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Power Nation Song - mbj

2008-01-21T18:14:00.000-05:00

Stick Up Pt2 (The City)

2007-12-21T22:50:00.000-05:00

Stick Up – Pt 2 (The City)
by MichaelB. Jackson

Virgin was about 27 years old and he had been getting high much longer then we had. Virgin was not someone we would normally hangout with first because he was older than we were, but also because we really did not like him. Virgin acted cool with you but there was something sneaky and slimy about him. He could not be trusted was the general consensus about Virgin.

The thing was that he knew where to score over in Harlem. Most of all, Virgin also had a car and he would shoot us right over to New York City to score, if we paid for the gas and tolls and got him high.
Virgin was about 6’ 3” tall, dark complexion and his eyes were always bloodshot. He had really bad skin with big acne craters and knots on his face and his lips were pink around the inner edge. We thought that was from all the cheap liquor he drank. He had long arms like and these great big hands with long, thick fingers.
Before he became a dope fiend Virgin was that he could play basketball like a god. He was probably the best player in the projects or even in Newark, when he was in his prime.

Virgin had a lot of style and flair on the court. Plus, he could shoot the jumper, take a chump to the basket, dribble the ball from one end of the court to the other with blazing speed and unbelievable control and thrown the dunk down with authority.
He could do all kinds of tricks with the ball like the Harlem Globetrotters. He was the first one I ever saw do the no look pass and the reverse dunk with 3 people playing defense on him.
Virgin could do it all and when he was on the basketball court nobody noticed how ugly he was. Let me put it this way, nobody would mentioned it when he was playing ball. If somebody did crack on him it would be something positive like, “He sure is ugly looking but his ass can play some ball”.

Virgin was also well known around the way for having a really big dick. The stories about the size of Virgin’s dick were legendary. Most of the girls were afraid to go near him. That’s why they called him Virgin because he could not get any…
Me, Willie and Juan put in together and bought 2-quarter ounces of Nicky Barnes’ “Suicide” on 8th avenue and 116th street for $175 each.
We went to a shooting gallery that Virgin knew on 112th street and got high.
We had to give the “houseman” some of the heroin for letting us gets off in the house.
We all had our own works so we did not have to buy or rent any. That would have had to fork over another dollar each or more drugs.
On the drive to New York Virgin seemed really interested about the robbery and kept asking us questions and shit and Juan told him every detail.
All the time were in the City Virgin was still pumping Juan for information.
On the ride from Harlem back to Newark we were not at the George Washington Bridge before Virgin began asking more questions.
Only now he was not only asking about the stick up we had done earlier that day - now he was fishing for information on other hustles we had pulled off recently. That punk was trying to get us to flip on stuff other people had done and we knew about.
It did occur to me then that Virgin was much too interested. I remember at one point asking Virgin. “What are you, the cops, Nigel? You sure are asking a lot of questions.”

Virgin tried to play it off. “Fuck you talkin’ about, the cops? He said with mock offense. “I just wanted to hear what went down. I ain’t got the heart to do that kind of shit”.
Juan was more than willing to continue running his mouth, especially after getting shot up with smack.

We came back to Newark and went to Willie’s apartment. We bagged up 30 or so dime bags to sell and divided the remaining drugs 3-ways, between Juan, Willie and me for personal use.
We figured if we sold these 30 dimes we could make enough to go back to the City and re-up and keep turning it over like that.
We would be able to get high and make some cash at the same time, for a while anyway.
We gave Virgin 2 dimes as payment for taking us to New York. He was not happy about only getting 2 dimes and thought his cut should have been more.
Virgin: “What the fuck is this, niggahs? Two fuckin' dimes for taking 3 muthafuckas to the City to buy dope?”
Willie: “Man we got your as high in New York. We gave you the same shot we all had.”

