Unruly (12 page)

50 Cent then hired a twenty-four-hour security brigade which included a core team of six men, several who had been former secret service. The price tag for that security was $50,000 a week.

 

THE BEEF WAS IMPACTING
everything in hip-hop on the East Coast. Chris Lighty, RIP, had been Lyor Cohen's man for many years. Lighty was a former rapper turned executive who got in with Lyor and headed up Violator Records under Def Jam. He managed Busta Rhymes, Mobb Deep and Noreaga. During that period, Violator was so hot that no one could touch Chris Lighty. Lighty was also 50 Cent's manager. Chris Lighty had held the position with Lyor and with Def Jam that Irv Gotti was gaining on. In other words, Irv was quickly gaining stature.

Lyor and Lighty had a good relationship but it started to fall apart because Lyor's allegiances were shifting towards Gotti, which felt like a personal rejection to Chris. Gotti became Lyor's man, heralding in a new brigade of hip-hop artists that were maybe a little edgier than what had once been considered edgy. Gotti and Lyor were connected by their passion. They shared a vision of what could be if Gotti was put in the top position.

Russell Simmons even tried to call a meeting with Chris Lighty and Gotti to try to smooth over the beef, which was becoming a national scandal. Nothing happened, Gotti and Lighty just fought in front of Russell until he sent them both away.

On an even higher level, the music executive Doug Morris was running the whole thing from above. We were just puppets on his string. Morris was preparing to step down and eyes were on Jimmy Iovine or Lyor Cohen to take over Morris' multimillion-dollar position. Who was going to get the top spot? Jimmy Iovine represented Dr. Dre, Eminem and 50 Cent. Lyor Cohen represented Ja Rule and Murder Inc., DMX and Jay-Z. The rumor was that it was taken care of in the corporate way. Someone fanned the fire that created our downfall. They did it all with just a couple of phone calls. No fights, no bullets, no harsh words.

Someone made calls to MTV and BET and then calls were made to us. “We love you guys at Murder Inc. but this year Eminem will be performing at the MTV Awards. The artists don't feel safe with you in the building.”

It was official. Murder Inc. had been banned from the spotlight.

This beef was far more colossal than the petty feuds that were reported in the news about Murder Inc. This was about warring factions. There were millions of dollars and endless possibilities for the future of hip-hop at stake.

 

“HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM,”
is what Irv had said to me when we first heard the horns of “In da Club.” The house that Irv and I had built was falling down. It was 2003. We both knew 50's shit was
hot
. People were talking about it everywhere. We both knew it was going to be a major problem for Murder Inc. For years we had been crushing everything in sight, it had been like a Ja Rule holiday. Maybe it was time for someone else to get a shot, but not
him,
not 50. The beef between 50 and me was all over the news. Murder Inc. had been shut down, the Feds had seized our shit and discredited our company and my reputation was all fucked-up.

What the fuck?
It was all happening so fast that I couldn't even catch a brick as the walls of my life were coming down. I just had to brace myself. It was the cold, gritty water of hip-hop being thrown all over me. I was totally confused. 50 Cent was accusing me of something that he would eventually do on some of his own records, something that all the smart muthafuckas were doing. I changed the game for hip-hop, stretching its parameters, and now
I
was the laughingstock.

My reputation was more important than selling millions of albums. 50 had the Feds on my case. My music family was beginning to fall apart. And, my musical contributions were under attack. With my reputation being challenged, how was I supposed to get my shit back on track?

 

THERE HAD BEEN A LOT
of backlash about the name Murder Inc. In an effort to calm things down, we took the “Murder” off of our name. I admit, to compensate, we used the word “murda” as much as we could in our joints. And based on what we were doing and what was in the media, it seemed like murder and violence were our sole activities. Truthfully, when I referenced “murda” in my joints, I was representing the label. It was like Diddy saying “bad boy” in all of his joints. The “Inc.” never had the same impact. We had been cut at the knees. After Def Jam dropped us, we had to try to salvage what was left of the company.

