Justify My Thug (3 page)

Brother or no brother, hands down, Kyron was in violation. And I planned to tell him that as soon as I saw him. I
wanted
answers and Trae
needed
answers.

So, he ended up talking me into flying to California with him to confirm everything that he had just told me. And when I walked into Trina's apartment and Kyron came walking out of the bathroom, I knew right then that it was all true. I also knew that shit was about to go from bad to worse in zero to 60 seconds flat.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Trae was still standing in the doorway. The look on his face was one that I had seen many times. It was the look that signaled he was ready to kill.

When I was Upstate on lock, I read a book by some D.C. cat called
The Ultimate Sacrifice
. In the book, the main character went home from prison and fucked his man's woman. I remember thinking to myself that son was crazy foul for crossing the line like that. I also can remember an old timer telling me that sometimes art imitated life. I knew that, but it had nothing to do with me. I wasn't imitating shit, as far as I was concerned I'm always gonna do me and be me. But then I became like the main character of that novel and I crossed those same lines. But fuck it, I'ma thug and thugs ain't gotta justify themselves to no one.

From the moment I saw Shorty at the airport, I knew I had to have her. I knew Tasha was Trae's wife, Kay told me that the moment he saw the spark in my eye…

“That's Trae's wife, nigga.”

“Kaylin, all I said was shorty is fine.”

“You heard what I said,” my brother warned me.

And he was right. I did hear what he said, but after doing all
those years Up Top, my urges wasn't tryna hear that shit. At first, I was able to control myself around her, but once I talked myself up on that first kiss, it was on. I decided right then and there that I wanted Shorty and I wasn't taking no for an answer. My inner voice said, “You foul for this.” But my outer voice said, “Fall back son, I got this.” Shorty said that she and Trae was getting a divorce, so she's fair game.”

Tasha is such a bad bitch, that in a few days she made me forget Mari doing the last of my bid with me. I knew that eventually I'd have to deal with Trae and my brother, and that almost changed my mind about the moves I was making. But I was so caught up in the moment that I went bare back and once I got that gushy, that shit went out the door. Her pussy was so warm and tight that I came so hard that day I swear I heard fireworks going off inside my head. It was some shit that ain't never happen to a nigga before.

When I heard that Tasha was supposed to be pregnant, there was no doubt in my mind that she was carrying my seed. I wanted to see her and talk with her. A nigga needed to find out where her head was at. So me and my cousin Kendrick shot out to Cali.

I came prepared, pregnancy test in hand. Shorty was scared to take it but I made it known that she didn't have any choice in the matter. When she went into the bathroom, I can't front, those few minutes felt like hours. When she came out stone faced I knew what it was. So I went into the bathroom and confirmed what I already knew, that it was positive. I came out ready to celebrate, looked up and my brother Kay was walking into the apartment and Trae was standing in the doorway. I knew what they were there for, but I wasn't trying to hear that shit. The
positive test was me and Shorty's moment. I wasn't being denied that for nobody. To keep it 100, I knew I should have left when Tasha had asked me to leave. Hell, she begged me to leave. But Shorty and her pussy is like a drug. I had to get high. So now I was busted, but fuck it. Me being in Cali already told whoever was paying attention that I didn't give a fuck. I had made up my mind and stuck to my guns, so the next move was Trae's.

So many years in the drug game and killing field had taught me to always trust my gut instincts. So when I heard that Kyron's bitch ass was out of town, my instincts told me that he was on his way to the west coast to see
my
wife. And like always they were right.

“Yo, Trae, you buggin', son,” Kay said when I told him what my gut was telling me.

“Bullshit,” I replied. When he saw that look I get when I'm ready to body something it took no further convincing and we were on the plane to Cali.

Everybody, including my own mama, knows that Mama Santos is like a second mother to me. We family and when she heard what her bitch ass son did she began praying in Spanish for her son's safety. I love her to death, and for her I am going to give this nigga a pass. If he was anybody else she would be picking out a tombstone and a suit. I'm lying to myself; she may still have to depending on how this pussy nigga acts.

