by Amir Sanchez
When they arrived at the Cherry Hill Manor Apartments, Gus left the car running and informed Jihad that he would be right out. The apartment was fully furnished. Basic yet comfortable. When Gus entered, he walked over to the floor-model television, lifted the panel, and pushed a sequence of different buttons that, in turn, granted him access to the hidden compartment within the foundation. The front of the TV opened up like a door, revealing neatly stacked piles of money. He removed a majority of it before securing the stash spot. Inside the bedroom, he retrieved a large Nike duffle bag which he used to carry the money. Believing that the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach could also be related to him having to relieve his bowels, he went to use the bathroom.
Meanwhile, outside, Jihad was contacted by Amy who informed him of what was ready to take place and further instructed him.
“Jihad, listen very carefully. We’re ready to move in on Gus and arrest him. At this time, you need to get behind the wheel of the car and pull off. There will be a Dodge Charger with flashing lights pursuing you. Do not crash, but drive like you are trying to get away. Ditch the car in West Philly and get with Connie. We’ll be listening in. Good luck.”
Jihad went into action immediately. He was surprised that the Charger hopped on his tail as soon as he turned out of the parking lot. How the fuck did they get here that fast? he wondered while pulling off. Through the rearview mirror, he observed four black vans pull up to the apartment and dozens of masked men bearing FBI letters on their vest storming the building. While Gus was sitting on the toilet finishing up his business, his attention was broken by a loud crash coming through the front door. Next, he heard loud voices screaming.
“FBI! FBI! We have a warrant!” as they searched the premises room by room. They discovered Gus in the bathroom, still sitting on the toilet with pants down to his ankles. They didn’t have the decency to allow him to wipe his ass. He was snatched up off the toilet and cuffed up. They hauled him outside where they threw him in back of one of the vans. A local news station had arrived and was able to get live footage of Gus before he was placed in the van. Feeling confused and humiliated, Gus demanded an explanation.
“What the fuck is this all about? Y’all ain’t catch me with shit. I just stopped here to use the bathroom,” he argued.
“I assume you are not going to exercise your right to remain silent. Therefore, I’ll inform you that you are being charged with 924C, 848, and 922G, which in federal terms means you are a drug kingpin and a convicted felon, carrying a gun that you used to further your drug trafficking. You are facing thirty years to life. More than likely, you’ll be denied bail and housed in the Federal Detention Center until you’re brought to trial. I’m sorry to say it, but your only hope of ever making it back on the streets is to cooperate with us,” Adam recommended.
“I don’t speak rat. My lawyer will challenge all allegations in court. Take me to jail. I ain’t got shit to say to y’all,” he barked.
“That’s okay too. But let me inform you of this, we’re nothing like the state. Our conviction rate is 98.9 percent. Fancy lawyers will just take your money and sell you out. They hold no weight. All it takes is word of mouth to get you convicted in front of a jury of upper-class residents. The only thing that matters over here is what you know—nothing else. By the way, whoever your friend was, let him know when you talk to him that when we find the car, we’ll have it dusted for prints, and he will be charged with eluding authorities and affecting interstate commerce. He caused a hell of a traffic jam on the Ben Franklin Bridge,” Adam added, making sure to throw in a good cover for Jihad.
Gus didn’t respond as he soaked in everything the fed said to him. He believed deep down inside that he would get different results than 98.9 percent of the people. He was relieved that Jihad escaped them. He would at least sleep comfortable knowing that he would protect his peoples with his life. As Gus was being transported to the Federal Detention Center, he reflected on the events that led up to him being grabbed by the feds. He wished he would’ve followed his gut instincts that something wasn’t right.
Meanwhile, Jihad had made his way to West Philly. He went through the motions of acting like he had escaped from getting caught by the feds, and he ditched the Lincoln in the back of an auto repair shop just as he’d been told. He had to make sure he did everything just in case someone was watching him. He jogged over a block before contacting Connie.
“What’s up, Jihad? What time are y’all coming home?”
