From the West End to Lil Pakistan Part 1: Atlanta's missing and murdered dealers

This is my story, the true story.This ain’t no fairy tale. This is the story of my life—the truth about the streets in the late ’80s and early ’90s, when the crack era had Atlanta in a chokehold. Back then, the West End was a battlefield. Drug dealers were dropping left and right, bodies turning up in alleys, in houses, in cars. Most of those murders? Still cold cases.But here’s what they don’t tell you: most of those killings were connected. Same hitter. Same ghost in the night. And he wasn’t just some random street dude—he was a Muslim assassin. The man everybody feared. The man who called himself the bodyguard of Jamil—yeah, the same Jamil who used to be H. Rap Brown, the radical Black leader from the ’60s, was a name the Black Panther Party rode with heavily. In the West End, Jamil was king. His words moved nations—at least the ones wearing kufis.And in the middle of all that power, bodies kept stacking.This ain’t just their story—it’s mine. I’m the last one left who can tell it. I lived it. I watched friends die. Homies I laughed with, hustled with, gone without a trace except for whispers and bloodstains nobody wanted to explain.So we’re taking a ride. From the Westside trenches to the heart of Atlanta’s zones—1, 3, 4, 5, some of 6, and even a quick stop in Zone 2. My block, Zone 4, is located on Lucile Avenue and Holderness Street. Back then, that was the heartbeat of the West End hustle. Dope boys on every corner, money in the air, danger in the shadows. And just down the street? The Muslim Den. Two worlds—so close, so different—but tied together in ways most people could never imagine.This is the story they tried to bury. A piece of Atlanta's history that's long been a mystery: The truth they hoped would die with us, but I’m still alive. I survived. Read more