Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler Read online

  Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler

  J. M. Benjamin

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler

  Copyright © 2017 J. M. Benjamin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6473-7

  First Trade Paperback Printing March 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Submit Orders to:

  Customer Service

  400 Hahn Road

  Westminster, MD 21157-4627

  Phone: 1-800-733-3000

  Fax: 1-800-659-2436

  This book is dedicated to all of

  those who aspired to be one thing in life but

  became another for whatever reason.

  To you I say, it’s not always about

  how you start but often how you finish.

  Life is about 90 percent of what happens to you and

  10 percent how you react to it.

  Never give up; finish the race and finish strong!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I’d like to thank Allah for the strength and endurance He continues to grant me to do what I do. Without His Guidance and Protection, none of this could be possible. Allah Is Akbar (The Greatest)!

  To my family, thank you for being patient, understanding, and supportive throughout my career as well as personally. It is you all who keep me grounded and focused on what’s most important: Mom, Stacey, Yaseena, Jamillah, Jameel, Bro (As Salaamu Alaikum), Kima, and Sham. I love you all!

  To my A New Quality Family: J-Rod Nider, over the years I’ve watched you grow like a proud Big Bro, but it is still a work in progress. Let’s get that “Breaking London” (July 2011) out so your success story can be seen and heard and everybody will stop blaming me for it not being out (Ha!). Nyema, three years later and A New Quality is still standing. You were there to see its birth, became the First Lady, and gave us Back Stabbers I. You know what we did with that; now let’s take it to another level with Back Stabbers II (March 2011). FiFi Cureton, ANQP diva, you believed I could make it happen with “Have You Ever . . . ?” And I did. You showed them what you could do; now prove that you’re here to stay with the sequel “Would You Ever . . . Again?” (May 2011). Randy “Ski” Thompson, what can I say, pure talent, my dude. “Ski Mask Way I” was serious but “Ski Mask Way II” was the truth. You got ’em on edge waiting for Part III. Cherie Johnson, you could’ve gone to any publishing house you wanted with your status and connections and you chose ANQP. I enjoyed working with you and Kat on “Around The World Twice,” but your joint “Peaches N Cream” (June 2011) is going to be the one to gain you the recognition you deserve as an author. Kevin “Glorious” Gause, I know it got rough for you along the way but you were patient, my dude, and didn’t give up; because of that The Robbery Report is available wherever books are sold. We going right back in with “The Robbery Report II” (October 2011). Erica K. Barnes, being the newest member of the family, I’d like to welcome you. They say “three’s a charm” so I expect “Allure” (May 2011) to be your best book yet. You all have become and are a part of my family, and a family who grinds together eats together!

  A special acknowledgment goes out to Locksie “The Queen of Book Reviews” of ARC Book Club Inc. for her contribution and advice with this story. Her piranha constructive criticism was what I needed to complete this book. To her I say, thanks!

  And to all of my book clubs, bookstores, and booksellers, Sugar & Spice (my first book club), Hakeem & Tyson of Black N Noble, Maxwell, all Urban Knowledge, Horizon Books, etc. Without you guys where would I be? Thank you all!

  Although I did not use either title, I would like to give a special thanks to all of my Facebook friends who voted on the title for this book. Your support was and is greatly appreciated. Facebook/Jm Benjamin.

  Thank you to:

  Bernice Dickey, Natasha Hawkins, Imani True, Sekenia Lewis, Sabrina Brooks, Yvette Sparrow, 21st St Urban Pub, Tamikka Simmons, Patrica Barksdale, Theresa Baines, Traci Di, Angela Concepcion-Butler, Tra Curry, Kevin Glorious Gause, Nancy Broughton, Cherie Johnson, Esther Reyes, Kisha Green, Raymond Francis, Jessica Ann Robinson, Alicia Evans, RaJohn Mann, Leah Dudley, Latanya Norris, Tricia Brent, Markesha Nairn, Sharresa Simmons, Anna Black, Sylrenzo Bennett, Charaine Drayton, Ali Abdul-Raheem, Tameka Yolanda Bethea, Love is me Love, Deborah Cardona, Tammy Rosa, Shirley Gordon, Sharon Walker, Ada LocQueen Don Martin, Aaron Bebo, Kim Knight, and Carla Pennington.

