by Nikki Turner
Cojack felt his stomach turn but not from hunger; he needed a sniff. The morphine the doctor ordered him to be shot up with was wearing off. The nurse adjusted his bed so that he could sit up and then glanced over her shoulder at the two white men.
“Looks like you have some company,” she said with a smile. Co-jack caught the men's stares and knew off the top that they weren't regular cops.
His mother leaned over, giving her son another kiss. “Are you sure you all right?”
“Yeah, I'm a'ight, Mama. Did Robbin or anybody call?”
“Sho did. She called twice and came down here when you first got shot.” His mother snickered. “Boy, you had all types of girls comin’ down here. People I didn't even know walked up and was giving me hugs. It was so crowded that the nurses started putting people out.”
“Call Robbin and have her come up here,” Cojack told his mother.
“Okay, baby. I'll go call her. I'll give you a chance to talk to these police officers.” She kissed him again and said she'd be back in an hour.
As soon as the room was clear, one of the men closed the door while the other, a chubby dude, introduced himself as Agent Tucker. He flashed his badge and nodded to his partner. “This here is Agent Scott,” Tucker said, stroking his beard. “You're a very lucky fella. I don't know if you're aware or not that you were the only survivor. Everyone else died at the scene. Guess you're the last man standing.”
Scott interjected, “Cojack, we know that these homicides were drug related.” Agent Scott looked at his partner and continued, “We need to hear in your words what happened.”
Cojack struggled to get a better position in his bed as a grimace covered his face. “Why should I tell y'all muthafuckas anything!” he growled. His response brought a puzzled look to the men's faces. “I wanna talk to the muthafuckas that almost got me killed. Get me Agents Boston and Whitehead,” Cojack demanded. The two agents returned dumbfounded stares.
“What the hell are you saying?” Tucker asked. Cojack gazed at both men as if they were insane. He was in pain and his patience was wearing thin. The last thing he needed was more agents trying to bullshit him.
Cojack drew a long breath. “You mean to tell me y'all don't know the agents I'm talking about?” he asked, looking from one face to the other.
“We don't have anyone with those names working for our agency,” Scott answered. He saw the fire in Cojack's eyes and cut him off before he could speak. “Why don't you just explain to us what happened?”
The nurse entered with a cup in one hand and medication in the other. After he swallowed his pill and the nurse left, Cojack settled back and began his rendition of his arrest and how he was taken to a building near Staples Mill Road.
Tucker interrupted. “Where on Staples Mill?” he asked curiously.
“Man, this shit was in the boonies. It was like a warehouse or something. I'll remember it if I see it,” Cojack said. He then went on to tell them about the deal he made with the devil. The conspiracy charges, the wire, and the setup with the Nigerians. The whole nine.
“We found the wire you had on when you were brought in,” Scott said. “Mr. Anderson, it wasn't even activated.”
“What!” Cojack bolted. “It wasn't activated? What the hell that mean?”
Tucker whispered something to his partner, who then pulled out his cell phone and started punching in numbers. “Calm down, sir,” said Tucker. “We're trying to get to the bottom of this. Something is obviously wrong. The place you said they took you doesn't exist. I'm certain of that because it's too close to our agency for me not to know.”
Scott hung up the phone. “Davis is on his way,” he said. The agent looked at Cojack. “We're going to need you to take a look at some mug shots. I don't know what's going on but something is definitely not adding up.”
The nurse walked in with a tray in her hand. Cojack's stomach reacted instantly to the aroma of scrambled eggs and bacon.
“You put something in your stomach. We'll be back,” Tucker said. The two agents left.
As Cojack sipped from a cup of orange juice, the nurse began to talk his head off about how lucky he was to be alive. Cojack listened while trying to eat his meal. Suddenly, thoughts of the shooting started to play back in his mind. All the money and coke they got away with, not to mention his $230,000. Who the fuck were these dudes?
