The cops told us that you were a stickup guy. Yeah, that's me. That's what I do. Who was the person who called for the hit on Tupac at Quad Studios? I don't know. Yes, you do. They said I got dude when remember I told everybody not to get at him. Somebody got at him. They got at him. I had these guys like, you know, um that used to be partner with him. They came to me and wanted me to kill them and they told me, "Listen, we name your price. We'll give you anything you want." Haitian Jack was a figure in the shadow, and his mere presence could silence rooms and terrify even cops. Wouldn't want to be on the other side of the gun that Jack was pointing at, but uh uh as far as gangsters go, you know, he's probably in my he's definitely in my top three of He moved through New York's underworld with a diamondstudded Rolex on one wrist, a thick gold Cuban link around his neck. Out there robbing and scheming, man. You know what I mean? I used to come through there and just look at all the all the little criminals and I know every last one of them. It's said he robbed Diddy at a party, snatching his Rolex off his wrist without a whisper of protest. And he also nearly got Jay Tollaz killed just for brushing up against the wrong side of his world. I've heard stories of Jack taking watches off like in the beginning, the early days taking watches off guys like Puff, Jay-Z, and stuff like that. What's true and what's not true, I don't know. Wait, wait. He just is that a fact that he took a watch off a puff? Do you know? I I think that's true. But it was his betrayal of Tupac Shakur at Quad Studios that truly sealed his legend. Pac found himself on the wrong end of a smoking gun triggered by Haitian Jack. He was shot five times, humiliated and forever scarred. You know, there are lots of people who think you're the person who called for the hit on Tupac at Quad Studios. Absolutely not. I had told everyone not to do anything to pop. Could it have been somebody who felt that you were disrespected that moved independently? Yeah. This is the story of Jacques Haitian Jack Agnant. Haitian Jack arrived in Brooklyn like a storm, blowing in from the chaos of a fractured Haiti. His family fled to the United States in 1986, trading the comforts of political power for the harsh, indifferent streets of Brooklyn. It was a world of cracked sidewalks and broken dreams where survival demanded more than just street smarts. It required a ruthless edge. Jack's first years in America were a trial by fire. He barely spoke English and was a walking target for neighborhood bullies. And he would tell me these stories more about his life and growing up um you know as a kid from Haiti basically speaking you know a foreign tongue in a really tough neighborhood in Brooklyn. They chased him home from school, taunted him for his thick Haitian accent, and treated him like an outsider. But Jack wasn't one to back down. He learned English fast, and quickly discovered that respect in his new world came through fear, not friendship. By the late 1980s, he'd forged his place in the chaos of New York's crack era streets, carving out a reputation as someone not to be crossed. Jack tells me that he go has this place, Crustation, in Beverly Hills. Now, Crustation is a is a high-end restaurant there, highly rated restaurant, and he would throw these little gettogethers afterwards. And I said, "Well, invite me to one." So, I go to one, and uh I'm sitting at a table with Artha Franklin and Stevie Wonder. It was around this time that Jack first dipped his toes into the hip-hop scene. New York was alive with a new kind of energy. A raw, unfiltered culture being birthed in clubs, street corners, and smoky recording studios. Jack's ticket into this world wasn't through a mic, but through muscle. He had a knack for handling problems. The kind that could turn a wild party into a crime scene in seconds. Soon as I come in, they say, "Yo, Jack, yo, yo, them folks right there with you. Cuz if they not, they going to get them." By the early 90s, Jack had become a fixture in the city's nightlife, his reputation growing as fast as the beats echoing from the speakers. He ran a barber shop in Queens. Patient Jacks has a barber shop right next door, a thinly veiled front for his real business, and his name started ringing out among the city's hustlers, promoters, and rappers. His closest associates included the likes of Walter King Tut Johnson, another feared street figure who operated with the same cold precision as Jack. Jack's role as a fixer brought him into the orbit of some of the most influential figures in the hip-hop world, including Jimmy Henchman, a man whose own reputation was a cocktail of power and violence. His friendship with Henchman only cemented his status as a major player in the underworld of New York's rap scene. They were a fearsome pair. Henchman with his business acumen and connections and Jack with his unflinching readiness to resort to violence when necessary. However, in the long run, their friendship turned sour. Jimmy Hansen was trying to get me hurt in the pin. Right. Mhm. So, he put a picture of me and Vivica Fox in an interview he did for Vibe. That's got nothing to do with me and Vivica Fox. You understand? They're interviewing you. My talk about you, right? Talk about your life. Why you always trying to intertwine your life with mine? Somewhere in this storm, the rising politically charged voice of Tupac Shakur collided with the smooth, street savvy presence of Haitian Jack. Their alliance would become one of the most controversial and explosive chapters in hip hop history. Their first encounter was as random as it was fateful. Jack, known for his white-on-white fits and sharp eyes that missed nothing, was celebrating at a club. And Tupac, already buzzing off his early success with Digital Underground and the rising fame from his debut album, found his way to Jack's Table through a mutual friend, a comedian named G. I met Pac at uh at this club. They were throwing a birthday party for me. Okay. And my G George, comedian from Harlem, brought him brought him to my table. At first, their dynamic was electric. Jack, the ultimate plug, had the kind of connections Pack craved. He could walk into any room in New York and command respect. Moving effortlessly between the underworld and the music industry. