VOODOO CHILE

TURKEY DAY!

It was Thanksgiving in 95 and I remembered celebrating by eating a bag of microwave popcorn with a hustling partner. That was our meal. Popcorn.

We were both between hustles so we were both in search of a good lick in order to put some money in our pockets. Even though, I was no longer sticking up, I would not turn down a good robbery lick if the money was worth it and the risks could be managed.

But my hustling partner, who had just come home from a doing a 15 year bid on the state, was highly suspicious and loved to go to see the root man before he moved a finger. Hell, most of the old hustlers I knew believed in VOODOO more than they believed in their lawyers.

I, myself, was fresh on the streets, and I had retired from the stickup game though as mentioned, the right lick could pull me right on out of retirement.

So, now, it's dark and it's late and we had just gotten back to Charlotte from South Carolina which seemed to be a haven for root workers

We ate popcorn, drank some Snapple, and my boy felt like he had a winner after the session with the root man. Now, that he had the greenlight from his favorite root doctor, all he needed to do was to find the lick. He would keep me posted.

However, what happened instead is that my boy started getting high and he didn't sit on that lick long enough for it mature. I saw too many holes in the getaway plan and I opted out. Yeah, you can guess what happened. He and his cousin took the lick down and the money was decent, but there was jewelry involved and the gems led them into a bust.

Sometimes, it ain't meant for you to chase every dollar. More importantly, you can't hustle with just anybody. You could be great friends, but might not have the right chemistry to get paper together. I say that because with my boy, this was not the first lick we were supposed to be on together that somehow didn't happen. The first time was in 1972 and he wanted to take me on a bank job with him. I was game but the the robber originally slated for the job, showed up so I was left out.

Both times, the lick went south. Right now, my boy is in SC doing 3 life sentences all related to sticking up. Yeah, this brother was a diehard. I speak to him regularly and if he doesn't get a break soon.....this could be end of the line for a friend who overplayed his hand. HAPPY TURKEY DAY, J!

No doubt, J is a good soldier and did not flinch when it was time to go to war. He was dependable, but my personal opinion, then as now, was that he was impulsive and trust me, being or acting on impulse is a deadly trait.

He also prided himself on being a smooth talker and yeah, he could talk. I remember letting him talk me into testifying in his behalf in a murder case that would never have happened but for his impulsiveness. Yeah, his argument was simple. Dan, our homeboy, was dead, at his hand and since there wasn't a thing I could do for Dan, I could lie and provide him with the perfect alibi. In any event, the case never went to trial.· Maybe he got help from the root doctor.

Of all the people I have gotten money with over the years, none was more into VOODOO more than TW, who was a bigger fan than J, who would hardly take down a lick until he had consulted a root doctor, preferably from SC.

As a southerner, I have always known about roots since when something in the hood went really wrong or really good, roots were usually suspected. A lot of times, back in the days, roots were used as love potions so the stories would go in one ear and out the other since I was still wet behind the ears when it came to matters of the heart, but when I started hustling on a full time basis, I found it was fairly common for the hustlers to see the root doctor for protection. Over the decades, I have had quite a few "juju bags" I kept on me at all times. They were designed to keep the police out of my business.

The very first time I went to the root doctor was when my dad took me to see this VOODOO lady in the hopes of keeping me out of prison, but the first time I went on my own seeking help, the Mama of one of my daughters pointed me to a pretty amazing local root man. I showed up early one Sunday morning and a white woman was there, gushing about how good this guy was and she was thanking homeboy for the making of a beautiful day. With a sparkling endorsement like that, I felt that I would leave with my 007 license to do whatever the fuck I liked because when your VOODOO man was at the top of his game, it would be as if you were invincible, and you usually employed this invincibility by embarking on a crime spree. Mo' Money. Mo' Money. Mo' Money.

When I was leaving the root man's house, I met this brotha, an up and coming pimp, who was there to step up his game so he could pick up more hoes. I saluted his efforts to come up in the game and wished him well, but I was there on a more personal mission. I was desperate to stop my partner's girlfriend from taking the stand on me in a bank robbery and telling on me as she had told on my partner, who was still in jail, awaiting trial. I knew he wouldn't say shit but his girlfriend had told everything she knew and couldn't wait to get on the stand. Since these were "trade secrets" of the streets, I won't divulge what was said or did, but as it turned out, an indictment was never returned against me!