I didn't have control over what was happening in my life—more accurately, control over what was happening to my career. I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to retaliate in some way. In response, I put out a full diss
album
, called
Blood in My Eye.
I took the name from a great book of the same name by George L. Jackson, a Black Panther who was murdered in prison at the hands of corrections officers. The book is famous for its brilliant analysis of the Black man's experience. Jackson was murdered. He was trying to escape. The story of George Jackson reminded me of Tupac, never having a chance to rise to his greatest self. Although
Blood in My Eye
was not my greatest-selling album, it remains a pivotal part of my whole body of work. Creatively and emotionally it did what it needed to do for me. Be that as it may, the album was too late to make its point. The avalanche had already started.

 

IT WAS NEW YEAR'S EVE
2003 and Aisha was pregnant with Jordan, my second son. The crew went to Las Vegas. I invited her along. Irv had gotten us a deal with Fox to do a hip-hop version of
New Year's Rockin' Eve
. We were trying to do a New Year's countdown that had some flavor.

We were all in a club a little away from the Strip, trying to chill and have a good time. The club had set up a roped-off VIP area for the crew and Aisha. I never liked VIP areas in clubs. I wanted to be near the people and let them meet me and speak with me. Aisha never liked that. “Jeffrey, you know people are crazy.”

I convinced her to let us sit in another semi-VIP area that was closer to the dance floor and easier to be a part of the party. Once we got situated in the new booth, a random dude came up to me, pretending to be a fan. He small-talked me for a minute and then he just snatched the bottle that I was drinking out of my hand. “What the fuck are you doing, homie?” I asked.

Black saw the altercation and snuffed him. I clocked the dude with the bottle and then we all beat the shit out of him. I was enraged at the audacity of someone starting some shit with my pregnant wife sitting right there. I wanted to show him that he had disrespected me and my wife.

Arms and hands were flailing, girls were screaming, thugs were gathering around. Someone swept Aisha away from the scene and into the back of the club which had a private room for the owners. We left the club quickly. My clothes were covered in blood. I couldn't wait to get them off of me. We went back to the hotel. Aisha went right to the room to get the clothing away from us. I called one of my boys to come to my room and dispose of the clothes.

“Burn them,” I said.

My security team took them in the plastic bag that hotels give you for your laundry.

Once the clothes had been burned, and we had all showered, it looked as though it never happened. I left Aisha to talk to my boys about what had just happened.

“Rule, we left that nigga for dead. That shit could come back to haunt us . . .”

“Who
was
that nigga? What the fuck just happened, man? Why would a muthafucka come up and do some shit like that to me?” I asked to no one in particular.

“Whatever it was, we took care of that shit.”

I was disappointed that this had happened. A lot of these things that were happening I didn't want them to happen. I know I have a bad temper and the friends around me have bad tempers. This combination was volatile. It was creating situations that were becoming potentially dangerous. I wanted to get away from it. I just didn't know how. At some point, I was starting to understand what Jay-Z said, “Everybody that comes with you can't go with you.”

When we got back home, my man Cici already knew the whole story. It had traveled fast to Los Angeles.

“Rule, the homies are in an uproar about what happened in Vegas. The nigga was in the
hospital.
You should do something for him, Ja. You guys beat him up pretty badly,” Cici called to tell me.

“What the fuck do I have to do for
him
?” I screamed on Cici. “That nigga's the one who violated
me
! He grabbed
my
bottle out of
my
hand. Get the fuck outta here, Cici.” I hung up on him.

 

MEANWHILE, A DETECTIVE
came to Moms' front door. From outside the door, he said, “Mrs. Atkins, my name is Detective Smith and I have something important to talk to you about.”

Moms didn't trust the police. She knew that they were always saying one thing in order to get to another. From inside the door, she said, “What's it about, officer?”

“There's a hit out on your son's life. Jeffrey Atkins, a.k.a., Ja Rule.”

