Chapter Eight

What’s Beef?

It wasn’t too long before the attempted coup exploded into retaliatory violence. The following morning, all hell broke loose. Melquan was sleeping comfortably at his mom’s house when his cellphone went off.

“Yo,” he groggily said.

Melquan half expected to hear India’s voice on the other end of the phone. He was surprised to hear Mike Copeland.

“We gotta problem,” the voice quickly said. “Get the biscuit, my nigga. These niggas just shot one of our workers, lil’ Jay.”

“What da fuck? He dead…?”

“Nah, but he in da hospital… He caught one in the shoulder and one in the leg or sumthin.”

The bad news quickly brought Melquan to his senses. There had to be repercussion. He was now in war mode.

“Grab the toasts and meet me at the spot,” Melquan said, using pre-arranged codes.

“A’ight! One.” Mike Copeland fired back.

This was a reality check for Melquan. For the first time he truly realized just what he had gotten not only himself, but his entire team into. There was no turning back now. It was either fight or take flight. Do or die.

Melquan quickly donned all black pair of jeans and hoodie. He laced up the most comfortable pair of black sneakers he could find. He grabbed his gun and slipped on his bulletproof vest, beneath his outfit. He pulled the pair of black leather gloves on his hands. Ready for war, he cautiously exited the building. He was on full alert for the police as well as his enemies.

Nearby Boston Secor projects was Melquan’s honeycomb hideout. Not even Precious or India knew about the place, for good reason. The apartment belonged to Vanessa, a female friend who Melquan was using for sex. She worked the eight to four shift for the housing department in Edenwald projects and wasn’t home this time of the day and neither was her kids. Vanessa was big on Melquan and kind enough to give him a spare key to the apartment that he could use whenever he liked. This was a safe haven when he was hiding.

Melquan and Mike Copeland had currently turned it into a war room. Every soldier that they had at their disposal was summoned there. Melquan and Mike Copeland exchanged ideas and received reports about the shooting incident that transpired. They also heard about what they had seen and heard in the projects after the shooting. The pieces of the puzzle were put together, separating fact from fiction.

“Anyone heard who did it?” Melquan asked no one in particular.

“I heard it was that nigga Wiz,” someone said. “He hustler on the avenue but he run wit those niggas from the horse shoe… He said Lil’ Jay couldn’t pump out there no more. He didn’t care who he was pumpin’ fa either. Wiz told Lil’ Jay, if he made one more sale that he was goin’ ta pop ‘em. Lil’ Jay did and Wiz popped off.”

“Did Nashawn have anything ta do wit this?” Melquan wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” the kid said. “I heard that the nigga Nashawn got bagged for some ol’ ass warrant a few days ago. He ain’t on the bricks yet. But you know all ‘em niggas from the shoe run together.”

Mike Copeland couldn’t fathom how any foe had the courage to shoot one of his workers. Although the situation had angered him, outwardly he remained calm. He wanted to be in this situation, not necessarily under these circumstances. He was a shooter, and shooters shoot. It was now time to put up or shut up. Drama made mice out of men. It could also turn boys into men. The big question was who would rise to the challenge? Everybody was a soldier until the war popped off.

“Look, I could give a fuck about who done what. I ain’t got time to be lookin’ fa certain niggas. We see them then we see them. We give ‘em the bizness. It’s that simple. As far as anything else goes, I say we run up in the shoe and just start blastin’. Niggas violated. So now they gotta git it! Let’s go head shoot first and ask questions last. They drew first blood and playtime is over,” Mike Copeland coldly explained.

“No doubt,” Melquan added.

He wasn’t in a talkative mood. His mind was focused on the task at hand. Quickly Melquan began to place a series of calls.

“Hey, Vanessa what’s up? It’s me Melquan.”

“Long time no hear from…” Vanessa excitedly answered. “You know I’m startin’ to believe you only call me when you want some. I know we got an understanding but I thought we was better than that.”

“Vanessa, don’t take it like that. You know a nigga, busy. Grindin…” His sweet talking perked her ear. “But look I just wanted ta let you know that I’m in ya crib. I was in the area and had to use the bathroom real bad so… Anyway, I’m gonna chill out fa a few handle some B.I. with my man, Mike then I’m gone… I’ll leave a lil sumthin’ fa you in ya room under the TV.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Just make sure you leave my crib the same way you found it. I ain’t got much, but it’s mine.”

“A’ight. But don’t I always do?”

“Yeah… You gonna come back through later?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Shit is a lil’ hectic right now… I’ll holla at you later!”

Melquan wished he could have every female wrapped around his finger the way he had Vanessa. Life sure would be easier. Thoughts of India flashed across his mind. It wasn’t the right time to call her. He had business to tend to. Melquan made another call.

