by Miasha
“Oh my God.”
“Now, listen,” he continued. “You goin’ tell the police that you were driving and a car turned left out of nowhere, hitting you on your driver’s side, forcing you to turn the wheel suddenly. You wounded up losing control and you ran into the wall.”
“I don’t understand, Kenny. What are you having me do?”
“It’s simple, Leah. Just do what I say and trust me, all right? We don’t have a lot of time. Soon the streets goin’ be flooded with niggas leavin’ the clubs. Now Nasir is goin’ be there to tow the car. Act like you don’t know him other than the fact that he’s a tow-truck driver and you want him to tow your car.”
“How is it that you always manage to drag Nasir in the middle of your schemes?”
“Damn, do it fuckin’ matter?” Kenny snapped. “You startin’ to get on my nerves with all the questions and doubts and shit.”
I sighed and said, “Okay. Whatever.” And left it at that. Poor Nasir, I thought. He was so sweet and reserved. And Kenny seemed to take advantage of him, always getting him to do favors for him. I never understood why Nasir wouldn’t just tell Kenny no sometimes. It was obvious that he wanted to. But he seemed to be as controlled by Kenny as I was these days. It wasn’t always like that, though. When I met Kenny, he and Nasir were real cool. They both chased car wrecks for Nasir’s dad, Vic, who owned one of the biggest and most popular auto-body shops in Philly—Alliance Collision, up on Cedar Avenue. They made good money, too, no less than two thousand a week, and that was when it had been a slow week. But about two years ago Kenny decided he wanted more, so he started dabbling in the drug game. His older brother Tim was a known dealer, and when he got locked up, he needed somebody to take over for him and hold him down until he got out. Kenny seized the opportunity. And instead of just holding his brother down, he made moves to bring his brother up. He realized that the more variety you had, the more money you could make. So he didn’t limit himself to weed and cocaine like his competitors did. He sold everything from crystal meth, ketamine or Special K, roofies, and acid to pills like codeine, Roxys, and Oxy-Contin. After a short while he no longer needed the money he got from chasing, but he didn’t quit because chasing was his front. Plus, he benefited from being able to store his drugs in Vic’s shop. It seemed like he had become a kingpin overnight. And with that title came loads of money, notoriety, and haters.
Kenny’s newfound fame and fortune made him a target not only for the police but for the stick-up kids who robbed drug dealers for a living. Eventually Kenny drew a whole lot of attention to Vic’s shop. He made it hot. Cops would ride by frequently. Vic was suspicious and would ask Kenny if he was hustling, but Kenny would deny it. But one day the shop got robbed at gunpoint by some guys in masks, and all of Kenny’s drugs were taken, proving Vic’s suspicions. After that Vic fired Kenny. He was pissed off that Kenny had jeopardized his employees’ lives and his business, and Vic told him that if he ever put anything of Vic’s in harm’s way again, he would kill his ass.
Kenny been doin’ the drug thing full-time ever since. And he had gotten so good at it that when his brother Tim came home from doing a seven-month bid, Kenny wound up being his boss.
Nasir, on the other hand, kept with the chasing and seemed to try to stay out of trouble. But Kenny tends to keep him in some shit, always dragging him in on his illegal activities.
I got to Fifth and Spring Garden at a quarter to two. It was deserted, not common since it was up the street from Fuzion nightclub and down the street from Transit and Palmers. There weren’t even a lot of people in Silk City diner, which sat right on the corner. Being a weeknight in January had everything to do with there being so few people out, I was sure.
I pulled over while Kenny’s cousin Dahwoo parked his older-model Pontiac Grand Prix on a side street off Fifth. He and his girlfriend, whom I had never met before, got in with Kenny and me. We took Fifth Street a couple blocks up, passing Green and then Wallace Street until we were at Fairmount Avenue.
“Pull over right here,” Kenny said.
What the hell? Of all hoods to do what we were about to do, why did Kenny pick this one? I was uneasy about executing Kenny’s plan as it was. But on top of that, we were doing it smack dead in the hood. My nerves were shot.