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a match made in rap heaven, the poetic outlaw, and the street kingpin. But the foundation was shaky from the start. Jack's reputation was as sharp as a switchblade. A man who knew how to play the angles and move in silence. His past littered with whispers of shootouts and bloody street wars. Pac, for all his bravado, was still learning the intricate, often deadly dance of New York street politics. Biggie, a Brooklyn native with his own set of street credentials, had warned him about Jack, telling him he was swimming with sharks. Tupac, he meets Biggie and he's in New York. I think he's filming Above the Rim. Mhm. And he's hanging out with Haitian Jack. Mhm. Biggie, I guess, warned Tupac about Haitian Jack. Mhm. But Pac didn't really listen. It was a warning Pack ignored. perhaps seeing Jack as the kind of mentor who could guide him through the chaotic landscape of the East Coast rap scene. But Jack's world came with a price, and it didn't take long for Pac to feel its weight. Their bond quickly spiraled into a tangled mess of paranoia and betrayal. In 1993, just as PAC's star was rising, a dark chapter began to unfold. The infamous SA case at the Parker Meridian Hotel would forever tie their names together. What started as a wild night out turned into a nightmare. Pac was accused of orchestrating the assault alongside Jack and others, a charge he vehemently denied. I just had to listen to the uh prosecution's closing argument, and it was just so far from the truth that it really just has me drained at the end of the day. But the damage was done. Pac's trust in Jack shattered. The seeds of distrust planted deep. Him and Pac had the same case, but they let Haitian go. Got separated. They got separated, but they let Haitian go. and and and Tupac wind up getting six years. By the time 1994 rolled around, Tupac had carved his name into the fabric of rap culture and New York's grimy neon soaked streets felt like a second home. Pac was everything you seen that the Black Panther Party was in one person. The every dope member, every franchise of that organization was all into one person and he carried that proudly. But like any king, Pac had enemies in his castle, and the Quad Studios ambush was the bloody prelude to a full-blown war. That night, Pac was in a rush. He had flown back to New York, brushing off the warnings of his Atlanta circle. His cousin William had dropped him off at the airport, uneasy about the move, but unable to sway Pac's mind. Pac had money on the line. A quick studio session meant to keep the cash flowing and the hits coming. New York to shoot bullet. That's what he was in New York for. And but it had happened that there was an opportunity for him to make some extra money in the studio session with Lil Shawn in them. Right. But New York had its own plans. As the elevator doors slid open on the eighth floor of Quad Studios, PAC stepped into a trap. Before the doors could fully part, masked figures emerged, guns drawn, the metallic glint of their barrels reflecting the studios dim lights. The first shot tore through the silence, a crack that shattered the fragile calm and then chaos erupted. Pac's instincts kicked in. He reached for his own peace, even as bullets sliced through the space around him. But there were too many guns and too little time. It ain't like Pac ain't know how to pull his gun. We used to practice this. The man knew what he was doing with his gun. He just wasn't fast enough. These cats really knew what they were doing. as he staggered back. Rounds punched through his body, one in the head, another through the groin, more ripping into his limbs. He was shot five times. But at the end of the day, caught a bullet in his abdomen cuz he got down on the floor. No resistance. Soon as said, get down, get on your knees, and you know, put your head on the wall like that. So, the first thing came to our mind was execution style. He crashed to the ground and the shooters, efficient and unflinching, rifled through his pockets, stripping him of jewelry and cash, their boots grinding the fallen legend into the studio carpet before vanishing back into the shadows. Pac, gasping for breath, somehow found the strength to pull himself up, staggering into the lobby of the studio, bleeding and dazed, but alive. When the doors swung open to reveal Biggie, Puffy, and their crew standing wideeyed and frozen in shock, something snapped in Pack's mind. Suspicion turned to certainty. Pain hardened into rage. They had to have known how else could they stand there unscathed. Eyes locked on his broken body like cornered prey caught in the wrong trap. The hospital walls couldn't contain his fury. As he lay in a stiff, sterile bed, nurses struggling to patch the bullet holes and calm his thrashing limbs. The narrative in Pack's mind solidified. He was certain that Jack, his once stylish mentor, had betrayed him. Jack, who had draped him in designer threads and whispered the gospel of street survival, now stood as the phantom pulling the strings behind his attempted murder. I got the call within 