Within minutes of arriving at JoJo’s house, Tyrus felt a strange chill. He couldn’t help but stare at the family pictures, school awards that hung on the wall, and the overall warm, homelike atmosphere he constantly yearned for growing up. He saw pictures of JoJo’s father, the man he had seen get killed right in front of his eyes. As much as he was enjoying the warm atmosphere, seeing that man’s picture killed his vibe, and it quickly reminded him why he was there in the first place.
“JoJo! Where you at, man?” he yelled out.
“I’m in my room. Second door down the hall.”
Finally going inside of JoJo’s bedroom, Tyrus saw the several big Baggies full of different-colored Ecstasy pills. JoJo gave him a brief explanation of how he came across the drugs and asked Tyrus to give him a crash course in pricing and selling the pills. Tyrus broke everything down to him and reassured JoJo that, no doubt, at twenty dollars a pop they were about to make some quick cash, even if they split the proceeds straight down the middle.
After carefully counting each pill one by one, the newly formed partners in crime determined they had over $40,000 in clear, 100 percent profit on JoJo’s desk that was staring them dead in their faces.
“Forty thousand dollars. I can’t believe it.” JoJo shook his head at the value of what the evil, smart-mouth relative of Byron’s had given him. If she only knew what I’m sitting on thanks to her!
“Yeah, JoJo, that’s twenty stacks apiece, right? We gonna be partners in this, right?” Tyrus chimed in, making sure the cut was going to be fifty-fifty even though his first mind wanted him to snatch it all and run out the front door. However, twenty flat was more than good with him, especially considering he hadn’t invested a dime.
After that was agreed, the only thing the two had to do was to organize their game plan and get to work on moving the pills as soon as possible. Knowing absolutely nothing about drugs or the world from which they came, JoJo relied solely on Tyrus, who was about that life. Dawn Jackson’s son would use his street expertise to figure out the pros, cons, and logistics of them successfully converting bags of tiny pills into cold, hard revenue without getting shot, robbed, arrested or, even worse, killed.
“JoJo, let me ask you something.”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Why’d you come to me with all this shit? You ain’t never said a word to me whenever you see me, and I know your mom hates me and my moms. So why are you bringing me on?”
“To be honest, man, I’m not sure myself. I know my mom hates you, and I can’t front; what happened with your mom was messed up. But that shit had nothing to do with us. I decided a long time ago I ain’t have no problems with you,” JoJo explained. “And, besides, I figure you and I would make the best partners because nobody would ever think you and I are a team. Everybody in town automatically has you and me as enemies because of our moms, so it’s the perfect way for us to stay under the radar!”
“Damn, JoJo, I hadn’t even thought about it like that.”
“Yup. So let’s ride this out until the motherfucking wheels fall off, partner!” JoJo extended his hand toward Tyrus.
“Let’s do this shit,” Tyrus said as he shook his new partner’s hand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Over the next month and a half, life for both teenagers changed at a rapid pace. They had quickly established a long and loyal customer base, which gave them a heavy cash flow. They went from poor and struggling to ghetto superstars quick. From day one—when Tyrus received a 911 call on his cell and set out to sling the first four pills of his share of the product to Tim-Tim and his boy, who were having a party with a couple of females, who soon also became customers themselves—each young man proved how differently they were raised and what was most important to them in their small corner of the world.
JoJo quickly got caught up in the money. He had promised himself he wasn’t going to be like the rest of the dope hustlers and spend it on clothes and jewelry, but once his pockets started getting heavy, he couldn’t wait to spend some of it. Trips to the mall for expensive outfits for his little sister were at the top of the list for JoJo, as well as a new Android and a solid gold chain with a huge diamond-encrusted cross for himself. Never having owned a pair of the latest Jordans, especially since he knew full well his mother could never afford such an extravagance on her meager salary, JoJo purchased three pairs the first chance he got. He just had to get brand-new outfits to go with each pair. Treating himself to fitted caps, a brand-new PlayStation along with every game he desired, and a pair of iced-out Cartier glasses, JoJo felt like a miniature kingpin. The once-wise kid, who now owned three designer watches, was spending money like it was going out of style.