I quickly pressed the lock button when I noticed a tall, slinky guy who had a bounce in his step walking over toward our car. He was dressed in dark colors and looked like he was a smoker—untrustworthy.
“He’s cool,” Kenny said as the guy approached my side. Kenny leaned over my seat to give him a handshake through the rolled-down window. Then Kenny instructed us all to get out of the car. The guy then got in the driver’s seat. Meanwhile, the four of us stood on the sidewalk while the guy deliberately drove my Range Rover head-on into an abandoned building’s wall. Seeing that it wasn’t hit hard enough, Kenny instructed the guy to do it once more, this time with more gas.
The guy did what he was told, completing his part of the plan. After the car was successfully planted into the wall, he jumped out and approached Kenny, who placed some money in his palm. The guy then took off through an alley. At that, we were on. We all followed Kenny’s lead as he got back into the car.
Unlike Dahwoo’s girl, who was giggling and telling jokes in the backseat about what had just gone down, I didn’t find anything funny. I actually had a bad feeling about everything. Then it dawned on me that Kenny, Dahwoo, and I were committing a federal crime with this chick, whom I was sure none of us knew well enough to trust. I mean, that was my first time meeting her, and just last week Dahwoo was calling a different girl his wife. For all we knew, this bitch could have been an undercover. She could have been setting us up. Or even if she wasn’t, if we got caught, who was to say that she wouldn’t rat us all out to save her own ass.
My negative thoughts got the best of me, and suddenly I panicked and froze up, forgetting everything I was supposed to do.
“Call the police,” Kenny yelled, taking me out of paralysis.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocketbook and dialed 911. It was a good thing I was in a panic because it made my reporting of the accident sound so damn real. The dispatcher said she would send out an officer.
Chasers arrived on the scene in packs—some in tow trucks, others in cars. That was the game for you. I could just imagine their being posted at a location nearby, listening to the police scanners waiting for an accident to be called. And when they heard Fifth and Fairmount, they all hauled ass over here, hoping they would be the first to the scene and be able to convince me to let them take my car to a body shop they were contracted with. And they were deep, too—about eight of them, all representing a different type of chaser. One was big and grimy looking, dressed in a Dickies and Timbs, getting out of a dirty eagle claw with chipped lettering on the side. Another one was clean-cut, dressed in a black mink coat with a pair of black Nike boots, Rock and Republic jeans, and black Gucci scully. And he had the nerve to jump out of a Mercedes-Benz CLS. Niggas killed me, chasin’ out of luxury cars. But I must admit, if I was really in an accident and I didn’t already have chaser in mind to take my car, I would have chosen to go with dude in the Benz. I would’ve felt more comfortable handing my car over to somebody who didn’t look like he needed money rather than to somebody grimy-looking. Maybe it was just me, but I felt like somebody who didn’t need money would be less likely to rip me off.
Among the chasers was Nasir, who was the one I agreed to let tow my car, of course. The other chasers were angry that Nasir was on their territory. See, Nasir chased out West Philly and Southwest, in the vicinity of his dad’s shop. So for him to be up North Philly runnin’ a hit was frowned upon. And generally chasers respected the boundaries—not necessarily because it was the right thing to do, but because it wasn’t logical for a chaser to run a hit that was far from where he posted up. For one, he could program his police scanner to receive calls only in the specific district in which he chased. And for two, a chaser never knew w
hat would be at a hit and whether it was worth his showing up. For example, it could be a minor fender bender, a totaled vehicle, or an unfounded, which meant there was nothing there at all. So it wasn’t worth it for a chaser to drive to an uncertain situation far away and risk missing a real hit close by.
But in this case, it was different. Nasir was in on our plan. And because I made it clear that I wanted nobody but Nasir to touch my car, the other chasers had no choice but to fall back.
The police pulled up, and there were two squad cars instead of one. Four officers got out—three males and one female. They walked over to us as we remained seated in the Range. I was preparing my story in my head, and I was starting to feel a little better about things—safer now that the police were there and even credible, since all the tow trucks out there were creating a realistic-looking accident scene.
