Source of Information

By J Williams

Based on a true story, follow "8" in this thriller sequel to "Wrong Turn Right."

His Belnel crew is on the rise to success and power in the city of Boston. Along the way a friendship is formed with Benzino who is on his way to half ownership of The Source Magazine. This friendship brings him face to face with many celebrities he admired over the years only to have altercations that end up as infamous beefs.

With enemies and various crime fighting organizations after his notorious Belnel Gang, a true deception goes unnoticed right under his nose. An old murder case is lurking in the dark shadows with a snitch ready to bring it to light.

Will "8" find a way to avoid an ongoing murder investigation? Guess you'll have to read on to find out.

Names like Paul Pierce, Fat Joe, Lox, J Prince, LisaRaye, Cash Money, Dave Mays, No Limit, Dogg Pound, Death Row, E-40, Lil Kim and more. A can't miss read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Williams
• Release date: Apr 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005253707

J Williams

Jameel Williams has worked with the youth for the past 15 years trying to transform gang members into productive leaders. In 2002 he was sentenced to serve a natural life without the possibility of parole.With no where to turn and a dire future. Jameel used his time wisely to hone his skills in both writing and the practice of law. His first five years was spent in Shirley maximum prison located in Massachusetts. On his 5th year he was able to overturn the conviction. Unfortunately it would be another seven years awaiting a retrial at Norfolk medium security prison before his release in 2014.Before his incarceration Jameel aka 8 ran the streets with the notorious Boston gang “Belnel Dogs”. It wasn’t always this way. Jameel grew up across the road in the Greenfield section of Boston.Removed from a life of crime. The author is now focused on prison reform, helping families deal with losing loved ones to the streets and providing legal advise in some circumstances.

Book preview

Chapter One

I finished my upstate bid and was finally home. For the most part, it was me and Ill every day. The hood was still dry, so we were both doing bad, straight out of the joint. Broke and on ankles, the first thing we needed was a gun. Like always, Cakes from Corbet Street made sure to get up with me. The moment I saw him, he gave me a huge hug.

Glad to see you're home, Eight. Need anything?

I looked at Cakes and smiled. Yeah, I need a burner.

He just shook his head. Some things never change. I don't have any handguns at the moment. Just a Mac-12, but…

Before he could finish his sentence, I cut him off. That will do.

Most dudes would have asked, ‘What are you going to do with a Mac?’ but Cakes knew better. That Mac might as well have been a .25 because I would be carrying it all the same and it wasn't long before it came in handy.

****

Three days after we got strapped, Ill and I were driving in his mom’s old, stankin-Lincoln. It was the summer of ’95 and hoes were roaming the sunny streets of the Avenue. It was 85 degrees, so I had the window halfway down, enjoying a Blunt with my dude. That's when Ill tapped me on the hip.

Yo, Eight. Get on alert. Drama coming up on your side!

I rolled the window all the way down and looked back. Intel had informed us that our smoke was driving a burgundy, ES 300 Lexus Coupe. Sure enough, it was Marco’s clown ass from Greenfield. This nigga was never even tough, but he was an original from around there. He pulled to the side of the whip and revved on the engine, either showing off his new ride or trying to intimidate us. Either way, the sight of the Mac-12 being raised killed the side show.

Marco pressed hard on his brakes and slowed his pace. It was clear in his mind right then and there that things were not letting up any time soon. I screamed out the window.

What you thought? The real ones are back out here!

Chapter Two

A few months later, Dee came home from the halfway house in the South End. He hooked up with an old-school lady who was a known hustler. Talk about coming home set. They set up their home in Lenox projects and within a month, Dee had a brand-new Lexus LS 400 and an Acura Coupe, both sitting on twenty-inch rims. Back then, twenty-inch rims were a big deal. Especially on the east coast so Dee was shutting it down. I won't front, we used to be worried for my nigga. Here he was, not from the projects, but was putting up big numbers. Dee had it figured out though.

A few months later the crew was pouring out of the joint, one by one. LI, Nel Mizz, Mecca, Head-O and the rest of the crew came home. We were finally back at full strength. Guns were plentiful, but money was scarce.