“Yeah, let me get two pairs of those Balmain jeans in a thirty-four and them Hollister T-shirts. Let me get one in every color you got,” JoJo instructed the salesman in the upscale store usually reserved for ballers.
“Yes, sir, not a problem.” Although the salesman was old enough to be JoJo’s father, he respected the ridiculous amount of money the teenager always spent at his store. There was no doubt in his mind that it was dope money the youth was throwing around, but oh well. His job was to move merchandise, not judge. After all, most of his clientele did something illegal for a living to afford what he was pushing.
Buying his sister every dress she wanted, and even her own clarinet, JoJo felt like a big man. He, of course, hooked Yanna up with lavish gifts, including money for a down payment on a new leased vehicle. The way his and Tyrus’s unlawful product was moving, they’d be out soon, and with no available connect or any leads on getting any more, JoJo still felt he owed his mother some sort of temporary happiness. Though she’d not once questioned him on his out-of-the-blue windfall of finances, JoJo knew she had to know that his newly gained wealth wasn’t the result of doing yard work.
When he came home riding a brand-new moped, she said nothing. When he got his ear pierced and started rocking a half-carat diamond stud, she stood mute. And even when JoJo showed up late one night having just gotten a huge cross with RIP and his father’s name tattooed on his upper arm, Yanna didn’t bat an eye. It was as if it were business as usual.
With the burden of being a grown man before he was truly ready, JoJo missed out on being a young boy: watching television, climbing trees, and hanging out with kids his own age. No sooner than his father’s corpse had been lowered into the ground and the first pile of dirt was thrown on top had Yanna pressured him to fill the painful void in her miserable life. Every penny he’d make, every dime he found, and every free minute he had JoJo would spend in an effort to make his often-depressed mother happy once again. For that he would give almost anything, and selling Ecstasy pills was making that more possible. Even the risk of getting arrested didn’t persuade him to stop.
Meanwhile, Yanna did manage to get another job after being laid off, but she unluckily lost that part-time gig after barely receiving her first minimum-wage paycheck. However, she didn’t worry as much as she did the first time she got laid off, because she knew her son would certainly look out for the family. Matter of fact, she was counting on it.
JoJo was far from stupid, and he figured that this was why his once-strict mother neglectfully chose to disregard his obvious change in behavior and personal appearance. Once school had resumed, Yanna even took money from her son to let him sleep in and cut class for the day without having to hear her nagging. Anyone who paid attention knew JoJo’s change in demeanor and his negative attitude toward school could point to only one conclusion: JoJo was now a true Detroit hood hustler.
As an unemployed single mother of two, Yanna needed the money for past-due bills. Not to mention that, for the first time since her husband’s murder, the mentally anguished mom could now sit back and kick her feet up. Growing up in a huge family that was overly packed full of criminals, including backsliders, alcoholics, crackheads, murders, and other relatives who committed all types of mayhem, Yanna knew the dangers and risks that came with liv
ing the street life; but she chose to look the other way because she was really enjoying this new financial freedom. Despite having seen the ugly side of the so-called game by attending several family members’ funerals, as well as making her fair share of trips to visit her kin in prisons scattered all across Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio, she was happy with their new lifestyle and didn’t want to have to say good-bye to it.
Yanna herself had sadly fallen prey and was caught up enjoying fast money, ignoring the tangled strings that were always attached to it. It’s true what is always said: money does change people. As Yanna, once simpleminded and easy to please, started dressing good, driving good, and eating good, how JoJo was making that happen was no more than an afterthought. Yanna was content allowing her son to take a chance with his life and freedom for her own selfish pleasures.
* * *
“Hey, JoJo, wake up. I need for you to get up and give me a few dollars. I’ve got some things I need to take care of, and I’m short.”
