Love and a Gangsta (27 page)

“Baby, I don’t know who sent you those fuckin’ pictures, but I’m gonna find out,” he said.

“I don’t care who sent them,” I shouted. “Look at them, look at you. Look at how filthy you look in all these damn pictures. You call this loving me…?” I picked up a handful of photos and threw them at him.

“I fucked up, but I deserve another chance. That’s not me anymore. I’ve changed, you hear me? I ain’t that anymore, I swear on my unborn child,” he assured.

“Don’t you dare bring our unborn child into this argument. This shit is about you, about what you’ve been doing to me behind my back, this is just dirty and plain disrespectful to me, Omar…”

My voice trailed as I broke down and fell to the floor. Omar came rushing over to me to help, but I snapped, pushed him away, and screamed, “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch me again!”

“America, don’t act like this. I’ve been bustin’ my ass since I got out. I got a job, been faithful, and married you. What more do you want from
me?”

“I gave you my virginity and four years of purity, Omar. I held you down while you were locked up. I’ve been by your side forever. Been through the good, the bad, and the ugly with you. I kept myself innocent for you. But to see the pictures of you, in an uncompromised position with some bitch, that’s a smack in my face,” I cried.

“It just happened.”

“It just happened?” I shouted uncontrollably.

“America, I don’t love her. I love you. I fucked up ahight? That’s what you want to hear. I fucked up. But it won’t happen again. I promise you that.”

I was crying. I love him and wanted to believe him, but the photos stayed in my head, haunting me. To see photos of my husband sexing a bitch… Especially the one with him eating that bitch out, it just ate away at me.

“Just get the fuck out.”

“What?”

“I said leave…! Get the fuck away from me!” I shrieked madly.

“I live here too,” he boldly returned.

“I don’t want you here right now,” I said.

“We can work this out, America. I ain’t goin’ any fuckin’ where.”

“Oh, really,” I replied.

Then I picked up the cordless phone and threw it at him. He tried to move, but too late. It smacked him across his head, causing blood to flow from his forehead.

“America, you need to chill the fuck out.”

The alarm clock followed him. He quickly moved out the way, and charged at me. Throwing me against the wall, Omar had me pinned against my back, clutching my wrists tightly, with his breath panting in my face and glared at me with anger.

“You gonna hit me now?” I asked. “You gonna start beating on your pregnant wife now, and seal the deal?”

“Damn!” he exclaimed, releasing me and pushing his fist through the bedroom wall.

“Fuck this, I don’t need this, ahight? I’m out,” he shouted and left
out the bedroom.

I burst into tears when I saw him leave. I dropped to the floor with my back against the wall and cried louder. Those pictures of him were too much for me. I kept thinking whether it happened in the past or now. It happened. He had fucked someone, and now his past finally came back.

Could I get over this and forgive Omar? I wanted to move on and put this behind me but right now I was hurting. I couldn’t stop crying. The more I thought about his sexcapades, the harder it hurt.

Challenges make life interesting.
Overcoming them makes life meaningful…

 

 

 

I swear when you try and do better something invariably gets in the way to fuck things up. Since I came home, I’ve been faithful in my marriage and holding down this part-time gig. Now someone had the audacity to mail pictures of me sexing Alexis.

That shit made me furious. All I could do was think how did those pictures come about? I didn’t remember taking them, but I knew it happened a few months before I was locked up.

It had to be Alexis who sent the photos. Her outrageous outburst in the club that night, and her jealousy made her do it. I was ready to murder that bitch. Because of her stupidity, I had to leave my place. I didn’t want to hit America, and left before things got out of control.

I drove around in my cousin’s Lexus, needing a place. This nigga was making so much money in the game, that he gave me his Lexus and stated that he’ll buy another next week. Omega told me to keep the twenty-grand, said it was for saving his life.

I had a new car and the twenty-grand. I tried keeping it from America. The streets were calling me. When I saw how much money Greasy and Omega were making, I felt a deep-rooted urging to get a piece. I’d be contradicting myself. I truly had peace of mind, but with this bullshit happening, and me making less than two-hundred dollars a week at the center, something had to give.

Rahmel’s advice came to mind. Rahmel would say to me that this was one of those challenges that I had to overcome. This first real challenge was kicking my ass. I took the twenty grand and invested some of it into marijuana. I brought four pounds of haze and hydro, sold it off to different clientele in Queens and Brooklyn.

I was on the move and was seeing less and less of my wife. But I needed to make some extra money on the side. I wanted to take my wife on an exotic trip, but knew I couldn’t come out and pay in cash. That would’ve fueled her suspicions. Technically I was back in the game, but on some really off the radar, low-end shit.

I was waiting for the right time to give America the honeymoon
she truly deserved. Then the photos came, and totally fucked everything up. I was at odds with myself. One side of me wanted to get that money, like Greasy and Omega. The other side thought about Rahmel, America, and Mr. Jenkins. That side was telling me, change the way you think. You’re about to have a son—look at the mistake Rahmel made and where he ended up for a long time.

I didn’t want to end up back in jail doing a longer bid. Since I been out, I’ve been on the sidelines just observing. The game done changed. Omega’s crew was brutal and ruthless. They put fear on the streets.

I drove to my cousin’s crib in Elmont. I always had a place to stay. I parked at the dark, quiet house. His new 2007 ivory pearl Infiniti G35 Sport was parked in the driveway. Getting out the car, I rang his cell phone. He picked up after the third ring.

