by Styles, T.
Despite his endeavors to stay clean, Jeff’s interest level rose. “Fishscale? Word, son?”
Bless nodded, and then he went on to explain how Lion just came home and was on him about that quarter mil he owed him. He told Jeff he just needed him to help him get that shit off and assured him that it would be worth his while.
Jeff listened to Bless and knew the dilemma he faced was deadly. He solemnly gave him his word that he would do what he could. He knew a few people. If that shit was as good as Bless claimed, it shouldn’t be hard to get rid of.
Back in the bedroom, Jill was on the telephone with her best friend, Taj, who was also Bless’s former sweetheart. Taj told her she was absolutely right. She said Bless only came around when he was up to no good. She told Jill that Bless was a greasy-ass, no-good nigga. That was the reason she had stopped fucking with him.
Jill knew what a good dude Jeff was, so she hoped he didn’t let Bless talk a hole in his head. They were finally on the right track, and he was trying to throw them off. The devil was a liar. They were engaged to be married, and their baby was due in just two months. She thought about going out there and asking Bless to leave, but she knew Jeff wouldn’t go for that. He and Bless were like brothers.
Jeff called out of work that day, and he and Bless broke three of the kilos down into 62.5-gram and 125-gram packages, which were referred to in the dope game as “sixteenths” and “big eighths” respectively.
Jeff was a man of his word. He made a few calls, and lo and behold, they got rid of damn near three kilos that day. The next day, they made some more calls and got rid of one and a half more.
By that time, the cash they had accumulated amounted to well over three hundred thousand dollars. Bless took a quarter million out and took it straight to Lion. He got his car back, and they parted as friends—at least that’s what he thought. Bless split the remaining money with Jeff, and they agreed to slow roll the last of the work. If they cut it a little more, broke it down, and sold less weight, they could make more off it.
Lion was glad to get his money back, but Bless’ fate was sealed a long time ago. That nigga was already dead before he touched ground. Bless shot himself in the head when he crossed him. He only left him breathing that long to get back his bread.
Coincidently, he had a friend who he’d learned took a hit for seven kilos of Fishscale just days before. That nigga Bless was dead broke the other day, and then all of a sudden he shows up at his door with $250,000 cash. Lion’s intuition told him that little nigga was involved in that heist somehow. It didn’t take rocket science to figure that out.
Lion got his money back, so he no longer had any use for Bless. He took the liberty of making a call to his young associate, Butch—who had taken the hit—and dropped Bless’s name. That would eliminate that petty nigga Bless, and also be payback to Butch, who had such respect for Lion’s legend he had thrown him a half a kilo on GP so he could get right.
Lion laughed out loud about Bless’s inevitable death. He wanted to kill that little nigga himself, but he knew Butch would handle it. And whether or not Bless was involved didn’t even matter. He had it coming. If Butch murdered him, that would be less dirty work for him.
When Butch got the call he thanked Lion for the heads up. He didn’t express it right then, but he was quietly enraged. After he hung up the phone, he commissioned his top two men to get out there and get that nigga Bless.
His lieutenants Phil and Loco didn’t have to be told twice. They headed out with their guns to find answers. The streets talked pretty loud, especially with a little “persuasion.” By sundown they had the complete names and addresses of Brian “Bless” Piedmont and his partner in crime, Jeffrey “Jeff ” Staton.
Lucky for Bless, no one was at his crib when they went over there. His mom and sister were at an evening service at church, and he was out on a date with Tasheema. The goons agreed to return at a later hour, and then headed over to Jeff’s crib. No one was there either, so they decided to find them niggas in the morning.
They would roll on those fools in broad daylight. That was nothing to them. Loco and Phil were both coldblooded, and neither was wrapped too tight. They loved leaving witnesses anyway.
The next day, Jeff was getting dressed to go out and meet his fiancée for lunch. He’d been so busy trying to help Bless get that shit off; he hadn’t been around much the past couple of days. But he felt good because he had helped his nigga Bless raise the money to get Lion off his case. In the process, he had raised enough bread to follow his own dreams. Now he was going to start his own business instead of going to work for the white man. He felt pretty good about the nest egg he had. He couldn’t wait to share the news with Jill.
