by Amir Sanchez
Now that they had everybody’s undivided attention, Leaf continued where he left off.
“Now, you pussies listen up. Whoever used to supply this corner, we shutting them down. If it ain’t our product being moved out here, then we shutting this mafucka down too. In that case, we will put our own workers out here. So, it’s a lose-lose situation for you niggas. Try some slick shit and we will air this bitch out every chance we get. Now, get your bitch ass up before we leave you down there permanently,” he threatened. When Crock got to his feet, EZ walked over to the truck and removed a City Blue bag containing four bricks of coke. He then walked up to Crock and pushed the book bag into his chest.
“I know you used to pay nineteen a pop, but I got goons to feed, so the price jumps to twenty-two apiece. I’ll be expecting a call from you in the next few days. Everything go as it supposed to, we could avoid shit like this from happening,” Leaf voiced before getting back into the truck and proceeding on to the next block. Not only was Crock disrespected in front of his workers, but he felt raped of his heart, pride, and block.
Leaf and his goons repeated the same approach and methods through dozens of other territories and corners supplied by the Santanas. When it was all said and done, they had murdered one hustler who refused to go against the Santanas and put over forty bricks on the street. They instilled fear in the hearts of many. It wasn’t long before the streets were talking. The word was out that Leaf and his South Philly peoples had shut the Santanas down and anybody who opposed would find themselves in a fucked-up situation. Niggas knew that Leaf was a problem by himself, but with the South Philly niggas backing him, he was a dangerous movement.
Testing Patience
Word traveled fast, and when Black caught wind of it, he vowed to have Leaf and his “toy soldiers” disposed of. There was no way he would allow his empire to crumble on behalf of a loose cannon, even if he was a Santana. Black didn’t like Leaf from the very beginning, and he had never agreed to fuck with him in the first place. He knew Gus was the backbone of the Santanas’ organization, and the twins were the head. He was well aware that going after Leaf might put an end to his long-standing relationship with the Santanas, so he had to put a lot of thought into how he was going to handle everything.
The way Leaf had gone about shit basically told Black the little nigga was challenging him as well. Compared to the niggas Black had on line, Leaf and his “toy soldiers” were PG-13. His niggas were rated R. They would easily be outnumbered, outgunned, and murdered. All it took was for Black to pick up the phone and dial a number. After closely thinking the matter through, he decided to handle this one situation differently from his usual protocol. This pass was on the strength of the Santanas’ history with him. If not for that, Leaf would have met a very horrific demise. Instead of placing the call to his henchmen, he placed the call to Jihad. The call was brief and right to the point.
“Listen here. You know who this is, right?”
“Yeah, I know who this is, ol’ head. What it do?”
“I’ma meet you outside Gus’s spot in about thirty minutes. This is an urgent matter, so be ready and don’t be late, understood?”
“Yeah, I understand, ol’ head. I’m actually there now, so I’ll see you when you get here,” stated Jihad before disconnecting the call.
“Come on, Connie, you got to get up. This nigga, Black, going to be here in a half hour. He said he got to holler at me about something urgent. Stop, girl, I ain’t playing with you. Come on, Connie . . . Damn, girl. You going to make me do something to you,” he moaned as Connie provided him with oral pleasure that was good enough to make his toes curl up. The more he told her to stop, the more she persisted. When he reached his full length, that was the point of no return. He did just what she wanted him to. Once he escaped the tight grips of her powerful jaws, he flipped her over in doggie-style position and thrust himself inside her. He started off with long, deep strokes that caused her juices to flow irregularly. He smacked her ass, encouraging her to fuck him back. She began throwing her ass back with as much force as he applied, while talking dirty to him.
