by Mack Mama
This particular gangster Tut had recently been released from prison. All the guys I dealt with at that time were ex-convicts. I was feeling him hard, but he looked at me as a little girl. I was determined to change his mind. I would do anything to make him see I was a ride or die chick. I wanted to impress him badly.
One day, he gave me a call, telling me to meet him around his way because he wanted me to handle something for him. He had gotten word that a guy on his team was a snitch, and he wanted to get rid of him. He told me to handle it for him. I was so excited because, I was finally going to earn my brownie points. He had called the dude, and told him to meet him on Linden Boulevard. He wanted me to go into the store, buy a soda, and replace it with the .357 pistol he gave me. After that, I was supposed to walk across the street, flirt with the guy, then pull the gun out of the bag and blow his brains out. As casual as that sound was as nonchalant as the murder plan was in the process of being executed. I didn’t break into a sweat, and my heart didn’t skip a beat. I had no soul after my mother’s death, so the idea of someone dying was almost funny to me. I figured everybody should die-young or old- because my mother did. I was mad at God, and angry at the world; therefore, I was ready to kill or be killed at any moment. I’ve always said I wasn’t afraid of death, because I would get to be with my mother again. I still feel that way. I didn’t get a chance to experience having a mother without the drama. The bitterness I felt from her death made the idea of killing that guy enjoyable. I was a messed up in the head and totally twisted.
I walked across the street with the burner in the bag. I was ready to shoot. I remember feeling numb and anxious to get it over with, so that I could go boosting later on that day. I spotted the target sitting in his vehicle and I advanced toward my prey. I got five feet away from him and I noticed Tut jogging up to the car. He gave me a signal to abort. I veered off to the right and walked away from the target. He told me later that five O (police) was cruising the boulevard, so he called off the hit. I was so sick in the head that I didn’t realize my good fortune. I had the nerve to be mad at him for stopping me, because I wanted so badly to impress him. To this day, I thank God that I didn’t do any harm to that poor guy. Not only would I have still been in prison, but his death would have been on my conscience. I didn’t have a conscience at that time, but I developed and matured since my wild teen years. I know I would have been haunted. I also think that Tut was testing me to see if I was really “bout it” (a stand up individual). Once he saw that I was the real deal and he could count on me, he called the hit off. I thank him tremendously for reversing that situation, because that small action spared that guy’s life and saved mine. As of this writing Tut is in Federal Prison serving a life sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. Also, there was an article in a hip-hop magazine, alleging that he was one of the gunmen who shot and robbed Tupac at Quad Studios. Over the years, he has maintained his innocence. But when you’re notorious for certain behavior, you can easily become the fall guy for crimes you didn’t commit. You can get away with one thing and, down the line, take the slack for something else. The Justice System is not a joke. You can rarely beat it.