Jeff felt like he was on top of the world. His swag was at a thousand. He took another look at himself in the mirror. He had to admit the color of the sky blue Polo shirt his wifey bought him worked for him. Satisfied with his reflection, he went in his bedroom to grab a brand new fitted cap that matched.
He was just about to leave the crib when the doorbell rang. Jeff went to the door and looked out the peephole. He saw a man in a brown uniform who looked like he was from UPS. He asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s UPS. You got a package,” a polite male voice responded. Jeff didn’t think twice. Jill was always up late watching infomercials and ordering stuff. They received quite a few packages lately. UPS came there on a regular, so without a second thought, Jeff unlocked the door.
The uniformed man had his brown cap pulled down over his eyes. He nodded and pointed to a large box sitting on the floor beside him, then handed Jeff a clipboard. Jeff took it and got ready to sign for the package, but he noticed three things. One, there was another dude waiting on the side. Two, the dude who rang the bell had passed him a clipboard instead of the electronic doohickey they usually had him sign for a package. And three, there was no yellow UPS logo stitched in either of the men’s shirt pockets. Jeff’s animal instinct kicked in, and he sensed trouble. He was from the streets, so he knew what it was. It looked like that day the Grim Reaper had come knocking.
Without a word, he tossed the clipboard in the dude’s face and quickly stepped back inside his crib. He tried to slam the door real fast, but the nigga stuck his foot in the doorway. Before Jeff knew it, there was a nickel-plated .45 pointed in his face.
Jeff was no idiot. He knew he didn’t have it. He was unarmed, so he surrendered. He wondered what that was about, but deep in his heart he knew what those niggas wanted. He didn’t want them in his crib, so he followed them as instructed.
The men weren’t inexperienced, but they weren’t professionals either, so they didn’t exactly have a plan. They had just been ordered by their boss to get his shit back, so they winged it. At gunpoint, they forced Jeff up to the roof so they could demand some answers.
As they climbed the stairs to the roof, Jeff thought about Bless. It was obvious the nigga had been pulling his leg. He didn’t believe he would lie like that, but he knew that unwelcomed visit somehow pertained to that work Bless “found.” Jeff was no rat. Regardless of the circumstances, he wouldn’t give up his homie for nothing. He didn’t know anything anyway, so there was nothing for him to tell.
The dudes kept demanding the money, the coke, or Bless’s whereabouts. They were violent and callous in their attempt to retrieve answers, but Jeff wouldn’t say a word. He couldn’t just throw his peoples to the wolves. Even in the face of death, he was loyal.
Their patience wore thin. Unhappy about his obvious lack of willingness to cooperate, they aspired to motivate him. Together, they picked him up and attempted to hang him off the side of the roof.
Jeff fought back as much as he could, but the gruesome twosome managed to get him off his feet. Before he knew it, he was dangling from the roof headfirst. They held him by his legs and tossed him around, hurling threats and obscenities at him.
Jeff wasn’t fronting like he was no guerilla. Staring down at that concrete from atop a twelve-st
ory tenement, he was scared as shit. He even considered telling them what he knew. But he knew those bastards were still going to kill him, whether he gave Bless up or not. They had taken it too far already.
As he hung there suspended in midair, his life flashed before him. Jeff thought about his family and realized how precious they were to him—his children, his pregnant girl, and his mother. He hadn’t anticipated leaving them all so soon, but he prayed they would be okay. Despite his heart pounding in his chest, Jeff told himself he would not fear death.
His assailants brought him back up and said they were giving him one more opportunity to disclose the pertinent information they sought. Again, he told them he knew nothing. From the looks on their faces, Jeff knew his number was up. In a desperate attempt to break free, he kicked one of those bastards in the nuts and then tried to shake the other dude.