“Hi, ma’am,” one officer said to me.
“Hello.”
“Are you all all right?” he asked, looking at each person in the car.
“Yes,” we said.
“My neck is stiff,” Dahwoo’s girl said from behind me; she sounded rehearsed.
“What happened?” the officer then asked, not seeming the least bit concerned about any injuries.
I described what was supposed to have happened. I was only sentences into the story Kenny had told me to deliver to the cops when a second officer stopped me.
“That’s all we need to hear,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Have them step out of the vehicle.”
I was a bit confused at that point, because I expected the cops to be more sensitive toward accident victims. Instead, she seemed aggravated.
“I’m gonna need you four to step out of the vehicle,” one male officer said.
Each of us reluctantly exited the Range. Right away the four officers grabbed hold of the four of us and placed us under arrest. My heart sank. I looked at Dahwoo’s girl to see her reaction. If she was too calm, then my earlier feelings about her setting us up were most likely correct. But she looked just as shocked, confused, and scared as I felt. I looked at Dahwoo, then at Kenny. They, too, were confused. Immediately, we all started asking questions: What did we do? What were we getting locked up for? Could we call our attorneys? Anything we could think of to ask to stall being hauled off to jail. And when the questions were not getting us anywhere with the cops, we started accusing the police of profiling us.
The female cop who seemed aggravated by all the questions said, “You would pick the corner that’s being surveilled to pull off your fake little accident, wouldn’t you?”
With that, our questions were answered. Apparently, the corner we were on was being watched for drug activity by a stakeout team, and they’d gotten more than they’d bargained for that night as they witnessed our scheme from beginning to end. We were all handcuffed and taken to the Sixth Police District.
“Who put you up to this?” the interrogating officer asked me again, after supposedly going back and speaking with Kenny, Dahwoo, and Dahwoo’s girl.
His appearance was intimidating—big, bulky body; deep-set blue eyes; anger-red flesh tone—but the way he talked to me wasn’t. He was calm and endearing, like he wanted to reason with me. But I didn’t buy his niceness. I figured it was just a technique to get me to feel comfortable opening up to him.
“I said, ‘nobody.’”
“So you planned this on your own? Because I have to tell you, that’s what everybody’s saying. They’re saying you put them up to this. But I have a hard time believing that, because you just don’t strike me as the type that would put yourself in this predicament. But you know, if you don’t wanna talk, I can always go off what the others have told me.”
“I’d rather talk to an attorney,” I said, standing my ground.
“Okay, fine,” he said. “Here’s my card, in case you decide you want to start standing up for yourself.”
I smirked at his final attempt to get me to talk but said nothing further.
He slid his business card across the table and left the room. I put my head down on the table and tried to register what Kenny had got me into this time. Fucking with Kenny, there was never a dull moment. In fact, I spent two of the three years that we’ve been together going through bullshit on his account. From shoot-outs to drama from the bitches he would mess with behind my back, it was always something.
I wondered when I would get tired of it all and leave him. But every time the thought to leave came across my mind, I felt burdened. I mean, before Kenny I was self-sufficient. I was going to school and I had two jobs. But once I got with Kenny, I slowly started to get used to not working and not going to school. And it wasn’t like I just got lazy all of a sudden. But Kenny would entice me to miss days at work and school. For example, he would offer to pay me triple for the hours I missed at work if I spent that time with him instead. Overall, Kenny took good care of me. I grew accustomed to a luxury lifestyle, and before long I found myself solely dependent on him. So it wasn’t easy for me to pick up and leave him when I felt like I wanted to. I always found myself asking the same questions: What would I do without Kenny? Where would I live? What would I drive? How would I support myself? Ultimately, I felt like I was stuck with him.
I was placed in a cell alone. I was surprised, too, because I thought they would put Dahwoo’s girl and me together, since we were both females. I wanted to ask her some questions, get inside her head a little bit to make sure she could be trusted. I guessed that was the exact reason why they hadn’t put us together.