****

I hooked up with Shizz and headed out to Lynn one day. At the time, he had a brand-new Rodeo truck that was in style.

He kept telling me, Eight, these dudes have paper up in Lynn. These fucking trap houses be nonstop and they're on every block.

I was sold. I grabbed up a .45 and took the twenty-minute drive to Lynn. It was pitch black and 2-Pac was blaring on the sound system. I ain't a killer but don't push me.

Right there, Shizz pointed out with his finger.

He turned down the music as we were bending on a three-family house. The second floor was the lick. I was out of the car, no mask, no nothing. We walked to the back door and proceeded to the second floor. I turned and faced Shizz.

You ready?

Before he could respond, I was knocking on the door. The guy opened the door with a smile.

What y’all want…

Before he could get the full sentence out, I slapped the words out of his mouth with the .45. Bitch, where is the coco?

Papi!

Bop! Bop!

Two more gun butts to the top of his head.

Who the fuck is ‘Papi’? I asked infuriated. Don't call me that shit! Now where is that coco?

He gave me two eight-balls and a hundred fifty in cash. Nothing major but to a nigga off his feet, it was a good start.

Nigga, take off that chain while you're at it.

We hit maybe three more spots that night. Same routine. I knocked on the door and then gave the closest person to me a headache for the next week. We were just about to call it a night when a car rolled up on the side of Shizz’s Rodeo.

Shizz tapped me. Eight, look out for this car.

I was just about to reach over and squeeze when the driver of the car asked if anyone wanted to buy weight in weed. Me and Shizz looked at one another.

We were just looking for weed. You got a pound? we asked in unison.

He answered back confidently. Do I? Man, it's some bomb too. Follow me.

I swear we laughed at this poor guy’s misfortune while we followed him to his house. He had set up his own robbery. The first thing I noticed when we pulled up to the well decorated neighborhood was all the commotion. They were laying down some road work, making tons of noise. I saw a cop standing duty, but they were way down the street and he wasn't paying our direction any mind.

I shrugged my shoulders as I walked into homeboy's house. The second I walked through the doors I took a mental picture of the layout. For the most part, the place was cool but most importantly, we were alone. Dude brought out an ounce and a half.

My man got the rest.

Shizz spoke up. Who is your man and where is he at?

My thoughts exactly. He read my mind as I smelled the weed.

He’ll be here.

Two licks were better than one, so I played it cool. You got a Philly?

I opened the Blunt and filled it with a nice size bud from the bag. The smoke was pretty good. After a half hour though, I was beside myself.

Yo, where is dude at?

I was past holding my anger in. The lame started stuttering.

I… I… I… don't know. He should have been here, but he's not answering.

That was it.

Bop!

Lay down, Bitch! Where's the money?

Dude was broke. He had like four hundred dollars. His man was the connect and he was playing middleman. We threw him off by asking for so much. His greed got the best of him and now the butt of my gun was getting the best of him.

Bop! Bop!

He was bleeding bad, so I told Shizz to tie him up because 5-O was still down the street on detail. Shizz went to go tie him up and dude acted like he wasn't going for it. Again, I was beside myself with this dude. I grabbed the pillow and told Shizz to watch out. Dude nearly did a back-flip tripping over the edge of the bed trying to back track. I just wanted to shoot him in the ass to leave a reminder that the short dude wasn't playing. Instead, Shizz damn near shielded him with a look of terror in his eyes. Nigga was acting like I was going to shoot him or something. I gave Shizz the look of death.

You better tie this nigga up then.

This time around, the victim was so helpful, he nearly tied himself up.

Chapter Three

I went back to Boston, tired as fuck but full of promise. By now, it had amped back up with the clowns. I was bigger wiser and older, but still didn't give two fucks. It was summertime so the streets were vibrant every night. We would cruise in Dee's Lexus blazing the music loud without a care in the world.

Both of Dee's whips had a dooming in them, so people would hear us before we saw them. Life was good. We even had a contest to see who could fuck the most hoes. The catch was it had to be a new thang you never touched before, no remixes. Let’s just say me and Dee blew everyone out of the water.

We were complete opposites. Dee had that smooth dark skin that would shine in the light. Hoes would literally crave over my dude, especially when he would take off his wave cap and show off the flood. He had a fade with deep waves.

