Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler

by J. M. Benjamin

  “Regardless of what is in my heart and in my mind you’ll always be my family, blood or no blood, you understand?”

  “We’re family for life!” I looked Mu square in the eyes and said.

  He put his fist up to the glass and I did the same. “I love you, li’l bro.”

  “I love you too, Mu.” At that moment, I missed Mal more than ever.

  Mu stood up. “One last thing,” he said.

  I waited for him to tell me.

  “The game is officially dead. Get out of it!” And then he hung up and walked off.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  After visiting Mustafa so many things had invaded my mind. I called my father and played the story back to him that Mu had told me and then I asked him if Mu was my brother. He said he really didn’t know, but he told me Mu’s mother had said he wasn’t. I took that as a yes, but he was too ashamed to admit it because it would have shown how he was cheating on my moms. I left it at that and moved on. I had too many other things on my plate to be worrying about my father’s infidelities. As far as I was concerned, Mu was my brother long before he told me the story.

  I flew down to Florida and Mal’s baby moms April met me at the airport. We drove to the Florida Keys. The owner wanted $650,000 for the boat, but she knew him so I got it for $600,000. He was a rich cat from the streets who made it the legit way, so he didn’t have a problem with me paying him in cash, which was cool with me because I had too much in the safe at my stash crib anyway that only I knew about. I knew it had to be close to a mil and a half ’cause I wasn’t taking nothing under a hundred grand there each time and I knew since I had that spot I had been there over ten times.

  I didn’t even know how to sail a boat. I only got it because Mal wanted one so bad, so on the strength of that I was going to learn. The cat named Drew who sold me the boat was explaining the things I needed to know about owning a boat and then we sealed the deal. I had brought $750,000 with me anyway because I thought it was going to run me that much, so I was able to squash the whole amount right then and there. Drew was impressed. I could tell even if he didn’t say so. He offered to take her out for a sail so I could get an idea of how it worked. I agreed.

  After me, him, and April sailed back into the dock I asked them if I could get some time alone to myself. Drew said no problem, stepping off, not understanding, but April understood.

  “Take as much time as you need.”

  “Thanks,” I told her.

  “Well, bro, here it is! This is for you, kid!” I looked up into the heavens. I popped the first of the three bottles of Cristal I had April pick up for me before I arrived in Florida, and then, one by one, I did just as I told Mal I was going to do.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  I went to bed early that night. All the ripping and running in the streets I had been doing finally caught up to me. I didn’t think I had slept a good twenty-four hours combined in the past three weeks. Either I was on the highway driving to some other state, or I was on the plane flying somewhere. My peoples in Ohio and Indy were copping bricks like they were going out of style, and my other peeps in VA and NC were moving so many pies that they should’ve opened up a bakery, so I was constantly on the move.

  The raw I had was definitely in demand. I was letting everybody I supplied know that I was about to close up shop and retire. It felt good to be able to lie in my own bed and get a good night’s rest. I started dreaming about taking the boat and sailing it around the world, hitting some spots that I had always heard some of the rich people talk about on television. As I was sailing the boat, all of a sudden my dream switched to a nightmare.

  I was in the truck with Mal on the highway, being chased not only by the state troopers, but by the DEA, ATF, the county police, and the feds. They even had helicopters hovering overhead. Mal was driving and yelling at me at the same time. All I could hear him saying was, “We gotta get outta here!” over and over again.

  I just sat there listening, trying to figure out what he was talking about. I tried to tell him to slow down, but he wouldn’t listen. The more I demanded that he slow down the faster he drove. Then, out of nowhere, we hit the divider and the truck started flipping. When I looked at Mal, blood was dripping from his head on down to his face. He looked at me and said, “Mil, get out! You gotta get out!”

  The truck stopped flipping and I tried to do as he said, but my seat belt was stuck, and I couldn’t get out of the passenger’s seat. Mal made it out somehow, though, and when I looked to my right he was on my side of the truck trying to help me get the seat belt off.

  “Mil, you gotta get out!” he yelled again.

  “Bro, I can’t. I can’t get out,” I said, struggling to unfasten the belt.

  “You have to. Get out now!” He was scaring me. I didn’t know if the truck was on fire or what.

  Then just like that, the seat belt came loose.

  “Mil, hurry up. Get out now. They’re comin’! Mil? Mil? You hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I said aloud.

  “Well, get up then. The police are at the door.”

  When I opened my eyes, Tia was standing over me.

  “Huh?” I said, not having a clue what she said.

  “I said the police are at the door,” she repeated.

  I had heard her, but I thought that she was Kamal. I jumped up once it dawned on me that I was no longer dreaming. I knew the house was clean because I never brought anything here, except for the gun I carried, and they’d never find that, so I wasn’t worried about them coming up in here. “How many is it?”

  “I only saw two white uniformed officers. They look local.”

  I could hear them pounding on the door as I made my way to the living room. “Yeah, just a minute,” I yelled as I was walking to the door.

  When I opened, it was just as Tia said: two local sheriffs from town. “Yes, can I help you?”