Six hours passed before I was granted a phone call. I used it to call my mom.
“Hello,” my mom answered in a scratchy voice.
“Ma, I’m sorry to wake you.”
“Which one of my daughters is this?”
“It’s Leah, Ma.”
“I should’ve known. It better be important, Leah, calling me so early in the morning, knowing I work the graveyard shift.”
I huffed and said, “Ma, I’m in jail.”
“Oh Jesus, Leah. For what?”
“It’s a long story, and I’d rather tell it to you in person. But what I need you to do right now is get in touch with Kenny’s mom. I’m sure she knows what to do to get me out,” I said.
“Why didn’t you just call Kenny?”
“Well that’s the thing, Ma. Kenny’s in jail, too.”
My mom raised her voice. “Kenny ain’t in no jail. I just seen Kenny.”
“You sure, Ma? I’m tellin’ you, we got locked up together.”
“And I’m tellin’ you I just seen ’im. He was out here makin’ his rounds when I got off the bus. You know he got half these kids around here sellin’ for him now.” My mom sounded disgusted.
A few months back Kenny dropped me off at my mom’s house, and the young boys nearby were staring at Kenny’s car, obviously impressed. Apparently, one of them asked Kenny what he did to make the kind of money to afford a Maserati. Kenny told him he could show him better than he could tell him and wound up turnin’ the young boy and his friends on to hustling. My mom wasn’t thrilled about it. She thought it was flat-out wrong that Kenny would have kids selling drugs. And on top of that, he had them selling in her apartment complex. She felt like that was a sign of disrespect toward her. The two of them had a falling-out over it and haven’t spoken to each other since.
“What time was this?”
“What time is it now, like nine o’clock? So it was like a quarter to eight when I got in here.”
“That’s strange. He didn’t say anything to you?”
“Do he ever say anything to me?”
“Well, can you call him on the three-way then?”
“Ugh,” my mom made a sigh of disgust.
“This is my only call. Otherwise, I would hang up and call him myself.”
“What’s the number, Leah?”
I gave my mom Kenny’s cell phone number. She put me on hold for a few seconds, then came back on the line.
“Hello,
” I heard Kenny’s voice.
“Kenny!”
“Leah?”
“Yes, it’s me—Leah! What you doin’ out?”
“Never mind all that. How much is ya bail?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen a judge yet, which brings me back to my question. When did you see a judge? How much was ya bail?”
“I didn’t go through all that, Leah. Listen, call me when you get bail. I’ll be up there to get you, and we’ll talk then,” Kenny said in a rush.
“So it’s true then, huh? Y’all put this shit on me?”
“You the only one of us that don’t have a record. I’m goin’ need you to take this one for the team.”
“What?!” I was flabbergasted. “What do you mean take one for the team? What team? I don’t have any obligations to nobody but you! I never signed up to be on a goddamn team! Why can’t everybody take their own charge?” I snapped.
“Because, Leah, you’ll probably get off with a couple months if you even get any time at all. If I go up, I’m looking at at least five years. The same with Woo and his girl.”
“You’re really serious? I don’t believe you! How am I supposed to survive in jail, Kenny?”
“How would you survive out here if I was in jail?” He paused for a minute, I guess to let what he said penetrate. Then he proceeded, “I already put a call in to my lawyer. He’ll take good care of you. He’s talkin’ beatin’ the case.”
“This is some real bullshit,” I mumbled.
“Leah, it’s the best situation for us right now!” Kenny protested. ‘’If it was any other time, I wouldn’t put this on you, you know that. I just can’t afford a case right now. I got a deal comin’ up that could retire us, baby. That could get us out the game for good and get us that vacation home out Mexico like you been wantin’. If I get locked up for this dumb shit, all that is out the window. Otherwise, I would take the charge with no problem.”
I took a deep breath, still not convinced. If Kenny was so close to retiring, why would he have planned this stupid scam in the first place? Why would he have jeopardized the deal of a lifetime he supposedly had comin’ up?