Virgin: “I didn’t ask ya’ll to get me high over there and I sure didn’t agree that it was part of my money. Man, you young muthafuckas are trying to play me. Ya’ll know the deal.”
Me: “We filled up your empty ass gas tank, that was 26 bucks. You probably only used half a tank to go over and back. We paid the tolls and bought your broke ass a 3-piece meal at Gino’s Chicken. Sounds like you trying to play us”
Virgin was standing in the middle of the floor and he was pissed. His was breathing hard and sweating and his hands were tight in big meaty fists. He wanted to fuck us up, but he had doubts about taking on all three of use at the same time.
“Fuck you niggahs. Ya’ll gonna need another ride and you can kiss my ass”, Virgin spit out as he walked out the apartment. The clang of the metal apartment door reverberated throughout the apartment and the outer hallways as he slammed the door behind him.
Me: “Yeah, you better take your ass outta here cause ain’t nobody gonna need you to give use a ride no where in that raggedy ass car. Yo' ride is so fucked up I was scared the police was gonna stop us on general principal.”
I’ll talk shit, behind your back… Plus, we knew where to score now so we did not need Virgin’s ass anymore.
As far as transportation, there was always the PATH Train out of Newark Penn Station to Penn Station in downtown Manhattan and take the subway uptown to Harlem.
Or we could take a bus to NY Port Authority and subway from there.
Fuck, Virgin!
When Virgin was gone we all looked at each other for a second and burst out laughing.
Of course, Juan took the joke too far falling off the couch onto the floor and almost kicking over the coffee table with the dope cooking up on it.
Willie, exasperated and angry that Juan almost spilled a lot of heroin, “Come on Juan, why do you always have to go overboard and shit? You knockin’ shit over and bout to get a beat-down.”
Juan: “Oh, fuck you Willie, you ain’t gonna beat nobody down over here.”
Willie and Juan had gotten into it a couple of times before. Juan was about, 5’ 1” and he was very self-conscience about his height and always trying to prove himself by talking trash and trying to come off like a pit bull.
Willie would kick Juan’s little ass each time. If someone hadn’t stop the shit Willie would have had to kill Juan or still be beating his ass today because Juan would not quit while he was still conscious. I don’t think Willie really wanted to start in with Juan again.

Fortunately, at that point the dope was cooked and it was time to get high. It was quiet while we each searched our arms for a good vein to insert the needle and inject the heroin. We all sat back one at a time and enjoyed the rush of the heroin making it’s way through our veins and into our brains.
“Damn, this is some good shit”, Juan mumbled in his best slick-slurred dope fiend voice.
The dope was good and all that, but it wasn’t like Juan was acting. He was acting like he in such a deeeeep nod… about to fall out of the chair and shit. Me and Willie just laughed at his dumb ass – than we went into our own nods.
Juan, “Man, now all I need is some pussy!”
For several moments there was silence in the room again, except for the television as we all were into our nods - ,but I had heard what Juan said about getting some pussy.
Finally, I said, “I thought your sister was in rehab?”
Now Willie, who had been holding his breath trying not to exploded into laugher. I tried to keep a straight face and not start laughing myself, but I couldn’t hold it in either. I started cracking up too.
Juan, “What you niggahs laughing at? Fuck you muthafuckas. Don’t be talking that shit about my sister, Mike.
She was high and didn’t know what she was doing.”
Willie and I were still bent over with laughter.
There was strong rumor around the hood that Juan and his sister older sister, Lisa, were caught hitting it with each other in their mama’s house before she went to rehab a few months ago. It was Juan’s mama who caught them and threw them both out.
Lisa went to rehab and Juan moved into the apartment with Willie and me.
Me: “You did.”
“I was high too”, said Juan, all pissed-off and shit, “We was fucked up off those pills. Man, Mike, I’m telling you, you play too much. Don’t be talking that shit about me and my sister.”
We were laughing so hard that we had blown our highs and everything.
That was okay though. We had money, plenty of drugs, a bucket of Gino’s Fried Chick and a place to live… Dope fiend heaven. Life was good.

To Be Continued

Copyright 2007 ©

STICK UP - PT 1

2007-12-16T19:59:00.000-05:00

by Michael B. Jackson

It was a couple of days before Christmas in 1969 and I had just turned 18 years old, that past November. By that time, I was well into my heroin habit and the never-ending quest for my next fix. I had left my parents home, in building #1 of the Arch Bishop Walsh Housing Projects, in North Newark, over a year before and had pretty much burned all my bridges in terms of being welcome back there. ABWH was made up of 12 buildings, Nine were 8 stories highs, with 8 apartments to each floor. There were three building 3-stories high with 4 apartments on each floor.