Me, I had the quiet approach to get females. I would sit back, observe and let everyone else shoot their shot. Before long, a cutie would ask why I was so quiet and then I would go in. Within an hour, I would still be quiet, but the bitch’s legs would be on my shoulders as she screamed her head off.

Once I had ya bitch, it was a known fact that you could kiss her goodbye. I had that lethal pipe game and word was spreading fast. In jail, I had grown a good three inches and now I was standing five foot eight. With the added on muscle and weight, I was looking like a new nigga entirely.

One person that took notice was Sadie. She was still coming around the way from time to time, even after her sister Sydney had been killed. I always had a soft spot for the gangsta shit Sadie pulled to save my life back in the day. This was maybe a year before her sister died.

It all started on a warm summer day on the block. The crew was out deep when a well-known mini truck pulled up, blaring music. Everyone in Boston knew about the twin cuties that were rolling around in a hot pink, Tracker Jeep. Sydney came to see Dee and went down in the basement to check him out while Sadie stayed on the block with us. It was the same ole’ shit, everyone smoking, drinking and talking shit. Dee ended up getting a page on his beeper from a play and decided to take the Tracker to go serve it.

Before he left, he asked, Eight, you still need that ride home?

Yeah. Why? You leaving now?

Nah, I have to make a run at the top, but I'll be right back. Be ready.

Cool, I'll be right here holding down the fort, I said while patting my hip.

Dee sped off and I walked back over to the crowd. When Dee returned, Sadie hopped in the passenger seat while L.I. hopped in the rear passenger. We drove out of the village and got maybe three minutes up the road to Cummins Highway. Suddenly, we heard sirens and looked back. Those lights couldn't be mistaken. It was an undercover, DT car. Dee pulled over and then looked in the rear mirror.

Eight, you still strapped?

Fuck yeah. I got the .38 on me.

To make matters worse, it came from a house we robbed a few months back. I was in a two-door death trap with nowhere to move, never mind trying to run.

Dee spoke up. Yo, Eight, put that shit under the seat.

Don't put that shit in my car! Sadie screamed so loud I thought the cops may have heard.

Sadie if they find it, Eight will take responsibility for it. Dee spoke up again in my defense.

Fuck that! Sadie shouted.

Dee was steady looking in the rear-view mirror the whole time. It was a miracle we were getting this much time, but it was just about running out. Dee made a last-minute pitch.

Yo Sadie, hold the gun for Eight. Don't let my nigga go to jail.

Fine, give it to me, Sadie said, throwing out her hand.

I'll never forget it, she had on some black pants with a white, see-through top. My .38 was brown metal with white and black tiger stripes on the handle. I passed it to her just in a nick of time and she tucked it into her waist just as the first flashlight shined into the back seat.

How you fellas doing? one of the white officers asked.

I looked around. Damn, these are Roxbury detectives, four deep. It's about to be on.

I zoned back in just in time to hear the officer. We're going to need everyone to step out. The female can stay. We filed out of the small Jeep and went to the hood of the cop car.

What y’all getting into tonight? the cop asked.

Nothing much.

Chilling.

There were two cops standing by us at the hood of the car. One searching the Jeep while the other cop stood on Sadie’s side with his flashlight. A few times I could see him shine the flashlight right at Sadie’s legs, trying to get a free peep show. Luckily for me, the white handle blended in with her pale skin and the white sheer top. The officer standing by us continued to talk calmly, as if he were cool.

So, no guns on you guys tonight?

Hell no! We be chilling, I said, half smirking.

Both cops busted out laughing. Yeah right! We hear y’all been tearing this block up, right up the street.

Nah, we don't have beef with them. Matter of fact, I grew up over there.

I would always use that excuse when police inquired about the war.

Why did you pull us over? Dee asked.

You really wanna know why? We saw you come out the village and serve a play to a crackhead out of this car. All three of our eyebrows raised. The cop continued. Yeah, we don't give a fuck about that, we want the guns. So again, any guns?

In unison we all said no and that was that. They finished their search and we got back in the Jeep and pulled off.

Fucking thank you from the bottom of my heart Sadie!

