The California Saga (20 page)

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck you and Miranda! And that can go on record,” I snapped as they lifted me from the floor and directed me out the door.

The ride to the Virginia Beach jail was long and uncomfortable. I sat slumped sideways, with my hands still cuffed, in the crammed backseat of the police car. I actually was relieved when we reached the station. I was ready to just get this whole ordeal over with.

From the car, I was escorted straight to the interrogation room and left freezing like a piece of meat in a freezer. I sat alone for forty-five minutes, shivering in this small room with nothing but a table and three chairs. I never quite understood the purpose of having the room below zero or the purpose of leaving you in the room alone for so long.

Finally, a man walked in who introduced himself as Detective Tarver. Almost to the point of going stir crazy, I welcomed the tall, husky, bald-headed white man, who seemed like he should have been playing some sort of contact sport instead of being a detective.

“Sasha Williams, you're being charged with two counts of attempted murder,” the detective said as my mind wandered elsewhere.

What the fuck? Attempted murder? You mean to tell me that bitch ain't dead?
My first reaction was one of disappointment, but then I really thought about what was being said to me.
Two counts of attempted murder, Sasha. You going to jail, bitch, and you ain't never getting out.
My heart palpitated, and I felt dizzy as I registered exactly what this man was telling me. Okay, with respect to Jewel, of course, I knew I was guilty, and there was no way around it. But, Touch, oh, hell no. That wasn't my charge, and I wasn't wearing that shit for nobody.

“Do you understand your rights and the counts you are being charged with?” the detective asked.

I'd missed all the information he'd said in between, and although I was still in shock, I just answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Now, I know you're not a bad person, Sasha. You're a mother of two, and I know you would hate to lose your kids behind this. So I'm here to help you.”

I knew the detective was lying. He didn't give a fuck about me or my kids. I'd seen this same scenario one too many times on the A&E series,
The First 48
. I knew what was coming next. He wanted me to help him, and he would help me.

I played along. “Please don't take me away from my kids,” I pleaded.

“Well, here's the thing. We know we have enough information to charge you. That's no question. We have a security guard that identified you. He said you all had a conversation minutes before the incident, and you nearly knocked him over when you were fleeing the scene.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, knowing exactly who he was speaking about. I couldn't believe that bitch-ass nigga from the strip club had turned me in. I guess he needed a good look in hopes of going from a nothing as a bouncer to a bitch-ass police officer.

“Yep, and right now, both of the victims are in critical condition. If they die, you could be looking at murder, and you will never see your kids again. I don't want that to happen to you, so I'm willing to help you, if you're willing to help me.”

The detective gave almost the same spiel I'd hear on
The First 48
time and time again. It was almost comical. I had to wonder if that was a speech all cops learned in the academy.

“So what do I have to do?” I asked, continuing to play along.

Detective Tarver laid out the deal. “There's a major drug ring in Virginia Beach that revolves around Jewel, Touch, and Calico, and we know you were longtime friends with Jewel. So, what information can you give us to bring down their operation? Your cooperation in helping us bring them down can determine the outcome of your charges.”

Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone—getting rid of Jewel and Calico—I readily agreed. I hated Jewel and wanted her out of the picture, and I didn't know just how safe I was with Calico, seeing that I'd stolen his one hundred grand.

“Okay. I'll tell you what I know,” I told him. “Calico was the main supplier. He brought cocaine from California and flooded the entire seven cities. Touch was his right-hand man, and together they were killing the drug game. But when Jewel got hooked up with the True Mafia Family, better known as TMF, Touch ended up using them as a new link, cutting Calico out.

“Jewel met the head guys in TMF through ghostwriting. They were coming out with a first-time album, and they hired her to ghostwrite a few songs on it. She used the power of brains and beauty to get in good with them. Then when she got her advance money, she purchased some weight from them and gave it to Touch to get rid of. She had it all planned out from the beginning.

“From that point on, money been constantly flowing. But Touch's big come-up brought beef between him and Calico. He ultimately stabbed Calico in the back and stole all his customers.”

The detective continued to fish for information. “Do you have any phone numbers, addresses, or can you give us any other people that may be involved in this ring?”

