Backstage: Street Chronicles

by Nikki Turner

  Chopper started to go into shock. “I can’t feel my arm!” he shouted.

  JJ was also in shock. He stood still, staring in the direction of young Cannon’s cold body laying on the floor. He heard the sirens coming, but he couldn’t run. All he could do was slowly walk in the direction of Cannon’s body.

  At the same time JJ reached Cannon’s body and looked down, a red-haired police officer yelled, “FREEZE!”

  Freeze was all JJ could do. The sight of what the AK did to his little homie traumatized him so much that he fainted before the officer could put cuffs on him.

  The officer panicked; he thought JJ fell to the ground because he was hit. He quickly walked over with his 9mm held out in front of him. When he got close enough to see Cannon’s body he shouted, “Oh shit!”

  The police academy didn’t prepare him for this. As much as they thought they’d seen it all, there is always something crazier than the last.

  “This is Officer Putnam. We have three men down at the south entrance of the Jackson Ward Projects.”

  He mistakenly thought JJ was down because of a gun wound, until he noticed that JJ wasn’t bleeding, and he was moving. Officer Putnam knew JJ was alive; that’s when he grabbed JJ’s hand. He let it go right before the ambulance got there.

  When the ambulance got there, the medics noticed that JJ wasn’t bleeding from anywhere. “He must be in shock,” one of them said.

  He put smelling salts under JJ’s nose until he began to cough.

  “Yeah, this one is okay.”

  JJ shook his head from side to side, scrunching his nose up from the effects of the powerful smelling salts. “What happened?” he asked, trying to move his left hand but it was chained to a metal rail.

  Officer Putnam was sitting next to him. JJ recognized that police shield immediately, then the rest started slowly coming back like a bad dream.

  “NO! What happened to Cannon?” The memory of what he saw was coming back and he was going back into shock.

  “Sedate him!” the head medic ordered.

  Before he could blink, there was a needle being injected into his arm. Within seconds he was back in la-la land.

  “Don’t worry, when he wakes up again, I’ll be right here. Detective Hewes has some questions for you,” said Officer Putnam, the same cop with the red hair who had ordered JJ to freeze. “You’re facing some pretty big charges. Yeah, he’s a big fish, all right. Attempted murder, and possession of narcotics,” Officer Putnam said with pride.

  This was the biggest catch of his mediocre career in law enforcement. He was ecstatic about arresting JJ, and was going to charge JJ with possession of the 40-caliber that shot Chopper’s arm off.

  JJ’s good luck looked like it had just ran out.

  Chapter 6

  “This fucking drought is killing me!” Dee complained. “I haven’t made a fucking dime in two weeks!”

  Trapp just shook his head in silence. His pockets were hurting so bad, he didn’t even have any more lint left in them. Whenever times got this bad, Trapp resorted to grimy measures. Trapp had devious thoughts running through his mind.

  “Yo, we need to do a nice jux.” Trapp spoke like a hungry wolf.

  “Fuck it, right about now I’m ready to do whatever,” Dee said in agreement with Trapp.

  Trapp liked it when he was able to convince someone to do evil. It fueled a strange feeling of power in his mind that was becoming dangerous and uncontrollable.

  “Anybody can fucking get it,” Dee added.

  “That’s what the fuck I’m saying!” Trapp gave Dee a strong handshake to increase the negative energy.

  Just then Trapp’s cellphone rang. “What’s poppin?”

  “Yo, did you hear about what happened to JJ and Cannon?”

  “No, what happened, son?” Trapp’s diabolical mind was always looking to profit from anything, especially now.

  “Little Cannon from C.I. by one-eleven and Sycamore went down South to “VA with that nigga JJ and got murdered, and the nigga JJ locked up for a body and like a half a key or some crazy shit. He facing life in prison.”

  “Son, stop playing!” Trapp said with a hint of glee in his voice as if he was half happy about JJ’s demise.

  “Word bond, son. This bitch that fuck with his cousin aunt’s cousin, or some shit like that, told me.” The youngster on the phone paused to pull on a blunt.

