What's Really Hood! (22 page)

“Who?” asked Jihad.

“That cruddy-ass nigga Petey,” replied Love.

Jihad felt as if his whole world had just collapsed. He wanted to believe that he had heard her wrong. That it was some kind
of mistake. Petey. The one who had started this whole fucking mess. “I killed a Fed for that coward,” whispered Jihad, not
realizing he spoke out loud.

“Boy, I don’t want to hear that shit!” she cursed over the phone.

“Look! That’s my bad, Love. This shit is just too much for me right now,” replied Jihad. “Anyway… how’s my wifey?”

“Oh, I forgot. Congratulations, Daddy!” she said cheerfully.

“What?” asked Jihad, not sure he had heard right.

“That’s right, big brother. You and my girl have a brand-new baby boy,” Love stated, as Jihad almost dropped the phone.

“Love. Are you telling me I got a son?” Jihad asked incredulously.

“I wish she could have told you, Jihad. He looks just like you.”

As tears began to well up in his eyes Jihad was left without words. He told Love that he would call her back.

A son!
thought Jihad. He knew he could never be a father and it crushed him. He had planted a seed in the woman he loved, then abandoned
them both. All for Petey, who was a motherfucking snitch. Now he knew what he had to do.

A
fter hanging up with Love, Jihad began to relay the news to Crook. The two friends sat quietly in the living room, each of
them feeling sorrow and loneliness.

“What can we do?” asked Crook.

“I don’t even know! I can’t even think right now. Between the Feds and hearing about my son, this shit is killing me. I need
to see my son, Crook.”

“Is you crazy? If we go back there, the only people we’re gonna help is the Feds by making it easier for them to catch us,”
replied Crook.

“Dawg, we already decided that we wasn’t gonna get caught,” retorted Jihad.

“But you need to decide if this shit is worth dying for.”

“I already have!” Jihad said firmly.

Crook knew his friend’s mind was made up. However, he also knew what they were doing was by far the craziest thing yet. But
that was his man. They had been brought into the world damn near together and that’s how they would leave.

*   *   *

Later on that night, after dropping the rest of the work off with Chris, Jihad and Crook jumped in the ride and hit the highway.

They would have to be careful as they made the long journey across the country. As they drove, Jihad prayed he would reach
his son. To be pulled over meant somebody would die. He didn’t want that. He only wanted to hold his child. There were so
many obstacles in front of them. Passing from state to state without resting, the duo passed through West Virginia and into
Pennsylvania before Jihad began to believe they had a chance.

By the time they reached McKeesport it was almost eleven o’clock at night. Aware of the danger, they were on guard.

Monique lived in an apartment building off Versailles Avenue that Jihad had bought and placed in his mother’s name. As they
pulled around the back, Jihad prayed she hadn’t moved. Stepping out of the car, Jihad noticed the light in her living room
was on, but he couldn’t see through the window to make sure she was inside.

Fuck it!
he thought. He looked over at Crook and said, “Let’s go!”

As they entered through the back and began to ascend the stairs, Jihad felt the butterflies in his stomach, just like the
first day he and Monique had met. Staring at her door he froze, unable to raise his hand to knock.

“Nigga, what you gonna do?” asked Crook, becoming somewhat impatient.

Finally, coming out of the zone, Jihad raised his hand and knocked lightly on the door.

He heard her coming and he began to sweat. “Will she be happy to see me?” he asked himself as the door began to open and Monique
stared at him from the other side.

Without hesitating she ran into his arms and he held her tight. He wanted to feel like that forever, to never let go, but
Crook brought the two lovers back to reality when he said, “We need to go inside.”

Once safely behind closed doors Monique began to cry, not believing that the man she had thought she lost had returned. She
had given herself to him entirely and as a reward he had given her their child.

Love had informed Monique that Jihad had called and deep down inside she knew the only reason he had come. She asked, “You
want to see our son?”

“More than anything!” replied Jihad as Monique grabbed his hand and led him to their son’s room.

As Jihad entered the room he saw a reflection of himself, curled up in his crib as if the world were entirely perfect. He
wanted to run to him and hold him, but the thought scared him. Working up the courage, he began to slowly make his way across
the room. Before reaching his son he stopped, pulled off his shirt, undid the straps on the bulletproof vest and removed it.
He wanted to feel his son’s heartbeat next to his own.

While Jihad reached into the crib and touched his son for the first time, Monique watched through tears
as young Deshawn opened his eyes and smiled at his father.

The reunion lasted for almost a half hour as Monique presented Jihad with her college degree. He became aware of the pictures
she had of him scattered about the house. He thought happily to himself,
She never left me.

Then without warning Crook looked up from the window and interrupted Jihad’s thoughts, saying, “We got drama.”

Jihad didn’t have to ask as he kissed his son and passed him to Monique saying, “Take him and go to the back.” Then he added,
“I want you to know that no matter what happens, you’re the only female I ever loved.”

With that Jihad motioned for Crook to follow him out the door as Monique ran to the back, holding her son tightly.

“Somebody must have seen us come in,” whispered Crook as the two men exited the second-floor apartment and ducked into the
shadows of the stairwell, while Jihad began to whisper his instructions.

They had to catch them off guard. The police probably believed they had them trapped inside Monique’s apartment, giving Jihad
and Crook the advantage. Then, hearing the sound of the heavy steel door open up and admit their attackers, Jihad and Crook
became silent.

From where they stood, they couldn’t see, but they could hear the sound of footsteps gently creeping
toward them. Seconds seemed like hours until two officers stepped up to the second-floor landing, one right after the other.