He was more upset with the agents than he was with the robbers. How could they send him into a situation like that with no protection? A wire that wasn't even activated? “Muthafuckas!” he shouted, losing his appetite. The connect was dead. What the hell was a nigga gon’ do now? Cojack knew Mason would have questions. He could hear him now saying, “For one, what the hell was you doing there in the first place when Bam supposed to had been out of town?”
Damn, I fucked up big time, Cojack thought. “The sweetest connect in the city. I gotta call this nigga,” he mumbled as he stretched over to grab the phone.
The door opened before he could pick up the phone. Tucker and Scott walked in followed by a short nerdy-looking white guy who they called Davis. In his hands were two large mug-shot books. After the introduction, Scott moved the tray to the side while Davis placed one of the books in front of Cojack.
“We need you to go through these photos and see if you recognize any of the men who supposedly arrested you,” Tucker said.
“This gotta be a joke, right?” Cojack said. He observed the faces in the room. “For what? Why would ATF agents be in here?”
Scott shook his head and replied, “Look, Mr. Anderson, we have reason to believe the people who arrested you were con artists masquerading as agents.”
“Get the fuck outta here, man!” Cojack gazed at the other two agents. “Y'all can't be serious.”
“Just look through the photos and we'll explain later,” Tucker insisted.
Cojack opened the book. The room was soundless as he leafed through the pages scanning each face carefully. After five minutes, he passed the book to Agent Scott.
“Nope, they ain't in there,” he said.
Davis gave him the next one, instructing him to study the faces closely. Cojack shot the agents a curious gaze and then turned his attention to the book. He studied every face thoroughly before turning the page. “Who are these people I'm lookin’ at?” Cojack stopped and asked.
“International con artists from all around the world,” Davis said. “Keep going.”
Cojack did as he was told. Halfway through the book he blurted out, “Oh shit! It's them.”
The agents grabbed the book to catch a glimpse. “Well, I'll be damned,” Davis stated. “I knew it.”
“The Lynch Mob,” Tucker uttered.
“The who?” Cojack asked, confused. He took the book and studied the faces. It was all of them. Whitehead, Boston, the other black guy, plus the white girl who was at the scene when they arrested him. Agent Scott spoke.
“Mr. Anderson, these four individuals are a gang out of California. They're notorious for sticking up. They travel around the globe posing as ATF, FBI, regular cops, you name it, shaking down hustlers. Law enforcement in California named them the Lynch Mob because they left bodies wherever they went.” Scott nodded his head. “When you first told us what happened, they were the first to come to my mind.” The agent put his hands in his pockets and said,
“Richmond is the last place I thought they'd come, though.”
Tucker cut in, “They're wanted on all types of charges ranging from murder, extortion, racketeering, a list of shit, you name it.” He cleared his throat. “Usually, the way these guys operate is they will come to a city targeting major players, trying to hook into a drug connection. Sometimes they will purchase drugs and often times they'll even pay some mediocre hustler to do it. Let me ask you something, Mr. Anderson. Is this your first encounter with these guys?”
Images of his mother with duct tape over her mouth entered his mind. He didn't want to give up information that would incriminate him further. Plus
he didn't trust these guys as far as he could throw them. Who knows? Maybe they weren't the real deal either. Maybe the pictures and these agents were just an illusion. Who could he trust?
“Naw, I ain't never seen 'em before,” Cojack said.
“The reason I ask is because usually the way they work is similar to real FBI procedures. They'll stake out their victim for months before they even make a move. Look, Mr. Anderson, we know you're a drug dealer. Obviously either you or the Nigerians were the target.” Scott flashed a devilish grin. “We're not here to hurt you, Co-jack. We want to help you.”
Cojack chuckled. “How the hell can you help me?” A painful smile escaped. He felt like a rape victim, totally violated. His bank-roll diminished, short a connect, how the hell were they gon’ help him? Cojack thought of the way he sung like a bird for those fake agents. All for nothing. He was made a fool of and couldn't possibly see how these muthafuckas could do anything for him. On top of all this, he wanted some heroin so bad that it crossed his mind to ask one of the agents if they could get some.
