What's Really Hood!

by Wahida Clark

  Monique knew Jihad wouldn’t take the money back so she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned and walked out the door. Tears blurred her vision as she drove away.

  * * *

  “You all right?” asked Crook as he sat at the kitchen table watching his best friend grieve.

  “Nah, but I will be,” Jihad answered. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

  Over the past three days Crook and Jihad had put everything in order. It was decided that once Monique left they would be leaving right behind her.

  In order to change their appearance, both men cut their hair and bought some glasses. Their little man Squirt hooked them up with some fake IDs. The two best friends were about to embark on a journey. They had a little over $150,000 between them, which was enough for a new start.

  The bus station and airports would be monitored so they planned to drive a rental car to Charleston, West Virginia. From there they would catch the Greyhound. In Texas the duo would be met by Crook’s cousin Chris, and from there they would see what happened.

  Both men were wound up tight as a clock. They expected the police to jump out behind them at any moment. Neither man was stupid. The murder of a federal agent meant certain death. Therefore, they had already agreed that the only court they would participate in would be held in the streets. However, without incident the two arrived in Charleston some three and a half hours later and thanks to Squirt they would have five days before the rental car was reported stolen. He had paid some fiend a half ounce to rent the car and follow through with the plan. They didn’t think the police would connect the car to them, but just in case, they wanted to be tucked away safely.

  Once they were in the bus station, their nerves didn’t get much better as the presence of the police made them somewhat paranoid. They were dirty as hell. Each man wore a vest. Jihad had a nine-millimeter Beretta tucked in his waist and Crook was armed with a .38 revolver. Under normal circumstances they would never have traveled in this manner, but this trip was anything but normal. Not to mention that the JanSport backpack slung over Crook’s shoulder contained their livelihood. Therefore, they weren’t taking any chances.

  After purchasing their tickets and finding seats the two waited patiently for their bus, which was due at one-twenty p.m. Checking his watch Jihad saw that it was a little after twelve-thirty p.m., so he left to grab them something to eat.

  After what seemed like forever, they heard the call for their bus, casually proceeding to their shuttle of freedom.

  The trip was uneventful, taking about thirty-six hours. By the time they arrived at the small bus station in Kileen, Texas, their bodies were sore and their minds exhausted. Sweating profusely from the vests and tired beyond reason, they were grateful that Chris was outside the terminal waiting for them.

  Jihad had met Chris at Crook’s family reunion. That was five years ago but he still looked the same: dark-skinned, with a low-cut Caesar and a chubby frame. He looked like a teddy bear.

  “What’s up, Cuz?” asked Chris.

  “Ain’t nothing. You remember Jihad, right?” asked Crook.

  “No doubt. What’s going on?” asked Chris as he showed Jihad some love.

  As the greetings continued, the trio made their way to Chris’s ride and hopped in.

  “So what’s up, Cuz, you got some drama?” asked Chris.

  “Man, if you only knew,” replied Crook. “Let’s just say we need to stay low… forever.”

  The ride to Chris’s house took about five minutes and once they were settled, Chris cracked a bottle of Rémy as Crook explained their dilemma.

  “Y’all niggas fucked up big!” commented Chris as he stared wide-eyed at the two. Then he added, “You know I got y’all’s back!”

  SEVEN

  Four months later…

  At first Crook and Jihad stayed hidden, never wanting to venture outside the apartment. Eventually the hot Texas weather and need for some form of life pushed them out the door.

  The apartment complex they were staying in was a nice spot that was tucked away in the cut. Chris had shown the duo lots of love. Not only did he have their apartment in his name, he put both their rides in his name. And staring out the window and into the pool area, Crook had finally had enough as he said, “Fuck this. I need some pussy.”

  Jihad, understanding his friend, just laughed. The women in Texas were fine, thick, and he was miserable as hell without one.

  They had met a few women messing around with Chris, but both had agreed not to get serious with anyone. They had to stay on point. They couldn’t allow their faces to become known. However, being cooped up like an animal was starting to take its toll and Jihad said, “Fuck it,” as he headed out the door after his man.

