Authors: Wahida Clark
Tags: #Urban, #African American, #General, #Fiction
To all of the Wahida Clark Readers and
Supporters around the globe.
My heart raced as I stared down at my seven-year-old son’s blood-soaked shirt. As his last breath left his body, so did my spirit. I slowly lifted my hand to stroke his little face, and a piercing pain stung my heart. I knew that he was dead. The limpness of his body told me so. But still I refused to believe any different. Warm tears rolled down my cheeks, seeping into my skin. “I can’t leave him.”
“Fah! Fah! Let’s go, man! The hook is on the way! This joint is going to be crawling in a minute, dawg!” I heard my cousin G yell.
His voice shattered off the warehouse walls but hit my ears like a whisper. I couldn’t move. I felt my lips moving, but I heard nothing. “My son, man. My son, G.” I knew I was saying it over and over.
I dropped my wife, Jaz, and my daughter, Kaeerah, off at the airport. They were headed out to Cali to go visit Tasha. I then
scooped up my son’s uncle, Wali. I needed him to get the skinny on this nigga, Steele, before my fam from up Jersey arrived. I didn’t think I would have to pull my gats back out of retirement because I had considered that chapter of my life closed. But this bitch of a baby mother of mines, Oni, along with her scandalous, crooked-ass, wannabe-gangsta brothers, fucked with the wrong nigga and he in turn fucked with me. Now I had to send for backup.
Oni and her brothers had robbed Steele’s people of their coke, meth and a shitload of cash. In retaliation, since Oni and Steele had been fuckin’ off and on, this nigga did the unthinkable, he snatched up Lil’ Faheem . . . my only son. My seed. So, since I had nothing to do with the caper, my plan was simple: Give Steele his shit back, and get my son; I made Oni and her brothers cough up the bricks and about three hundred grand. They knew if they didn’t it would be over for them.
When my fam from up north touched down, I spent a couple of hours filling them in on what all had gone down and what was about to go down. We were holdin’ and ready to get to what used to be one of Atlanta’s hot spots, an old club called
, which was off of Candler Road. At one point in time it was the place to be.
I looked over at my cousins G and Snell and said, “Our main objective is my son’s safety. All I want to do is get him outta there. I ain’t got no beef with these niggas. So none of that
we go in shootin’ ask questions later bullshit
.” It sounded good being said, I was just praying that’s how it would go down.
“C’mon, nigga. You know we got you, Fah. That’s why you got us down here,” my cousin G said with his usual air of cockiness.
“Once little man is out the way, then if them niggas look wrong, I’ma push them melons back. Real talk.”
I checked my gat one last time. “Time to roll.” I had G riding shotgun, Snell and Wali’s punk ass was in the back. The
reason I allowed the nigga to roll was because Steele wouldn’t meet with us unless at least one of them muthafuckas who stole from him was present. Me personally? I wanted all of Oni’s brothers to come, because I had planned to dead them all. And this would have been the perfect time and place to do it. But for now, Wali would have to do. Today would be his last day breathing.
After about twenty minutes, we pulled into the parking lot. “This it?” G sounded disappointed. I don’t know what he was expecting. “This shit look abandoned.”
“It’s closed down. Them niggas just use it as a hang out spot and a place to conduct business.” Wali told us.
I pulled around the back of the club. Wali had already told me that if something went down, there were only two exits. One in the front and one in the back. So I decided to park in the back, while hoping that my gut instinct was right. I pulled up next to a black Suburban, the only car there. I assumed that our guests were already inside. I deaded the engine. We got out and met at the trunk of my ride, looking around the deserted lot for anything or anybody out of place. Satisfied, I then checked out the three duffels one last time and slammed the trunk shut. I kept the one with the cash and gave Snell the other two with the bricks. One had coke, the other meth. G was the firepower. We headed to the back door, and there was two niggas standing in the cut, obviously waiting on our arrival and clockin’ our every move.
“Spyder, what up, nigga?” This nigga had a long neck and was skinny as a bean pole. Wali greeted him as if he was a regular there and we were enjoying an evening out on the town.
Spyder hawked and spit in Wali’s face. To my surprise, Wali was cool. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, smiled, and said, “I see somebody ain’t get no pussy last night.”
Spyder then anxiously grabbed the duffel bags and checked their contents. No one bothered to pat us down.
. Gratified, he led the way, while his partner, who looked like a linebacker, took up the rear. My heart was racing. I was anxious to start bustin’ niggas right then and there. But I knew I had to be cool until I got my little man out of harm’s way.
When we got inside the old club, there was this faggot muthafucka, Steele waiting on us, mugged up. Wali did good with his description. He was tall, thin, with sharp, cold eyes. As soon as he spotted Wali, he stood and swiftly drew a shiny Heckler and Koch, one of my favorites, and shot Wali in the leg.
. Everyone drew their weapons. This nigga was precise and I was worried.
Wali stood there screaming, obviously in pain. “Shut up man! You ain’t dead.” Snell yelled at him.
This nigga Steele then had the nerve to calmly take his seat and was now propped up on a leather sofa like he was a fucking don or some shit. His long black dreads with red tips hung loosely over his shoulders. The image of him toking a cigar vexed me as much as the smoke that clouded the room.
I had to stay focused.
