Tales from da Hood (16 page)

“Naw, I ain't never seen 'em before,” Cojack said.

“The reason I ask is because usually the way they work is similar to real FBI procedures. They'll stake out their victim for months before they even make a move. Look, Mr. Anderson, we know you're a drug dealer. Obviously either you or the Nigerians were the target.” Scott flashed a devilish grin. “We're not here to hurt you, Co-jack. We want to help you.”

Cojack chuckled. “How the hell can you help me?” A painful
smile escaped. He felt like a rape victim, totally violated. His bank-roll diminished, short a connect, how the hell were they gon’ help him? Cojack thought of the way he sung like a bird for those fake agents. All for nothing. He was made a fool of and couldn't possibly see how these muthafuckas could do anything for him. On top of all this, he wanted some heroin so bad that it crossed his mind to ask one of the agents if they could get some.

“Mason Fuller,” Agent Tucker said, bluntly flashing a smile similar to a serpent. “Name ring a bell?” Silence fell over the entire room as the three agents waited for a reply.

“What about him?” Cojack shot back.

“We've had him under surveillance for quite some time now, trying to build a murder case against him.” Scott cleared his throat.

“I'm sure you're familiar with the police murder a couple years back.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, man,” Cojack stated angrily.

“Sure you do, Mr. Anderson. He's your best friend, right?” Tucker said.

“Hol’ up, man. What the hell is this? How y'all jump from the Lynch Mob to Mason? Them the muthafuckas y'all need to be worried about. Got me in this bitch shot the fuck up!” Cojack was fuming. A sharp pain shot through his belly, a sign that he needed to settle down.

Davis rose from the chair holding a large manila envelope. Co-jack watched him closely as he whispered something to the other two agents and then handed over the contents. Agent Scott stepped up and said, “Mr. Anderson, please believe we understand your concerns.” He gazed down at the envelope in his hand as if its contents were something sacred. “I want you to take a look at these photos and tell us what you see.”
“More pictures, huh?” Cojack uttered, taking the 81/2 × 11 photo in his hand. It was Mason and Robbin, which was odd. He knew his friend didn't care for her. Cojack stared at the picture for almost a minute trying to make something of it. He gave the picture back. “So what is this? They know each other,” Cojack said.

Tucker interjected. “Doesn't it look strange to see them together like that?”

Cojack shrugged. “Man, that's nothing. Look, y'all wasting your time. I don't got shit else to talk about.”

The agents exchanged gazes. Then Scott held out another photo. Cojack took it. Now this was strange. It was Mason and two guys he never saw before. Or had he? The faces were familiar but he couldn't place them. What did this mean? They were just regular dudes. He didn't keep up with everybody Mason hung out with. Co-jack passed the picture back.

“Perhaps you'll find this one interesting,” Scott said, handing him another photo. Cojack sighed, growing irritated and nearly snatching the pictures from Agent Scott's hand. As his eyes fixed on the faces in the picture, they grew large with surprise.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, looking at the agents.

“You don't know, Mr. Anderson?” Tucker said. “It's a picture of your main man, Mason; your sweetheart, Robbin; and a couple of Atlanta dudes we've tied to our buddies the Lynch Mob. This one did the time in a federal penitentiary with the ringleader from California,” Tucker said, pointing at one of the men. “We just now put it all together ourselves. Is it registering in your mind now? Are you getting the picture? I forgot to inform you one of the Mob's greatest tools is infiltrating cliques. They got to Mason. How? I don't know.”

The air seemed to seep right out of Cojack's lungs as he gazed at the picture in disbelief. His best friend and the Lynch Mob meeting secretly. The same muthafuckas who duct-taped his mother and
nearly killed him. What part of the game was that? “Damn, my nigga,” he droned in a disappointed tone. He looked up at the agents, trying his hardest to hold back tears that felt like they would come at any minute. “I need some time alone, please,” he pleaded, returning his attention to the photo. The men exchanged glances and then slowly headed for the door.

“We'll be back,” Tucker said.

As the door closed, Cojack could feel the pressure intensifying. Voices drummed loudly in his head.

“Why would he do this to me?” Cojack said to himself. “One of the only niggas I truly loved.” His mind began to work rapidly, searching for any small hint. Robbin crossed his mind. What part did she play in this? He thought of the first time that he saw her.

“Damn, it was Mason that introduced us.” Cojack gazed down at the picture, his senses buzzing. Then suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks. “They worked me. My own nigga.”

Now it was all clear to him: the jealousy, the deceit, and the hidden hatred. It had always been there. Mason was always trying to outdo him in some type of way. He thought of the time he purchased his Rolex Presidential. A week later, Mason had the same exact watch. But that wasn't the half. Cojack was the first out of the crew to buy a motorcycle. Two weeks later, Mason bought a bike. And at bike week, when those two dudes wanted to buy a couple bricks off Cojack, Mason had snuck around and sold them some bullshit, undercutting Cojack at every chance.

He never thought nothing of it until now. Then there was Kimberly, a VCU college student Cojack was seeing. Mason tried to hit on her but she was so hung up on him that she didn't give Mason the time of day. When Cojack asked him about it, Mason's reply was, “We don't love them hos. Only reason I did it was because I knew you didn't care.”

It was all a setup and Robbin was a stinky bitch! He thought of
the first time he used heroin and the story she threw him about doing it just to stay hard. Cojack bit down hard on his bottom lip. “I fell right into the trap. Ain't that a bitch!”