This punk came straight home and disrespected me. Him and everybody else know that I done killed niggas for lesser shit. That's how I know he did the shit on purpose. I just have yet
to figure out why. He knew that Tasha was my wife. Shit, all of New York knew it. The nigga still said fuck me. It's obvious that he don't really know how much weight I carry. My name alone put the fear of God in niggas. He knows better than anybody that I ain't none of them fake ass gangstas he was locked up with. Again, so why? What did I do to this nigga?

Tasha was too blinded by my betrayal and hers to see that the nigga was just using her. While I can't forgive her, I'll be damned if I just step aside and let the next man have what's mine. I don't care who he is. It's the principle of the thing.

From the doorway of Trina's apartment, I saw Kyron coming out the bathroom holding a pregnancy test. My hand went immediately to the .45 Glock in the waist of my jeans.

Knowing me like he did, Kaylin turned around and barked, “Remember whose brother he is. Plus, you told me that you'd let me talk to him first.” He slammed the door to the apartment in my face and locked it.

I paced back and forth in the small hallway like an animal trapped in a cage. My temper was trying to get the best of me as I tried to decide who I was gonna body first and how I was gonna clean up the mess. Then all of a sudden I got mad at Tasha all over again. What the fuck was she thinking? Why does she always have to go to the extreme? Always trying to prove some shit to me. Look at the position she done put everybody in.

Raised voices inside the apartment broke my reverie. Tasha was saying something to Kyron. I wanted to bust the door down and let everybody know how I was feeling, but then I remembered that I had too much to lose by getting loud and emotional. After all, I'ma bad boy and bad boys move in silence with violence.

I'm Jasmine Mujahid. I married the love of my life, Faheem. Faheem is considered the big daddy of the crew. You know, the level headed one, the one who keeps everyone on point. For example, when we lived in Jersey, everybody would call him for advice. Now don't get me wrong, we had our share of drama. Everyone recalls and still talks about how I wouldn't get with Faheem for the longest time. And I wouldn't. Hell, no. Not as long as he was in the game. So he eventually gets out and then he later discovers that I, Miss ‘don't want to fuck with a drug dealer' Jaz, had my hands dirty cooking meth for the white boys. Man! You would have thought that I murdered the president! His family was mad and he was that much madder, more like … mad amplified by ten. I was called every hypocrite in the book. But to me I wasn't in the game … well not like he was. I wasn't flippin' birds or nothing like that. I would cook, get paid and keep it moving. Them white boys loved me. But then it all
came tumbling down. Faheem would have never found out if I hadn't gotten busted in a meth lab, and he had to get me a lawyer, bail me out, make a witness disappear, the whole nine. All the shit you see in the movies. And to this day, I don't know what was worst—getting busted by the Feds or by Faheem. Thanks to Faheem, except for a couple of days in a holding facility, my ass walked.

To keep some of the heat off me, I had to remind him that he was no angel either. It wasn't as if he just quit hustling in one day. Hell no. That nigga hustled and stacked and hustled and stacked until he was
ready
to get out. It just so happened that I waited for him. I did my best not to give him that impression, but hell yeah, I waited. I wanted to be with him.

Anyways, that was then and we got through that and Faheem is still the love of my life. We've been happily married for almost five years and we have a seven year old daughter named Kaeerah Aaliyah. I was the first one in the crew to get pregnant. Then it was Kyra, Tasha and finally Angel. Me and Faheem relocated to Georgia where I enrolled at Spelman. School is kicking my ass as usual, but Faheem keeps pushing me, and seems more determined than me that I finish. I think he just likes me out of the house so he can milk the stay-at-home dad role. Yes, he takes the daddy role very seriously. He has Kaeerah on a rigid schedule. She goes to dance class, takes piano lessons and is on her school's soccer team. He makes sure she stays involved in something all year round. I'm not surprised though, as bad as he wanted me to get pregnant, I knew that he would be a good father.