For the past 3 months I had been living in an apartment in building #6, with a couple of get high partners, Willie and Juan. The woman who used to live in the apartment with her 4 kids had just up and left it with her nephew, Willie, because she said someone had put curse on the crib. She was into voodoo, big time. Three months ago, she just walked out and left everything in the apartment, including food, furniture and her clothes, all the kid’s stuff and moved back to Mississippi.

Willie, Juan and me had been living in the apartment since she split. We figured it would be at least a few months before the housing authority came to put us out for not paying the rent. That is if they came at all. People rarely got evicted from the projects. Think about it, where would they go. People who were evicted from other places were put into the projects. You had to be seriously trifling to get put out of the projects. All evicting someone from the projects would mean is that the city would have to find a new place to relocate them probably across town into another housing project.

We used the apartment as a shooting gallery for the dopefiends to shoot up and chill out to enjoy their high. Of course we charged everyone a fee to use the place. The dopefiends would either pay with a portion of their dope, or with cash. It cost $5.00 per person, to come in and ‘get off’. Most of the dopefiends would mainline intravenously. If they did not have their own works or set, which consisted of syringe, hypodermic needle, and cooker (a spoon or bottle cap to cook the drugs in), we also rented works for $2.00 or a small portion of drugs. You could hang out and nod for a couple of hours, as long as you behaved. We also sold a little cocaine and heroin. Very little.

The problem was that the three of us would shoot up all of our merchandise, before we could sell it. Although it was early in my shooting up days, I was already strung-out on heroin. I was able to keep up with my addiction with relative ease in those days, but I had already developed my insatiable appetite for the drug. I would shoot it up as fast as I got it and as long as I had it.
There we were, after splurging the night before. We were out of stash and needed to re-up.

We were sitting around trying to figure out how we could get money to buy some dope and get high. It was to getting late in the day and we had not had anything all day.

“Damn”, Willie said, his face was twisted with frustration, “I’m starting to get sick. Ain’t none of ya’ll got nothin' stashed to get high off’?”

Willie was standing up looking out the living room window. The apartment was on the 8th floor. It faced the back of the building, over-looking the railroad tracks and the big playground. The playground was a big concrete covered area about the size of the average football field, between the rear of 3 building and the tracks. It was always filled with broken glass and looking down from above, it looked like a giant jigsaw puzzle with fuzzy edges, from the grass growing though all the cracks

“No, man.” I replied, “Do you think I been sitting here all day with ya’ll if I had something. If I had something, I would have been done creeped to the bathroom and oiled up”.

All of a sudden, Juan, who was sitting on the love-chair in the corner, burst out laughing and fell over on the floor. He kept pointing his finger at me and held his stomach as he laughed and struggled to catch his breath. That was Juan, everything was funny to him. Even things that were not funny at all would just bust him up. Juan, who was 16 going on 8 years old, thought everything I said was especially funny. I just cracked him up for no reason. When we were all growing up and in school – before we turned into dopefiends – Juan would always say, “Go on, Mike, tell a joke”. Juan would really get on my nerves with that shit. Mostly because put my on the spot in front of the women. I was a spontaneous Hiker, in those days. Hikes, were like the Dozen or Snaps, of today. In fact it was call The Dozens back in those days also. The difference being, as the dozens tend to deal with talking about your yo’ momma, (example, “yo momma is so stupid, she sold the car to get gas money”), hikes talked about everybody and everything in your life, (example, “we had a sofa like the one in your living room, then my father got a job”). I was a Hiker not a joke teller. I could not just tell a joke or say something funny, on command and the added pressure of trying not to look dumb in front of the females did not help me.

Juan was about, 5’ 1” and he was very self-conscience about his height. To break Juan out of putting me out there with people waiting for me to make them laugh, I would say to him. “Is it true that midgets have little dicks?”
Everybody would crack up on that one every time - except Juan. He soon stopped asking me to tell jokes.