  The truth wasn’t the truth once it traveled a block, let alone four hundred miles. The story was twisted at least a hundred times before it got to Trapp from his source.

  “She said Cannon got his whole torso and head blown off, and this nigga JJ killed the nigga that killed Cannon. Then they found made drugs on JJ. He finished, son.”

  “Son, I’m going to call you later.” Trapp was anxious to tell Dee about JJ’s misfortune.

  “Who was that, Trapp?”

  “Some lame, but yo! This nigga just told me that JJ got locked up for a body and a half-key possession. He facing life in prison.” He paused. “Oh yeah, some kid named Cannon from C.I. got murdered down there with him.” Trapp spoke about Cannon as if he was nobody.

  “Wait a minute, did you say a kid named Cannon from C.I. by one-eleven and Sycamore?” Dee’s face became flushed.

  “Yeah, he did say by one-eleven. I don’t know that nigga, though.” Trapp stopped talking because he saw the look on Dee’s face. “Yo, Dee, you all right, man?” Trapp asked with concern.

  “Noooo!” Dee screamed at the top of his lungs. Just then his cellphone rang. He saw the name on his caller ID and automatically knew what they were going to say. “Hello.”

  “Derrick, this is your Aunt Beverly.” She spoke calmly, then came the storm. “They killed my baby! They killed my baby! He was only eighteen years old and his birthday was next week!” she shouted into the phone with a river of tears running down her smooth brown complexion. “They killed my baby!”

  Dee hung up the phone and began to clutch his heart. Young Cannon was Dee’s first cousin. A cousin that Dee used to be very close with. The thing that was hurting Dee the most was the fallout they had the last time he saw Cannon.

  “I don’t want you to hustle, Li’l Cannon. I can pay for your studio time and pay for the video and everything. Just don’t hustle because you can’t rap from behind bars, let me take that risk.”

  “Fuck that, if you can hustle I can, too. I’m not little Cannon no more. From now on knock that little shit from in front of my handle. I’m getting money and can’t nobody stop me.”

  “Yo, little nigga, don’t get it fucked up! I will still put the beats on you!”

  “You ain’t going to do nothing to Cannon. Move out my way.”

  Dee punched Cannon in the face, then Cannon pulled out a .357 Magnum, hit Dee in the side of his head, and pointed the barrel between Dee’s eyes.

  “I should blow your fucking head off.” Cannon saw the blood leaking from Dee’s temple and was content with that. “Now your stupid ass is leaking for fucking with a G!”

  Dee felt the side of his face and saw blood on his fingers. “Yo, from now on I don’t give a fuck what happens to you. Don’t call me, you’re dead to me! You ain’t shit to me.”

  “I don’t need you any fucking way, lame.”

  Cannon stormed out of the house.

  That was two years ago.

  Dee was reminiscing on that last moment with the only male cousin he had in his whole family. Cannon was like Dee’s little brother, in fact Cannon’s short tenure in the drug game was due to Dee.

  Cannon wanted to be just like his older cousin. Dee built a formidable reputation for himself on the local drug scene. Cannon used his cousin’s reputation on many occasions to get connections in the game.

  Dee knew that his cousin wanted to be like him, and although he was flattered, he wanted Cannon to be more than a drug dealer. He saw Cannon as a talented rap artist. He wanted him to be successful in something positive, because he had the talent.

  Dee saw too man
y people from his hood with talent that did nothing with it. He wanted Cannon to transcend mediocrity, to be the greatest. Now Cannon would never get that chance.

  “It’s all that nigga JJ’s fault. If he wouldn’t have taken the little nigga down there, he wouldn’t have gotten murdered. You know how that nigga JJ is, he always want somebody to do shit his way. Well look what his way did, it got his dumb ass locked up for life, and he got your little cousin killed.”

  Trapp was using this situation to his evil advantage. He saw the vengeance building up in Dee’s eyes. He looked as evil as Trapp did when he was in this mode, so Trapp knew the look.

  “You right, son, it’s all that nigga JJ’s fault. Fuck that nigga JJ Gates, we going to run up in that nigga’s apartment. I know where he keep his money and everything. That nigga still be keeping his bread in shoe boxes,” Dee said deviously with tears for his cousin running down his face.