That's why I had a soft spot for Sadie removed from anything else dealing with the block. I still had a small crush on her, so it caught me totally off guard when Ill called and said Sadie asked for my number.

A week prior, she stopped by Ill's spot with her fine ass cousin. It felt good hanging with them for the night but that was it. I didn't take any attraction from it and to me, it was just a good time among friends. It took us two weeks once we exchanged numbers to finally link. I was playing busy, running the streets. The one thing we did do was talk on the phone for hours at a time. Right away, it was evident that we had strong chemistry. Over the weekend, she picked me up and drove me to her girl’s house in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Before we hit the highway, we stopped at the liquor store to grab some drinks.

Sadie grabbed a Martini & Rossi Asti wine bottle and I grabbed up two Lemonade St. Ides mixed drinks along with four Bacardi Limon nips. I was ripped and Sadie not being much of a drinker was done too.

We sat on the couch, both acting shy, not knowing what to say. She had been telling me all week she had something she wanted to tell me.

Okay, spill it, I said waiting to hear this big secret.

She turned her body to me. Okay, here it goes. My cousin who came with me to the house asked me to give you her number. Problem is, I like you too. So, which one is it going to be?

Mama didn't raise no fool. I was here alone with Sadie, a candlelight blowing and a hard dick. After taking a peek at Sadie’s perky titties, I blurted it out so fast, I almost said I wanted her twice.

Sadie was beautiful but her cousin was flawless. That being said, Sadie was a hustler and fine in her own right so that beat pussy that wasn't around. That night we slept in the same room together and decided to take it to the next level. She tried playing the sleep role, but a few soft kisses to her shoulders caused her to squirm. She snuggled closer as I felt the soft warmness of her ass pressing firmly against my throbbing dick. Right then, I knew the pussy was soaking wet for me.

She was wearing a soft white, see through top and it was clear from her nipples getting hard that I was slowly starting to turn her on. With softly placed kisses on her stomach, she started arching her back to my beat. Next came well placed swirls of my tongue along her rib cage until my lips were nestled around her erect nipples. A small gasp escaped from her lips and at the same time, my fingers started caressing her juicy womb. Not only was she throwing her hips back at my fingers gliding over her clit, she was also deeply tongue kissing me. I couldn’t get naked fast enough as I tried to do the ankle dance, removing my socks without touching them.

The second she spread her silky thighs, I rubbed the head of my dick a few times up and down the slit of her pussy and then entered. The feeling of both of her hands clawing into my back brought out the animal in me as my strokes got longer and deeper. I wasn’t the type to hit the same spot twice. I was the type to hit a different angle with each stroke catching the pussy off guard. The more she moaned and wrapped her legs around my back, the harder I became and the deeper I went. It wasn’t long before the good strokes turned into her cummin’ a few times. That night, we formed a bond and held one another tightly. No words needed to be expressed to feel both of our pains slightly being released.

Chapter Four

I was in the streets and they were getting deadlier by the day. I was back to at least two to three missions a week with my goons and I didn't even live in the hood. Those were the days though and everyone was putting in work from young to old. Beef was back on in a major way.

Things were that simple around the way. If it wasn't me, it was Ill, if not Ill, then Nel Mizz was coming through with a story. From top to bottom, everyone was down for that static. Down the street from the village there was a new NEL team brewing.

Head-O had gathered a bunch of baby gangstas. Him, his brother Jeff, Bore, Lil Davey, Lil Wave, Kaz, Ruben, Monte, Stizz and a few others were getting militant instructions from Head-O. He would have them breaking down guns, take turns on watch duty and bring them to the woods for target practice. Everything that came out of Head-O's mouth was funny as shit because he couldn't talk normal to save his life. Every word had its own sound effect or was animated. For example, a normal conversation might go like this.

See Eight, you have to apply pressure to these clowns, okayyyyyy? No games, okayyyyy? You run up, boom, pow, wowie a nigga then you get ghost, okayyyyyy? Get out of dodge on their ass on the good foot, understand me?

Yeah, Head-O. I got it now.