“Mason Fuller,” Agent Tucker said, bluntly flashing a smile similar to a serpent. “Name ring a bell?” Silence fell over the entire room as the three agents waited for a reply.
“What about him?” Cojack shot back.
“We've had him under surveillance for quite some time now, trying to build a murder case against him.” Scott cleared his throat.
“I'm sure you're familiar with the police murder a couple years back.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, man,” Cojack stated angrily.
“Sure you do, Mr. Anderson. He's your best friend, right?” Tucker said.
“Hol’ up, man. What the hell is this? How y'all jump from the Lynch Mob to Mason? Them the muthafuckas y'all need to be worried about. Got me in this bitch shot the fuck up!” Cojack was fuming. A sharp pain shot through his belly, a sign that he needed to settle down.
Davis rose from the chair holding a large manila envelope. Co-jack watched him closely as he whispered something to the other two agents and then handed over the contents. Agent Scott stepped up and said, “Mr. Anderson, please believe we understand your concerns.” He gazed down at the envelope in his hand as if its contents were something sacred. “I want you to take a look at these photos and tell us what you see.” “More pictures, huh?” Cojack uttered, taking the 81/2 × 11 photo in his hand. It was Mason and Robbin, which was odd. He knew his friend didn't care for her. Cojack stared at the picture for almost a minute trying to make something of it. He gave the picture back. “So what is this? They know each other,” Cojack said.
Tucker interjected. “Doesn't it look strange to see them together like that?”
Cojack shrugged. “Man, that's nothing. Look, y'all wasting your time. I don't got shit else to talk about.”
The agents exchanged gazes. Then Scott held out another photo. Cojack took it. Now this was strange. It was Mason and two guys he never saw before. Or had he? The faces were familiar but he couldn't place them. What did this mean? They were just regular dudes. He didn't keep up with everybody Mason hung out with. Co-jack passed the picture back.
“Perhaps you'll find this one interesting,” Scott said, handing him another photo. Cojack sighed, growing irritated and nearly snatching the pictures from Agent Scott's hand. As his eyes fixed on the faces in the picture, they grew large with surprise.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked, looking at the agents.
“You don't know, Mr. Anderson?” Tucker said. “It's a picture of your main man, Mason; your sweetheart, Robbin; and a couple of Atlanta dudes we've tied to our buddies the Lynch Mob. This one did the time in a federal penitentiary with the ringleader from California,” Tucker said, pointing at one of the men. “We just now put it all together ourselves. Is it registering in your mind now? Are you getting the picture? I forgot to inform you one of the Mob's greatest tools is infiltrating cliques. They got to Mason. How? I don't know.”
The air seemed to seep right out of Cojack's lungs as he gazed at the picture in disbelief. His best friend and the Lynch Mob meeting secretly. The same muthafuckas who duct-taped his mother and nearly killed him. What part of the game was that? “Damn, my nigga,” he droned in a disappointed tone. He looked up at the agents, trying his hardest to hold back tears that felt like they would come at any minute. “I need some time alone, please,” he pleaded, returning his attention to the photo. The men exchanged glances and then slowly headed for the door.
“We'll be back,” Tucker said.
As the door closed, Cojack could feel the pressure intensifying. Voices drummed loudly in his head.
“Why would he do this to me?” Cojack said to himself. “One of the only niggas I truly loved.” His mind began to work rapidly, searching for any small hint. Robbin crossed his mind. What part did she play in this? He thought of the first time that he saw her.
“Damn, it was Mason that introduced us.” Cojack gazed down at the picture, his senses buzzing. Then suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks. “They worked me. My own nigga.”
Now it was all clear to him: the jealousy, the deceit, and the hidden hatred. It had always been there. Mason was always trying to outdo him in some type of way. He thought of the time he purchased his Rolex Presidential. A week later, Mason had the same exact watch. But that wasn't the half. Cojack was the first out of the crew to buy a motorcycle. Two weeks later, Mason bought a bike. And at bike week, when those two dudes wanted to buy a couple bricks off Cojack, Mason had snuck around and sold them some bullshit, undercutting Cojack at every chance.