  It was Saturday afternoon, the pool was packed. Still somewhat leery about getting familiar with the neighbors, Jihad found an open table outside the pool area and watched as Crook jumped in the pool.

  After sitting out under the hot sun for a few minutes, Jihad began to relax as he thought about everything that had transpired. He was so consumed that he didn’t notice the woman walk up beside him until she asked, “You ain’t gonna swim?”

  Startled, Jihad looked up as the woman apologized for interrupting, but then regained his composure and replied, “Nah. I’m just laying back, shorty. Why you ask?”

  “You look like you’re lonely,” she said in a sincere tone.

  Jihad laughed as he thought to himself, If you only knew. Then he asked, “What’s your name, Miss Lady?”

  “Tiffany. What’s yours?” she asked.

  “Tony.”

  “Just Tony?” she asked. “You don’t have a real name?”

  “Let’s just keep it at Tony and Tiffany right now, babygirl,” he laughed as they began to talk.

  The conversation was pleasant and something about her demeanor made him hate lying. She asked where he was from and he said, “New York.”

  She asked what he did and he said, “I own real estate.” Which wasn’t a total lie, but the fact that the Feds had probably seized everything in his name by now probably canceled out the truth of his statement.

  Shorty wasn’t stupid. She knew Jihad was a hustler so the lies he told were expected. Therefore, she didn’t trip or pry too much. She figured that he probably did own some property, but that definitely wasn’t how he made a living.

  “What you doing in Texas?” she asked.

  “Damn, babygirl. You sure ask a lot of questions,” he laughed and then added, “Why don’t you tell me something about you?”

  She was a twenty-six-year-old single mother who was a registered nurse, which made Jihad laugh to himself, thinking, Good, when the police shoot my ass up you can put me back together.

  For over two hours the pair sat and talked. Jihad was surprised to look up and see that Crook was gone. He must have figured me and shorty was better off left alone, thought Jihad.

  “So what apartment do you live in?” asked Jihad, wondering why he had never seen Tiffany before.

  “Oh, I don’t live here,” she said. “My sister does.”

  “I guess that means I can’t stop by and check you out then,” Jihad said.

  “You can check me out whenever,” she offered as she retrieved a pen and piece of paper from her purse and began to write. “All you got to do is call.”

  The conversation continued a little while longer until Tiffany excused herself. She had a job to get to. They agreed that he would call her sometime around eleven-thirty that night and they would hook up. Before leaving she gave him a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  After watching Tiffany retrieve her son from the pool and leave out of the complex, Jihad proceeded to the crib to see what had happened to Crook. However, when he got there, Crook was nowhere to be found. With nothing better to do, Jihad jumped in the shower and went to lie down.

  It was a few hours before he finally opened his eyes and when he did, Crook was standing over him.

  “What the fuck yo
u doing?” asked Jihad.

  “Waking your ass up,” replied Crook, laughing. “You ain’t even get the pussy and she put you to sleep.”

  “Fuck you!” replied Jihad, laughing. Then he asked, “Where you been?”

  “Unlike you,” Crook said, “I was in some pussy.”

  Jihad just laughed as the two began to discuss their day. After they were through and Jihad had told Crook about Tiffany, Crook looked at Jihad seriously and said, “Yo, dawg, she ain’t Monique so don’t go falling in love.”

  Jihad blew the comment off but Crook knew better. You could look in Jihad’s eyes and see the pain. There were so many nights that he had wanted to call, to run to her even, but in the end he knew it wasn’t possible. This was his life now and Jihad had to make the best of it. Crook didn’t want to see his friend get caught up trying to fill the void in his life that losing Monique had created. He knew in the end it could only bring about trouble.

  EIGHT

  As the months passed by, Jihad and Crook began to relax and returned to the game. They weren’t playing all out, but they were eating a slice of the pie.

