In My Hood (18 page)

When she came out of the bathroom, Bilal had dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed. There was a huge pile of bundled money and the jewelry they lifted. She looked at the contents and smiled.

“We did it, babe,” Bilal whispered.

“We sure did,” she said just as quietly.

They began to count the money. When they finished the total came to $210,000. That was more money than either of them had seen at one time.

“Rae-Rae, I’m gonna go cop us a little celebration,” Bilal stated, getting up from the bed.

“No, Bunchy. Don’t go.”

“Rae-Rae, it’s alright, babe. They don’t know where we’re at, and by the time they get a whiff of where we’re at, we’ll be long gone. We’ll stay here the night and get on the next thing smoking in the morning. Okay?” he said, reassuring her.

“I don’t know, Bunchy. I’m scared.”

“I know, babe, but don’t worry. We a long way from Fifteenth Avenue, and that’s the first place they’ll look. I’ll be right back. I know a spot four or five blocks from here.”

Desiree didn’t say a word. She just looked at him with frightful eyes. He walked over to her, pulling her to her feet. He embraced her tightly. She began to cry. Bilal stroked her head and rocked her back and forth. He broke their embraced, reached onto the bed, grabbed a stack of money, and walked out of the hotel room. There was only one thing on his mind, and he was determined to get it.

Desiree tried to watch TV to take her mind off the day’s events. It was still early and dusk outside. She would have much rather Bilal waited until after dark before he went out.

There was nothing interesting on TV so she put the money back into the bag, zipping it up. She threw the bag onto a chair that sat in the room. She lay across the bed, trying to think of anything other than the images of Roc, Tracey, and the bullet hole in the security guard’s head that kept reappearing in her mind.

Fifteen minutes had gone by, but it seemed like an eternity to Desiree. Every time she heard a noise or a voice, she would run to the window and peek out of the curtain. Her stomach began to quiver—she’d had the runs since Bilal left. The anticipation of a hit was getting the best of her. She pulled the chair in front of the window and peeked out of it. After a few minutes, she spotted Bilal walking briskly toward the motel. She jumped up and went to the door, opening it. He hurried in with two huge bags and a large bag of White Castle hamburgers. The other bags were filled with junk food, sodas, beers, and the paraphernalia they needed to get high.

For the next three days, Bilal and Desiree stayed in the motel room and got high. Although that wasn’t the initial plan, since they were addicts, once they started getting high they couldn’t stop, and time flew by. During those days at the motel Desiree even coerced Bilal into smoking coke.

Finally on the morning of the fourth day, reality set in. They lay awake watching the news, taking a break from getting high, when the report on the robbery at Groovers I appeared on the screen. A sketch of Bilal and Desiree was plastered across the television. They both were wanted for armed robbery and murder. The sketches were very accurate, and fear settled into Bilal’s heart.

“Rae- Rae! We gotta go now!”

Desiree didn’t move. She was in shock.

Bilal continued to watch the news while he put on his clothes. The news report had an accurate description on what he and Desiree were last seen wearing as well. Bilal hit himself upside the head. If he had been thinking, he would have purchased them some different clothing while he was out. He could’ve kicked his own ass for not sticking to the plans of only staying one night at the motel. He sat down on the side of the bed to think about their next move.

Desiree still sat in shock as she stared at the picture of herself on the TV screen. “What are we gonna do, Bunchy?”

“I don’t know, Rae-Rae. Let me think a minute.”

“We could stay here, Bunchy. They don’t know where we are. We could stay in the room, and nobody would know. We got enough money to pay for the room for a year,” she reasoned, not thinking clearly.

“And what are we supposed to do when we want to get high, Rae-Rae?”

She didn’t think about that. She could go a couple of days without cocaine, but Bilal would keel over and die if he didn’t get his fix. He would surely be sick.

“Plus, Rae-Rae, we ain’t let them clean this room in three days. They gonna start getting suspicious soon. No, Rae-Rae, we gotta leave. We’ll walk down to that thrift store a few blocks away and get some new clothes. We need a disguise,” he said, rushing around and putting things away.