  PROLOGUE

  I can’t believe this! I’m
back in this hellhole again. Caged like a fuckin’ animal; helpless. All alone in this cold and desolate place they call a jail holding cell. I never thought it would turn out like this, that I would turn out like this. I never thought I’d have to feel the tight grip of these metal bracelets around my wrists again, digging into my flesh to the point of nearly cutting through my skin like a razor blade. I never thought I’d be sitting on this silver metal bench, staring at these gray paint-chipped walls, absorbing the toxic smell of stale urine from the urinal or feeling the chill from the coldness of this cell and air conditioning combined ever again.

  I never thought these butterflies fluttering in my stomach would ever have to return or that life as I once knew it would be flashing before my eyes again. I never thought I’d be wrapping my hands around these bars and clenching them tightly until my palms begin to sweat profusely, fingers begin to cramp, and knuckles turn white; or that I’d be banging my head in between the six inches that separated them, cursing myself until my head began to pulsate from the pain again.

  I never thought I’d have to see the look on my girl’s face when they came for me. I never thought my mom would have to get that phone call telling her she had lost another child. Damn! I promised them. What was I thinking? I just never really thought it could happen, never thought about it period.

  But then again, that’s a lie, because I actually did. I was reminded all the time that it could, but I just kept right on doing me and disregarded the signs. I knew there was a strong possibility! I knew. And I knew better. The signs were right there in front of my damn face, everywhere I looked, but I pretended not to see them and I just ignored them. I knew this shit was lurking around the corner, just waiting for me to turn and run right into it. I knew the clock was ticking and it was just a matter of time before it stopped. I knew time waited for no one and it wasn’t on my side. I knew better, because I sat and watched those before me and closest to me run out of time, and I saw what happened to them.

  I knew better because it was up, under, and all around me despite my being sheltered from it in the beginning. They tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen, and they tried to show me, but I didn’t want to learn. Now, because of that, I’ve lost everything: my family, my freedom and, yes, even my life. And this is how it happened. This is my story.

  The Beginning

  August 3, 1982. It was Saturday morning and I was extremely happy, because today I got to see my father. It was his birthday. Any normal eight-year-old kid would be overwhelmed by their dad’s birthday, but I was more than that because I didn’t get to see my dad every day since he didn’t live with us anymore. The Bad People had him.

  That’s what my mom said. The Bad People came to our home in Brooklyn, New York, and took him away from us when I was six. Since then, he’d been with them in New Jersey. I only got to see him on the weekends for a couple of hours, which was not a very long time, especially when I had to split it with my brother, two sisters, and my moms. Even though I didn’t like the place my dad lived, I looked forward to taking the trip each weekend to see him. I liked to look out the window at the stores while we rode down Canal Street and see all the different colors of people shopping and walking. I also liked going through the Holland Tunnel because my mom told us it was built underwater; so I imagined us in a special type of submarine car floating to New Jersey.

  The place where my dad lived was huge. It was kind of shaped like and looked like the White House where the president lives; but it was light green and brick, and there was a pond in front of it with ducks and geese. A few times, I saw some rabbits hopping around and, on Thanksgiving, I saw wild turkeys walking around. I knew my mother felt the same way I did about where my dad lived because the words, “I hate this place,” were mumbled under her breath every time we pulled up.

  I could tell my mother missed my dad because she was always crying, kissing, and hugging him the whole time she spent with him, and then when we’d get home she’d cry some more. I missed him too, but I cried when I was in my bed, while it was dark so no one could see me. I knew my brother could hear me, though, because I could hear him too. We shared a room together. I thought my dad would be disappointed if he knew that my brother and I were crying, because he always told us how we had to be strong, and that we were the men of the house now that he was gone.

  My brother Kamal was a year older than I was, but you’d have thought we were twins. Not just because we looked alike only he was darker, but because we acted and thought alike, too; plus, we liked the same things, which was why we did everything together. I also had two sisters. My oldest sister’s name was Monique and she was ten. Jasmine, who was only five, was my little sister; and I—my name is Kamil—was the next to the youngest.

  “Everybody better be getting dressed,” my mother shouted from her bedroom. “You know today’s your father’s birthday and I want to get there early.”

  “I’m all ready, Ma,” I yelled back.

  “I’m all ready, Ma!” my brother mocked me sarcastically.

  I started to rush him because he knew I didn’t like to be teased, but I knew it would end up in a wrestling match and I didn’t want to get in trouble for messing up my clothes.