Willie, who did not think I was particularly funny, stood in the window looking at Juan. “Man get your dumb ass up off the floor. That shit wasn’t that funny, niggah”, Willie shouted at Juan in disgust and his face still twisted in aggravation.

Willie, who was 19 years old, was one of the weirdest looking dudes that I have ever seen in my life. He looked just like a cross between a horse and a gorilla in the face. You could not tell him that, though. He thought he was fine. He always dressed nice, until he got strung out. When he twisted his face like that, he was almost grotesque. Standing there in front of that window with the setting sun casting the right light on his face, he was a ringer for King Kong climbing up the side of the Empire State Building.

“We need to make some cash, ya’ll” or we gonna be some sick niggahs up in here shortly, Willie said. “Let’s stickup that store we talked about last week”.

We had talked about several ways to get money in the last could of weeks. All of them illegal, of course. Every time we ran out of dope, we would plan to rob this small drug store nearby. We chose that store because we heard that it had a lot of money inside. Since the owners of the store were White people we just assumed that had to be true. As far as we were concerned all white people had plenty of money and would not miss the small amounts we were stealing from them. We also like the location and the easy escape route we had laid out. We could do it in less than five minutes. To that point we never had to carry it out because something or someone always came through to get us high. Things were real slow for us that day. We did not have any drugs and none of the dopefiends were coming to shoot up in the apartment.

None of us had ever pulled an armed robbery before, but how hard could it be. We’ve seen it on TV and in movies all the time. You point the gun and say, “give it up!” They give up the cash and then you split. In real life things did not go so smoothly for us.

Part 2

When got to the store it was about 5:30PM and just gotten dark out. There were two customers inside the store and both were at the cash register being waited on by the old woman, who was eyeing us from the jump. The old man, who was the pharmacist and owner of the store, was just walking out from a room in the back of the store towards the front, barely seemed to notice us. The drugstore was the small old-fashion mom and pop joint you see in the movies. There were no isles and circular, spinning magazine and greeting card racks took up the limited space in the middle of the floor. All the shelves made of wood were built into the walls and had big sliding glass doors up top and big pullout drawers on the lower part. The Pharmacists area, located at the front of the store as you came into the door, sat high on a raised platform so that the owner could see everything and everyone in the store at all times. There was also a counter and stools where they sold ice cream sodas and other snacks.

When we walked in Juan sat at the counter near the cash register, which was sitting on the counter, while Willie and I browsed the magazine rack. Willie had a small .25 caliber automatic pistol that he got from someone I do not recall at this time.

We waited until there were no customers in the store and made our move. As soon as the last customer walked out the door we went into action. Willie pulled out gun and stuck it into the old dudes face and shouted, “Give it up, muthafucka”

I was standing behind the storeowner dude who, upon seeing the gun, just flipped out. The dude’s face turn pale and he immediately started doing a nervous jig dance with his feet. Turning around in circles, flailing his arms in the airs and moaning, “Oooh... Nooo...Oooh... Nooo... Oooh... Nooo...”

By this time Juan had jumped over behind the counter and was fumbling around trying to open the cash register. The old woman who had picked up on what was going down was standing behind Juan, beating him on his back with her fists screaming at the top of her lungs about how she had told the old guy to sell this gotdamn store.
Willie was standing in front of the old white guy shouting at him to open the cash register.

I was still behind the old guy sandwiching him in so he couldn’t run out the back or get a gun or something. Before I knew it

I was screaming at Willie to “shoot this motherfucker”.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no...”, the old white guy moaned louder and began spinning around faster. He looked like a one of those little toy soldiers that run on batteries and when they run into something they bounce off in circles, spinning like a top.

“I can’t get this motherfucka open, man”, Juan shouted in frustration, as he turned around and gave the old woman a little shove. “Damn, get out of my fuckin' ear with that screamin' bitch”.
Finally, Juan took a can of shaving cream off the shelf and started banging on the cash register as if that was going to open it.

The old woman kept hitting Juan on the back and talking out loud to no one in particular, “Now we are dead, Gabe. Now it is too late to sell the store. Now we are dead. Now maybe Gabe will listen. Now we are dead.”

Me: “Open the cash register muthafucka”.

