by Mack Mama
Years later, we reunited in the streets and got back together. She had a job and sold drugs on the side, but I introduced her to my hustle, which was credit card fraud. I had stepped my game up and was making a lot of money. We were not only lovers but partners in crime. She treated me like royalty and loved me unconditionally. However, she had a nasty little secret: she smoked “woolies” (crack mixed in marijuana). I found out when she kept disappearing with my brand new BMW. I thought she was cheating, but she was getting high, and didn’t want to come around me. I lost so much respect for her, and I started hitting her. I cheated on her and she used that as an excuse to get high. I thought that was bullshit, and had no understanding to it. She never stole anything from me, and she always kept money, so it wasn’t a major problem. But I went through so much with my mother over drugs that I had zero tolerance for the addiction.
My disappointment with Goldie, mixed with the rage built inside of me from the abuse I took from my husband, made me lose it. I used to hit her all the time, and she never hit me back. She would try to subdue me, and that would make it worst. That night, I caused her to lose it, because I blew a kiss at my ex girl. She was furious and literally chased me around my car on 125 Street in Harlem. We fought from Harlem to Brooklyn. It was comical as I recall how we blocked the entrance to the Jackie Robinson Parkway (formally known as the Interboro), while we fought in the car like two maniacs. I was furious! She had me in a headlock while banging me in the head with her cell phone. She had snapped. I knew right then and there that when we got to Brooklyn, I was going to shoot the shit out of her. Of course, I rocked her to sleep and called a truce when we got off the parkway. She was so relieved when I suggested that we go get something to eat and have some drinks. She had completely dropped her guard. A mistake she would live to regret.
I played it cool at the restaurant, telling her that I was sorry, but when we pulled into my garage parking space, I retrieved a gun from one of my stashes and it got ugly. She was a little loose off the Fuzzy Navels she had been downing at the restaurant, and I was determined to teach her a lesson. She was never going to put her hands on me again. The years of abuse that I put up with from my husband was all I was going to deal with ever again. I was so destroyed mentally that I thought it was acceptable to hit her, but was outraged when she finally hit me back.
“Tok, what ‘chu doing? Stop playing, man. Chill out, bae” she shrieked nervously when she saw the gun I had in my hand, pointed at her.
“Oh, b***h, you thought it was over, huh?” I taunted her. She ran around the garage, ducking and dodging me, until she managed to escape when another car drove in. I chased her to our building and ran inside the lobby after her. I was on her heels until I got the perfect leg shot. POW! I caught her. She yelped and buckled. “OH SHHHIT! YOU CRAZY, B***H! YOU SHOT MEEE!!”She yelled in astonishment. The entire block was looking at us in disbelief. Back then, I didn’t care who was around. If I was after revenge, I was going to get it. Simple as that! That’s how ignorant I was. I had my little god-sister, Jonette, bring me down some towels. Then I kindly drove her to the hospital and prepared a believable story for the cops. When you come into the ER with a gunshot wound, you better have a good explanation of how you got shot or you may get cuffed. I made her tell the cops she was robbed and assaulted.
Goldie forgave me, because she knew that I was traumatized from being a battered woman. For one, the worst thing you could possibly do is hit someone who has been abused. It’s a good chance they may have a flash back and “go ham on you” (beat you up). The reason why this chapter is called “What You Gonna’ Do?” is because the song on the soundtrack is about me having fictitious shoot-outs and getting shot. So, I thought this would be the perfect chapter to tell my readers about my violent situations. It is not to glorify it, but simply to tell the story of my life as hardcore as it was. It made me who I am today.
I often wonder how I escaped being shot or killed. Then I realized that God gave me two angels: my mother and my godmother. That’s why he took them away early. He gave them their wings to protect my crazy behind and, surprisingly, I only went to jail for the shooting of Grimey. Irregardless of her foulness, she had the audacity to tell on me. I got that case ran concurrent with the robbery and assault charge that I did four-and-a-half years on. I will tell you about that in another chapter. On a different note, I actually shot and killed a brand new BMW. That was the last time I bust my gun, which was in 2005. My intention was to shoot out the windows, but I was on a ledge, looking over the vehicle. I aimed for the windshield, but I missed and shot the engine instead. I tore that engine up with about five shots. I can’t recall the caliber of pistol I used, but it did a lot of damage. That car belonged to a Nigerian guy who I was dating. He was supposed to get my five carat-diamond choker out of the pawn shop but he reneged.
I had pawned it when I was strapped for cash. At that time, my choice of hustle was slow; therefore, I wasn’t making any money. It was my most prize possession, and I didn’t want to lose it. The Nigerian used to give me credit cards to work, and he was very corrupt. He had his hand into almost everything, which most Nigerians did. They were either, very successful doctors, lawyers or diplomats, but some of them were very successful Crooks. Whatever the case, they all love money, and they knew how to make lots of it.