It hadn't registered then but now it did. Mason had talked to his mother minutes before her assailants abducted her. Every nerve in his body seemed to go slack. It was like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart.

He recalled the conversation right after Mason shot the dude over the crap game. “How the hell you expect to get money and be gangster at the same time?” he remembered asking Mason.

“I done seen plenty gangsta niggas get money” was his reply. “A lot of these niggas just be out there in the way. It ain't what you do but how you do it.”

A tear burned down Cojack's cheek. How could he have known his best friend was speaking of him? His mind drifted back to a few days before the shooting and how Mason had portrayed the concerned friend. “I'll kill you myself before I see you turn into a dope-head,” Mason had said.

He gazed at the tall black guy in the photo. It was him, the same dude from his house as well as the one who spared his life at the detail shop. Memories flashed through his mind of him and Mason coming up. All the good times they shared were now in the past. The fake loyalty was an illusion. It was not real. One can only love or hate. Two and the same is impossible. A man can't have two hearts. Cojack understood this now. He wiped his moist eyes as the door opened and his mother walked in. She took one look at him and knew something was wrong.

“What is it, baby?” she asked with concern. Cojack just shook his head. “I tried to reach Robbin but ain't nobody answer.”

“Don't even worry about it,” he said.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” his mother said as she opened her pocketbook and pulled out a white envelope.

“What's that?” Cojack asked curiously.

“Some girl I ran into when I left the first time asked me to give this to you.” Cojack accepted the envelope, which had no name or address.

“She didn't tell you her name, Ma?”

“Nope, sure didn't. Say it was important though. Probably one of your little girlfriends.”

Cojack opened the contents and pulled the letter out. It read:

When Cojack was done reading the letter, he looked over to find his mother staring at the photo.

“What's this?” she asked, holding up the picture. Cojack began to explain his latest discovery.

“That can't be true, baby,” she said, tears running down her face. But she had to know in her heart that it was true. The picture and the letter were all the proof she needed.

It all added up. Now Cojack understood why Mason was so anxious to rock Kenya to sleep that morning. The baby daddy drama was all a front. The Lynch Mob and their two friends had beat him up that night. Now he remembered—sipping the bubbly, slipping his digits to the tall dude with the crazy-looking eyes. That was him. And Mason was his front man.

The three agents reentered the room a few minutes later. Co-jack sat in a trance. They greeted his mother and then focused their attention on Cojack.

Taking a deep breath, Tucker spoke. “Reality can be really harsh, Mr. Anderson. Your buddy Mason betrayed you. As for the Lynch Mob, well, they're long gone. Probably to another state to find more prey. Trust me, you'll never see them again. Hopefully, sometime in the near future, they'll be picked up. On the other hand, Mason is gonna fall. We know he killed that cop. The officer called in his plates before he stopped him. But that's not enough to charge him.”

“Why don't y'all just get the fuck outta here,” Cojack said, looking away. “I'm tired of talking.”

Scott interjected, “What are you gonna do, Cojack? Settle it in the street? Then both of you end up in prison. Is that what you want? Haven't you been through enough already?” The agent looked Co-jack directly in the eyes. “This is your time now. Help us take him down.”

“And what's in it for me? Do you realize how much I've lost, man? You have no fucking idea.” Cojack buried his face in his hands.

Tucker took over. “We'll make it worth your while. We need to close this case, Cojack. A cop has been murdered. We found two hundred fifty thousand dollars cash in the trunk of a Maxima that belonged to one of the victims. It was probably your money anyway. So, how does a hundred thousand dollars sound and a house in another state? Your choice.”

Cojack glanced over at his mother, who simply shrugged her shoulders. She was just as angry as he was and wanted Mason to pay for his actions.

“It's a deal. But I want something on paper,” Cojack said.

“That won't be a problem,” Scott said. “You just give us Mason. All you have to do is get him to admit to the murder. Then you're outta here. And if you're smart, you'll clean up your act. Get into something legitimate. Stop putting your mom here through hell.”

Cojack didn't need any lectures from these fools. But it would be good to get a clean start somewhere else. The two agents walked out of the door. They'd gotten what they wanted. Cojack's mother kissed him on the cheek, sat with him for a while, then headed home to get some rest.

After everyone was gone, Cojack sat in the dimly lit hospital room watching television while strategizing his scheme. He wondered if Mason knew about him cooperating with the Lynch Mob. It didn't really matter. He only did it to keep his friends out of prison. His number-one priority now was to get Mason to speak about the cop's murder, which wouldn't be hard. They had discussed the matter on numerous occasions and Cojack knew the story as if he'd been at the scene. Mason was a talker; a little ego stroking over a couple blunts and a drink and he'd be singing war stories the whole night. The barbershop murder even crossed his mind. It was amazing how well Mason played the role as a true soldier, a

“ride or die” nigga, when all along he was simply setting up smoke screens to conceal who he really was. But it was okay because what goes up must come down.

It took the Feds less than an hour after Cojack got Mason to talk to bust in on his spot, and when they brought him out, hands cuffed behind his back, Cojack was waiting right there with a smirk on his face that only said one thing. From the moment Mason looked into his friend's eyes, he knew that he had been set up. “Love is still love, my nigga. My friend to the end,” Cojack muttered.