Moms slowly opened the door a little wider. She listened to what the detective was saying about California, Las Vegas and some gang activity. Moms had heard of the gang violence in California but didn't understand how I got involved in all of that being from New York. She listened a little longer then slammed the door. She was concerned but didn't tell me the police had came by until later, after another visit.

The detectives came back to see her two more times, trying to get inside the house, trying to see if I lived there. I had been in the Feds' files for a while now in relation to Murder Inc. and the drug money that supposedly funded the label. They were looking for anything that they could get on me, to take me down with Irv.

 

THE GUARD AT MOMS' GATED COMMUNITY
told her later that the detective had said the guard didn't need to alert Moms anymore, that the guard should just open the gate. My Moms didn't like that. It was some more sneaky shit.

Moms hadn't trusted cops since the days of them harassing me on the corners and in the building. The cops had always been in our lives as far as I could remember. I have been ditching and dodging them my whole life, it seems. Moms always complained, “Police have a racial thing against rappers and ball players. They think y'all think that y'all are above the law.”

 

“MAY WE COME IN?”
the detective asked when he surprised my Moms by being at her front door for the second time.

“No, officer. There's no need for you to come in. We can just talk here. What do you need to know, now?”

“Is your son home?”

“No.”

“When will he be back?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No, officer, I don't know. He is an adult.”

“Thanks for your time,” one detective said as the other one was peering over Moms' shoulders trying to catch a look at anything possibly suspicious that they could link to me.

Moms didn't want to upset me. She tried to keep these visits from me. When the detectives came for the third time, Moms had to tell me.

“Jeffrey, we need to talk.”

“What's up, Ma?”

“The police came to see me today. There's a hit out on your life.” As she spoke her voice started to tremble. My Moms is a crier.

“Why didn't you tell me? When did they come? What did they say?” I was starting to get angry at the thought that the police were involving my Moms with all this bullshit. She didn't do anything wrong.

“I didn't want to upset you,” she said softly.

“How many times did they come?” I asked.

“Just once. . . . Twice. Well, three times,” she stuttered.

“I'll take care of it. Don't worry. They won't be back,” I said as I hung up the phone.

I called my lawyer immediately and the visits stopped.

But the fear and concern were still there. My daughter was almost four years old and there was a hit out for my life over a bullshit fight. I'm not even from the West Coast. I don't know anything about that shit. I didn't have the time or energy to fight anymore. The guy sued me and I ended up paying him $150,000 to squash it.

 

IRV SOUNDED WORSE
than I'd ever heard him sound. “Nigga, you won't believe
this
shit.” I was on the road at the time, still doing shows, despite the shit that was going on at home.

Irv continued, “The Feds came up to the office took our shit, computers, files and everything. Those muthafuckas are even freezing our accounts. They're shutting our shit down.”

The Feds had put an indictment on Gotti and they were trying to investigate me as well, but there wasn't any evidence on me.

All of the hype of Murder Inc. was dead. And, it was all over
lies.

 

DESPITE ALL OF THIS DRAMA,
the show must go on: So I released my third album,
Pain Is Love
. And my fourth album,
The Last Temptation
, included the joint “Murder Reigns,” which is all about the shit with the Feds.

It was a tough time for me. I think the hardest part of the whole mess was that I felt betrayed by my fans. All those years of being in the spotlight and having crowds approach me for autographs and photos, I never once said no. It really fucked me up that my fans turned on me like that. What people didn't understand was that the things that 50 Cent was saying about me, teasing me about singing and shit on my joints, he actually was singing, too . . . and making bigger records than before.

No one wanted to admit that the hard edge of rap and the melodies of R&B were a winning combination. It hurt because I really thought that my fans had genuine love for me. The same dudes that once were rooting for me were hating on me because 50 Cent said I sang on records. This whole thing made me really think about my life and the volatile hip-hop business. Popularity and fame are fleeting. That is the most important lesson that I have learned. I can't rely on fans to make me feel good about myself. The only person who can do that is
me.
I've learned from all that I've been through that feeling good about yourself is based on your treatment of others. That's the measurement of our humanity.