I was here to get my son
, I reminded myself.
“You can relax your weapons. Just know that I ain’t done with that scum.” His muscle lowered their weapons, then myself, followed by G and Snell. Wali was still wailing in pain.
“Aiight, we here. I got your shit, now where is my son?” There was no need for formalities.
“Who the fuck is you?” Steele sneered while mean-mugging me as if I gave a fuck. He knew who I was.
“I’m a monster. But today, I come as a father. I just want what belongs to me, my son. And in exchange I’m giving you back what belongs to you,” I said as I patted the duffel bag I was holding and nodded to the two Snell had.
“Oh yeah. I heard about you.” He looked at me with contempt. “Let me see what y’all working with.”
“They already checked the bags at the door. Let me see my son. Your shit is all there.”
The nigga took a minute to size up the situation, and then nodded at the linebacker. There was a door behind him, and when he opened it, a chick came out with my son. He was blindfolded, and they had his hands taped together in front of him. It took everything within my power to not lose control.
“Aiight, you see him, now pass over what belongs to me,” Steele barked.
My nostrils flared up. I took a deep breath, and then unzipped the bag so that he could see the cash. Snell did the same thing.
“I didn’t say show it to me. I said pass what belongs to me over here.”
I didn’t know who the fuck this nigga thought I was, but I wasn’t new to this shit. “Nah, nigga, same time.”
“Dad?” Lil’ Faheem called out, and my knees got weak.
And just as we were getting ready to make the exchange, with shit already tense, Wali’s bitch ass starts to yell. “Y’all niggas are clowns, taking kids and shit!”
Steele rose to his feet, yelling, “Muthafucka, you and that bitch
violated me. Do you realize how lucky you are to be breathing right now? You, your sister, and your brothers! You know how much money y’all cost me?”
“Fuck you, nigga!” Wali spat.
This time I pulled out my gat and pressed it against Wali’s temple. “You ho ass nigga. Will you shut the fuck up! This nigga got my fucking kid! Are you out of your fucking mind?” I gritted.
“Faheem, fuck that pussy. That’s why we took his shit! If it wasn’t my nephew, he wouldn’t have gotten shit back!”
What did he say that for? The Heckler and Koch reared its ugly head again and this time, Steele shot Wali right in the middle of his forehead. I knew he was dead before his body hit the cold concrete. I jumped back right on time. G was a little late because he got splashed with brains and blood.
“Uncle Wali!” Lil’ Faheem yelled out. The broad wouldn’t let him go as he squirmed to get away.
Steele and his cronies started laughing.
There was nothing funny to me. And, that was the last straw because that’s when my son cried out, “Daddy! Help me! Daddy!” At that point, it was over for me. I lost it.
“Hold the fuck up! Can we finish this business? I am here for my son!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I must have made the muthafuckin’ concrete shake, because niggas got quiet, real quick. “Now, look. I ain’t got no beef with you, man. I ain’t got shit to do with what they took from you. If you want to kill the whole damn family, you got my blessing. Shit, I was planning on doing them myself. But right now, the only thing I’m concerned with is my son. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here.”
Steele stood there taking in what I was saying. Finally, he asked, “How I know you weren’t down with them?”
“I never heard your name until a few days ago. I don’t run with them, you know that.”
Steele placed his finger up to his lips as he studied me. Then he said, “Dig, if I ever find out that you was with these muthafuckas, I’ma give you what he got.” He glared at me. “Now, set my shit on the table.” Me and Snell picked up the bags and did what we were told. “And you!” He pointed to the girl. “Release his son.”
They took the blindfold off and shoved Lil’ Faheem towards me with the force of a professional wrestler. Once I got him in my arms, I breathed a sigh of relief but I was still tense as fuck. Then I heard, “That nigga about to start poppin’ shit off!”
Next thing I knew we were in the middle of a real gun fight. As bullets started flying, I felt a hot slug pierce my shoulder, and I flew backward damn near tumbling over a table. With a burning sensation enflaming my shoulder until it was virtually numb, I managed to muster the strength to squeeze my gat and let off a few rounds. The sound of bullets merged with the rapid fire of loud claps consumed the atmosphere. Then I hit the ground, covering my little man with my body and I could see niggas ducking and sparks flying through clouds of gun smoke.
When the smoke cleared, I rolled off of Lil’ Faheem onto my back. The pain in my shoulder wouldn’t let me move. My ears were ringing. I stared up at the ceiling for a minute. “You alright, lil’ man? Daddy’s here for you.” I felt for his hand as I looked around to see who was standing and who wasn’t.
“Fah, you aiight, nigga?” I heard Snell ask as he made his way over to where I was.
“Who started poppin’ off first? And did we dead all of them muthafuckas?” That’s what I really wanted to know.
“Spyder is down, but Steele and the bitch got away. They got the bags.”
“Fuck them bags! We gotta get out of here. I’m hit in my shoulder. Help me up so I can get little man in the car.” When I looked down at my son, my worst fear had surfaced. He was bleeding from a wound in his head, and his body was limp. I started calling him and shaking his arm. “Faheem. Faheem. Get up! Daddy’s here, and he’s not going to let anyone else take you away from him.” I tilted his head back and tried to give him mouth-to-mouth, but deep down, I knew it was too late.