“What up, nigga?” he answered, sounding drowsy.

“Open the front door,” I said.

A short moment later, his door opened and Greasy stood in front of me in a white robe.

“Damn cuz, it’s all late and shit… What happened, you got deported from America?” he joked.

“Greasy, I ain’t in the fuckin’ mood right now,” I said, my face tight with anger.

“Damn nigga, be grateful or sump’n,” he said, closing the door behind me.

I walked in and sat on his couch. I wanted to be home with my wife, but had to settle for my cousin’s place.

“I got two extra bedrooms, Soul. Just pick one and crash,” he offered.

“You got company?” I asked.

“Greasy always got company,” he smiled.

“I don’t mean to intrude—”

“You family. I got you, cuz, don’t even sweat it,” he said.

“Thanks, I appreciate this Greasy.”

I got up, gave him dap and a hug. Then I went upstairs to get some sleep and try to clear my head. I was still upset about the pictures, but sooner
or later, the truth will come out, and when it does, somebody was going to feel it for sure. I stripped down to my boxers and crashed out on top of the comforter. Fifteen minutes later, I was sleeping.

“Wake your bitch-ass up!”

I looked up and saw the 40 cal pointing at me. I jumped up.

“What the fuck!” I jumped in a panic.

It was Omega playing around. Greasy was behind him laughing.

“Mega, what the fuck is wrong?” I barked. “Don’t be pointing that shit at me.”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face, Soul. You probably pissed on yourself,” Omega joked.

I was out the bed and ready to smack the shit out of them.

“Your ol’ lady kicked you out, huh. What’s good wit’ that?” Omega asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I answered still sleepy. I looked at the time and it was almost noon. I looked over at Greasy and asked, “Why you let me sleep so late?”

“Man, I just got up an hour ago.”

I went into the bathroom.

“Soul, we’ll be downstairs,” Greasy said.

I jumped in the shower, and got dressed in some of my cousin’s clothes. Half-hour later, I met with them in the living room. Greasy had some bitch cooking breakfast in the kitchen, clad in some tight ass shorts and a skimpy T-shirt.

“Soul, you want some breakfast?” he asked.

“Yeah, lemme get some eggs and toast,” I said.

“That’s it? Nigga, eat sump’n before you passed the fuck out tripping over your shorty. Bitch, make my nigga some French-toasts, scrambled eggs, sausages, and all that,” Greasy ordered.

She looked at Greasy with a attitude responding, “Nigga, do I look
like fuckin’ I-Hop to you?”

“Yo, bitch you stayed the night right? Start burning and make my nigga sump’n to eat, ahight?” Greasy reprimanded.

The bitch sucked her teeth and went to work. Omega was on his cell phone discussing business. I took a seat on the couch and relaxed. Omega soon got off the phone and took a seat across from me.

“I hear you dabbling in weed sells now. Quite frankly, I’m insulted, Soul. You better than that nickel and dime BS… That’s what you choose to do wit’ the twenty G’s I gave you?” he asked.

“Cuz, you selling weed now?” Greasy asked.

“Here I am giving you a position in my empire and you wanna peddle that shit for what…? You can make more money in a day fuckin’ wit’ us than you do in two months,” Omega said.

“Mega, I’m tryin’ to keep a low profile, that’s all. Don’t take it so personal.”

“You know I always got you, Soul. How you makin’ out wit’ that twenty grand?” he asked.

“I got most of it stashed away for a rainy day.”

“Rainy day? Nigga, what are you somebody’s grandfather?” Omega asked. “There’s more of that to go around ten times, my nigga.”

“Cuz, we is doin’ it lovely right now, ya heard?” Greasy chimed in.

“I see… That’s what’s up,” I replied halfheartedly.

A short while later, the bitch set a plate of hot cooked breakfast down in front of me.

“Good looking out,” I said to her.

“You welcome. At least somebody appreciate the shit I do around here,” she said, staring directly at Greasy.

“Bitch, you need to be thanking me for dickin’ you down at nights… Who’s your daddy?” Greasy said.

“Yeah, nigga, whateva,” she answered.

“Don’t pay that bitch any attention, she was born wit’ an attitude,” Greasy laughed.

I started eating my breakfast, and watching TV. Omega was back on his cell phone, and Greasy was messing with the bitch in the kitchen. I ate and
thought about America, wanting to call her, but knowing she was probably still upset with me.

Those pictures were still in my head, and I was trying to figure out who could’ve sent them. I tried to recall when and why I took photos like that while enjoying breakfast.

“Soul, don’t make any plans for the night. We takin’ you to the strip club to get you some pussy. Mega and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer. You coming nigga, we ain’t never really got the chance to hang out,” Greasy said.

I didn’t argue about it. I was down, but I was going to chill and get my drink on. But the cheating on America, I wasn’t all for that.

We arrived at this upscale strip club called,
The Pink Pony,
in midtown Manhattan. Omega and Greasy wanted to get out of the hood and party in the city. We rode in Omega’s white 2007 Yukon. It was tricked out with TV’s, chromed, and a navigation system.

The three of us walked into the place, clad in platinum and diamonds, Timberlands, Nikes, throwbacks, fitted Yankees cap. Each of us carried a wad full of cash, looking like thoroughbred hustlers.