Now, check this out. Naw, I still don't think I should really divulge my personal experiences with root doctors and VOODOO but they have always been BIG in the hustling world. But I will say this because it was full reliance on VOODOO that I stopped THINKING. I absolutely thought I was absolutely covered. I thought I was invincible. I realize now how silly that was but I gave up on myself. I practically surrendered my common sense for the notion that I couldn't be touched by the law. And I had good reason to believe this as I did or so I thought. What you gotta remember is that being a crook is not easy and at no point in your hustling career do you ever stop looking for a better way to get more money more safely.

Nonetheless, what happened to me is that I met a woman who little by little destroyed me from the inside out. She was 33 and looked like she was 18, and from our initial encounter which she purposely engineered, she was able to disarm my intellectual defense system and to quickly reel me into her dark world. She did, however, have her advantages as I could take her to visit my friends inside prison and the prison staff would let her in since they assumed she was a child. Sista was a fucking viper! Wow....that ability to play young helped out a lot when she took over the duties of moving my heroin from here to there.

With unbridled glee, I did notice a vast improvement in my finances after she came aboard and she always made it a daily point to let me know that she was my lucky charm and that nothing could ever go wrong as long as we were together. Then, I found our about her father, a well-known root worker from around the way. All he wanted was a grandchild. I mean, goddamn, what more could I ask for although it would break my heart to discover just how sneaky and conniving his daughter truly was. I actually started to hate her like I had never hated anyone before. Real talk.

This woman dismantled me emotionally. She ran all my friends away because she wanted me exclusively to and for herself. One day, while out, I encountered a friend of hers who told me that the woman had put roots on me. It was called "the Adam and Eve root". When used properly, you can't leave the person you're with. Trust me, this child of darkness gave love a bad name!

One morning, in particular, on a whim, I searched the house where we lived and I discovered she had "juju bags" scattered all around the apartment. No fucking wonder no one came to visit.

Meanwhile, my paper was stacked and I was running out of places to hide it but I was not myself. Bitch had me fucked all the way up. I gave her what she wanted but she still stole. I bought her a Volvo. She wanted a Benz. It had gotten to the point where she had to go and we had it out.....in a way.

But, how do I just let go off a bitch who did bring something to the table even if I didn't know exactly what the fuck it was that she was doing. And to keep it real, I didn't really want to call this bitch's bluff. Know why? On more than three occasions, I would opt to do shit my way and when they didn't work out, she would pull me through the fire. If was as if she enjoyed letting me do shit she had advised against just so she could show me in clear and unmistakable terms that she could make extremely good lemonade when all I had were lemons.

One day, for example, she took the keys to my ride and after I did finally get them, she literally begged me to chill. She cried, and tried to fight me. Long story short, I took it upon myself to ignore her warnings and as a consequence, I did what she hadn't wanted me to do. Unfortunately, I caught a motherfucking case but, fortunately, her Pops made everything all good.

If it had not been for that woman, I would have been able to see more clearly and many of the mistakes I made, I would not have made them. I gave up on my ability to think things through and I stand accused of being sold a dream.

No doubt, I have lived a highly complicated existence, filled with primarily heartache and disappointment, but I have fought back. I didn't win, but I stood my ground and though I still bleed from a 1001 psychic wounds, I can proudly announce that I have triumphed against the darkest of my days.

I have eagerly given the shirt of my own back and I have been betrayed by friends. I have gone toe-to-toe with all my demons only to discover that my greatest enemy was none other than the woman sleeping in my bed. I have paid my dues, but yet the doors where all the good shit was never opened. Against all odds and under circumstances and conditions that would broken most men, I have stood my ground. Big ups 2 me. Fuck what the world thinks!

Looking back over all my yesterdays, what I can say is that there ain't nuthin' like sunshine when you finally get out of the storm. Damn, it feels good, even at this late stage in my life, to finally begin to understand that I, too, have a shot at happiness. Well, to be quite candid, contentment would be good enough for me. Fuck being happy. If I can secure it, fine. If not, it is what it is. Being content may be as good as it will get for an old gangsta like me, but I'll gladly take it because when you have come from where I have come from CONTENTMENT is reward enough. Enuff said!