After a brief struggle, Jeff found himself hanging headfirst off the side of the building, again. He knew he was done, but he was determined not to go alone. He reached up and grabbed at the taller dude’s shirttail. He wanted to pull that nigga down to his death alongside him.
The nigga saw what Jeff was trying to do, so he snarled, “Nigga, fuck you!” He pulled out his gun and shot him in the face. Jeff ate that bullet and held on for dear life, but he lost his grip. The goons laughed coldly and mercilessly dropped him on his head.
Meanwhile, Jill was in a cab on the way home. She was worried because she had called Jeff’s cell phone and their house several times to find out why he hadn’t arrived yet. They were supposed to meet downtown at her favorite restaurant, BBQ’s. She’d been calling him back to back while she was in the cab, but still no answer.
When Jill pulled up in front of their building, she saw a crowd out there. There were police cars and paramedics everywhere. She wondered what happened, praying it wasn’t anyone she knew. Scared, she paid her driver and got out of the cab. As she made her way through the crowd, she heard one of the nosy neighbors telling another one what happened.
“Yo, somebody threw that nigga off the roof! I seen when his body hit the ground. His fuckin’ head just cracked like a real melon!”
Jill’s stomach did a flip-flop. Someone had fallen from the roof! And they were still lying there on the ground. There were two men who looked like detectives standing over the body discussing something. Just before they pulled the white sheet back, Jill got close enough to get a good glimpse.
The person was bleeding profusely from the head. She didn’t recognize the face because it was so swollen it was disfigured, but she saw the shirt the man was wearing. It was a sky blue Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, now splattered with blood. Minus the bloodstains, it was the same shirt she bought for Jeff the other day. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was indescribable. It was him.
Jill was so stricken with grief she was oblivious to the crowd from that point on. She elbowed her way through and tried to get to the body, but she was stopped dead in her tracks by the detectives. She tried to tell them that that was her fiancé and her child’s father, but they quickly ushered her to the side. Jeff’s body was placed in an ambulance and whisked away. Jill stood there powerless, watching the love of her life disappear forever. Tears streamed down her face. She was heartbroken.
About twenty minutes later, a hysterical Jill called Bless and “thanked” him for getting her fiancé killed. She told him she knew he had something to do with it, and said she wished he would burn in hell.
When Bless got the news, he was completely distraught. He felt horrible. Damn, Jeff was his main man. He regretted getting him involved. He would never forgive himself for that one. To save his self, he had literally thrown Jeff under a bus. His heart was heavy about it, but he had to get out of there.
Bless was no idiot. He knew he was next. He should’ve been dead before Jeff. That was his work. He had only dodged the bullet because he wasn’t around. He took Tasheema to Atlantic City the day before.
He didn’t even bother to go home and pack. Bless hopped in his car and headed for the Holland Tunnel. He knew he was making a cowardly exit, but he didn’t look back. He had created a pretty hostile environment, so it was time to relocate.
A week later, Taj sat with her arm around Jill’s shoulder, comforting her pregnant best friend at her time of loss. There was a woman standing at the front of the church in the middle of a tear-jerking solo. She was singing “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” and Jill was crying uncontrollably. Taj’s heart went out to her. Jill’s fiancé, Jeff, was in an ivory marble coffin a few feet in front of them, and poor Jill was eight months pregnant with their first child. She was having a boy.
Jill wasn’t the only one in there crying. She was Jeff’s third baby mother. The other two sat on the pew behind her. She and Taj sat on the front pew with Jeff’s mother, grandmother, and two aunts. The church was pretty big, and it was packed. Jeff was a well-loved dude. There were so many flowers in there; it looked like a floral shop.
But something just wasn’t right. Taj had a funny feeling. She kept on glancing around the church nervously. Her left eye was jumping. That meant something was going to happen. Taj was a little superstitious because she was raised by her superstitious, Southern grandmother.
Some folks in the South believed that your left eye jumping meant bad luck, and the right eye jumping was an indication of good luck. Taj tried to be easy and relax, but her gut told her that something was going to go down.
