Hood Lemonade Jamika's Vendetta

Dedication:

Every woman that has ever doubted herself, made mistakes, been betrayed, wiped her tear-stained face, overcame obstacles and went through heart-break and/or loss. Yes, you fell down but you keep getting back up. This one’s for you!

Acknowledgments:

First and foremost, I want to thank the Most High for giving me the gift to write and the perseverance to see it through and for every trial and tribulation I went through to have the experiences I needed to write this story. Thank you for your many and continued blessings.

My sons, Elbun Jr. and Taeshaun. My life hasn’t been the same since you guys entered it. You are the definition of unconditional love. I appreciate your patience when I’m super busy or have to be away, and your arms that are always open and waiting for me when I return. I love you beyond words, forever!

Special thanks to my family, friends and beta-readers for believing in me, reading my work and offering their constructive criticism. Thank you for being there and for giving it to me straight, with no chaser: My mother, Phyllis and sister, Sheena; My cousin and bestie, Nikia Baynham (KeKe); Dana Smith, Patricia Johnson, Earl Dodd, the Hunnighan family, Michael Rogers and Cyntia Jean; My Publisher, Tamika Newhouse; Editor, Kiera J. Northington; My Author friends, Yasheca, Phoenix, and Ladonna for being genuine and helping the “new girl”. Y’all are the ish and I couldn’t do it without you!

To my ‘Love Jones’ Open Mic Family: Rebecca “Butterfly” Vaughns, DJ Inspecta, Enigma, Jo, Ebunix, Lil Ebunix, Mark These Wordz, Red Wordz, Jordan, Shameka “Poetry” Thomas, Young Merk, Winky, Ladi Medusa, See No Evil, Brillo and all of you for your support and for keeping the creative sparks in front of me; To all people originating in the hood or poverty stricken areas, who first-hand understands the struggle; And lastly but definitely not least - to you, my beloved readers, supporters, and social media friends/followers/fans and everyone else who buys this book, I thank you ALL in advance.

Sincerely,

T.J. Hope

Visit me online at
www.tanishahope.com

Chapter One

As Jamika looked down the barrel of his Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, her life flashed before her eyes. She wasn’t that surprised that her life would end at the hands of a man. It seemed that both life and men have had a vendetta against her for as long as she could remember. She always seemed to be slowly hurling toward this end. Bad situations seemed to follow and stick to her, like flies on shit.

Her first memory of this was back in New Jersey, when she was five. Her mother, Felise, had her young, and had to be about twenty-one years old at the time. Felise loved to party, so Jamika and her eight-year-old friend Lil’ Tray had plenty of time to explore the grimy streets of Newark. They hadn’t realized just how dangerous their hood was, until the day their perception changed.

Lil’ Tray was the cute, mischievous type. He was slick, with the IQ of at least a twelve-year-old and was always talking the Dope Boys on the corner out of their change. They got a kick out of how street smart he was to be so young. He was rough, but never with Jamika. He treated her like a little sister and many days let her help him spend his change at the corner store.

It was starting to get dark, so they decided to walk to the store for sodas before their mothers called them in. As they walked in the store past the beer case to where the sodas were kept, Jamika said, “I can’t wait ‘til I grow up.”

“Why?” asked Lil’ Tray.

“Because, I wanna drink beer, my momma always be happy when she drink beer.”

“Yeah, mine too. Wanna get some?”

“He not gonna let us buy beer.”

“Just watch out for me.”

Jamika peered down the aisle at the store clerk, who was busy arguing with an angry customer that claimed she’d sent her son to buy items and he’d been cheated. Jamika gave Tray the ‘go ahead’ with the wave of her hand, and he stuffed the beer under his arm inside his jacket. They walked up to the counter and placed fifty cents next to the arguing woman, and gestured to the two twenty-five cent sodas they had selected.

It had gotten a little darker, and both children started to feel a little afraid walking down the streets of the neighborhood without an adult. Jamika said, “Tray, let’s go on to your house ‘fore your momma get mad.”

Tray answered, “It won’t take long to drink it, let’s go to our secret hideout.”

Jamika and Lil’ Tray had their own hideout in their apartment building. There was a little side space on the bottom floor that led to an old utility closet, with downward slants in the door. Nobody ever went in there, but them. They would watch people come and go through the downward slants in the door.

They sat in the old closet looking at one another. Finally, Little Tray popped open the can of beer and handed it to Jamika. “Uh-uh, you go first,” Jamika said.

“You the one wanted to drink it,” argued Little Tray.

“Uh…alright,” she agreed. Jamika took the can and took a big gulp. “Eeel…this isnasty,” she yelped while spitting the beer out. “Here, Tray.” Tray took the can from Jamika and swallowed. He drank more and more. Jamika looked at him confused. “You like that?” she asked.

“Not really, but I don’t think you’re supposed to like it, it supposed to make you happy, remember?” he reminded her.

“Oh yeah!”

“Just hold your nose and drink it, that’s how I take my medicine when I am sick.”

They sat exchanging the beer until there was none left. “I don’t feel too good,” Jamika said with her hand across her stomach. 

As she reached for the doorknob to leave, Lil’ Tray snatched her hand back and pulled the string to turn the closet light out. They could hear people approaching and he did not want anyone to find their secret hideout.

Three men entered, but Jamika nor Lil’ Tray could see their faces. Only their pants and shoes were visible through the downward slants in the door. One of the men with Reebok sneakers on said, “Man, I’m fucked up, I want me some pussy tonight.”

