“Indeed. But, ah… you didn’t plan on speakin’ on that particular topic today, did you, Ock?” Akbar inquired knowingly.
Rahman answered him with his eyes.
“I noticed you weren’t using your index cards. So, I figured you were free-styling,” Akbar surmised, then added, “Got anything to do with that
Rahman looked around the yard, formulating a response. The other inmates were indulging in recreational pursuits under the Pennsylvania sun, balling and lifting weights like they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Something like that,” Rahman replied.
Akbar nodded. “That’s why I showed it to you. So you’d know what’s waitin’ for you when you touch down.”
“If I touch.”
Akbar shrugged.
“Allah is the best of planners, but He’s already set the stage for your return. How you gonna handle this Angel thing?”
They lapped the yard several times before Rahman wanted to rest. They stopped and sat down.
“What you mean, how? You know what we planned. Nothing will get in the way of that, Insha Allah.”
“Insha Allah,” Akbar repeated. “Look, Rah. I’ve been watchin’ you for three years. Watchin’ you grow in Islam and watchin’ how your character has changed. You’re a beautiful brother, but nephew, that gangsta is still in you.”
Rahman wanted to defend himself, but Akbar continued.
“I’m not saying you frontin’ or you ain’t sincere. But we were born and trained to be what them streets made us. You, a gangsta. Me, I’m a grand master, but that’s a personal jihad within myself. Like you said today, the liberator or the conqueror. The liberator is Rahman, but the conqueror is One-eyed Roc, the cold-blooded killer and big money getter.”
Rahman let Akbar’s words sink in before responding. “I hear you, Ock, but believe me, I’m ready.”
“Are you?” Akbar shot back. “Because what we’re plannin’ to do is serious. It ain’t no game. People gonna pay the price.”
“I know that.”
“Well, what if one of those people is Angel? If you had to pull the trigger, could you look her in the face and pull it?”
Rahman’s eyes locked with Akbar’s. It was a thought that had crossed his mind, but one he didn’t want to face.
“Every Saul wants to be Paul,” Akbar philosophized. “You know how many cats get locked up and then wanna change the world? Crackheads wanna open up rehabs, trick niggas wanna respect black women, and killers wanna stop the violence. But one by one, they fail. They fail because when they see they can’t change the world, they join it. And I see it in you, Ock. You want to change Angel, don’t you? You think she’ll listen to you? Roll wit’ you on this?” Akbar questioned.
“Insha Allah,” Rahman replied, not looking at Akbar.
“And Young World, too? You brought him in. What if you have to take him out?”
Akbar’s questions ripped away Rahman’s delusions one by one. Everyone he had ever loved, run the streets with, gotten money with, even killed with, and would’ve died for, could easily become his enemy. Not because they had changed, but because he had.
He tried to tell himself that Angel and Young World would roll with him. After all, the plan wasn’t only to clean up the community but to make millions doing it. His plan was economic as well as social, political, and spiritual. But he knew deep down that he was fooling himself if he thought they’d just walk away from the addiction of street life, especially if their hearts were still truly in it.
And if they didn’t walk away, what was he prepared to do?
“Make no mistake, nephew. You’ve switched sides, not them. So think like a gangsta, but act like a Muslim. To beat a gangsta you got to know the mind of one. Because the question ain’t can you do them, but…” Akbar leaned closer to Rahman’s ear, “would they hesitate to do you?” Akbar stood up slowly and left Rahman with “
Rahman watched his mentor casually stroll off and disappear in the crowd.
“Yo, nigga, I’m tellin’ you, that shit is followin’ us,” Young World said as he glanced in the rearview mirror of his CL 55. He had been constantly checking his rearview until he was sure that someone was tailing him.
“Fuck you talkin’ ’bout, followin’ us? Ain’t nobody followin’ us. Nigga, you skitzin’,” responded Duke, World’s right-hand man and the only survivor of his original team.
Duke hit the blunt and tried to pass it to World, who waved it off and made a right-hand turn. He didn’t want to smoke and cloud his already paranoid brain cells until he was sure what was behind him.
“Watch, I told you, yo! That’s the fourth corner in a row they took after us. Paranoid, hell! Niggas think we slippin’ as it is!” Duke took a quick peep over his shoulder, weighing Young World’s theory. He reached under his seat and pulled out a Mac 11 machine gun, locked and loaded.
“It’s probably Roll and them niggas he fuck wit’. Fuck this. At the next light, I’m wettin’ they whole shit. Fuck they think, shit is sweet?”
“Naw, naw, chill. I got this,” World answered.
He suddenly hit the accelerator and the CL’s AMG engine blurred like mercury as they jetted down the street. Whoever and whatever was behind them was left eight car lengths back as Young World whipped a quick right then fishtailed left, slinging Duke in his seat.
“Fuck you runnin’ for?” Duke growled.
Young World didn’t respond. Instead he quickly pulled into a darkened driveway and dropped the headlights. He then pulled out a.45 from his waist, looking over his shoulder.
A few seconds later, the black BMW drove by. Young World backed out, engine kitten-silent. He had flipped the script and was now tailing them.
“At the light, I’ma cut ’em off, see who these niggas are, and if they flinch…”
Duke nodded. “Say no more.” As they approached the stoplight, Young World hit the gas and swerved around the BMW. Before the occupants of the BMW knew what was happening, Young World skidded up in front of them at a nose angle. Duke threw up the door and hopped out in one furious motion and threw the nozzle of the Mac in the face of the driver. The four passengers of the BMW screamed and ducked.
“Yo, Ock! It’s Lana and some broads!” Duke hollered over his shoulder as he lowered the gun.
“What the fuck is you doin’?” yelled World through the open passenger door. “You tryin’ to get killed or something?”
The girls finally uncovered their eyes and looked up, visibly shaken and teary-eyed.
“I’m sorry, World. I’m so, so sorry. God, you scared me. I’m sorry,” Lana whined from the driver’s seat.
“Naw, you was gonna be sorry. Now you just crazy. I thought I told you I’d be back later?” World questioned, upset that Lana was out of position, especially in front of his man.
“It… it… I’m sorry, baby, but I thought… Peaches said…” Lana stammered before World cut her off.
“Peaches said what? Fuck that yellow bitch got to do with you followin’ me?”
“Yellow, who?!” Peaches shouted from the rear passenger seat, getting some of her sass back. “Nigga, please. Don’t even go there, aiight!” Peaches said, rolling her eyes for extra emphasis.
“Whatever, bitch. Mind your business. Lana, you listenin’ to Peaches now?”
“She told me she saw Tawanna from Hillside in your car last week, and she said that’s where you was goin’,” Lana explained, getting more teary-eyed by the minute, not only from fright, but from embarrassment for getting caught trying to follow him.
Duke laughed as Young World shook his head in aggravated amusement. He was on his way to a very important meeting with his connect, and all Lana could think about was some chickenhead he was fucking.
“You muthafuckas got way too much time on your hands. I ain’t got time for this shit. Take your ass home and get all them crows out my car ’fore all y’all be walkin’!” World shouted.
Lana nodded, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I was silly, I-”
World cut her off as Duke got back in the CL.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just be naked when I get home,” he said as he pulled off, giving her lonely, bitch-ass