  My mother continued with her yelling. “Monique, do you have your sister dressed yet?”

  “Yes, Mom, I’m finishing up with her hair now, and I just have to put my shoes on.”

  “Okay. I expect everyone to be in the car within the next ten minutes, and make sure you get your daddy’s food package from out the kitchen.”

  “Kamil, you bet’ not try to get in the front seat either, boy!” Monique popped her head in my room and threatened, reading me like a book. She knew how much I liked to ride in the front seat of my dad’s 1980 Cadillac. I knew if he weren’t away he’d have had a 1982 model like my uncle Jerry did, because he used to trade his in for a new one every year. His ’80 still looked just as good as the ’82s though. It was cream with a white leather top and the seats to match, and it had shiny spokes with the best tires that money could buy. At least that’s what I used to hear my dad say. All the other kids in the neighborhood admired my dad’s and uncle’s cars. When he was home, he and my uncle Jerry were inseparable. I guessed that was where Kamal and I got our closeness from.

  Although I was a boy and boys were supposed to be tougher than girls, I wasn’t taking any chances going up against my sister, because I had seen her in action plenty of times before to know better. One time, at the private school we go to, she was in a fight with this bully who was much older and bigger than I was, and I remembered what she did to him. For him to be at least fifty pounds heavier and four inches taller then her, she managed to fracture his nose, bust his lip, and give him a black eye. That alone was enough for me to know not to mess with her, so I let her have the front seat.

  Ever since my dad had been gone, though, Kamal and I had become overprotective of our sisters, especially Jasmine, because she was the youngest and was at the age where she would get into any- and everything within reaching distance anyway. She and Monique were so pretty that my brother and I knew we were going to have to beat a bunch of boys up for trying to talk to them when they got a little older. Even though we were younger than Monique was, we had already chased a few guys away and they began getting the hint that our sister was off-limits. Monique would be mad at us for doing it but “that’s what brothers are for,” my dad told us.

  * * *

  “Monique, give me your sister’s hand and get your daddy’s package out the back seat. Kamal and Kamil, go get in line while I take your father’s bag over to the desk so we don’t have to wait too long to get in,” my mom told us, as we did what she said.

  As usual, after she sent Kamal and me to the grocery store to get everything she had written down, my moms slaved over the stove nearly all night to make sure my dad would have all of his favorite dishes when we visited him. He didn’t eat meat, red or white, so everything really consisted of vegetables. He was something ca
lled a vegan. We were not vegans, but my mother and father only allowed us to eat certain meats and forbade us from eating pork.

  “I hope Dad got some junk food or something set up for us in there like he usually does, ’cause I’m getting tired of eating all that healthy stuff Ma be feeding us. She be buggin’ with all of that,” Kamal complained.

  “For real she be trippin’, but you know Dad is gonna hook us up. Knowing him, he probably even got a cake with candles up in here for his birthday,” I said.

  “Yeah, you right. Knowing Dad he probably does. I know he gonna be surprised that we came early today.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I agreed with my brother. Normally my mother would bring us to the afternoon visit, but today she wanted us to spend the entire morning and some of the afternoon with my father on his birthday.

  “Numbers sixty through ninety-five,” the dark-skinned Bad Guy called out.

  He’s almost as big as my dad, I thought as I stared at him. I wondered what it was my father had done so bad that it would make this man not like him so much that he’d want to keep him away from us. I wished that he knew my dad the way that we did; then maybe he would let him come home with us. I wasn’t used to seeing the Bad Guy because this was the first time we had come to see my dad so early, but he looked no different from the ones I was used to seeing in the gray and blue Bad Guy uniforms.

  As our number was called, we all trailed behind my mother as she casually made her way toward the front part of the area where you had to be searched and scanned by the black thing that beeped and looked like something from Star Wars. Countless of different fragrances people wore tickled my nostrils as we crammed together with other visitors the way sardines were bunched together in a can.

  “Key up!” That’s what the Bad Guy always yelled right before the huge, rusted metal doors opened just enough for us to walk through to get to where they were holding my dad. My mother always took her time, keeping us close to her and all the while careful not to bump anyone or step on anyone’s toes. I was sure she moved this way due to the many fights that broke out between women for those very same reasons. One time I saw a woman actually trampled over after falling down from being forcefully pushed through the cracked door.