By age fourteen, I’d developed a voluptuous, womanly body, and I had little trouble getting into any of the “adult only” places. Where Kim was considered by many to be dropdead gorgeous, I was the star of the show when it came to physical traits. And yes, I proudly flaunted my stuff. Yet I will also admit that the main reason I was always allowed inside of Evelyn’s was because I was the invited guest of “The Man,” as Zack was known in private circles.
Kim and I were driven to Evelyn’s by Oje in his spanking-new, money-green Eldorado Caddy. Oje was a ranking member of Zack’s crew. He was deathly in love with Kim, and wished the feeling was mutual, but that’s another long story and no time for that. Briefly, though, he was not the pretty-boy type that Kim preferred, but she still kept him under lock and key, basically to provide protection. Anyway, Zack was waiting at Evelyn’s when we arrived, sitting at his reserved table in front of the stage.
It was at Evelyn’s that night that I got my first real lesson on jazz. A local group calling themselves Miles’s Boys did several of Miles Davis’s magnetic tunes. Another local song-stress named Brenda Mcphey took my breath away with what Zack later told me was a splendid version of the great Nancy Wilson’s “Guess Who I Saw Today.” That was just the beginning of a lot of things that I would learn from Zack.
I had a wonderful time and told Zack without hesitation that I would be more than happy to join him for a nightcap and whatever else at the Washington Hilton, where he’d reserved a beautiful and cozy room. The confidence and security of that man was amazing.
Zack’s lovemaking sealed it for me that night. Unspeakably perfect pleasure.
I knew from the beginning that I wasn’t the only female in Zack’s life. His womanizing reputation in D.C. was as legendary as his suspected crime involvements. None of that particularly bothered me. I knew what I wanted, what I needed, and where I was going. We talked openly about his desires and his need for multiple partners in his life. Women played major roles in his criminal activities and he needed strong, faithful people to keep things working smoothly. He had a deep yearning to be financially successful, and I envisioned a lucrative future as Zack’s leading lady. I’d fallen madly in love with this fantastic man and nothing would tear us apart.
Zack’s main woman when we first met was the beautiful Sarah Ward. Besides being gorgeous, she was a selfish, greedy, sneaky, no-good bitch. When I came aboard, friction instantly erupted between us. She had her sights on staying number one in Zack’s life and complained constantly to him about me. Always telling him that I couldn’t be trusted and that being involved with the sister of a competitor would eventually hurt him. Once she stole some product from one of Zack’s drug houses and tried to blame the shit on me. Zack investigated the matter and found that one of his workers had seen Sarah take the package. Zack showed her mercy, but she’d fallen way down on his list of people he could rust.
I don’t know exactly when Sarah and Junior started sneaking around. By then my relationship with my brother had deteriorated to the point that we hardly saw each other, and the few times that we did cross paths, we rarely spoke. We had virtually become enemies, and rightly so, because I was now the woman of his hated rival — my Zack Amos!
By the mid ’60s, Junior started to make a big name for himself. He’d formed a crew of stick-up boys who robbed banks, jewelry stores, and out-of-town drug dealers. Junior and his crew were nearly as feared as Zack and his organization.
In the spring of 1969, one of Zack’s drug houses got knocked off by several masked men. Over $100,000 in cash and drugs were taken, and a few workers were badly pistol-whipped. There was no evidence of who the robbers were, but Zack kept saying that he had a gut feeling Junior was responsible. Zack kept his calm, though, and simply took it as a loss.
When word got around that Junior and Sarah had been seen partying at the famous Cecilia’s Restaurant & Club at 7th and T Streets, N.W., adjacent to the Howard Theater where all of the major singers and comedians performed, Zack erupted with harsh words: “That bitch and brother of yours is crazy! Think that they can keep chumpin’ me and get away with it. Gonna fix their asses,” he told me.
Zack and I had recently visited Cecilia’s for a night of fun. In popped Junior and Sarah, accompanied by several of my brother’s crew. Men like Zack and Junior hardly ever traveled outside of their safe zones without protection, and Zack had his guys positioned throughout the club.
Neither man acknowledged the other at first, but as Junior, Sarah, and their entourage passed our table, the bitch looked down at me and had the nerve to say, “Whatcha lookin’ at, ho?”
For some reason I had a flashback to that day Junior smacked me so hard I momentarily lost my taste. I jumped up before Zack could say or do anything to stop me, but instead of smacking this heifer with my palm, I balled up my fist and knocked the living shit out of her. I tell you, the bitch went straight out.
That nearly led to a major confrontation right there between Zack and Junior, but the club’s security stepped in and defused the matter. Plus, Zack had high respect for Cecilia and didn’t want further mess to spread.
Junior cut menacing eyes our way, but didn’t say a thing, he just helped bring Sarah back to consciousness. Zack decided it was best for us to leave, and as we made our exit, he hollered back at Junior: “You get a pass this time, nigga. Best you keep yourself and tramp in line!”
Chemically, blood is thicker than water, but in the case of me and my brother, a series of painful experiences had transformed that chemistry. Our hearts became harder and the blood diluted behind our sufferings. In our respective pursuits of foolish material gain, we had lost the love and care.
The year is now 1975, five years since the murder of Sarah Ward. Perhaps this is a shocking revelation to the reader, but I am writing this story from prison. A reporter named Frances Parker from the Washington Post contacted me and asked me to tell my story — she said she would cowrite it and turn it into a short story for her magazine. She also offered me a handsome fee. As I told Frances when I first met her, money is no longer important to me. At this stage of my life, I only want to clear my conscience and be granted God’s forgiveness for all of the evil that I’ve done. I’ve grown close to Frances Parker since our first meeting of a year ago when she came to this prison and asked me to do a story. Initially I said no, but she kept coming back. A story to generate income for herself had been her original reason for contacting me, but after a year of really getting to know each other, we have become good friends. She has encouraged me to lift my burden and let the folks in D.C. and the rest of the nation know exactly what happened that night inside the Fantasy Club.
The night that Sarah was murdered, she had accompanied my brother to the Fantasy. Zack had invited them to this gathering under the pretense that a truce and the possible joining of crews would make all of our lives better. I was a willing accomplice to this deception.
Unknown to anybody other than Zack and myself, an undercover D.C. police officer was planted in the club. He was a personal friend of Zack’s and one who was very well paid to be there that night. His name was Ted Jenkins.
Zack and I were sitting at our reserved table at the Fantasy that night, sipping drinks and watching the dancers move creatively to the beat on the dance floor. The DJ was playing high-energy sounds to keep up with the lively and frantic mood.
Junior and Sarah entered around midnight, extending greetings to those they knew as they made their way across the dance floor to our table. Zack rose and shook hands with Junior, and both he and Sarah gave me slight nods of greeting. A round of drinks was ordered as the two men began to make small talk over the booming rise of the music. Moments later, Zack and Junior told me and Sarah to split while they talked over some business.