  “Fuck it, son, let’s get it poppin.”

  JJ’s apartment was in the hood. He was still a novice in the game, so he hadn’t learned the simple but complex rule, don’t shit where you sleep. Although he had come up fast in the game, it was pure luck. He just happened to be at the right place around the right people that made it happen for him, but he took all the credit.

  It didn’t take Trapp any time to break into JJ’s apartment. Once they were in, Dee led the way straight to a closet that had fifty Jordan sneaker boxes lined up against the back wall.

  “Which one of these boxes has the money in it?” Trapp asked impatiently. “We don’t have time to go through them all.”

  “I think he keeps it on the third row or some dumb shit.”

  Dee took the whole third row and quickly went through them. There was no money in none of the boxes on the third row.

  “Fuck it, move over, son, let’s both go through the boxes. We don’t have time to bullshit.” Trapp shoved Dee to the side and started going through the boxes with him.

  Trapp opened a box. It was stacked to the top with hundreds. He didn’t say a word. He moved that box to the side.

  Just then there was a loud knock on the door.

  “Oh shit!” Dee said in a shouting whisper. Dee headed straight for the window in JJ’s room. It led to the backyard.

  That was Trapp’s chance to stash the money he found. He started stuffing as much of it as he could into all his pockets.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! “Open up!” Then the door burst open. Two police officers slowly canvassed the area.

  Someone saw Trapp break in and they called the cops.

  Trapp headed for the window. He saw JJ’s golden rhyme book laying on the nightstand. He snatched the rhyme book up and fled out the window.

  As Trapp fled through the backyard, he thought to himself, Why did I snatch this fucking notebook? Then the words of JJ ran through his mind.

  I can’t forget my rhyme book, it’s worth millions.

  “I didn’t get all the money. Fuck it, I got a lot.”

  Trapp separated from Dee and went to his house. He emptied all his pockets and counted the money. He had $12,360.

  “It must have been at least eight thousand more left. Fuck it, twelve thousand is a come up.”

  Trapp looked at JJ’s rhyme book. He picked it up and started reading some of JJ’s raps out loud as if he was performing them.

  “JJ gunplay / my chick on the runway / slang yay / all day / cook cake like soufflé / wrap ‘em up / then ship ‘em out of town / man your boy outta bounds / we don’t ball with you clowns / we pop champagne until we spit it up / that new CL 600 / ‘bout to pick it up/ the whole rap game / Trapp about to stick it up / ‘cause ain’t no clique on this planet / spit as sick as us / Trapp is a don / hundred g’s on my arm / plus fifty on the charm / got your girl on my arm.”

  “I think I can do this rap shit,” Trapp said after a quick session with JJ’s rhymes.

  That night Trapp spent eight hours smoking kush and spitting JJ’s rhymes as if they were his. He started to envision himself on stage performing for hundreds of fly girls and thugs. He envisioned all the money and fame, something that Trapp always wanted.

  Trapp was always the low man on the totem pole. He was never known for anything other than being broke, instigating beef, and being a soldier under someone. No girls wanted to get with him because he was only fly one day out of the week, the rest of the week he was wearing the same outfit. Then he would buy a new outfit every week because the one he wore all week couldn’t be worn again.

  People were always putting Trapp down whenever he spoke of doing something big. People treated him like a nobody so he acted like one. However, since he had been hanging with Dee and JJ, he got a taste of money, and the hunger for more settled in.

  “Fuck that, Trapp is about to be that new nigga everybody talk about.”

  Trapp fell asleep with visions of being a rap star dancing through his head.

  Chapter 7

  “Twenty-three-year-old Jamal Jenkins is awaiting trial for attempted murder and possession of two ounces of crack cocaine.” They showed JJ entering the courtroom in cuffs. “He is facing twenty-five years in prison if convicted. Next up is Sal with your five-day weather report,” the newscaster reported.

  “I know him!” Sasha shouted.

  “You know who?” her best friend Mina asked.