“Connie, they got Gus! I can’t explain the shit over the phone, though. I need you to come pick me up right now. I’m on Fifty-third and Lancaster Avenue. Hurry up!” he shouted into the phone.
“Jihad . . . Wait a minute! What do you mean? Where is my son at? Where is my motherfuckin’ son at?” she snapped.
“The feds rained down on us! I don’t know if he locked up or what. I ain’t trying to talk over these phones. Come and pick me up.”
About ten minutes later, Jihad spotted the BMW pulling into the gas station. He ran across the street and jumped in the back. Connie and Trish hit him with a barrage of questions the second he sat down.
“What the fuck happened? Why he ain’t call nobody? What was y’all doing?” They both questioned him with frustration.
“Y’all got to calm down until we find out exactly what’s going on. We ain’t have shit on us. He just went over to Jersey to get some money. While he was inside, I peeped the feds blitzing the parking lot. I took them mafuckas on a chase the second I see them going into the building that Gus went into. We got to get out of West Philly ASAP before we run into Leaf and them,” he relayed with fear and paranoia. “With Gus being locked up, ain’t no telling what kind of shit Leaf might try to pull!” Jihad was really on the verge of losing his mind. He didn’t know what role he was playing at this point. He couldn’t tell if he was acting as an informant or if he was still acting as security. All of his lies and back-and-forth were catching up, and he was falling apart.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that snake motherfucker is somehow connected to this shit,” Connie spat before pulling off.
The Beginning of the Ending
Over in the Federal Detention Center, after being booked, processed, and medically cleared, Gus was placed on 5 north in 507 cell. It was after ten o’clock, so the block was already locked down. The officer working escorted him to the cell and secured him inside. Upon stepping in, he noticed that the majority of the floor was covered in prayer rugs, and there was a younger Muslim man engaging in prayer. Gus stood by the door and waited for him to finish. After completing the prayer, he stood up and introduced himself to the new cellmate.
“Assalamu alaikum. My name is Kalid. Are you Muslim?”
“I used to read up, but I was into too much shit out there to practice. My name’s Gus. I had a long day. I’m just trying to climb in the bunk and get some rest.”
“Gus, you from West Philly? I heard about you.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Why? What’s up?” he asked in defense.
“No, brother, it ain’t like that. I just heard you was out there doing your thing. But anyway, if you need anything, feel free to go in my locker. I keep it stocked up. All I ask is that when you urinate, sit down or take a knee. Go ahead and get you some rest. I’ll holla at you in the morning.”
Gus made his bed up and climbed in. His night was restless as he tossed and turned, trying to figure out what went wrong and how he landed in the feds. His stress and worries were at an all-time high. The only people that knew he was on his way to New Jersey were Black and Jihad. He couldn’t figure out how the feds knew to find him in that apartment. Shit just wasn’t adding up. There had to be a rat somewhere in all of this mess.
Unknown to him, the feds had rats everywhere. They had arranged for him to be housed on that unit, and even that very cell. Kalid was one of the biggest rats in the jail. The feds counted on him to make Gus feel comfortable and open up to him. From there, he could either be persuaded t
o cooperate or reveal crucial information about his case and other criminal activities. The information would be turned over to the feds, who would surely find a way to put it to use.
Back over at Gus’s house, the three sat on the couch tuned into the eleven o’clock news. Before the story aired, they showed Gus’s mug shot picture, and then the news camera caught the actual shot of him being tossed into the back of the van.
“This is Shelly Walters, and we’re live at the Cherry Hill Manor Apartments. Just hours ago, FBI agents raided an apartment believed to be owned by Gus Santana. When they entered the unit, they discovered a duffle bag filled with close to two million dollars right out in clear view. After doing a sweep of the apartment, we were informed by an inside source that they found the suspect with his pants down, literally. Apparently, he was using the bathroom facilities during the time of the raid. He was arrested without further incident. When authorities noticed the car the suspect arrived in pulling off into traffic, they realized the suspect wasn’t alone and gave pursuit. Allegedly, the suspect drove so recklessly during rush-hour traffic that they had no choice but to suspend the chase. Anyone with information leading to the arrest and conviction of this individual is urged to call FBI headquarters at (215) 555-9991. That number again is (215) 555-9991. A source close to the investigation says that Gustavo Santana is facing a host of serious charges, ranging from drug trafficking to conspiracy and weapons offenses. We’re told that more charges are expected to follow. Again, this is Shelly Walters, reporting to you live. Channel Seven, Action News will keep you posted on any new developments.”