This guy was very well-dressed and wore the finest Italian wear. He had recently purchased the BMW convertible. It was a brand new coupe, and it still had the temporary plates. He didn’t even have insurance on the eighty-thousand dollar vehicle. I didn’t like his arrogance, but I dealt with it because he had money. I knew I needed him to give me the three grand that was necessary to get my diamond choker out of the pawn shop. He loved my music and really liked the idea that he was dating an entertainer. That’s why I really believed that he was going to give me the money, even though I held out on the sex. My philosophy was ‘Hold out till he pays out!’ He was not going to get any of my “Nelly”(vagina) until he got my chain out. After that, I was still going to make him wait. Actually, I couldn’t stomach him, because he had a bad case of B.O (body odor) as if he didn’t really wash. He sprayed on expensive cologne and called it a day. Disgusting!
Three days before the deadline to get my jewelry out, I spent the night with him and he begged me for some nelly. This went on all night and I kept telling him no. He said he just wanted to taste me, and that would satisfy him, so I foolishly gave in. It was the worst head that I had ever received in my life. Then he begged me to give him oral sex. That was going too damn far! I adamantly refused that request, but he wanted it so bad he was almost crying. I started thinking about my diamond choker and made a decision based on desperation. I did it! That bastard violated me and exploded in my mouth. I had never felt so degraded and filthy in my life. I was so mad! I cursed him out, and told him to have my shit out of that pawn shop by the next day. I knew that he did that on purpose. I had made him beg and he wanted to show me who was the boss. It was a belittling tactic to bring me down off of my high horse. It definitely worked! I left his house feeling like a piece of shit. Even though I didn’t sleep with him, I still allowed him defile me. Then he violated me on top of that by ejaculating his disgusting sperm into my mouth. I tried to cheer up by thinking about my beloved diamond choker, but I was very antsy, and wanted my money. He told me he would have it for me the next day.
The next day came and I didn’t hear a word from him. I called his phone all day, but I only got his machine. He never did that with me, I couldn’t stop him from calling my phone and now all of a sudden I couldn’t reach him. That fool was trying to play me and my blood started to boil. The deadline to get my diamond choker came and went, but I still I didn’t hear from him. I had lost my beautiful diamond choker for good and I saw blood. I went to his complex and sat for hours, waiting for him to come outside, but he was holed up in his crib. He was probably with another chick, which didn’t bother me. I just wanted his head on a platter. I was literally pacing
back in forth with the gun in my hand until I couldn’t take it anymore. That’s when I started firing at his car. It was like the fourth of July in his parking lot. I wouldn’t stop firing until my gun jammed. I wanted him to come outside so bad, but he didn’t even respond to the commotion. He must have been knee-deep in some sex. One thing is for sure, he will never disrespect another American girl like that again. I drove off satisfied with the bullet holes that his precious car was riddled with. I was a little disappointed when I didn’t hit the windshield, because I knew how costly it was to replace those on luxury vehicles. At that point, I had no idea that I murdered his engine. Oops! A few hours later, he started blowing up my phone. I picked up casually and said “Hello?”
“What did you do to my ‘cur? You crazy b***h?”
“Excuse me? What are you talking about?” I played dumb.
“I know you did it. The security cameras saw you, and there are witnesses. You are going DOWN!” He roared.
I continued to deny it and played dumb. “But I haven’t heard from you. Why would I do that?” I feigned innocence, combined with a hint of sarcasm.
“YOU ARE GOING TO JAIL B***H! I WILL SEE TO IT” he yelled the threat, which I wasn’t expecting. He did too much dirt to want to involve the authorities, but the idle threat had me shook. I called Queenie and suggested that she call him. She was able to speak to him in the Nigerian dialect because she was also from Nigeria. She told him to calm down and don’t even think about talking to the police. He told her he wasn’t going to press charges, but he had something better for me. He had my picture and some of my hair from when I spent the night at his apartment. He threatened to put “roots” on me; otherwise known as a voodoo spell. He told her he was going to send my Cd and picture to Africa, and he would fix me good. I laughed it off and paid him no mind until about a month later. I got locked up for sixty five counts of credit card fraud. I was sentenced to five years. To this day, I believe that he had a voodoo spell put on me, because that amount of time for a non- violent crime like credit card fraud was insane.
I rebuke that devil in the name of Jesus. I pray every day that I don’t have any negative spirits on me that will hinder my life. I regret that whole incident because I don’t need any bad luck. He told Queenie that his entire engine was destroyed, and he didn’t even have insurance. He was on his way down south, where the insurance was cheaper; however, due to my actions, he was not going to be covered. He would have to pay out of pocket to replace his engine. I couldn’t have cared less. I wanted him to feel the pain and loss I felt over my precious diamond choker.
I was truly a madwoman. I would always start off cool, but when somebody crossed me with the slightest infraction I would flip out. I am so happy that I have controlled my anger with the help of Anger Management groups in prison. I learned how to think about the consequences of my actions, and several techniques to control my fury. It took me a lot of years, but I finally got my anger issue under control. As much as I hate to admit it, the last prison stint I did really helped me mature into a sensible person, because I was way too cocky and combative. For instance, I had a verbal altercation with the rap artist Remy Martin, who is currently incarcerated with 8 years for shooting her friend over some stolen funds. That situation made me realize that I could have been the one shot. Or I could have shot her and been in a worst predicament. With my criminal record, I would have got hit with eighteen years instead of the eight years she received. I was tripping because she didn’t want to give me a verse on my O.B.G’s The Movement mixtape (cd).