Desiree got out of the bed and began to dress as well. Once they were dressed and everything was packed away, they headed out of the door. On the second night at the hotel Bilal had gone to the office and paid for the additional night. Bilal left the key on the dresser in the room. He didn’t feel the need to return it. He wanted as little face-to-face contact as possible.

As they entered into the thrift shop, an elderly black woman with white hair appeared from the back room.

“Good day. May I help you?” she asked.

Desiree was nervous, and it clearly showed. Bilal held her hand and squeezed it for reassurance. With a smile on his face, he told the woman they were just looking and he’d let her know when they were ready.

They found and purchased new clothing as well as hats and shoes to go with the outfits. The elderly woman even allowed them to use her back room to change, and Bilal rewarded her with a hefty tip. They thanked the woman and left. Desiree felt much better once they were disguised.

They caught a cab and made a beeline straight for Penn Station to catch a train out of state. After they purchased their tickets, they sat in the back of the station, staying clear of the center of attention. It would be one hour and forty-five minutes until boarding time. It couldn’t come soon enough for Desiree. She kept having an eerie felling in the pit of her stomach. She would feel much better once they were on the train and moving.

One hour later, they prepared themselves to go to the track where the Amtrak train would be boarding. Once they arrived, they walked down the platform, away from the other passengers. Bilal tried to strike up a conversation to keep her mind off things.

Fifteen minutes had gone by when Desiree spotted two distinguished white men in business suits walking onto the platform. They were clean cut and neat. They appeared to be looking for someone. She grabbed Bilal’s arm and pulled him back up against the wall.

“What’s wrong, Rae-Rae?”

“Look down there. Do those two white men look like cops to you?” She pointed.

Bilal leaned forward to look then leaned back. “You being paranoid. Calm down. They’re probably just businessmen. They ride the train too.”

“Bunchy, it’s ninety-five degrees outside, and they got on three-piece suits with tight-ass ties choking their necks.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Bilal pulled his brim down farther on his head as Desiree did the same with her hat. They clutched each other and pressed their bodies up against the wall.

Little did they know, the detectives had been hot on their trail since the start. They arrived shortly after Bunchy and Desiree left the scene of crime that day at Groovers. Just that morning the cabbie came forward with information after seeing the news. He told them that he dropped them off at the motel. The detectives went to the motel and showed the desk clerk the sketches. He identified them and took the detectives to the room where they found it empty. The detectives went up and down to the different businesses north and south on that street inquiring if anyone had seen them.

Harry told the detectives that Desiree and Bilal were addicts and that they would have to come out sooner or later to cop. The detectives had gone around to all the drug spots within a five-mile radius of the bowling alley, asking about the two. Of course, no one said anything.

Finally, they came up on a lead when they stopped by the thrift store to ask questions. The old lady cooperated with the detectives. She told them that Desiree and Bilal were there earlier and she heard the two talking while they were in back changing clothes. She said she heard them say something about going to Virginia.

They radioed in to have police posted at the airport while they went to the train station. They had police question passengers, showing the sketches of Desiree and Bilal. The police officers searched the bathrooms, while the two detectives searched each platform for scheduled trains heading for Pennsylvania.

The two men had searched one side of the platform and were heading in their direction. They walked up on them and asked if they’d seen the people in the two pictures. Neither Bilal nor Desiree would lift their heads high enough to show their full faces.

“No,” they both replied together.

The two detectives began to walk away, satisfied with their answer when one of the detectives spotted the duffel bag that sat on the platform that read Groovers I on the side.

“Alright, put your hands in the air and turn around and face the wall!”

Desiree woke up in a cold sweat. Ishmael was sitting in the chair next to her bed. He sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms. Neither said a word. She couldn’t take the nightmares anymore. She wished she could be with Ishmael. Desiree thought about telling him about when Roc and Tracey were murdered. Although she told him about the robbery, she didn’t tell him about that. Ishmael did say she had to talk about it in order to move on. But she was afraid so she just lay there in his arms.

