“Bitch, you ain’t fuckin’ nowhere! You still here. And fuck that, bitch! I went to jail bustin’ my ass for you and my kids. Don’t fuckin’ play with me,” he said, tightening his grip. “Bitch, I fuckin’ took care of your shiesty ass. And this is what the fuck I get back?”
Jamillah saw the fire dancing in his eyes and it scared her. She knew it was time to go.
“Look, Jerome. Ain’t nobody tryin’ to shit on nobody, okay? I have a new life now and I’m tryin’ to be a better person for myself and my children.”
“So you think you better than me now? You broke, trick-ass bitch. You better than me?” he ranted.
Jamillah tried to move out of his way but she was too slow and caught a heavy backhand to the face that sent her spinning to the ground.
“Jerome, please!” she cried, balled up in a fetal position. “Leave me alone!”
“This my word, bitch! When I get back, I want to see my kids. You hearin’ me? Call the police, call bin Laden, call Allah. I don’t give a fuck! But if you ain’t here wit’ my fuckin’ kids when I get back, I’ma break yo’ muthafuckin’ jaw!” Jerome shouted, then punctuated his threat by kicking her in the back. He jumped into his BMW and pulled off.
Jamillah struggled to her feet, holding her swollen face, and headed straight for the phone.
“But how you be a Muslim?” the young boy asked Rahman.
“You don’t become a Muslim. You just recognize who you already are. We are all born pure. Ain’t no such thing as original sin. We are born in a sinless state-it’s our environment that makes us other than who we are…” His words trailed off when he saw Jamillah emerge from a cab holding a pink towel full of ice to her face. In two strides, he caught up to her.
“Jamillah, what happened?”
Jamillah sobbed, trying to speak through her fear and apprehension. She knew Jerome was coming back, and she didn’t want to get Rahman involved in her personal problems. But her mind told her there was no other way.
“Jamillah,” Rahman repeated more firmly.
“My… my… my children’s father!” she cried. “He just came home from prison and came to my house. He said he was comin’ back!”
Rahman gently removed the towel from her face, and his entire body caught fire. The right side of her beautiful face was swollen and bruised.
“What’s his name?” Rahman whispered menacingly through clenched teeth.
When Jamillah looked into his face, she saw no trace of the man she called Sugar Bear. She saw someone she had never seen before.
“Jerome. Jerome Mills,” she said, wiping her teary eyes.
He gestured to the corner boys he was talking with to come over.
“Take this sister into the store and call Khadijah to take her to the hospital.”
“Rahman, please be careful. Jerome is crazy!” Jamillah sobbed, but it was like warning a bear about a rabbit.
Rahman opened his cell and called Salahudeen.
“Sal! Who is Jerome Mills?”
“I don’t know. But if he got a name, it won’t be hard to find out,” Sal answered.
“Find out who he is and where he is then meet me at the store, aiight?” Rahman ordered.
“Insha Allah,” Salahudeen answered, grabbing his Glock 9 and tucking it in his waist. He could tell by Rahman’s voice there was a problem. The Muslims were like a ghetto Internet. Once the word went out, it crisscrossed the city like radar until Jerome’s whereabouts were pinpointed.
Rahman, Salahudeen, and six Muslim shooters converged on the small housing project like a SWAT team.
They approached the building. When Rahman was close enough to strike, he barked, “Jerome!”
Out of instinct, Jerome snapped his head out of the window and gave away both who and where he was. Rahman grabbed him by the collar and a handful of pants and dumped him face-first onto the hard concrete.
The other gamblers didn’t know what was going on so they moved for their concealed pistols. Before they knew it, however, six weapons were aimed at them. Salahudeen stepped forward and disarmed them.
Rahman snapped. “You wanna beat on a woman, nigga?” he growled, bashing Jerome’s head into the concrete repeatedly until he lost several teeth and his consciousness. He then slapped him awake.
“You touch Sonia again, and I’ll kill you. You hear me?” Rahman threatened, kicking Jerome in the ribs and groin until Jerome spat up blood.
Blood.
It was the first time in years Rahman had seen blood, and his addiction to it made him instinctively reach for his gun and aim it at Jerome’s head.
“Rah, no!” Salahudeen yelled, and grabbed Rahman’s wrist.
The jerk made the bullet strike the ground inches from Jerome’s skull.
“Ock, chill! Justice has been served, yo!” Sal urged, trying to get Rahman out of the zone he was in. “Chill, man. This is not the place for that!”
“Then call an ambulance,” Rahman spat as he walked away from the scene.
“I want the block! The whole chunk, Sal, the whole chunk!” Rahman’s voice filled Salahudeen’s martial arts school.
He and Salahudeen had just come back from Lil’ Bricks.
“Listen, Ock. Calm down. I know you’re upset, but you gotta calm down. We’ve already got Jamillah moved. She’s stayin’ with Khadijah for now.”
Rahman furiously paced the floor. He felt sick with guilt. He knew he had overdone it and he realized how close he had come to going back to his old ways, the ways of the street.
“And what about him? You think it’s over? I shoulda murdered him right there!” Rahman replied.
Salahudeen shook his head.
“For what? He’s a nobody. He used to get a little paper in Irvington, but he ain’t major and none of his people are either. After he gets out that coma he’s in… if he gets out his coma… he won’t be comin’ back no time soon. It’s under control.”
But Rahman was still furious. Everything was going beautifully on the streets he had cleaned up and he wanted more. Jerome had given him a reason to take it.
“Sal, I feel you. But a Muslimah was attacked. Regardless of who or why, it won’t happen again,” he vowed.
“But this ain’t how we planned it, Ock. We planned to take the little blocks until we surrounded the hot spots. If we control the perimeter, it’s easier to control the center. You know that. Hell, you taught me!” Sal protested.
He, too, wanted to rid the streets of Newark of the drug element but he thought it best to stick to the plan. Rahman was apparently changing the game in the ninth inning.
“A hundred thousand.”
“A hundred thousand what?”
Rahman smirked and clasped his hands behind his back.
“One hundred thousand dollars for Irving Turner to High Street, north-south, and West Kinney to Elizabeth Avenue, east-west.”
“A hundred?” Salahudeen gasped, clasping his hands again. “Rah, they make that in a day! You know they ain’t gonna take that. We might as well say twelve dollars and a Snapple!” Salahudeen shook his head. “Is our whole plan worth one slap, one bruise, Ock?” he tried to reason.
“Death or success, my brother. Never forget that. One slap, one disrespect, one violation upsets the plan. We have to stop things like that from happening. I want all the niggas to know that if one of us is touched, then we touch ten of theirs. You touch ten of ours, we touch a hundred of-”
“But is that justice?” Salahudeen interrupted.
“It’s an example, Sal,” Rahman shot back before turning for the door. With one hand on the knob, he added, “A hundred, Sal. Not a dime more. They don’t accept my offer…” Rahman grinned. “Can’t say we didn’t try.
“
Not long after Salahudeen put the word out on the streets to Roll’s people, Roll got word. He called Angel.