Careful to tell the detective just enough to ease his hunger, but not enough to incriminate myself, we had a deal. By the end of our interrogation session, I had told Detective Tarver that Calico was Touch's shooter and submitted a written statement describing the events from that night.

When it was all said and done, I'd given Detective Tarver what he wanted, and we had a deal. I ended up being charged with only felony assault, but in turn, I would have to testify against Calico as an eyewitness to the shooting. I can't lie, that shit made me nervous as hell, but a bitch had to do what she had to do to save her ass.

Initially, my thoughts had been that Jewel was lucky I hadn't shot her ass, but in the end, it was lucky for me. Although everything in me wanted to see her in a casket, I knew shooting her in the club would have been too risky. Calico, on the other hand, wasn't as smart.

 

 

It never felt so good to be back in Cali. A nigga was dead broke, and every dime I owned was on the streets, waiting to be collected. I was really starting to feel the effects of Touch's little business taking the rise. I had plenty of product I'd bought from across the border, but no one to push that shit. The Mexicans were loading up cats on the West Coast with cocaine, so they could get my same shit for equal or better, making it impossible to move any weight on my side. It was those niggas on the East Coast that would pay top dollar, but that snake-ass Touch had swiped each and every one of my customers. It was hard to even get rid of my shit on the East Coast at this point.

I thought back to when everything was gravy. I would get the shit from the Mexicans and then hook up with my niggas on the East Coast. In only a matter of days I could get rid of everything. Back then, Touch would take half of the work off my hands off the buck. But then that nigga fucked up the business, had to go and get all pussy-whipped and shit. That put me in a hell of a predicament with the Mexican Mafia. I knew those niggas didn't play when it came to their money, so I used every dime to pay them back. A true soldier always knows it's money before bitches.

I was slowly building my money back up though. I can't lie, shit was real, and I ain't even have a hundred dollars to my name, but a nigga felt good to know he was about to be back on top. Putting Touch to rest was one definite way to assure my rise. After I put those hot balls in his ass, I broke out of Virginia the next morning. I hit up one of my little soldiers back in VA to give me the word on the streets.

“Yo!” Poppo answered.

I got right to business. “What's the word on that side?”

“You gotta work on your aim, duke.”

“Fuck you mean, bitch nigga?” I asked, slightly insulted by Poppo's statement.

“Bitch?”

I could tell, by his tone, Poppa didn't take much liking to the name-calling, but I wasn't letting up. “You heard me, nigga. And watch your fucking tone.” I was the fucking boss, so I needed to make sure he recognized that when speaking to me.

“Whatever you say, duke. But, anyway, that nigga still breathing,” Poppo said still with a slight attitude, but he didn't have the balls to act on his aggravation.

“Hell nah!” I couldn't believe the shit I was hearing. I never missed a target.

“Yeah, dawg, that shit was on the news. They say that nigga in critical condition. And I hear they got that bitch Sasha locked up.”

“Sasha? Who the fuck is Sasha?” I asked Poppo, the name sounding familiar to me.

“She that bitch that used to roll tight with Jewel. But the crazy shit is, she popped Jewel in the head with a champagne bottle that same night at the club. I hear Jewel in a fucking coma. That bitch, Sasha, picture was on the news and everything, dawg.”

“I can't believe the shit I am hearing right now. You mean to tell me that bitch stood right beside me and I ain't even know that was her? Man, I'm fucking slipping. The bitch came over and tried to holla at a nigga; we exchanged numbers and everything. I got the number in my phone right now. No wonder the bitch started to look all sick and pale in the face, like she'd seen a fucking ghost when I told her my fucking name. She real lucky. That bitch has no idea how close she was to catching one of those hot balls along with Touch. One thing fo' sho', next time, that bitch won't slip away from me.” Burning up inside with anger, I ended the call with Poppo and rolled a blunt.

After smoking on some high-grade, I dozed off to sleep.

I was wakened by the constant ringing of my cell phone. I looked at the caller ID. It was my attorney, Natalia Bergetti. Worry hovered over me as I answered the phone. She and I had a hate-love relationship. I hated being brought on charges and loved it when she got my ass off.