The news report sent chills through the occupants of the household. They all sat quietly, deep in their own thoughts. The way the news detailed the charges, and possibly more to follow, was overwhelming for the ladies. Connie continued to blame Leaf for her son’s situation, while Trish just rocked back and forth, silently processing everything. She had this distant look in her eyes, like she was physically there, but her mind was a million miles away. The scene was too emotional for Jihad to bear. He got up and went to pour himself a drink. He had temporarily forgotten that he was the cause of all this. His heart was racing, and he couldn’t make full sense out of things at this point.
They weren’t the only ones tuned into the news that night. Sha’Ron and Consuela were viewers as well. Sha’Ron had his own conclusions of why Gus was faced with trials and tribulations.
“Shit happens for a reason, Mom. Maybe it’s for the best that Gus got locked up because the way Leaf been popping off, I’m surprised they ain’t have a shoot-out yet. I still can’t believe the way Leaf came at me like we wasn’t brothers. I’m telling you, Ma, he was tripping,” Sha’Ron reiterated to his mother for the second time. He had told her about the last conversation he’d had with Leaf and how Leaf seemed determined to start his own thing separate from what they had all built together. Sha’Ron still didn’t understand why his brother was so hell-bent on breaking up the family.
“If Gus didn’t get locked up, he would have most likely killed Leaf, putting me in a fucked-up position to have to avenge my brother’s death. They both my blood, but Leaf is my brother. He a wild nigga and don’t use his head half the time, but he still my brother. I bet Connie think that Leaf got something to do with this arrest too.”
“Yeah, knowing my sister, she’s probably thinking that Leaf snitched so he could get Gus out of the way so he can take over.” Consuela put in her two cents.
“I don’t know, Mom. All of this is getting out of hand, if you ask me. I’m still pretty mad at Leaf, but I’m gonna be the bigger person in this. I think it’s time that I step in between this mess and try to resolve it before Gus come back home and somebody gets hurt or killed for real,” Sha’Ron said, standing to his feet.
“You right, baby. I need to go pay Connie a visit and get to the bottom of all this. I’m going to see what I can do to help Gus out and try to ease the tension at the same time. Be careful, baby.”
“I’m good, Mom. I’m just trying to move on from this shit and put it behind us. I’ma call one of Leaf’s close female friends and see if I can get a message over to him. He still ain’t given me his new number.”
* * *
For the first time in years, Black’s hesitation and greed had placed him in a very uncomfortable position. After he watched the news and became aware of Gus’s situation, he wished that he would have killed the niggas when they were in his home earlier that day, as he was supposed to. Now, he stressed about whether Gus would rat him out to save his own ass. Sure, Gus had passed the test down in Brazil, but he hadn’t been caught carrying a bag with $2 million in it. Black was worried about what Gus would and wouldn’t do. He’d been in their system once and witnessed how they managed to break the best of them. A serious chess match lay before him, but there was one person who he personally blamed for initiating this whole mess. He would be eliminated before the game even started. Picking up his Nextel phone, he chirped one of his most respected henchmen. Seconds later, a deep voice came over the airwaves.
“Yo, how can I be of service?” asked Colt.
“The situation we discussed the other day needs to be attended to ASAP!”
“I’m right on top of it, homie. Say no more,” Colt responded excitedly.