  “That’s the guy from New York that I met that I was telling you about, JJ.”

  “Damn, he is in a messed up predicament.”

  “I think I can help him,” Sasha said sincerely.

  “How did I know you were going to say that?” Mina asked sarcastically.

  “No, seriously, I’m going to take his case pro bono. The firm has been asking me to take on some major cases, so this will be my first one. Plus, the fact that homie put it on me!” Sasha and Mina gave each other a high five.

  “I know that’s right, because I heard your freaky ass.”

  “I’ll be at the courtroom first thing tomorrow morning. Jamal Jenkins.” Sasha scribbled the name on a legal notepad. “JJ, Jamal Jenkins, very clever.”

  Sasha couldn’t get JJ off her mind. That night she had broken her golden rule for the first time; she gave up the goods on the first night. It may have been the way JJ spent a thousand dollars on drinks that had something to do with it. Nevertheless, she thought about JJ every day.

  Sasha Cohen came from a privileged family. Her exotic features were due to a mixture of Jewish and Black heritage. Both of her parents were lawyers, so she was a second-generation lawyer in the family.

  Sasha graduated with a law degree from the University of Colorado at the age of twenty-five by doubling up for four years. She landed a probationary job at a local law firm immediately, due to her father’s influence. Whether she stayed at the firm would depend on her skills as a lawyer.

  “I’m going to look extra special for JJ tomorrow at court.” Sasha was going through her wardrobe in the closet. “This right here will do.”

  She picked out a sexy but conservative teal-green skirt and matching blouse that hugged every curve of her voluptuous body.

  “He will like this.” Sasha already had plans to save JJ from his plight, and to seduce him at the same time. “I can’t wait to see him again.”

  Sasha dozed off thinking of JJ.

  Incarceration quickly desensitized JJ; he was numb to his situation, and he accepted his current reality. JJ didn’t know anything about the legal system, so he was confused in the courtroom. On his first court date the judge appointed him a legal aid.

  “People recommend one million dollars bail,” the DA quickly announced.

  “Bail set at the sum of one million U.S. dollars!” The judge slammed her gavel down.

  JJ was escorted to the bullpen to wait for a bus to return to the Richmond County jail. While he was in the bullpen, he met a cool old-timer named Solomon.

  “Young blood, let me school you on something.”

  At first JJ was defensive, because in jail you have to b
e, but his instincts told him that Solomon meant no harm.

  “Listen to me, get yourself a lawyer, because they are going to hang you.”

  “What do you mean they’re going to hang me?” JJ was confused.

  “When Black people were slaves, and afterward, White folk use to hang us from trees for their amusement. Now they found a different way to hang us, and that’s in the courtroom, by taking so much time from you, that you may as well be dead.”

  Solomon’s words were so powerful that they automatically sparked JJ’s intuitive mind. He knew that Solomon was not like the rest of the old-timers he knew, like OG Rosco. Solomon displayed a genuine sense of caring and integrity that JJ respected.

  “I can’t get to my money in Long Island. I don’t even know what the fuck these people are talking about. They’re trying to say that I blew Chopper’s arm off, and the drugs—” JJ stopped talking midsentence.

  “Look, it don’t matter what you did, all I know is that your case is a high-profile case because I saw you on the news. That means the DA is going to try to fry you because the media is involved.”

  “Damn, I didn’t look at it like that,” JJ said, bewildered by this epiphany.

  “Don’t worry, young blood, things sometimes have a way of turning around when you least expect them to.” Solomon rubbed his full beard as he spoke. “I’m Solomon.” He stuck his hand out for a handshake. “What’s your name, brother?”

  “My name is Jamal, but everybody calls me JJ Gates or just JJ.” JJ firmly shook Solomon’s hand.

  Solomon was facing life in prison for his third felony. His criminal history dated back to the seventies. The system was ready to lose him, but he was ready to save one young soul before they took him out.

  “How old are you, JJ?”

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  “Man, you are a baby. You have a lot of life left in you. You can come out of this smelling like a rose, my man.”

  The words of inspiration were working. JJ’s spirits started rising instantly.