With Yanna standing at his bedside, JoJo wished he were dreaming. He had been out late and wanted to get some much-needed rest. Acting as if he were ignoring what she’d asked, he turned over on his other side. With his face now at the wall JoJo hoped his mother would go away. Seconds later, when he heard the annoying sounds of her voice, he knew he wasn’t that lucky. Yanna was not in the mood to be ignored.
“Dang, Ma, I’m sleeping.”
“So damn what you sleeping? Get your punk ass up and give me a few dollars like I asked. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
Even though JoJo loved all the nice, extravagant things he was able to bless himself and his family with, he was fed up with the crazy change in his mother’s disposition. Once meek and hell-bent on doing the right thing no matter how hard it was, she now was on the nut, out for whatever was good at the moment. It was like she was the child and he was the adult.
Turning back over, JoJo reached down on the floor to get his jeans. Yanna watched him pull out a small knot in his front pocket. Peeling off a few twenties, the exhausted son just gave up any hope of sleep when his mother started cursing him out about being stingy with the drug money she allowed him to make while living underneath her roof. He wanted to ask her why she was tripping on his hustle and why she didn’t just get a job and get her own bread, but he knew that conversation would only hype Yanna up more. Instead, JoJo tossed the cash on his dresser and told his greedy mom to take what she wanted.
* * *
Tyrus Jackson, Dawn’s boy, however, was a horse of a much different color. While most would think he’d easily outshine JoJo when it came to letting go of the almighty dollar, Tyrus held on to it tightly. He behaved as if he’d lived through the Great Depression. Being a child of a crackhead, Tyrus knew that all good things come to an end. He understood the game and that their Ecstasy hustling run would ultimately be no different. Despite being labeled street savvy and surrounding himself with plenty of dime-piece females, Tyrus honestly didn’t mind playing the background when it came to his and JoJo’s venture. He was about the money and what it could do, not the fame. He was used to being invisible to most, and he wanted it to remain that way.
Wearing the same three pairs of pants he owned day in and day out was second nature to the only seed of a narcotic-addicted single parent. Tragically, Tyrus grew up having nothing to call his own, not even his mother’s love, which ultimately belonged to the unfeeling streets of Detroit and whatever man could afford her cheap services. So now that he had come into some money, he wanted to be smart with it and not spend it on material things.
His number one priority was to take some of his money and get his mom off of the streets and into a rehabilitation facility. Tyrus had been trying persistently to get his mother off the streets for a while, but he couldn’t afford to get her the proper treatment to keep her clean. Now that he had the money, he was willing to pay whatever it would cost to get her clean. The biggest obstacle was how he was going to convince his mother to agree to it. The heavily crack-addicted Dawn Jackson was having no part of it whenever he would try to talk to her about it.
Tyrus was so desperate to see his mother get clean that secretly at night, when he was sure no one was watching, wherever he was blessed enough to lay his head down, Tyrus would drop to his knees, lower his head, and pray to God to deliver his mother back to her right state of mind. Dang, I’m tired of her being messed up and people dogging me about the foolishness she does. God, please help my mother be a better person.
Sure, prior to the death of Joseph Sr., Dawn Jackson was considered the neighborhood tramp by most; but, in Tyrus’s eyes, that insulting title was miles behind the one his mother held claim to now: a grimy, dirty crackhead who would do anything for a dollar. If there was one good thing that came out of Tyrus’s ongoing tormented ordeal of being his mother’s bastard son, it was that the life he lived had made him stronger. Now, in his opinion, everything was about to start paying off. If he just kept stacking his bread, he was gonna do what he had to do to get his mom clean, then go to school and make something of himself. Tyrus was focused and determined to be a success story.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Hey, guy, everything seems like it’s moving good, don’t it?” Tyrus counted out his share of the day’s profit. Smiling from ear to ear he stuffed the tiny knot of mostly twenties and tens deep down in his pocket for safe keeping until he got to the place he called home to put it in his ever-growing stash.
“Yeah, you’re right.” JoJo rubbed the side of his face in the mirror over his dresser. Eagerly checking to see if the beard he had started growing was getting any thicker, he smiled.
Tyrus handed him his share of the cash, and the two made their way toward the front door.