Reconcile Differences
Later on that night while Sha’Ron was in the house watching a movie, the call he had placed to Nicki, Leaf’s friend, was returned. She informed him that she had talked to Leaf a few minutes ago, and she told Sha’Ron that he was down at Freeze’s. Sha’Ron planned on telling his brother that he needs to tell his girls not to give up his whereabouts to just anyone that calls. If he had been an enemy, she would’ve just given them the perfect setup to get his brother killed. When he called her, he hadn’t told her who he was, so it was pretty stupid of her to call him back and give him all of that information without hesitation. That could have been dangerous had it been someone else. Sha’Ron turned off the television, and then headed down to the bar.
When he arrived, he spotted Leaf in the back appearing disoriented. He was seated next to some skeezer who was making facial expressions, as if she was engaged in some sort of sexual encounter. Walking closer to his table, he discovered why she was making those faces, and why his brother appeared the way he did. There was an empty bottle of syrup on the table and several shots of liquor. Leaf’s hand was under the skeezer’s dress, moving back and forth. When he spotted Sha’Ron, he took his hand from under her dress and placed it under his coat.
“What’s up, nigga? You thought I was going to let you creep up on me? I stay strapped,” he reminded his little brother while revealing the handle of his gun. His voice was slurred, and his eyes were barely open.
“I ain’t come here for all that bullshit, Leaf. C’mon, drop the shit. You’re my brother. Listen, shit done got hectic. Gus got gripped up by them alphabet boys, and shit ain’t looking good for him.”
“And? What the fuck that got to do with me? Fuck that nigga,” Leaf responded as he picked up his cup of liquor and took a deep gulp.
“Excuse me, sweetheart. Let me holla at this nigga in privacy real quick,” he requested from his female companion. After she got up and excused herself from the table, they continued where they left off.
“Leaf, that shit could affect all of us. At one time, we were all eating off the same table.”
Leaf’s head suddenly fell down to his chest, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“Leaf, wake up! I got to take you home, nigga.” Leaf was so twisted, he nodded off in the middle of the conversation. Sha’Ron tried to shake him awake to no avail. He was comatose. The little skeezer walked back over after noticing what was going on. Sha’Ron figured he’d put her to good use, so he grabbed Leaf’s car keys off the table and gave her instructions.
“Listen, sweetheart, I need you to go out front and get Leaf’s truck, then pull it up out back. You think you can handle that?” he asked before ha
nding her the keys.
“Of course I can handle that. I’m a rider, boo,” she claimed while taking the keys. Sha’Ron, with the assistance of a mutual associate, carried Leaf out back and placed him in the passenger seat of the truck. The skeezer got the wrong impression, thinking she would be trusted to care for his brother in that condition. He quickly dismissed her.
“All right, thank you, but I got it from here. I’ma take him home and make sure he good. I’ll let him know you helped out. Matter of fact, take this couple of dollars.” He gave her a few fifties before climbing in and pulling off. Along the way, he called Nicki to inform her of the situation.
“Nicki, it’s Sha’Ron.” This time making sure she knew who she was talking to. “I need you to come downstairs and open the front door. The nigga Leaf is wasted. You’ve got to help me bring him inside. I be there in like five minutes.”
“All right, Sha’Ron, let me slide something on. That boy get on my nerves with that high shit,” she spat before disconnecting the call. Sha’Ron was so busy worrying about his brother, he never took notice of the car following him at a close distance.
A few minutes later, he was pulling up in front of Overbrook Park Apartments. Nicki came out, shortly afterward. Together, they assisted Leaf inside by supporting his arms over their shoulders. It took them five minutes to get him into the apartment. After laying him on the couch, Nicki started to pat his face down with a rag and cold water. Once Leaf responded to the water being placed on his face, Sha’Ron was certain that he was going to be okay. Before leaving, he asked Nicki to give Leaf a message once he snapped out of his high.
“Tell him I love him, and we got to move on from the dumb shit. We all brothers. I got to get back down Freeze’s to get my car, and I’ma see if I can get somebody to drive his truck back up here. Keep looking after this crazy nigga. Thanks for holding him down. If you need me, give me a call.”