I would do anything for attention and a thug’s love. I used to love playing Bonnie and Clyde with Squirrel He was a stick-up kid and known for robbing the local drug dealers in other projects. We would drive around until he spotted a lone dealer in front of a building selling drugs. Most likely he knew that the “Vic” (victim) wouldn’t have a gun on him so that was our target. My role was to distract him by flirting with him while he snuck up behind him and ‘threw the drop on him with the heat” (pulled out the gun and robbed him) or stay in the car, waiting to “peel off” (drive fast) and get away. I loved those escapades it was the thrill and the excitement of living lawlessly that I craved from a thug. Years later, my husband was released from prison after doing eleven years of his sentence and I was so happy. I had broken up with Goldie a year prior to his release. She understood because I made it clear to every woman that I was ever in a relationship with that I was married and would not leave my husband for anyone. They all tried, but to no avail. My loyalty is unwavering, but to be honest, he didn’t appreciate it at all. The day before his release I rented a Marriot Hotel suite and filled it with every type of designer clothes imaginable that he would need. I got him everything from Pelle Pelle, and Andrew Marc leather jackets to North Face gooses. I also got him various sneakers, shoes, and Timberland boots. I even got him a variety of colognes, and name brand wallets. Not to mention over thirty outfits. Everything a person would need in terms of personal belongings to start their life again after a decade of imprisonment. He thanked me by smacking me so hard on the second day that he was home, that my vision blurred momentarily. I was devastated! We had an argument and I guess he didn’t like how I was talking to him. I had a habit of saying what’s on my mind. He couldn’t adjust to the new and mature me. In his eyes, I was still his little “monkey” as he affectionately called me. What a nickname, huh? That was another one of his ploys to mess with my self–esteem. I put him out of my ride and left him standing on a curb in Manhattan. I was done! Enough was enough and I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I didn’t answer his calls and was serious about not taking him back. I couldn’t believe that after all those year, he still wanted to put his hands on me. He didn’t change at all and I was heartbroken. After swearing to God that I would never go back to him, I got weak and met with him. He was so apologetic, and I decided to give him another chance. If I hadn’t made up with him, my daughter would have never been conceived. For that reason I am happy I gave in. The torment was worth bringing my beautiful daughter into the world. My entire pregnancy was tumultuous. He treated me like I was a chick that he’d just met and tricked him into having his baby. I didn’t feel like his loyal wife that stood by him when others had abandoned him, and I didn’t feel like he was happy about the baby. He continued to hit me throughout my pregnancy. One time he choked me so hard that I frantically clawed at his face, trying to get him to loosen his grip so that my baby could get her air supply. I began to hate him with a passion and dropped into a deep depression. I cried almost every day of my pregnancy, and he would say, “I don’t care about those tears, Toka. You’re a f***ing cry baby” Who says that to an emotional, pregnant woman? I was hurt to my heart, because he had absolutely no compassion towards me. I craved for, but he wouldn’t cater to me. He wouldn’t even massage my swollen feet. If I craved a snack, I had to wobble down the steps of our duplex and get it for myself. Yet, I still woke up 4:00 a.m every morning to fix his lunch for work. I didn’t understand why he hated me so much. I finally got my answer when he admitted to me that I had embarrassed him while he was away by having relationships with women. Also, he heard that I slept with my friend, who was a male, when he first went to prison. I couldn’t believe that he held on to that grudge from ten years ago, or that he didn’t give me credit for not leaving him for dead. So what I was with women? I still took care of him. I even had my lover buy him sneakers and drive me to visit him. She did it due to the love she had for me; although it hurt to see me love him so much. I realized that he had too much hate stored inside of him for me, and our marriage would never work.
The day he choked me and almost caused my baby to be born mentally challenged, I’d had enough of his abuse. I chased him down our block with a butcher knife. I was intent on trying to kill him. After that incident, I had my friend call his parole officer, and tell her what was going on. I requested he be removed from our duplex in Jamaica Estates. The codes I lived by in the streets, dictated that I was violating by calling the authorities. I was simply going to have to go against the grain. I was tired and fed up. I had my friend, Paul, substitute for him in my Lamaze classes. He was like a father to me and was honored to be my Lamaze partner. I hustled my entire pregnancy, but the last two months, I was on bed rest due to having a low lined placenta. I was considered a high risk pregnancy. Goldie stayed with me, and took care of me
for those last months. I don’t know how I would have made it without her. He never even called to check up on me. I was overdue and went into the hospital so that the doctor could induce my labor. While I was suffering with the worst pains humanly imaginable, he came strolling into my room with headphones on and a newspaper under his arm. That hateful man sat by the window and asked me when the baby was coming, because he had some where to be. The audacity! My heart beat accelerated, and I totally lost it. I cursed him out so bad that the nurse told him he had to leave, because he was upsetting me, and the baby was in danger. I was near hysteria, and at risk of complicating my labor. After he left, the nurse was still mad about the situation. She had never seen anybody act as callous and mean. I was so embarrassed that he was my husband.