  Kileen, Texas, was a military town, sitting right next to Fort Hood army base. One night while ballin’ out in City Lights nightclub, Jihad got to talking to a few soldiers who after a few drinks got loose with the tongue. They liked to get high. But finding good blow wasn’t easy. “I’d pay whatever for some good shit,” stated one brother, causing the rest of them to agree.

  After leaving the club that night, Jihad sat Crook down and after some planning they decided to try their hand. Jihad had a connect in Houston, via Tiffany. He had met her cousin Dom at a cookout a month prior and at that time Dom had passed Jihad his number… just in case.

  After a few phone calls it was settled and the next day Jihad was driving down Interstate 35 South en route to Houston.

  Jihad hated driving. If he got pulled over there was no way his ID could stand a check. That would prove fatal to either him or the cop.

  Once in Houston, Jihad followed the directions southeast. He was to meet Dom at Sharpstown Mall. When he arrived, Dom was waiting and after some small talk they were en route to Dom’s crib.

  The drive took only a few minutes. They pulled into a nice gated community. After getting out of the car, Jihad followed Dom into his town house and got down to business.

  After all was said and done Jihad got what he came for, four kilos. Knowing they might have to sit on the work for a minute until shit got poppin’, he and Crook had reasoned that sitting on it would be better than driving back and forth on the Interstate. Prices were damn near half of what they had paid at home. It made perfect sense. As a matter a fact, during the drive home Jihad wondered why he hadn’t copped more. At $12,500 a bird, he could have copped at least eight of them. Fuck it! he thought. There’s always next time.

  After he arrived safely at the crib, Jihad and Crook put everything up and left the house, going separate ways.

  The plan was that Crook would talk to his cousin Chris and Jihad would discuss the work with a young brother named Sweets, who was messing with Tiffany’s girl.

  Over the past few months, Jihad and Tiffany had become somewhat serious but Jihad still couldn’t get over Monique. Tiffany would get on his nerves by pestering him about quality time. However, she helped to pass the time and dull the ache of losing Monique.

  In the end, everything came together. Chris and Sweets agreed to step the game up and copped only from Jihad and Crook. In return, they were blessed with the sweetest prices they could find without having to make a trip. Crook and Jihad were only making about six thousand dollar profit off each brick. It enabled them to live comfortably and not hit their nest egg.

  For three months everything went well. Money came regularly and Crook and Jihad were able to establish a limited social life. Jihad spent most of his time with Tiffany, and Crook with his cousin Chris, but they never strayed far from one another. They were together every day and this morning was no different as Crook swung past Tiffany’s house to get Jihad since his car was in the shop. After eating breakfast they decided to get an early start on their day, pulling into the Winn-Dixie supermarket to grab a case of Heineken. As he got to the register, Jihad realized he didn’t have his ID. “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He asked the clerk to hold the case while he ran to the car. Outside he told Crook to grab the beer while he searched the car.

  By the time Crook returned, Jihad still hadn’t found it. He picked up the phone to call Tiff.

  “Hello,” Tiffany said as she answered on the third ring.

  “Tiff, did I leave my ID there?” questioned Jihad.

  “Yeah, I got it. But I’m about to leave for work,” she said.

  “Leave it in the mailbox or with your brother. I’m on my way,” said Jihad.

  “Boy, if I leave that shit, I won’t see your ass for another three days. At least now I know I’ll see you later.”

  “Look, Tiff, I need my ID. I’m on my way,” he said, getting irritated with her games. She didn’t know that he was on the run. Therefore, she didn’t understand how important it was.

  “You’ll get it later. I get off at eight o’clock tonight. See you then!” she said, ready to hang up the phone, but was stopped short by Jihad’s anger.

  “Bitch. I’m coming to get my ID now and if you keep playing with me I’m gonna fuck your ass up!”

  Tiffany was about to snap, but instead all she heard was dial tone. Jihad had already hung up. “Who the fuck does that nigga think I am!” she snapped as she went to get her brother.