I
shmael and Derrick walked into Imani’s, a soul food restaurant. The doorman recognized the men and escorted them up the stairs to the second level. They walked down the narrow hallway to the rear door. Ishmael opened the door, and he and Derrick walked into a room filled with smoke.

All the leaders of each territory they claimed along with their protégés were there. Ishmael had called this meeting to talk to them about the goings-on downtown. He wanted opinions and assistance, if needed, to support what he was about to do.

He shook hands with everyone. Ishmael didn’t nor did he ever have any beef with any of the leaders. People of Ishmael’s status and men who ranked equal to Leroy were in attendance. They ranged from North to South Jersey to Philly.

There were also some rival members present, but the rules were whenever a meeting was called, all beefs were set aside. Business was business, and that was that.

Ishmael didn’t waste any time. He got right down to the business at hand.

“Gentleman, I know some of you may have already heard some shit about me. I called this meeting to be straight up with you and tell you what’s going down with me. No rumor can put it out there on the real, so I called you all here to clear my name and to discuss some things I want to do.”

Everyone gave Ishmael his undivided attention. Ishmael looked around the room into each of their faces before he continued, to make sure he had their attention.

The top men in attendance were Walter “Watts” Oaks of Atlantic City, running Atlantic county; David “The Don” Lewis of Paterson, running Bergen county; Eric “E” Evans of Camden, running Camden county; Craig “C-Mack” Fulton of New Brunswick, running Middlesex county; Gary “The Villain” Smith of Philly, running Philadelphia county; Isaac “Hype” Dixson of Jersey City, running Hudson County; and Johnny “Jo-Jo” Donalds of Elizabeth, running Union County. Missing from the meeting was Leroy “Big Roy” Wilson, running Essex County.

“I know you heard that I refused to give up a cut of my profits.”

Some of the members looked at one another in shock and some began to whisper to one another.

“Now hold up. Before you go getting shit twisted. I have my reasons. How long have those mafuckas downtown in your area been making a profit off your operations?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “For years, right? I know it goes far back as at least when I was a kid.”

They nodded in agreement.

“Well, when does the shit stop? I mean we still slaving for these mafuckas, and the last time I checked, slavery is over.”

“Young fella, I hear what you’re saying, but ain’t nothing wrong with giving up a little to get a lot,” E from Camden stated.

“No disrespect, E, but you getting ten percent from the people under you to protect them and you giving the other thirty-five percent to mafuckas downtown in your city to give to the fucking governor. While your people take a loss, you still gain. What type of shit is that?” Ishmael inquired.

The protégés all looked at one another and agreed.

“I ain’t saying not to give them anything. I mean yeah, we need to keep them off our ass, but what I’m saying is we need to change the rules a little bit. We need to lower the pay, and if they don’t roll with that, then fuck ’em. We just hold court in the streets.”

“Naw, young gunner, I ain’t with going through all that bullshit all over again. I went through that shit when I lived here with that crazy-ass Sojo. You need to re-evaluate the situation and ante up. Besides, this here beef is on y’all. I ain’t even livin’ in Jersey,” Villain from Philly growled.

Ishmael leaned back in his chair. This was going to be harder than he thought. They all sat around and went back and forth about what was the right way and what was the wrong way, who was too old and too tired to fight and who would go in with him. Ishmael knew he wouldn’t be able to convince all of them, but if he could at least get half of them on his side, he would be set.

“A’ight, so right now Watts and The Don are down with me. Is there anybody else?”

No one gave a signal. Ishmael stood.

“I have never had a problem with any of you. My credibility on the streets is straight. My father ran with some of you. You mean to tell me y’all would rather bow down than to stand up straight like men?”

“Ishmael,” C-Mack said, standing, “this ain’t got nothing to do with bowing down. I’m gettin’ money, and I ain’t about to fuck that up on some ole bullshit. I wish you luck, kid.” He walked toward the door with his protégé on his heels.