Beyond the Western
Jamar Kendra had moved to Chicago from the deep south. He had an easy Southern drawl. Most everyone he knew loved to hear him talk. He used it to his advantage whenever he had the chance.
Over the years Jamar made a name for himself. The city police knew him well as did the girls who worked for him in the River North neighborhood. He was well known, but not well liked.
Jamar always kept a close eye on his girls. They were his bread and butter. Each night he would strut his classic 1976 Cadillac convertible down the streets of the neighborhood, making sure he was seen and that all was well with his girls.
One night as Jamar was driving around, he noticed a girl he had never seen before on one of his corners. He pulled over to see what was up with her.
“Say girl,” he called out. “Come on over here a minute. Who are you? I haven’t seen you here before,” remarked Jamar.
“Why honey, this is my favorite corner. I’m always here,” the girl replied.
Jamar knew better. She had never been on this corner before. “Who you workin’ for, girl?”
“I work for myself,” she replied. “I’m what you call, a… independent contractor.”
“Is that so,” replied Jamar. “Let me ask you a question, girl. When you eat a turkey dinner, do you go for the white meat or the dark meat?”
“Oh honey, I always go for the dark meat,” she replied with a wide grin.
“Well then, why don’t you just hop on in here next to me and we’ll go have ourselves a turkey dinner with all the trimmings,” remarked Jamar.
The girl opened the door and hopped in. They drove off down the road toward the river.
Jamar drove to the other side of the Chicago River and pulled into a dark parking lot. What happened next wasn’t what the woman expected. Jamar got in her face and started to read her the riot act. “Girl, let me tell you somethin’. My name is Jamar Kendra. The street between here and the corner you were standing on is my turf. Only my girls work these corners. You ain’t never been there before and believe me, you ain’t never goin’ there again. If I so much as see your glittery shoes on my sidewalk again. I won’t be so nice. Now git yourself out of my car and start walkin’ in the same direction we’ve already been goin’.”
The woman got out, but Jamar didn’t drive off. He was too busy bleeding to death from the knife wound in his chest.
“I guess I just carved my first turkey.” the woman calmly stated.
She slammed the door and started walking, back over the river. When she reached the half way point, she tossed Jamar’s empty wallet and her bloody knife over the rail, then continued to walk back to her favorite corner.
© Copyright 2019 by Scott A. Gese All Rights Reserved.