“Come on, Jihad, baby. Fuck me harder! Take that pussy, baby! Hurt me! I love the way you make this pussy feel. Oh, daddy! Daddy! I’m about to come! Oh . . . Come with me, baby . . . Come in my pussy! I’m coming!” Good sex and dirty talk were the perfect combination needed for satisfying relief, which the couple achieved together. Afterward, they lay on the bed out of breath, still climaxing from the aftershock. When Jihad’s cell phone went off, he remembered the scheduled meeting with Black. He jumped out of bed and answered the phone, while struggling to get dressed at the same time.
“My fault, ol’ head. I’m coming out right now.”
“Man, didn’t I tell you this was urgent? I don’t got time to be playing no games. Hurry up.”
The first thing Jihad noticed upon sitting in the passenger seat was the murderous expression written over Black’s face. Black stared him up and down several times before he spoke.
“What’s going on with you? Did I disturb something? Where Connie at? She in there?” he asked suspiciously.
“Huh? I’m . . . I’m good. I don’t know if Connie in there or not. I was downstairs working out. But, what’s up? You said something urgent came up, right?” he inquired, quickly changing the conversation.
“I don’t know what you know about me, but if you heard I had a bad temper and a short fuse, it was indeed an understatement. I assume that since Gus is on vacation, no one has a clue about the stunts this character, Leaf, has been carrying out. This peon has been running around with a bunch of gun-toting amateurs saying he’s taking shit over. He keeps this shit up and he’s going to possibly fuck up a good thing that your man Gus worked hard to achieve. When shit gets fucked up for your man, it gets fucked up for me. The usual penalty is a million deaths for a coward, but this one has blood ties to people I have love for. I don’t like to see my loved ones suffer from grief, so what I’ma do is put it in y’all hands. Hopefully, y’all can fix this problem before it becomes a headache. I ain’t took a Tylenol since I been in this business. Do you get my point?”
“Definitely. I’ma talk to Connie as soon as I get back inside.”
“I thought you said you ain’t know where she was at.”
“She . . . She probably in there upstairs.” Jihad tried to quickly cover his tracks.
“Well, fuck all that. It ain’t my business. Just make sure y’all fix that problem,” he demanded in a voice so chilling that it caused Jihad to briefly shiver, as if a cold winter breeze had hit him.
When Blood Gets Thinner Than Water
Once he went back inside the house, he informed Connie of the situation at hand. Her entire face turned red, and she bit down on her lip so hard that she drew blood. Stomping over to the closet, she retrieved a weapon from a shoe box. After she slipped into a sweat suit, she instructed Jihad to take a ride.
A half hour later, they were pulling up in Sygon Projects down in South Philly. The Range Rover stood out like a sore thumb among the junked-up cars that were parked in front of the projects.
“Pull up right there!” yelled Connie, referring to the benches where a group of young niggas were posted up. She jumped out of the Range with her face twisted up, calling shots.
“Where the fuck is Leaf at?” When no one answered, she snapped.
“Oh, you little mafuckas don’t hear me?”
Click! Clack! She cocked the .40 cal back, then continued interrogating the young niggas.
“Y’all hear me now? Y’all go tell the little pussy to come out here. Connie Santana needs to have a word with him immediately. If he ain’t out here in five minutes, I’ma air this mafucka out,” she threatened before turning her back on them and getting back inside the Range. She overheard one of them explaining on their cell phone what was going on and asking how to take care of it. The other caller must have told them to stand down because he frowned with disappointment and stayed seated.
A few minutes later, she noticed a group of men walking in her direction with three feisty pit bulls that were growling and barking with aggression. One of the men walking over was Leaf. Not wanting to give off the impression that she was intimidated in the tiniest way, she stepped out of the truck with her gun visibly hanging out of her pocket. Leaf approached her in a disrespectful manner, allowing the pit bull whose leash he held to jump at her as if it wanted to attack her. The words he chose to address her with were even more vulgar than his demeanor.