The next day, I was overcome with emotion after our baby was born, so I called him, and asked him to come to see our beautiful daughter. He came and cursed me out. I never felt so low in my life. I had just gone through fourteen hours of labor with my first and only child, and he was verbally assaulting me. What a jerk! Then he stormed out of the room. I saw the look of pity in eyes of my roommate and her boyfriend. I could have died. That day was the start of my Postpartum Depression. I never told anybody this, but I contemplated killing my beloved daughter when I was released from the hospital. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t stop visualizing me drowning her while I bathed her, or throwing her down into the incinerator in my grandmother’s building. I was horrified at my thoughts and trapped in my nightmares. In fear of judgment I couldn’t share what I was going through with no one. I didn’t even tell Queenie! She was the person who convinced me to have my baby, because I never planned to bring a child into this world while I was hustling. At the time, I didn’t know that I was suffering from a disorder called Postpartum Depression, which affected a lot of mothers during post child birth. I happened to catch a segment of Oprah, where I saw the supermodel, Brooke Shields, and it was my “aha!” moment as Oprah would say. I totally identified with what she described about her spiraling depression and thoughts of suicide. She spoke of wanting to deliberately crash into a wall while driving with her baby. She also spoke about the disconnection she’d felt towards her newborn. I started crying and felt such a relief. I wasn’t crazy after all. What I had been feeling was affecting a superstar too and I was so grateful she spoke about her condition. I didn’t take medication for my condition, but, from that day on, my mind was strong enough to ignore the horrific urges and fight off the depression.
I know I am strong mentally, because I battled that depression by myself and didn’t harm my child. It was by the grace of God, and my two angels who protect me; my mother and god mother. I went on to have a healthy relationship with my baby and, like a fool I started seeing her dad again. However, I noticed that he wasn’t bonding with our daughter. She was very light-skinned when she was born, and I felt like that bothered him. His friends were dropping innuendos about her not being his child due to her complexion. So I offered to take a DNA test and, of course, I let him have it. I told him he was a NBA star or millionaire who I was scheming to pin a child on. He had absolutely nothing and, therefore; it was senseless to put a child that wasn’t his on him. I didn’t care if she was a shade of green, she was his child, and I was insulted to say the least. His mother told him that she knew instantly that my daughter was a Washington (their last name) just by her hands and ears. That seemed to satisfy him. He is a big mama’s boy and his mother’s opinion held weight. After that discussion he didn’t bother with the DNA test. He realized that his mother’s great, great grandfather was a white man, and the same was with my mother. The generational genes just kicked in. I thought Velvet was adorable and loved her complexion.
I had her name picked out since I was sixteen, and I knew that I was going to marry her dad. His government name is Victor. He already had a daughter named Victoria so the next best V name was Velvet. Victor L. Washington, known to the streets as Secret Squirrel, was my childhood sweetheart, and is currently my ex-husband. He was arguably the worst mistake of my life, but the fact that he helped give my precious daughter life makes him my greatest Thug love.
The worst Thug love was a man I call Crax. He was, of course, a con who had recently been released from prison after doing a seven year bid. Not only was he a convict but a con artist, too. He ran game on me from the information I supplied him. Never tell a man how another man mistreats you, because he will know what to say and do to get into your mind and heart. In other words, he knew from me venting to him that I was abused and simply needed love, so he played Mr. Charming. That man was as slick as oil, and just as black. He reminded me of Seal the pop star, and I thought he was handsome in a tribal sort of way. Crax played me like a violin. He listened to me and treated me with such respect. He also showered me with compliments he knew I craved. He was the perfect gentleman and I loved it.
My ego and self-esteem was crushed by my husband, and I needed to be built back up. I can’t blame my condition on my youth. At that point, I was an adult, and had done nine years of time in the penitentiary. I added all of my bids and came up with that sum. I was horrified! I was wiser and harder, but emotionally, I was still healing and he “got me”.