“Hell yeah,” replied another man with old, dirty no-name shoes on. They smelled heavily of alcohol and drug usage.

Although the children only recognized one of the odors, their young instincts informed them that they might be in danger. They silently decided to remain quiet and still until the men left.

“I have an idea,” the man wearing the Reebok sneakers was saying, “let’s wait in this little space over here and the first bitch to walk in here, let’s grab her and fuck the shit out of her.”

“Man, you niggaz crazy,” another said, wearing jeans and Adidas sneakers.

“You little punk, you don’t know how to hang. It ain’t gon’ take but a second. We’ll be all the way across town by the time somebody finds the bitch,” said the Reebok wearer, with authority.

They stood there holding onto one another, afraid and unbelievably still, listening to the men laugh and talk with their sentences full of obscenities, for what seemed to be hours.  Jamika did not know what ‘fuck the shit out of’ meant, but was sure that it couldn’t be a good thing. She was hoping that her mother was not the next woman to walk through the doors of their apartment building.

It seems that before that thought could fully tantalize her mind, a woman entered the building. She no longer felt sick from the beer. She shivered violently against Lil’ Tray, afraid of what they were about to witness.

They could make out in the dark, the woman being dragged to the small space, while being beaten and having her clothes ripped from her body. Two men were holding her down, while the third man had his way with her. Tray and Jamika could smell the foulness of their breath; odors of drug usage and feel their weight against the old closet door.

The same fear that had entered Jamika earlier now came to Lil’ Tray. What if that was his mother? They could not tell if it was one of their mothers, enduring this brutal assault. Lil’ Tray reached up and pulled on the light string. The light came to life, illuminating the small space. He was sure that at that moment, one of the men would yank open the closet door and find them in there.

The man that was between the lady’s legs, beating himself inside of her like her pain and covered screams meant nothing, didn’t see the lights come on because his eyes were closed. He stopped pumping her, because the other men had suddenly let her go. He opened his eyes and a look of horror crossed his face. He snatched himself from the woman and cried, “Mom, what are you doing on this side of town? Oh God! Momma! I am so sorry!” The man took off running as fast as he could. As he reached the street, a car horn could be heard, a car sliding on the snow-slicked street, and then the thud as a car struck the young man. The other two men ran off into the night.

“Jamika!” Tray screamed. Jamika sat there, dazed. She had held her hands so tightly over her ears that they hurt, but she still had heard everything. She’d heard him but did not move. Tray grabbed her arm in one hand and the old closet doorknob in the other. They left together, stepping over the naked, bleeding, battered woman. They didn’t stop until they reached Lil’ Tray’s apartment.

Peggy was jolted from her sleep by the intense pounding on her front door. She looked at the clock; it was 10:30 pm. She had been asleep since around 6:00. She ran to the door, realizing she had forgotten to call Lil’ Tray in. Who could be possibly banging on the door like that? Had something happened to the him? If not, she was going to beat his little ass for not coming in before dark.

As Peggy reached the door and opened it, she saw both kids standing there shaken, eyes as big as quarters. In the distance, she heard sirens approaching, which wasn’t uncommon in this neighborhood. But, the way these children were looking at her made this time different. She knew they were somehow linked to that siren. “What in the hell is going on?” Peggy shouted at them through a voice still heavy with sleep.

The children looked at one another then back at Peggy. Both were silent. “Jamika, what happened, baby?” Jamika’s eyes filled with silent tears and her lips quivered, but she could not speak. “Tray?” Peggy asked impulsively.

“Mo-m-momma, a lady is hurt, a-and the man in jeans got hit by a car, w-we was there,” Tray stuttered.

“What? Let me go see what is going on. Always some crazy shit going on around here. Why does your breath smell like beer? I know damn well you ain’t—” When Peggy realized how shaken the children were, she stopped herself in mid-sentence. “Make yourselves some sandwiches, there’s some potato chips on the counter; let me go see what in the hell is going on.”

As Peggy approached the scene, many had gathered. Some heads turned to look at her, especially men. It is amazing how even in times of tragedy, men will still be men, she was thinking. Peggy was light-skinned, about 5’2”, with a small waist, rounded ass and a sexy walk that matched her feisty attitude. Felise, Jamika’s mother, was caramel-colored, about 5’5”, thinner than Peggy, with a figure that wouldn’t quit.

Peggy spotted Felise, standing over at the corner, talking with her mother, Marjorie, and some other women she recognized that lived in the complex. “Girl, what happened?” she shouted over all the noise to Felise.

“That guy got hit by a car,” Felise said, pointing to the young man in jeans and Adidas sneakers, now covered with a yellow tarp lying in the street.

“He’s dead,” she continued, “that’s Ms. Baten’s son and they found her in the building naked and beaten up really bad.”

“Are you talking about Ms. Baten that brings over the canned goods for the needy families?” asked Peggy.

“Yes, they are questioning anyone that may have seen something and can help them to find the connection. She’s in some type of shock, critical condition, can’t say a word.”

After Peggy explained to Felise what the children told her, they explained to the children that they couldn’t say a word. Neither woman wanted their child to be the center of an investigation, or put in a dangerous situation.

They boarded up the old closet door and gave the kids a “when the street lights come on” curfew. They knew that this hood was slowly robbing their children of their innocence.