Willie: “Give up the money before I bust a cap in yo’ ass”

Me: “Fuck it, shoot this muthafucka Willie. Shoot him, man”

Old Dude (still dancing and spinning): “Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…”

Old woman: “Gabe, will you listen now?”
Juan: “Yo, somebody else come try and open this muthafucka”. He was almost exhausted from beating on that cash register with that can and having that old woman beating on him.
The place was like a madhouse. There was total chaos and confusion and we had been in there for what seemed like forever.

Suddenly, the front opened and a middle-aged man in a blue work uniform came walking into the store, unaware of what was going on. Everyone in the room, except the old woman who kept chastising Gabe, froze and there was a sudden silence in the room. When the guy finally looked up and realized what was going down he also froze in his tracks. He dropped the change that he was counting in his hand, raised his hand up into the air and turned to face the wall. All without saying a word. It was easy to see that this man did not want any part of this shit.

For a moment we were all a little stunned and we were all just standing there looking at the new guy, waiting and wondering what to do next. It was as if somebody had called ‘time out’ and stopped the action. Even the old woman had quieted down.

Finally, Willie turned back to the old white guy and just hauled off and hit the old guy upside the head with the .25 automatic pistol.. and "BANG". When the pistol made contact with the old guys head it accidentally went off. I was still standing behind the old guy and actually felt the bullet whiz past my face as it broke a case glass door behind me.

The loud bang of the gun scared the shit out of everybody and started the panic and hysteria all over again.

The old guy started spinning like a top again and shouting, “Oh no”.

The lady started yelling at her husband, Gabe, again.

The new dude dropped down on his knees and started praying.

Juan was now hitting the cash register with a small fire extinguisher.

I was probably the most scared out of everybody when I felt that bullet fly past me. Suddenly the reality, the finality, the seriousness of what we were doing became clear to me. “What the fuck am I doing here?”, I thought to myself. I just wanted to tell those people that I was sorry and beg for their forgiveness.

But, it was too late for that sorry shit now. At that point, I reached in and grabbed the old dudes wallet out of his back pocket and ran for the door. I could see that Willie was right behind me. Juan was attempting to carry the unopened cash register, which appeared bigger than he was, with him out the door but, it was too heavy and he finally gave up and dropped it on the floor. We never got the register open but Juan did manage to grab a small cash box and a carton of Kool cigarettes on the way out.

We ran out of the store across Broadway, down behind the barbwire company, across the railroad tracks behind the projects, climbed over the fence into the playground and up into the building #9. The escape went just as we had planned it.
There was $43.00 in the old guys wallet and close to $600 in the cash box. We split the money 3 ways, changed our shirts and went over to building #10 to find Virgin to take us to the City to cop and get high.

- TO BE CONTINUED -

Copyrights 2008 (c) MBJ

About BCFX

2007-03-20T18:40:00.000-05:00

About BrickCityFX
Brick City FX is a living online book of various tales as told in the unique manner of the author Michael B. Jackson. The episodes that make up the book reflects the author's life growing up in a North Newark, New Jersey Housing Project. All stories are based on real and not-so-real events and experiences. All names, except the authors, have been changed to protect the innocent and the unwilling.
Michael B. Jackson is the author and publisher of 3 other nontraditionally published books “How to Do Good After Prison: A Handbook for the Committed Man” , “How to Love & Inspire Your Man After Prison” and “Como Cumplir Con Tus Obligaciones Al Salir De La Prision: Guia practica para una vida mejor”. Find out more about the author at Jointfx.com.

UPDATES
BCFX is a living book and a work in progress. It has not recieved a final edit, yet. A new Episode or chapter added to the story every 15 to 30 days as it is written.

READER CONTRIBUTION
Readers are invited to visit the Brick City FX Guestbook to comment on the book.

Copyright Notice
This website and its content is copyright of Michael B. Jackson © 2007. All rights reserved.
Any redistribution or reproduction of part or all of the contents in any form is prohibited other than the following:
• you may print or download to a local hard disk extracts for your personal and non-commercial use only
• you may copy the content to individual third parties for their personal use, but only if you acknowledge the website as the source of the material
You may not, except with our express written permission, distribute or commercially exploit the content. Nor may you transmit it or store it in any other website or other form of electronic retrieval system.