It was as Jihad had planned. The police, being completely focused on Monique’s apartment, never saw them coming. Jihad and
Crook stepped out of the shadows behind the staircase. The two officers never had a chance as Jihad caught the second man,
placed his nine-millimeter Beretta to the back of his neck and fired, pushing the cop’s spine through his throat and onto
the wall in front of him. The first cop had an equally tragic ending as he turned and tried to fire, but was cut down as Crook
placed his .45 behind his ear and pulled the trigger.

The sounds of gunshots echoed through the empty hallway with a deep resonance. Then there was nothing but silence.

“Bang! Bang! What the fuck’s going on up there?” screamed one of the officers.

“He’s dead, motherfucker… and you’re next!” yelled Jihad as he turned the corner and fired down the stairs at his attackers.
“I’m a motherfucking G, you fucking pussies!” hollered Jihad after he emptied the Beretta and slid back around the corner.
“Y’all don’t want no war for real!” he screamed, reaching out to grab the dead officer’s AR-15.

“Deshawn, drop your gun and come out. We can all get out of this alive,” hollered a cop, praying that Jihad would listen.
Jihad answered him with two shots that slammed into the wall inches from his head.

“Ain’t no talking, motherfucker, we beyond that shit now!” screamed Jihad as he turned the corner and opened fire once again,
with Crook stepping out to join him only to be rewarded with a bullet through his head.

Backing away from the line of fire, Jihad saw that his friend was gone as he stared into Crook’s unseeing eyes.

“Motherfucker!” Jihad screamed as he burst out from behind the corner firing, catching one of Crook’s killers off guard and
opening himself up for attack.

The first bullet struck Jihad in the leg, causing him to fall down on one knee. Trying to lift the rifle again he felt the
lead tear through his bare chest and exit through his back. As he collapsed, he thought about the vest lying on his son’s
bedroom floor and smiled thinking how it felt to have his son next to him. He had exchanged his life for that moment with
his son. It was well worth it.

As he lay there dying he thought of how everything had started.
Fucking Petey
. Jihad had murdered for him. He had abandoned everything he knew and loved. Every man who was ever his friend was now either
dead or in prison. And now he was about to give up his life for a coward who didn’t deserve it.

In the end, as Jihad’s eyes closed and his heart stopped beating, his last words were, “This shit was all for nothing.”

A
fter attending Jihad’s and Crook’s funerals, Monique decided she had had enough and moved to a nice little town outside the
city. She had enough money now to start a whole new life. She found a JanSport backpack stowed away under her kitchen sink.
Inside was $183,000. During that final visit Crook must have stashed it, knowing deep down that his and Jihad’s run would
end that night.

She and Love were still friends. That would never change. They had lost so much together and that misery would forever serve
as a bond, holding the two together.

As for the twins, after hearing of Jihad’s and Crook’s deaths, they set off a riot in the county jail and murdered two corrections
officers. That along with their RICO violations earned them a trip to the United States Penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana,
where they are sitting on death row. The only regret they have is being taken alive and allowing the system to cage their
physical
bodies. But their minds are their own and, regardless of how many chains the enemy forces around their necks, they will never
be mentally conquered. They may die in prison, but their spirits are free, and will remain that way forever.

MAKIN’ ENDZ
MEET

BY WAHIDA CLARK

MICHELLE

N
igga, you busted!”
Pop!
My girl Nina punched this nigga Cream dead in the mouth. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!” She had had her suspicions for
over two months and tonight her suspicions finally paid off.

“Nina, baby, I ain’t do nothin’! I just gave the bitch a ride home.”

“Nigga, these are my wheels! You could have at least had enough respect to ride the bitch in your own fuckin’ car! Give me
my keys, Cream!” she yelled as she tried unsuccessfully to snatch them out of the ignition.

“C’mon, baby. Get in the car,” Cream demanded.

Here it is three in the morning and Nina just got done dragging a ho outta her whip and then stomping her in the street. The
bitch went limping down the block. Now we on Hermitage Avenue, she’s screamin’ mad, hurt, embarrassed and trying to get her
car back. The nigga’s Beemer is in the shop because he was in an accident, and he had a ho in the car then.

Even though it’s three in the morn the block is HOT. The ghetto food chain is highly visible. The hustlers are
posted up, the fiends are pacin’ back and forth, circling the hustlers as if they are the prey, the boosters are tryna unload
the goods, the crack hoes are struttin’, and a couple of systems are boomin’. Shit is all the way live. This nigga Cream is
crusin’ in my girl’s ride at five miles per hour, while she’s walking along the driver’s side crying and shit, trying to get
her keys. My feet in these damn Manolos are killin’ me, and this short-ass Chanel skirt is not protecting my ass from the
cool breeze. I’m walking along the passenger side for moral support and daring my girl to give in to this no-good-ass nigga.

“This is your last warning, Cream. Get the fuck out and give me my keys.”

“How I’ma get home?”

“That’s not my fucking problem! Get that bitch to give you a ride! You can ride on her fuckin’ back for all I care!” Then
she looked over at me. “Yo, M, dial 911 and tell them I’m getting jacked for my ride.”

“You ain’t got to tell me twice. It’s about fucking time.” I pulled out my celly and dialed. “Let’s get this bullshit over.
We got an early day of hustling scheduled for tomorrow.”

Cream looked over at me and saw the phone up to my ear, cut the car off, got out and slammed the door. Nina snatched the keys
out of his hand and we both jumped in.

“Finally!” I spat. I was tired as hell. Thank God she lived right up the street. I took my shoes off and said, “Fuck him!
Let’s roll!”

“Fuck you, Michelle! Find you some business, ho!”

“Fuck you too, Cream! That’s why your bitch ass is walking! You ho-ass nigga! I ain’t scared of your black Michael Jordan–lookin’
ass!”