  “Mr. Benson?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re under arrest,” they announced. Then officers and agents came from out of nowhere.

  “Get on the ground, now!” they all yelled as they entered the house with their weapons drawn.

  “For what?”

  “Sir, we have a state warrant and a federal warrant for your arrest. We also have a warrant to search the premises, and seize this home and any and all assets you may possess,” a federal agent ran down. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law . . .” He finished reading my Miranda rights. “Do you understand these rights?”

  “Yeah.”

  My son cries became louder as I heard Tia shouting. “What are you doin’?” she cried.

  “Ma’am, you’re under arrest,” the female officer said to her.

  “For what? I ain’t done nothing.”

  “For aiding and abetting in a racketeering enterprise. You have the right . . .”

  My ears went deaf. I couldn’t believe this was happening. All I could think about was the dream I just had when Mal kept telling me to get out. It dawned on me that my brother was trying to warn me. He was trying to tell me that I had slipped, and they were coming for me. All I could do was shake my head as they slapped the metal handcuffs on me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Child protective services had taken my son into custody until my moms was able to fly down and get him. They wouldn’t release him to my father or to Tia’s mom because they had both been convicted of felonies before. I had my pops call the same lawyer Mustafa used in his fed beef to represent Tia and me. The feds worked different from the state, so I didn’t really know what I was actually being charged with until I went to my preliminary.

  When Mr. Schmidt came to see me, he told me that my father had given him $100,000 to represent Tia and me. He also told me that he had good news and bad news, depending on how one would look at it, and he asked me which I wanted first. I wasn’t in the mood for guessing games, but I told him to give me that good news fir
st.

  He started out by saying, “The good news is that the feds really didn’t want your son’s mother, a Ms. Katia Johnson, am I correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “The bad news is that they really want you, and the hundred thousand dollars alone is just the beginning to cover your consultation.”

  I sat there just listening.

  “Have you had a chance to look at this yet?” he asked, showing me some papers with my name versus the United States of America at the heading.

  “Nah, I haven’t.”

  “Well, take this copy; this is the copy of your indictment. I took the liberty of reading it this morning, and it doesn’t look too good, it doesn’t look good at all, but we’re going to give them the best fight possible. It’s basically saying that they’ve been investigating you and your deceased brother since the year 1998. They have photos, surveillance, wiretaps, and confidential informants against you. They’re charging you with racketeering and trafficking, as well as possession with intent in nine different states plus other states that you’ve traveled to and from.” He thumbed through some of the pages. “There are additional charges for murder, in South Carolina as well as in New Jersey. I can tell you now, Mr. Benson, whether you cop to this or take it trial, the DA is going to recommend life imprisonment unless you are willing to cooperate with the government.”

  “That’s not an option, Mr. Schmidt.”

  “I know it’s not, Mr. Benson. You and Mr. Ali have the same type of persona, but it’s my job to advise you of your options. You will never hear me mention that to you again, though; my loyalty lies strictly with you and your best interest. One thing I’m sure of that is if you enter a guilty plea, they will release Ms. Johnson, but if you try to play hardball with them, they’ll see to it that your son grows up without his mother and father. You seem like a family man, so that choice is entirely up to you.”

  “How were you able to get Mustafa twenty-five years and life is my only option?”

  “Mr. Ali’s case wasn’t as severe as yours. His only involved drugs; yours includes murder. If somehow we could get the murder charges dropped then, yes, you would be eligible for a plea other than life, but that’s not likely to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because to beat murder charges you must go to trial.”

  “Well, that’s what I want, because I didn’t kill nobody,” I lied.

  “Mr. Benson, are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. What do I have to lose?”

  “You’re right.”

  “Listen, tell the DA that I will plead guilty to all the drugs if he lets my son’s mother go, but I am pleading not guilty to the murders of whoever they claiming I killed. Who is it, anyway?”

  “I won’t know until your preliminary Tuesday.”

  “All right, well, see what the DA says and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I found out through my moms that they had frozen the bank account in my name, which was nothing because I only had like eighty grand in my savings and another twenty-five grand in my checking. Everything else was either in Tia’s or the kid’s name.

  They shut my store down in Jersey and confiscated the house, the Benz, and the Range from Dana, and they froze the sixty grand she had left from the hundred I gave her for her and my nephew, only because she wasn’t working. They took all my cars, trucks, bikes, and the one thing near and dear to me, Kamal’s boat. They couldn’t take anything from Mal’s daughter mother in Florida because she was a real estate agent and had her stuff together.

  I still had a lot of paper put up, scattered all around. I had stashed $750,000, trying to hit that mil mark, and I hit my sisters off with a hundred grand on the low. Tia’s mom had $75,000, and I took Mu’s shorty $150,000 to put up for me in case of an emergency, ’cause she was still riding with Mu hard. She even married him from jail. In cash alone I had at least a million and I knew the lawyer wasn’t going to cost that much, so I was good. I just had to get these bodies off my back. Honestly, me, Mal, and Shareef, when he was home, put so much work in that I couldn’t figure out what bodies they could be trying to charge me with.