“What the fuck you think you doing, Connie? You coming down here being real disrespectful. You lucky you ain’t get yourself shot or killed. These ain’t your puppets. What the fuck you supposed to do? Stop my movement? You a bitch, and I’m a man. You ain’t on my level. Now, get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back through here,” he shouted, causing the dogs to get more aggressive. Connie’s anger got the best of her. She pulled the .40 out and shot Leaf’s dog four times in the head. With the speed of light, she got the drop on Leaf. With her gun pressed under his chin, she reminded him how she earned the reputation for being a vicious bitch.
“If you wasn’t my sister’s son, I’d blow your fucking head off! Ain’t on your level? Nigga, I do circles around you walking backward,” she boasted. Her eyes were bloodshot red and her face was expressionless, like a true killer’s. Ikeal and EZ stood close by. They were instructed that this was family business and no matter what, they were not to get involved.
“Don’t you ever in your fuckin’ life think you can speak to me like that again,” Connie said as she spat straight into Leaf’s face. If Jihad hadn’t jumped out and intervened, she would have probably pistol-whipped him. Even while Jihad pulled her to the car, she never lowered her gun. She kept it aimed at his face while making promises.
“You must have lost your goddamn motherfucking mind pulling this shit. And you’re a fucking coward for doing it while Gus is away. That’s some real snake shit right there. Stay the fuck away from my family’s ventures! If I got to come back down this bitch, you dead! I swear on my life. You disowned as a Santana, motherfucker. If you ever come at me like that again, you gonna end just like this dog.” She kicked the dead dog and walked back to her car.
As they were pulling off, the Range was hit with a barrage of bullets. They had to duck down low to avoid getting hit. Jihad had to drive and hold Connie down at the same time. She desperately wanted to return fire. However, they were outgunned, and to pop your head up during the attack was suicidal.
“Fall back,” Leaf yelled at his men. “Where the fuck do you get off shooting without my saying so? Fuck is wrong with all of you?” Leaf went off at the men that had just shot up his aunt’s car. As much as he popped off at the mouth and was trying to take over, truth was, he would never want to physically hurt his family. All Leaf ever really wanted was to get the respect he felt he deserved from his family. He was tired of being in his big cousin’s shadow, and he felt this was the only way for him to prove to everybody that he could be a leader just like Gus.
“Don’t y’all ever in your fucking life shoot at my aunt or my mother. You understand me?” he yelled out loud enough for everyone to hear. He knew his aunt was going to lose her mind even more having gotten shot at. There was no way for her to know the order hadn’t come from him. His heart dropped at the thought of what his mother was going to think when his aunt Connie told her what had just gone down.
Mo’ Money . . . Mo’ Problems
While Gus and Trish were swimming in a remote channel of water playing with live dolphins and enjoying fun in the sun, one of the resort workers came up holding a cordless phone and whispered an important message to him.
“Sir, you have an urgent telephone call from a Mrs. Santana. Would you like to take the call?”
“Yeah, I’ll take the call. Just let me step out of here and dry off,” he replied before climbing out of the pool. Upon stepping out, he was met by another resort worker holding a robe and towel. Once he gathered himself, he retrieved the phone.
“I hope this is some type of emergency because if I remember correctly, I left specific instructions to not be disturbed during my honeymoon.”
“This is your mother, Gus. Leaf just tried to kill me! That slimy nigga shot my truck up along with a bunch of them dirty-ass South Philly niggas. He declared war against us. I need you home now,” she said. Gus remained silent for a few odd moments before he spoke. He searched for the right words that would comfort his mother. His cousin had crossed the final line, and his actions were inexcusable.
“Mom, calm down. I’m on the first thing out of here. Let me handle this. I don’t need you going back to jail. Sit tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he assured her before hanging up.
Trish watched him the entire time he was on the phone. She could tell by his body language that the call was a disturbing one. If looks could kill, everyone in the resort would be dead. She knew it was time to go, so to speed things up, she emerged from the pool and saved him the trouble of having to inform her that the vacation was over. When he realized she was standing by his side waiting to follow his lead, he gave her a look that told her he appreciated her support and understanding. An hour later, they were on a first-class flight to JFK airport in New York City.