“Yo, this me… I know you heard what happened this morning,” Melquan said.

“Yeah…”

“Do not talk about it over my line. Anyway, how it look out there? As far niggas and po-po…?”

“Where are you, Mel?” Precious immediately asked.

“Damn, don’t worry bout that. Just answer my questions.”

“It was a lil’ hot a few hours ago. But things have quieted down now. There’s only a few heads out.”

“Okay listen, I want you stay inside ya crib. Don’t come outside, understand?” Melquan ordered.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, assuring her. “For right now, I just need you to keep me posted on to what’s happenin’ in the shoe. Lemme know when niggas start getting’ comfy and come outside. Once that happen, hit my jack ASAP! One…!”

Precious stared at her cellphone, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. She was pissed that she couldn’t be where Melquan was, despite the danger. Although she had close association with Melquan, she knew he wouldn’t put her in harm’s way. Precious didn’t care. She was his ride-or-die-chick. No matter what the weather, she wanted to be by his side.

For the rest of the morning and early into the afternoon, Melquan, Mike Copeland and company, chilled at Vanessa’s apartment. They knew it wasn’t in their best interest to retaliate right away. They waited a few hours, in the hopes time would be on their side. Everyone would be expecting them to come through. They had to move when they were least expected.

A few hours passed, finally Melquan got the call he had been waiting for.

“Mel, them niggas out here…!” Precious said. “It’s like nothing ever happened.”

Melquan said nothing, he hung up the phone. His light mood turned tense.

“Mike, call us four cabs. Request the windows be tinted too… We out…!”

The dispatcher for new Laconia cab service found the request for four-tinted window cabs odd, but complied anyway. The four cabs rolled to a stop outside Boston Secor projects, and lined up back to back. Melquan and company boarded the cab, two men per taxi. Melquan and Mike Copeland rode in separate cabs. Each person gave the cab driver a different direction in which to drive. They all had the same destination, Edenwald projects.

The cabs dropped them off at designated points, some at 229^th Street drive, some at 226^th Street and Laconia Avenue and others at 225^th Street drive. When everyone was in position, they all received a chirp on their phones from Melquan. They descended on the horseshoe in pairs from different direction. School buses and kids provided the perfect camouflage they would need to move undetected.

The crew met up in the horseshoe, simultaneously liked they had planned. They spotted the suspicious parties and gunshots rang. Mike Copeland was the first to pop off. No words were exchanged only a barrage of bullets.

Horrified residents looked on in pure terror at the shootout that had erupted in broad daylight. Grabbing their children, they quickly darted for the safety of the buildings. Ducking for cover, they went inside the burgundy brick buildings, knowing that it would provide them with their only safe haven. Bullets were flying all over the place the horseshoe was transformed into a war zone.

Not wanting to hit innocent bystander, Melquan’s crew was careful how they engaged the enemy. Mike Copeland didn’t care, he was shooting at everybody.

“Fuck it! Let the police sort out the guilty from the innocent. Right now they all looked the same to me,” Mike Copelamd said, firing his automatic weapon. “Damn!” he cursed when the hammer of his gun flew backwards. It was smoking, but he was out of ammunition.

Fortunately, for him he was near Precious’ apartment window when it happened. With no one returning fire, Mike felt safe enough to attempt to get another gun.

“A yo,” he shouted up to the window. “Throw me that thing.”

Precious’s nose had been jammed to the window, watching the entire gun battle. She was on point.

“Here,” she called out.

Mike Copeland tucked the other pistol he had just emptied into his waistband then caught the silver .45 Precious had conveniently dropped out the window. He cocked it back and started firing without missing a beat.

Although shootout had only been going on for a few minutes, to the participants it felt longer. Especially once their fire started to be returned. Some of the dealers who had escaped went inside their apartments. They ran up to the roof to return fire. Melquan and company were forced to take cover behind a row of parked cars until they could locate the shooters.

“They on the roof…!” Melquan pointed, from his crouched position. “Niggas up there shootin’ at us…!”

Melquan’s crew focused all their attention on the rooftop and began firing. The great volume of shot successfully put an end to the sniping. Sensing that the police might be on their way, Melquan waved to Mike Copeland, signaling to him and everyone to fall back. It was time to go. They had riddled the horseshoe with bullets and vanished into the maze that was the project.

In their wake they left countless spent shell cases and few wounded victims. Miraculously no one was killed. If the projects didn’t know they were serious, they knew now.

After that incident, Melquan, Mike Copeland, and their team moved deliberately through the projects everyday, from North Side to South Side, building to building, performing routine shooting and shakedowns. It would take them whole month and then some to implement the plan. They sent messages to their rivals, and residents through non stop violence that the local police department could do little about. The takeover would be a stark reminder for anyone who had forgotten about the good old bad days in Edenwald projects.