the package on there, it read fifty-six grams. That was the day I became a drug dealer.

  “A year later, I m
oved my mother out of the projects and into a house. That following year she died. I went through her stuff, found letters from prison, and I knew they were letters from her friend. That night I sat down and wrote him a letter informing him of my mother’s death. I also asked him a question, one that was always in the back of my mind: was he my father? He never wrote me back and answered, but as far as I was concerned, he was. Do you know why I’m telling you this story?” Mu asked me.

  Honestly, I didn’t have a clue, but I was glad he had shared that piece of his life with me. I answered no.

  “The reason I told you that story is because the only father figure or male role model I ever had in my life, and the man I believe to be my real father, was my mother’s friend. And”—he took a deep breath—“my mother’s friend was your dad.”

  His statement caught me by surprise. I was positive I had heard wrong, but Mu’s next statement let me know I had heard right.

  “I felt it was important that you knew.”

  My first reaction was to get up and leave, but Mu told me to sit down before I had a chance to hang up the phone. I was fuming but didn’t really know why. I didn’t know whether I was mad at Mu for telling me the story or at my dad for not. I knew Mu wouldn’t lie to me or make something up like that, so it had to be true.

  I sat back down.

  “Listen, I know what I laid on you is a hard pill to swallow, but with all that has happened, you needed to know,” he started out saying. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how good he treated you, Mal, your sisters, and me; when it came to women, he was a rolling stone. It doesn’t take away from how he felt about any of us.”

  As I listened to Mu, the more I stared at him the more I could see some of my dad’s features in him. I didn’t know how I hadn’t seen it in all this time, all these years.