* * *
Over the last few weeks, the federal probe into the Black and Santana investigation had progressed significantly. The lead detectives and their associates were very happy with the way things were going. They had labeled the operation, “The Black Spider,” because the more they learned about Black, the more they realized he had connections that connected like a spider’s web. Their informant and his listening devices were key factors in obtaining all of the intelligence they’d been able to gather so far. Other branches of the FBI had now joined the investigation. Black had so much stuff going on with him, even the IRS had started conducting an investigation, pulling out tax returns dating back a few years. Everyone was highly interested in Curtis “Black” Campbell.
He was no stranger to their task force or the federal court system. A few years back, he was indicted on charges of kidnapping, extortion, and robbery. Their case against him fell apart when the star witness caught a case of amnesia while on the witness stand. He recanted and contradicted his entire statement, so the prosecution had no choice but to withdraw all charges. Now that they had reestablished a more promising chance of indicting him on serious offenses, and they’d be able to use his own recorded conversations to prove his illegal activity, they worked patiently in continuing to build their cases. Today, they went in front of their superiors with a progress report, informing them of the status of the investigation. Once the information was conveyed, the superiors came to their conclusion.
“At this time, we believe that the investigation is moving along in the right direction; however, it is still in the preliminary stages. We need to dig deeper into Mr. Campbell’s lead role in the organization. When we present this case to a grand jury, we want to eliminate any shadow of doubt. We want the case loophole proof. Fancy-lawyer proof. The federal system will not be mocked by this individual again. Let’s continue the hard work, people. Our resources are limited, so let’s use what we’ve got to get what we want.” He concluded the meeting and scheduled the next one for the following month.
* * *
When Gus and Trish arrived back in Philadelphia, they were picked up by Jihad and Connie in his BMW. Connie was anxious to speak her piece. She wasted no time expressing how she felt about the situation and how she wanted to handle it.
“The nigga has disgraced our family’s name. He tried to kill me. His blood is no longer sacred. I’m not asking you to kill him, I’m telling you to. It’s the only way I will feel relief again. I don’t give a fuck about what anybody has to say. I’m finished with the talking.”
“Mom, you got every right to feel the way you do, but I don’t think you realize what you’re asking me to do.” Gus tried to reason
with his mother. “You’re basically asking me to kill your own sister’s son. Your nephew that you’ve loved as if he was your own son, Ma.”
“I know exactly what the fuck I’m asking you to do, Gus. Believe me, I’m hurting deep down inside, but that nigga has lost his mind. I saw him, Gus, and I’m telling you that is not my nephew!”
“And how do you think your sister is going to take you asking me to kill her firstborn?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there,” Connie responded, still not fully thinking about how deep an act like that would cut her sister.
“Okay, Ma, I see I can’t talk you out of this right now, so what I’m going to do is give you a few days to cool off, and then I’m only going to ask you one more time if you are sure of your decision. If, after a few days, you still feel the same way, then I’ve got no choice but to carry out your wishes. Jihad, let’s drop the ladies off, and then take a ride,” he spoke softly.
While waiting for the darkness of night to provide the cover they needed, they decided to stop at Freeze’s to get a platter and a few drinks. Gus hoped not to run into Sha’Ron while down there because he didn’t feel ready to explain the situation to him. He was still in disbelief of everything that he’d been told and was having a hard time processing everything. He never expected Leaf to turn on them like that. He had no idea how he was going to break all of this down to Sha’Ron, and especially his aunt Consuela. As they were sitting down at their regular table throwing back shots of Patrón, the nigga, Crock, from Fifty-fourth Street approached the table. Without excusing himself or being acknowledged, he rudely invaded their zone.
“Damn, Gus! What’s really good? Your peoples came through my block the other day and got real disrespectful. I ain’t no sucker, but I know that’s your blood. What am I supposed to do?” This statement prompted Jihad to jump up and position himself for combat.