I was so excited about bringing a collection of hot female emcees together on one mixtape. That would have been great for hip-hop. To have an artist as talented as Remy was big to me and I needed her to be a part of my project. I was a big fan of hers and respected her ‘gangsta. I met her at K Slay’s album release party in the bathroom. I took the opportunity to introduce myself, and pitch my project to her. She seemed to love the idea of various female emcees coming together to form a super group on my mixtape. She gave me her personal phone number and told me that she would do it. I was so happy, and it made me love her more. She just seemed so real and down-to- earth. This was before her album was released. She was on the verge of major success, but not quite there yet. Imagine my surprise when, a few days later, I called her to set up studio time, and she didn’t return my call. I hit her up two more times, but she had her assistant give me the runaround. I am not into kissing ass or begging people for their time. I got the hint that she didn’t want to be bothered and left it alone. I was tight because she had me under the impression that she was down.
I flipped and started to diss her at my shows and on my mixtapes. I was in rare Mack Murder form. The saying, ‘It’s a thin line between love and hate’ is a true statement. It’s one of Satan’s biggest tricks; the ability to make people flip those emotions so easily. I admired Remy so much, but as soon as I got mad, I turned on her. That was definitely wrong. Instead of me thinking about her schedule or what she may have had on her plate with trying to get her album together- I immediately started my ‘stinkin thinking. I came to the irrational conclusion that she was a hater and personally dissing me. Therefore she became my primary enemy. (Smh at myself and my behavior- typical street mentality)
I didn’t like the one female at a time practice of the music industry. There are a thousand male artist who collaborate, and they have no problem with breaking bread together. But why was it a one at a time system when it came to the females. The only way to change that attitude is through sisterhood in the business. I would like to see at least ten female emcees, simultaneously, climbing the charts, and being played in rotation on the radio. Female emcees are like endangered species in the game, and that is a shame. I was passionate about my O.B.G’s and if a person wasn’t with me, they were against me. My manager at the time didn’t realize that I didn’t like Remy anymore. He actually bumped into her at the Department of Motor Vehicle, and chirped me in front of her. I had no idea that he was standing in front of her when he asked me, “Guess who I’m with?”
I said “Who?”
He replied “Remy Martin”. He sounded all excited over the phone. I burst his bubble and stated, “So what you telling me for? I don’t like that broad”. I realized that she heard me through the chirp when I heard her voice in the background. I didn’t care! If she hadn’t barked back, she would have looked soft in front of my manager and her entourage. We started to argue back and forth. She wanted to know why I was so mad at her. Then she sarcastically reminded me she didn’t even know me. I told her she could have just said no when I asked her to be on my mixtape-simple as that. She replied that she heard I was talking shit about her at one of my shows. I told her, “Damn right, because she was a fake broad” She got mad and threatened to have Terror Squad shut my shows down. I reminded her of her rocky relationship with Fat Joe, and how she could easily be the one Terror Squad flipped on like Fat Joe “allegedly” did Cuban Links. Then I started taunting her to go in the studio and make a song dissing me back. I didn’t mind the free publicity. That conversation ended very ugly and I was seriously contemplating going to her projects in the Bronx with some goons, and stepping to her and her affiliates. I thank God I didn’t follow through with that plan, because I may have been stretched out on a gurney or vice or versa. I was way too aggressive, and would have been one of those rappers that stayed in beefs. That’s not what I am about. I want to unify women in the industry not perpetuate more separation. I meant well by my intentions but I was still caught up in my gangster mentality. That “get down or lay down” mindset that most urban movies portrayed was how I lived my life.
Whew! I’m so glad I changed my thinking, because look at Remy Martin. She is sitting in prison where I used to be, wondering how the hell she wound up there. My suggestion to Remy-or anyone else, who suffers from uncontrollable rage-is to seek counseling, and definitely take the Anger Management courses that the facilities offer. If I can change anyone c
an.
Chapter Five
Thug Love
This chapter is about all the bad choices I made with men in my life. I have the worst taste in men, which is crazy. I love Gangsters and Thugs. When I was younger, a nice, decent, hardworking guy was like a repellant to me. If it wasn’t rough it wasn’t right. I was head over heels for this one gangster called King Tut. He lived in the East New York section of Brooklyn, and ran shit out there. He was notorious for his gun play. Back then, you earned your street credibility by busting your gun, and getting your “body count up” (amount of murders) I was attracted to cold-blooded killers, and that was that. We understood each other. I was infatuated with guns and fast money so that is what I wanted to be around. My husband was doing his bid, and wasn’t coming home any time soon; therefore, I was left alone to do me. I held him down with visits, money and packages. Plus I never missed a conjugal visit, but I still had another life in the street. He had eleven years to do and I was very young. Although I began a relationship with a female I still loved my guys.