Terms and Conditions of Website Usage
Welcome to our website. If you continue to browse and use this website you are agreeing to comply with and be bound by the following terms and conditions of use, which together with our privacy policy govern our relationship with you in relation to this website.
The term we refers to the owner of the website whose registered office is Joint FX Press, PMB 104, Postnet; 621 Beverly-Rancocas Rd., Willingboro, NJ 0806. The term “you” refers to the user or viewer of our website.
The use of this website is subject to the following terms of use:
• The content of the pages of this website is for your general information and use only. It is subject to change without notice.
• Neither we nor any third parties provide any warranty or guarantee as to the accuracy, timeliness, performance, completeness or suitability of the information and materials found or offered on this website for any particular purpose. You acknowledge that such information and materials may contain inaccuracies or errors and we expressly exclude liability for any such inaccuracies or errors to the fullest extent permitted by law.
• Your use of any information or materials on this website is entirely at your own risk, for which we shall not be liable. It shall be your own responsibility to ensure that any products, services or information available through this website meet your specific requirements.
• This website contains material which is owned by or licensed to us. This material includes, but is not limited to, the design, layout, look, appearance and graphics. Reproduction is prohibited other than in accordance with the copyright notice, which forms part of these terms and conditions.
• All trademarks reproduced in this website, which are not the property of, or licensed to the operator, are acknowledged on the website.
• Unauthorised use of this website may give to a claim for damages and/or be a criminal offence.
• From time to time this website may also include links to other websites. These links are provided for your convenience to provide further information. They do not signify that we endorse the website(s). We have no responsibility for the content of the linked website(s).
• You may not create a link to this website from another website or document without [business name]’s prior written consent.
• Your use of this website and any dispute arising out of such use of the website is subject to the laws New Jersey, USA.

Copyrights Page

2007-03-20T18:36:00.000-05:00

Copyright Notice
This website and its content is copyright of Michael B. Jackson © 2007. All rights reserved.
Any redistribution or reproduction of part or all of the contents in any form is prohibited other than the following:
• you may print or download to a local hard disk extracts for your personal and non-commercial use only
• you may copy the content to individual third parties for their personal use, but only if you acknowledge the website as the source of the material
You may not, except with our express written permission, distribute or commercially exploit the content. Nor may you transmit it or store it in any other website or other form of electronic retrieval system.

Terms and conditions of website usage
Welcome to our website. If you continue to browse and use this website you are agreeing to comply with and be bound by the following terms and conditions of use, which together with our privacy policy govern our relationship with you in relation to this website.
The term we refers to the owner of the website whose registered office is Joint FX Press, PMB 104, Postnet; 621 Beverly-Rancocas Rd., Willingboro, NJ 0806. The term “you” refers to the user or viewer of our website.
The use of this website is subject to the following terms of use:
• The content of the pages of this website is for your general information and use only. It is subject to change without notice.
• Neither we nor any third parties provide any warranty or guarantee as to the accuracy, timeliness, performance, completeness or suitability of the information and materials found or offered on this website for any particular purpose. You acknowledge that such information and materials may contain inaccuracies or errors and we expressly exclude liability for any such inaccuracies or errors to the fullest extent permitted by law.
• Your use of any information or materials on this website is entirely at your own risk, for which we shall not be liable. It shall be your own responsibility to ensure that any products, services or information available through this website meet your specific requirements.
• This website contains material which is owned by or licensed to us. This material includes, but is not limited to, the design, layout, look, appearance and graphics. Reproduction is prohibited other than in accordance with the copyright notice, which forms part of these terms and conditions.
• All trademarks reproduced in this website, which are not the property of, or licensed to the operator, are acknowledged on the website.
• Unauthorised use of this website may give to a claim for damages and/or be a criminal offence.
• From time to time this website may also include links to other websites. These links are provided for your convenience to provide further information. They do not signify that we endorse the website(s). We have no responsibility for the content of the linked website(s).
• You may not create a link to this website from another website or document without Michael B. Jackson’s prior written consent.
• Your use of this website and any dispute arising out of such use of the website is subject to the laws New Jersey, USA.