After the soloist was done, the preacher stood up at the front. Reverend Bixby followed that heartfelt solo with a sermon full of fervor. Midway through, he had half of the congregation in tears and the other half up on their feet, shouting. The reverend continued preaching and telling it like it was.
“Here lies a good man! He was a good son! A father of two, with another one on the way . . . and he will be missed. Can I get a amen? Well, now! God wanted him home. I say, God wanted this young brother home. It wasn’t his time, but God knows best. Jesus! I pray for the killing to stop. It’s just so senseless. Li’l children growing up with no daddies, and mothers losing their sons—it don’t make no kind of sense! Lord knows, sometimes we just don’t understand. God, we need you! I say, Lord, we praise you! We trust that you will make a way! Out of no way! You did it for Job! And I know you’ll do it for us! I know you will!”
He removed a navy blue silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and wiped the sweat from his brow and continued.
“I heard a lot of people stand up and say how good this man was! He helped a lot of people and touched a lot of lives! See, God judge us by the things we do. He say, ‘Let the works I’ve done speak for me-e.’ So, to the family, I say don’t worry! You see, it’s all right. . . . Don’t you weep no mo’! Lord, don’t you mourn. Let not your hearts be troubled, ’cause Brother Jeff done gone on to another place! A better place! A place where the thunder don’t roll and the rain don’t pour. Good God almighty! Where troubled winds no longer blow! Glory hallelujah! I’m talkin’ ’bout heaven, y’all. Do you wanna go? I say, do you wanna go? ’Cause I wanna go. And if you get there before me . . . when you get there . . . tell my mother . . . and tell my father . . . that one day . . . I’m comin’ home! I said I’m comin’ home! Glory be to God! Hallelujah!”
Jeff’s mother threw up her hands in the air and cried out, “Rejoice! Hallelujah! Praise God! Rejoice!” Two of the church ushers dressed in white stood over her and fanned her.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud. The church doors flew open and a crew of thugs entered menacingly with big guns drawn. They were all dressed in black with matching black boots, hats, and ratchets. At the sight of the intimidating crew, parishioners began to panic and look for a way out. Everyone knew that there were slim chances of a happy ending in this situation. That posse’s intent was clear. They meant business. It looked like they came to kill.
They walked down the church aisle and further intimidated everyone by ice grilling them and pointing guns at their faces. Amidst the
thugs was one female, dressed in black army fatigues, black Tims, and a black hat just like the rest of them.
The last man of the bunch entered the church, and the others in the crew respectfully parted, allowing him to pass. They posted up along the aisle on both sides to make sure nobody made a move. The last man headed up to the front of the church with two men following close on his heels. His presence was that of authority. It was obvious that he was captain and the other two were his lieutenants.
The captain gave the command, and his lieutenants sprang into action. Jeff had already been shot before he was thrown from that roof, but they walked up to his casket and coldly opened fire on him again, putting a brand new set of holes in his corpse. The lieutenants, Loco and Fuck-You-Phil, had been briefed and given orders. No mercy was to be shown to anyone at Jeff’s funeral, not even the preacher. Whoever didn’t cooperate was to be gunned down. It was that simple.
People hovered cowardly down by the pews and witnessed the desecration of Jeff’s corpse in horror. To shoot a dead man in his casket was unheard of—and in the house of the Lord? Them boys had to be out of their minds. The funeral attendees all realized that their lives were in danger. The crew of young criminals in their presence was bold and reckless.
The whole church got down searching for cover, including the preacher. Everybody ducked except for Jeff’s mother. She refused to let her son’s memory be disrespected that way. She had to speak up in his honor.
“My God! What have you done? What kind of people are you? Have you no hearts and no souls? My child is already dead. You all are nothing but the children of Satan! Get outta here! I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. Get outta here! My son is dead! This is his home-going ceremony. You killed him once, and you come to shoot him again? How can he rest in peace? My God, have you no shame?” She threw both hands up to the sky like she was looking to God for answers, and shook her head helplessly.