She called me by my government name. “Michael?”

“What's up? I know it gotta be bad news for you to be calling me.”

“Hate to say it, but yes, it's pretty bad. I just got word from one of my contacts that you're being charged with attempted murder on Trayvon Davis, AKA Touch. And to make matters worse, they have an eyewitness. She was the original suspect, but I'm sure she worked out a deal with the detectives to lessen her charges, if she agrees to testify against you. You know they have been out for you for some time now, so if they can't get you on drug charges, they will certainly go for murder. They just want to see you put away a very, very long time.”

“A'ight.” I let out a deep sigh and then added, “Well, I'll be there to check you in a few days. Let me sort some things out first.” I ended the call.

After I hung up the phone, I wondered if my reign as the Teflon man had run out. One thing I did know for sure though. A nigga wasn't turning hisself in. Those bitch-ass Virginia Beach cops was gonna have to find me.

I had a fucking instant headache as I processed everything that was going on. I was already awaiting trial on a fucking Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act charge, better known as a RICO charge, and now attempted murder. I was pretty confident my attorney could work out the RICO charge with a plea or something, but a witness to that attempted murder was no joke.

That shit was real! I'm sorry, but a nigga just wasn't built for a long bid in the penitentiary. Having a guard with horrible breath telling me what to do, being given slop for meals that even an animal wouldn't eat, beating my dick to a
XXL
magazine and having my momma and kids coming up for visits with tears in their eyes wasn't an option for me. I would pay any price for freedom, and believe me, my attorney wasn't cheap.

Besides, I already knew who their little eyewitness was. It had to be that bitch Sasha. Without an eyewitness, they had no case. So, with that said, I knew what I had to do. It was official. That bitch Sasha had to be dealt with. I knew I would be making a trip to Virginia real soon, but first, I needed to go relieve some tension and get these two monkeys off my back.

I decided to go pay my baby mother a little visit. I hopped in my car and headed to her crib unannounced.

“'S up?” I greeted Corrin, my baby mother, as I walked in on her just in time for dinner. She was cooking fried chicken.

“Use that house key I gave you for emergencies only,” she barked at me putting emphasis on the word
emergencies
.

“Whatever.” I smacked her on the ass. “Where my kids at?”

“At swimming lessons with my mother, like every Tuesday. If you were an active father, you would know that. And I repeat, that key is for
emergencies
only.”

I wasn't trying to hear shit Corrin was saying. I had to give it to her though, she was a true ride-or-die chick. She would rob, stab, or shoot a nigga for me. What she truly wanted was to tie me down, but never that. I wasn't that kind of nigga.

“Don't I pay for your rent in this bitch every fucking month?” I snapped back at her.

“Yeah,” she replied, facing me, rolling her eyes.

“If something is broke around here, don't I fix it 'cause your sorry-ass landlord don't give a fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“A'ight. Then give me the respect that I deserve, woman,” I said, coming closer in the kitchen.

“Nigga, spend more time with your son and daughter. After you tote them around the mall, get them something to eat and some toys, you ready to bring them home. It's more to being a daddy than material shit. You care more about popping fucking bottles in the club than being a father. So be a real daddy and start paying my lights, cable, phone and car payment, then I will start showing you more respect around here. And come in here again unannounced like that and I will change the locks.”

That shit she was saying was going in one ear and out the other. Every day was the same shit, but this day I wasn't in the mood. All I wanted was some weed, pussy, and food, and that's what I planned on getting.

“Corrin, I don't need this shit from you today. I already got a headache. Your mouth is going to make it turn into a fucking migraine!” I yelled, confronting her.

I turned her around, pulled down her shorts, popped off her G-string, and bent her over. She smelled like sweet vanilla. I quickly loosened my belt and pulled down my jeans and boxers.

“Hmm, I knew you wanted you some pussy. Hurry up before my mom comes with the kids.”

I smacked her ass, spread her cheeks, and pushed my dick into her wet pussy. That was one of the greatest benefits of having a baby moms—guaranteed pussy anytime I wanted. Yeah, Corrin bitched and complained about every little thing, but she was always willing to open those legs for me, day or night.