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Chapters (43)
  1. WAHIDA CLARK PRESENTS:
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Chapter Sixteen
  18. Chapter Seventeen
  19. Chapter Eighteen
  20. Chapter Nineteen
  21. Chapter Twenty
  22. Chapter Twenty-One
  23. Chapter Twenty-Two
  24. Chapter Twenty-Three
  25. Chapter Twenty-Four
  26. Chapter Twenty-Five
  27. Chapter Twenty-Six
  28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  29. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  31. Chapter Thirty
  32. Chapter Thirty-One
  33. Chapter Thirty-Two
  34. Chapter Thirty-Three
  35. Chapter Thirty-Four
  36. Chapter Thirty-Five
  37. Chapter Thirty-Six
  38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  40. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  41. Chapter Forty
  42. Chapter Forty-One
  43. Wahida Clark on Mental and Behavioral Health

“Get in.”

“Only if I get to keep my gun.”

“Only if you don’t think about using it.”

“Only if you don’t give me a reason,” I shot back.

The main King chuckled, and they pushed me in the car. That had to be the friendliest kidnapping in history.

* * *

We had pulled up to somebody’s crib in Lawrenceville, past the mall and shopping centers. We were in the theatre room, and it damn sure didn’t feel like a kidnapping. We were blowing massive amounts of the finest exotic you could smoke and playing tunk for five dollars a game. I was over $250.

B-Murda, the top King, finally got Faheem on the phone.

“Yo, Fah. We got your man Bo,” B-Murda told him. He then hit the speaker button.

“What? You got my man, Bo? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Faheem, these youngins kidnapped me. They want to talk to you.” I was choking on the exotic.

Faheem must’ve thought I was playing because he hung up the phone. B-Murda called him back.

“Yo, who the fuck is this? How the fuck you get my number?” Faheem sounded agitated.

“Be easy, fam. It’s not that serious, yet. But you can make it so. I just want to talk to you. Bo is just insurance that shit don’t get ugly, feel me? We need to come to a mutual agreement.”

“Who is this? And no, muthafucka, I don’t feel you. But I’m about to see you fo’ sho! Where you at?”

“Meet me at Cadwalader Park at three o’clock and remember, yo, check that famous anger of yours,” B-Murda said.

FAHEEM

Damn. I got shot. And now they got Bo? How that nigga get caught slippin’ like that? The Kings were the only ones willing to clap back. But shit, it could have been much worse. So far my mission for phase 1 had been a success.

Three o’clock. I looked at my watch. It was 1:05. I called Snell and told him to round up a team and where and what time to meet.

At 2:30, I arrived at the park and drove around. Ten minutes later, Snell and three shooters arrived. I looked in the backseat and they had more than enough fire power. I didn’t have much longer to wait. A blood-red Charger whizzed by us, did a U-turn and came back. I recognized B-Murda and Reese as they got out and approached me. Bad ass youngins. Thinking they grown now.

B-Murda looked around at all the ice grills and the glittering chrome of locked and loaded pistols and chuckled. “I see ain’t much changed with you, Faheem. Still ready for war when words are enough,” B-Murda remarked and we dapped up. “When did you decide to come back? And why with such the hostility and urgency? I guess this was a side of you I never got a chance to witness.”

“Where’s Bo?”