I loved this guy with all my heart and soul. I would have trusted him with my life. He treated me like how I wanted my husband to treat me. It was a whirlwind romance. After six months, I was ready to marry him, but I was still legally married. At that point I was finished with my marriage, we were separated and he kept threatening me. He found out I had cheated on him with a younger guy, who I had an affair with before I started seeing Crax. I was going through so much drama with him. I just wanted to be left alone to enjoy my new relationship. Crax and I did everything together, and I felt whole again. I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. We hustled together, and I upgraded his wardrobe. His whole swagger changed. It was all good in the beginning, but it was too good to be true.
He started staying out late, or not coming in at all. Of course, I thought he was cheating on me. I just knew he was creeping, and I was so hurt about the obvious. I mean, our sex life seemed perfect, so I couldn’t understand why. When I approached him about it, he would deny it, and swear on his mama that he wasn’t cheating. Well, come to find out, he was creeping around, but he wasn’t sleeping with a woman. He was sucking on a glass dick! Yup, the dude was an undercover crack head. I couldn’t believe it ‘my bad luck! I thought to myself, how did that happen to me again? First it was with a girl, and now it was with him. Me!? Fly ass Mack Mama in love with a real live Crack head. Come to find out, this dude was robbing all the local dealers in his hood, late at night, and taking their crack and smoking it. He was a beast! He had everyone in his projects scared of him. He was known for being crazy and a smoker who everybody knew. I was the last one to find out. I had become a laughing stock. I was so in love that I didn’t leave him when I found out his addiction. I tried to stick with him and help, but that’s one of my biggest faults. I’m a bleeding heart and it always bites me in the butt. I made him go to a rehab. He did sixty days and came home and immediately relapsed.
I was at my wits end, so I sent him to my beautiful house in Ohio. I hustled hard to pay the bills and mortgage on my four bedroom spread in Columbus, Ohio. I stayed on the road, most of the time, to maintain my property; therefore I just used it as a vacation spot. Crax ruined it! After a week of solitude, he began to complain about how I abandoned him and left him out there by himself. I was busy in New York, trying to make money and take care of my business. I didn’t have time to baby sit an addict. I was so embarrassed and hurt by the whole situation, and it got worst! He began stealing things from my house and selling it at the local 7 Eleven. I lived in a swank, upscale neighborhood in the Midwest and my Caucasian neighbors weren’t used to that type of behavior. There were only two African American families in the entire neighborhood. So he stood out like a sore thumb. I knew enough was enough when the president of the Block Asso
ciation called my phone and told me about the meeting they had in reference to my houseguest. Apparently, he was menacing the neighbors by knocking on their doors, trying to borrow money. I mean, Come on!
He met a white girl out there, and had the audacity to have sex with her in my bed. I think she turned him on to some mushrooms. He had to be high when he called me and tried to extort me for the deed to my house. The man I loved and thought was my Prince Charming had turned into my worst nightmare. I was going to enter my home with both guns blazing, but, thankfully, Queenie took care of it for me. Over the years, she had changed her life and became a law abiding citizen. She handled that maniac like citizens do. She called the police, and they came to apprehended him. This fool actually had a stand-off with the police. He didn’t want to open the door to my house and give himself up. Ohio showed him a thing or two about how serious they take their law enforcement. They brought the “bird” (helicopter) out, and a truck filled with a S.W.A.T. team. The tactical unit knocked down my front door and dragged him out of my house. He was unarmed and lucky, because they would have roughed him up good for being ignorant.
When he arrived back in New York, he was detained in our prison system. That’s when he got the nerve to write a letter to Squirrel. My ex-husband is very well-known in the system, which is the result of the many years he spent in prison. It wasn’t hard to contact him. Crax told him that I was trying to get him to “merk” (kill) him for me. He also said that I was a lousy mother, and a bunch of other crappy lies. Of course, Squirrel went for that foolishness and, to this day, he doesn’t trust me with his address. He swears that I was trying to off him. I told him not to listen to the ramblings of a disgruntled addict.