  By the time Jihad and Crook pulled up to the house, Jihad was steaming. Crook tried to calm him down, but he wasn’t trying to hear it.

  Walking up the path to the house, Jihad saw the door begin to open as Tiffany’s brother appeared in the doorway. “Nigga, what the fuck…” His words were cut short as Jihad pulled the nine-millimeter Beretta from his waistband, grabbed him by his shirt and jammed the barrel in his mouth, knocking out some teeth in the process.

  “You think this is a motherfuckin’ game!” screamed Jihad as Tiffany came out of the kitchen, horrified at the drama erupting.

  Seeing Tiffany only escalated Jihad’s anger. He withdrew the pistol from Smitty’s mouth, bringing the cold steel crashing down on his head.

  As Smitty fell, Crook ran around Jihad and began to stomp the shit out of him. Jihad walked toward Tiffany saying, “Where’s my shit?”

  “I ain’t giving you shit, motherfucker!” she hollered. “Get out my house!”

  Unable to control his anger, Jihad reached out and snatched her by the throat. He heard her son screaming, but he didn’t relent. She tried to back away and fight for air, but her attempts were futile as he backed her up against the wall and tried to choke the life out of her.

  Jihad didn’t realize Tiffany’s supply of oxygen was running out as her dark complexion turned purple and she went limp and slid down the wall. Finally letting go, Jihad stepped back and watched as her seven-year-old son ran to her, trying to revive her while crying hysterically.

  Jihad had thought she was dead. He raised the pistol to eliminate any potential witnesses. And was surprised to hear Tiffany gasp for air and begin to vomit.

  Her son clung to her as she looked up into Jihad’s eyes. She had seriously misjudged him as being just another hustler with a few dollars. Seeing the rage in his eyes she knew she had fucked up. He was a stone-cold killer.

  Tiffany struggled to her feet and reached into her pocket, saying, “Here’s your ID. Now get the fuck out!”

  He reached for his property and he and Crook walked away from the house. Once they were gone, Tiffany ran to her brother. He lay there in a puddle of blood, unconscious but breathing. Through tear-streaked eyes she dialed 911 and let them know her brother had been beaten, then hollered out after Jihad and Crook, “You niggas is going to jail!”

  NINE

  Being involved with Tiffany had made Jihad take certain precauti
ons. They had rented another apartment. You always had to have a backup.

  When things began to get somewhat serious between Jihad and Tiffany, Crook had warned his friend, but Jihad wasn’t trying to hear him. It wasn’t that he loved Tiffany. She was just convenient. “It ain’t like you think,” Jihad had told Crook. “I’m just having some fun.”

  “What did I tell you?” shouted Crook. “Leave the bitch alone. But you had to be hardheaded.”

  “Man, fuck that!” retorted Jihad. “That bitch served her purpose and now it’s over.”

  “That bitch is also gonna call the police,” stated Crook, trying to control his temper.

  “And tell them what?” asked Jihad. “That some brother named Tony Spears fucked up her brother? She don’t even know my name and don’t have no pictures of me. The most she can tell them is the type of car I drive and there’s a hundred other people driving the same shit. Like I said, that bitch served her purpose. I got almost forty grand out her girl’s man so now she can kiss my ass.”

  “Dawg, you’re not looking at the big picture! We’re on the run. And now we’re down here running again. This shit got to stop.”

  As Crook continued to berate him, Jihad listened. Crook was right and Jihad knew it. He had a habit of overreacting and given their situation he was gonna have to chill. He was also gonna have to lay low for a minute. He wasn’t trying to get sucked up behind some stupid shit.

  After about ten minutes of driving Jihad’s cell went off and the caller ID showed a number he didn’t recognize, but he answered it anyway. “Hello.”

  “Is this Tony Spears?” asked the caller on the other end.

  Hearing his alias made Jihad laugh as he asked, “Who’s this?”

  “This is Officer Wilson from the Kileen Police Department. I think we need to talk.”

  “I don’t got shit to say to you,” laughed Jihad.