The Inner City Concrete Jungle

Momma would tell me stories about her late husband. I didn’t know if I was a fool for believing the story, but she actually confessed to murdering her husband! It wasn’t an exclusive. She told anyone who listen about how and why she did it. No matter how often I would beg her to never repeat the story to anyone, she continued to do so. She told me that her first husband was so cheap that she couldn’t take it anymore. She said she took an insurance policy out on him, and spied on him because she knew that he hid his money in the garage. While peering through the garage window one day, watching his every move, she saw him go into his stash spot, and remove a large roll of bills. She watched as he counted out a few hundred dollars and replaced the remaining bills in a secret compartment made in the floor, but hidden under a throw rug. She stayed hidden until he left the garage heading back to the house. She noticed a shovel standing up against the side of the garage, and retrieved. As her husband walked pass, she raised the shovel above her head and brought it down on top of his head with all her might. The shovel was embedded in the top of his head as his limp body fell to the ground. She had taken his life so suddenly he never had a chance to uttered a sound. She removed the money from his pockets and the stash spot before going back into the house. After she had waited a bit, she called the police claiming to have discovered her husband’s body in the backyard. She was white and he was black, so her word was taken at face value. There was no investigation. She collected the money from the insurance company without any complications, and purchased the house on 28th Street.