“I’m about to grab something to eat, hit the mall, and then go to the movies with my girl,” JoJo bragged, counting his money before putting it in his pocket. “You wanna go hang or what? I can have her bring her homegirl.”
“Naw, not me. I’m on my way in for the night.” Tyrus shook his head as he walked onto the front porch of Yanna’s house, where he was now regularly welcomed with open arms.
Greed along with selfishness was now the head of Yanna’s twisted household. And if her dead husband’s mistress’s bastard son had anything to do with her new carefree lifestyle, then so be it. Tyrus Jackson would always have an open-door policy with her. Caught up in “getting hers,” Yanna still tried avoiding as much contact with Tyrus as possible. But to keep the money flowing, she’d roll with the punches, letting bygones be bygones.
Yanna felt she’d paid her debt in full to the world in the way of her husband being suddenly and cruelly snatched out of her and her children’s lives. So, if any of her holier-than-thou neighbors, like old Mr. Sims, or her nosey Auntie Grace had some smart remarks or opinions about how she was now raising Jania or JoJo, then they could just kick rocks as far as she was concerned. This was her life, and these were her kids, and she made that much perfectly clear whenever her parenting skills would come into question.
“Dang, Tyrus, you don’t ever go out and have a good time, do you?” JoJo took his brush out of his back pocket.
“Yeah, man, but right about now I’m on a serious mission. I got real thangs to do and real moves to make. You feel me? This shit we doing ain’t gonna keep us living good.”
“I understand all that, guy, but honestly we’s making nice money now.” JoJo pulled back out the small knot of money he intended on blowing on clothes and females later. “So why won’t you buy yourself a couple of outfits and maybe some new sneakers?” He brushed his waves repeatedly waiting for his friend’s reply.
“All that high-priced bullshit just ain’t for me right now. Maybe the bootleg versions, but not that official shit you be rocking. I’m tight on all that. Besides, every well runs dry and, if you haven’t realized yet, we’re starting to run low.” Tyrus’s mind thought about the small amount of pills they had left in the stash, and he swiftly figured out how mu
ch money they would translate to. “And, for real, it’s not like we gonna re-up on the bullshit.”
“Whatever, that’s all good, but it still don’t explain why you don’t ever go out to the restaurant with me and eat good. In the past six or seven weeks, when I think about it, all I’ve ever seen you eat, outside of the meals my old girl might cook if she’s at home, is Campbell’s soup, Vienna sausage, ramen noodles, and Spam. Now, what’s up on that? Dang, I know you got dough! Why you ain’t spending that shit?”
“Listen, fam,” Tyrus said to JoJo, “let me do me, and you do you, okay? I already done told you before, I’m on a serious mission, so let’s just leave it like that.”
JoJo let his curiosity of the past finally get the best of him. Ever since the afternoon he and Tyrus decided to go into this pill-selling venture, he’d avoided the other painful link they shared from years ago. But, at this moment, something strange came over JoJo, and he could no longer resist the temptation of bringing up the issue that drastically changed his and his family’s lives.
“Dawg, before you go, let me holler at you about something else.” He placed his hand on Tyrus’s shoulder, letting him know it was all good. “I’ve wanted to ask you this for a nice while but, real rap, I don’t really know if I want to hear the answer.”
Both sitting down on the front stairs, Tyrus braced himself also for the inevitable conversation he’d dreaded having with his newfound friend, about the night Joseph Sr. was shot in cold blood in his mother’s living room. “I already think I know what it is.” Tyrus lowered his head, hesitating to speak out of turn and hoping to just let sleeping dogs lie. “But go ahead and ask just so I’ll know we’re on the same page. It ain’t no thang.”
“Well, it’s about my father,” JoJo said, confirming exactly what Tyrus speculated the topic would be. “I know it’s been years, but I need to know what happened that night. You know, the night my pops got killed. My mother cries almost every time somebody brings up that evening, so it ain’t no way I can go and ask her. You feel me? I been out here twisting in the wind on the shit. I want, naw, I need to know. You understand?”
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