He never thought nothing of it until now. Then there was Kimberly, a VCU college student Cojack was seeing. Mason tried to hit on her but she was so hung up on him that she didn't give Mason the time of day. When Cojack asked him about it, Mason's reply was, “We don't love them hos. Only reason I did it was because I knew you didn't care.”
It was all a setup and Robbin was a stinky bitch! He thought of the first time he used heroin and the story she threw him about doing it just to stay hard. Cojack bit down hard on his bottom lip. “I fell right into the trap. Ain't that a bitch!”
It hadn't registered then but now it did. Mason had talked to his mother minutes before her assailants abducted her. Every nerve in his body seemed to go slack. It was like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart.
He recalled the conversation right after Mason shot the dude over the crap game. “How the hell you expect to get money and be gangster at the same time?” he remembered asking Mason.
“I done seen plenty gangsta niggas get money” was his reply. “A lot of these niggas just be out there in the way. It ain't what you do but how you do it.”
A tear burned down Cojack's cheek. How could he have known his best friend was speaking of him? His mind drifted back to a few days before the shooting and how Mason had portrayed the concerned friend. “I'll kill you myself before I see you turn into a dope-head,” Mason had said.
He gazed at the tall black guy in the photo. It was him, the same dude from his house as well as the one who spared his life at the detail shop. Memories flashed through his mind of him and Mason coming up. All the good times they shared were now in the past. The fake loyalty was an illusion. It was not real. One can only love or hate. Two and the same is impossible. A man can't have two hearts. Cojack understood this now. He wiped his moist eyes as the door opened and his mother walked in. She took one look at him and knew something was wrong.
“What is it, baby?” she asked with concern. Cojack just shook his head. “I tried to reach Robbin but ain't nobody answer.”
“Don't even worry about it,” he said.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” his mother said as she opened her pocketbook and pulled out a white envelope.
“What's that?” Cojack asked curiously.
“Some girl I ran into when I left the first time asked me to give this to you.” Cojack accepted the envelope, which had no name or address.
“She didn't tell you her name, Ma?”
“Nope, sure didn't. Say it was important though. Probably one of your little girlfriends.”
Cojack opened the contents and pulled the letter out. It read:
Dear Cojack,
It's good to know that you're alive and well. After I learned about your accident I felt the need to contact you by any means necessary. Lord knows I've been trying. Where do I begin? I'm still confused about this whole ordeal but something is definitely not right and I had to leave town because I feared my life was in danger.
Your friend Mason and I had a little thing going. The night you all got back from the beach, Mason came to my apartment. A little after midnight, someone knocked at my door. I asked who it was and the person said your name. Of course I opened it not even thinking first. It was two guys wearing ski masks. One grabbed me and covered my mouth to prevent me from screaming. Three or four more came in and went back to the bedroom where Mason was. They beat him, then brought him out into the living room where I was. I don't know what happened or what was discussed but I could almost bet that it was behind money. Something he may have done, I don't know.
What was very strange to me was after they beat him, he told me he was all right and not to worry. They went back into the room and talked some more. Then they left as if nothing ever happened. Mason made me promise to not say anything about it. We sat up the whole night and that morning he called you to pick him up. Cojack, I don't know what story he gave you but this is the truth, I swear.
Like I said, I'm not in Richmond anymore. That night I took my kids and we're now staying in another city. I've been sending you messages, but you wouldn't talk to me. Cojack, I really need your help. I wasn't prepared to move but felt I had to because maybe I saw something I wasn't supposed to. My money is low and I really need a loan so that I can catch up on my bills. I will contact you again very soon when I feel it's safe.
I hope this information has helped in some way. Or maybe this is old news, I don't know. I just felt like I should tell you. I'll be in touch.