Most times, I would be shaking my head in agreement while looking at him crazy with a side eye. That was my dude though and his squad was starting to get it in. With the pressure coming from the old and new, the crew was starting to back down the clowns. Head-O set up shop on a side street off of River Street. This put them face to face with drama and usually, it went down. That being said, when it came down to it, the older Belnel crew were still the force to be reckoned with.

****

I ran up on Monte one day, chilling on River Street. What's good, Fam? Whatcha up to?

Shit, just waiting on some drama to drive by so I can let loose. He lifted his shirt, showing the butt of his gun handle.

Nigga please, you ain't putting in no real work. That was the going joke in the hood everyone used against the other.

Whatever. You can wait all day out here for one of them to drive by if you want. A real G goes and finds the drama. Let me see that hammer right quick.

Monte was not in the mood to hear my voice or listen to me keep clowning, so he reluctantly tossed me the burner.

I'll be back. When you hear it, that's me. Oh yeah, have some extra shells.

I walked down to the lights on River Street and slid to Rockdale Street. This was a major shortcut everyone took. Not to mention, the only road from one of my main enemy's house. I waited for about ten minutes, then spotted what I was waiting for. I turned my back to the traffic and waited for the car to get closer. Unfortunately, any longer and they would have had the drop on me, so I whipped around.

Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap!

I was all up on that Lexus Coupe. Too bad it was only a twelve shot, .9mm. I quickly about faced and started racing toward River Street, trying to make my way back to safety. As always, no mask and in broad daylight.

As soon as I crossed River Street, I spun into the first yard and hit the nearest fence. That was always my trick to getting away. Never run down a main street. I would hop fences for miles if need be before I exposed my whereabouts. I ended up stashing the burner under the porch of my people’s house, then slid a few streets over until I was in the safe passage of Ruben's back yard in the hood.

Now all I had to do was make it to the other side of the hood, but the hard work was over. Around this time, Nel Mizz and Danty had started getting tight with a few of the Corbet dudes. I won't even front, dudes weren't really feeling the connection. It was still fresh on everyone’s mind how close we were to going to war with them.

Besides the Academy's niggas, we weren't aligned with any other crews. We stayed to ourselves in the village, so really there was no reason for anyone to come into our hood.

****

I started hanging with Nel Mizz and Danty more and more. Around this time, they started doing a scam with checks. They would drop checks into bank accounts via the ATM and then take the cash out with the ATM card. We went rampant with this. It was 1996 and hardly anyone was doing checks.

Blue Hill Avenue was lined with crew after crew, fighting for the next twenty-dollar crack play to a fiend. Meanwhile, we would drop a personal check into an ATM, wait a day for it to clear and then take out five hundred dollars a day.

If you were lucky, a runner would go inside and withdraw the available funds. Before depositing personal checks, all we knew was staying on the block using the crack game. In the mid ’90s, more and more dudes were starting to turn state evidence.

The days of policing our own hoods were over. Snitches were walking around free and that had never been the norm. Growing up, if you snitched you not only had to worry about your own boys eliminating you, the rest of the town considered you dog food. You lost all your respect and even bitches would be quick to put you out there. Bottom line was most snitches moved from fear or ridicule and they were never seen again.

Now times were changing. One thing that wasn't slowing down was the gunshots that were ringing daily. Any day could be your last day. With Nel Mizz and Danty doing the rap thing, we started hanging at Frank’s Place on the corner of Blue Hill Avenue and Morton Street.

This was the bar where all the gangstas hung out. You just didn't walk up in there without knowing at least someone. Believe me, all eyes would be on you. This was before the Made Men album when Ray Dog was still doing R.S.O. shows.

Nate was the bartender who ran Frank’s Bar. An old, dark skinned O.G. who used to give you game and at the same time, pour you a drink. I'm talking about a guy who always had knowledge to put on you. Nate had seen it all, beginning in the 50s and 60s. A true-blue G.

In the jukebox would be all the latest hits and R.S.O. records. Ray Dog was the face of R.S.O. along with E-Devious and Toney Rhome as the spitters of the group. They had some real good music and got love all around Boston. You had to be dead to not know about the rap group or the rep that came with it. Besides Gang Starr and maybe Ed O.G., there were no other rappers who had made a mark. R.S.O. was the symbol of the streets and what Boston meant to us.

****

I was starting to grow