But our shit took a turn for the worse on the Saturday morning that Faheem wanted to go to ghetto-ass South DeKalb Mall to check out his boy Jabree. Jabree just recently opened up a
clothing store. He's from Jersey and also relocated to the ATL. We were chillin', strolling through the mall, mostly window shopping. I was munching on an almond pretzel from Auntie Anne's, and Kaeerah was begging her daddy to buy her everything she saw, when this little boy runs right pass us almost knocking Kaeerah over. I was getting ready to snatch his ass up but Faheem beat me to it.

“Daddy, that little boy kicked me,” Kaeerah whined.

“Lil' man. You gotta slow down. You can't be running and stepping on the ladies.” Lil' man didn't say anything.
Why was he by himself?
I wondered. I looked around to see if someone may have been looking for him but there was no one in sight. So I walked over to him and kneeled down in front of him. The more I looked at him the more he reminded me of someone.

“I'm sorry,” he finally said as he looked at Kaeerah and apologized.

“It's cool. Are you lost?” I asked him.

“Yes, I don't see my mommy,” he responded with a low voice. I guess he knew that mama was going to beat that ass when she found him.

Then I heard a woman yelling out, “Faheem. Oh my God where is he? Faheem.” I rose to my feet, turned around, and was face to face with Oni … my ex. And from the look on her face you would have thought that she saw a ghost. She reached out and grabbed lil' man's hand and put him behind her which said it all.

“So you named your son after me?” I asked with a smug grin.

She returned the same grin and then said with sarcasm dripping
from her voice. “No I named
your son
Faheem.” She then turned to walk away. I reached out and grabbed her by her shoulder, stopping her dead in her tracks.

“Come again. Did you say
my son
?” I was confused and was sure that this bitch was fuckin' with me.

Oni turned around and said, “Yes, Faheem. If you weren't being such a fucked up, self-centered person maybe you would have tried to find out.” This bitch had the audacity to knock my hand off her shoulder.

“Fuck you mean, ‘find out'? You was supposed to tell me!”

“Faheem, why don't you do what you do best, leave.”

Faheem? Faheem is not a common name. I looked at the little boy and my mouth hit the floor. And recognizing Oni it was obvious that I was seeing exactly what Faheem was seeing.

And before I knew it Faheem had his hands around her neck and was trying to choke her to death. Thank God we were in the hood, because instead of getting a whole bunch of white people screaming, the hood niggas simply gathered around and enjoyed the spectacle. The security guards came and managed to pull Faheem off of her. Little Faheem was crying while Kaeerah was holding on to me for dear life. She didn't know what was going on. I was only praying that the mall cops wouldn't try to play ‘captain save a ho' because Faheem was seeing fire and I knew that he was packin' a burner.

“Nigga, if you don't get your fuckin' hands off of me,” Faheem threatened the rent-a-cop.

Thank God the rent-a-cop was a little shook. He let Faheem
go and turned his attention to Oni, “Ma'am, are you okay? Do you want to press charges?” The mall cop asked as two other ones ran over.

Faheem was towering over her yelling, “Oni, how could you fuckin' do this? What the fuck is the matter with you?” he spat.

Like a bitch with some sense, she got the fuck away from a crazed Faheem and came over to where I was. “Here.” She handed me her business card. Then she looked at Faheem and said, “When you calm down, call me.”

“Call you? Bitch … call you? Calm … down?” Faheem was starting to stutter, which meant that shit was getting ready to get ugly … again.

Sure enough, no sooner than I thought it, he lunged for her ass again. She ducked, grabbed little Faheem and the bitch took off running. We both stood there looking at the little replica of Faheem. The same little boy who was the spittin' image of our daughter. I was at a loss for words.

I took off my NY fitted and wiped the sweat off my forehead. A big nigga like me was actually feeling dizzy. Niggas were gathered around me as if I was a circus animal or some shit. I started walking and the people parted as if I was Moses and they were the Red Sea. There was no doubt in my mind that lil' man was my seed.
My son.
And here this bitch done robbed me of the most important years of his life. The years that I, the father, was supposed to do the molding and shaping. I should have snapped that bitch's neck right there on the spot.