  “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Schmidt?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Kamil Benson.”

  “Just a minute, Mr. Benson, I’ll connect you. Mr. Schmidt had been expecting your call.”

  “Kamil?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m all right, what’s goin’ on?”

  “I had the opportunity to speak to the district attorney, and he’s willing to release Ms. Johnson the moment you enter a guilty plea, but he wasn’t happy to hear that you were taking the murders to trial. He even offered you a plea, which I doubt you’ll agree to but it’s better than life.”

  “What is it?”

  “Four hundred and eighty months.”

  “What? What the hell does that add up to?”

  “Forty years, Mr. Benson.”

  “Tell him I’ll see him in trial,” I said without hesitation.

  “I already told him, sir.”

  They released Tia on April 10, 2002, the day I entered a guilty plea on the drug charges and not guilty plea on the murders. They were charging me with Travis Dempsey and Marlon Jones of Florence, South Carolina, and Black’s and Quadir’s murders, and conspiracy to murder. My stomach was doing somersaults and my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to bust out of my chest, but my face remained stone. Even though I knew of the incident in Florence, I didn’t know them two cats they named and I wasn’t there so I wasn’t worried about that. Mal had told me how some niggas from out there tried to do some ol’ funny style shit and he had to handle them on the low. But the other two names I knew well, and the first person to come to mind as a confidential informant was Baseball Betty. Damn! Mal said that bitch could trap us off if we wasn’t careful.

  Knowing all of that, I was still going to trial to do everything I could in my power to weaken the DA’s case on the bodies.

  I called Tia at her mom’s house.

  “You have a pre-paid call from Kamil from a county jail, do you accept?”

  “Yes. Hey, baby!”

  “What’s good, ba’y?”

  “I’m all right. Missin’ you like crazy.”

  “Yeah me, too.”

  “I spoke to your momma today and she supposed to bring Khalif down this weekend when she comes to see you.”

  “Come see me? Nah, tell her I don’t want no visit.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I don’t, that’s why. Check, I don’t have that much time. I need you to click me into Shaheed right quick.”

  “What’s the number?”

  “908-555-1013.”

  “Hold on, baby. Here he go.”

  “Sha.”

  “Yo, what up, son?”

  “Nothin’, kid. They got me in a jam right now.”

  “I heard. That shit it all up here.”

  “Yeah, I figured that, but yo, listen; I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything, you know you my dawg. What’s good?”

  “You know how to play ‘Baseball’?”

  “Yeah, no doubt.”

  “I need you to play that game for me ’cause that’s the only way I won’t strike out. I mean, I really need you to play your best, and hit a homerun.”

  “Say no more, son; I got you on the strength.”

  “Good looking, baby!”

  That was the only way I could talk to Shaheed without the feds picking up on what I was saying, and I knew he knew what I was talking about. I had basically told him to find Baseball Betty and kill her so she couldn’t make it to court to testify.

  “Yo, Mil, what you facin’?”

  “That L, baby boy.”

  “Damn, kid!”

  “Yeah, but if you play baseball for me, it might not be so bad.”

  “All right! One.”

  “
Yeah. Tia, click me off.”

  “Mil, what were you talking about with baseball?” Tia asked.

  “That’s irrelevant. Listen, though; we might as well get this out the way now. No matter what happens with me I just want you to promise me that you’ll raise Khalif properly and keep him out the streets, and most importantly make sure he knows his sisters and my brother’s kids. Don’t worry about how you gonna survive ’cause I got you covered. You not obligated to ride out with me on this here ’cause I’m looking at a long ride, so I ain’t gonna be mad at ya for doin’ you.”

  “Mil, you talking crazy. I’m with you through thick and thin, better or worse, richer or poor, ’til death do us part, I love you.”

  I figured she’d hit me with something like that. They all did until it got too thick; then they flipped, because that was all a part of the game. I wanted to believe her but the rules wouldn’t let me.

  “All right, well, if that’s how you feel then I love you for that. I’ll talk to you later. I gotta go.”

  * * *

  They indicted me on July 13, 2002 and I was scheduled to pick a jury August 20, 2002. The feds didn’t play. They were known for ending cases and trials quick. Their conviction rate was 98 percent. Even knowing that, I still intended to go to war with them. The DA made a final offer to my lawyer for 332 months, which was thirty-six years, but Shaheed had told Tia to tell me that the baseball game was over in the first inning, so I was confident about going to trial and I rejected his offer.

  The jury was selected and it was time to start my trial.

  “Are you ready, Mr. Benson?” my lawyer asked.

  I just smiled and said, “Yes.”

  I decided that I didn’t want any of my family at my trial besides my father because he knew the game, and they respected my wishes. I didn’t want my moms and the rest of them to hear what I was being accused of because it would’ve been shameful and embarrassing, whether I did it or not.

  To my surprise, I spotted Lisa sitting all the way in the back. I didn’t know how she even knew I would be in court that day, but it was good to see her.