30 seconds after it happened. Lisa, listen, man. I I got it, homie. And it went all bad. I said I said, "Wrong number." And hung up. Word spread fast. New York's underworld thrived on whispered threats and shouted warnings. It didn't take long for Pox people to hear that Jack had been spotted in Atlanta just a day after the shooting, dripping in the same gold and diamond pieces that had been ripped from Pac's battered body. So, you seen Haitian Jack wearing Tupac jewelry after Tupac got shot at quad? Not a couple of days, the next day. Yeah. Jack said it was all because Pack called him a hang on. A lot of people listened and said, "Look, Jack said leave it alone." and they left it alone. But there's always one in the crowd that has something to prove. The person at the time who were real cool and he felt like Tupac had no right to say what he said about me, especially in New York City. But not everyone agreed to it. The New York New York Times writer there that heard it and posted Madonna linked to drugar patient Jack or something like that, right? And she fired his ass. So then Pac uh then Jack was like, "I'm going to kill that Tupac. Give me loose Madonna." Cuz he had total control over her whole right. For Pack, it felt like a dagger twisted deep. And as he clenched his teeth through the agony of recovery, he began crafting his revenge. Not with bullets, but with bars. When he emerged from his hospital stay, the defiant, paranoid pack, the world would come to know had taken form. He had become a man at war. His pain and paranoia seeping into every track, every lyric, a man convinced that betrayal had a face, and it looked a lot like his old friend. Tracks like Against All Odds became his battlecries, raw, unfiltered indictments that cut deeper than any bullet. He spat venom, ripping into his enemies with surgical precision. Every verse dripping with contempt for those he felt had crossed him. But this war wouldn't be fought on wax alone. PX's anger, fed by the whispers and rumors of Jack's betrayal, spiraled into a coast to coast conflict that would forever change hip hop. The lines were drawn, the shots fired, and the bodies began to fall. But it wasn't just Pack who felt Jack's presence. It's said that Diddy, back when he was still just Puff Daddy, found himself on the wrong side of Jack's appetite for power. One story whispered through the smoky corners of New York's club scene, claims that Jack took a $10,000 Rolex straight off Diddy's wrist. I've heard stories of Jack taking watches off like in the beginning, the early days, taking watches off guys like Puff, Jay-Z, and stuff like that. What's true and what's not true, I don't know. Wait, wait, wait. You just Is that a fact that he took a watch off a puff? Do you know? I I think that's true. Some versions paint Diddy as a man caught between fear and pragmatism, slipping the watch off willingly to avoid a confrontation. Others insist it was a flatout robbery, the type of brazen daylight disrespect that leaves deep, permanent scars on a man's pride. According to Jack too, uh Wolf saved um Puffy on more than one occasion, more than just, you know, from, you know, uh the Atlanta situation. Either way, the message was clear. Jack moved through the industry like a wolf among sheep. And even the sharpest teeth had to submit when he came around. Buster Rhymes, another towering figure in the rap world, found himself on the wrong side of this equation, too. According to the internet, Jack once took a bracelet straight off Busta's wrist, a piece worth thousands without so much as a scuffle. It's Jack who orders jewelry from people like Jacob and other people and then doesn't pay him back or has White Cliff order jewelry and then steals it. Uh and Wiff was like, "Well, I didn't know, you know, I didn't know he was going to do that." You know, the street said Busta kept it quiet to avoid escalating things, understanding that even a giant like him could get crushed under Jack's boot if he pushed back. Even Biz Marky was once confronted for his jewelry. Shout to Rob Biz one time. Gave Biz a a real a nasty buck 50 across his face, man, for his jewelry. But they ain't get the jewelry though, man. You know, among the stories whispered through New York's hoods was one that hovered over the Rockefeller camp. A chilling brush with death involving none other than Jay-Z himself. Jack, always looking for new ways to tighten his grip on the industry, allegedly saw the Rocks rise as both a threat and an opportunity. Street rumors claimed Jack attempted to extort Jay-Z and other Rockefella stars, casting a shadow over a dynasty still finding its footing. The tail that stuck the longest was the one where Jack allegedly pinned Jay-Z to a wall, his hand gripping the rapper's throat like a steel vice. Some claimed Jay-Z had disrespected him. Perhaps a stray word in a song, maybe just an unfortunate interaction. The details were always murky, twisted through years of retelling, but the essence remained the same. Jack had put hands on the man who would become a billionaire mogul. Derek Parker, the notorious hip hop cop who penned the notorious cop, briefly touched on the incident, confirming at least the essence of the encounter. No matter the specifics, the rumor was enough to send ripples through the Rockefeller circle. It wasn't just about physical dominance. It was a power move. Jay-Z, for his part, never publicly acknowledged the incident, and Rockefeller kept its collective head down. Whether it was to avoid adding fuel to the fire or simply out of fear, no one in the crew challenged Jack's reign openly. The streets knew, though. They always knew. Jay's close brushes with Jack became cautionary tales for upand cominging rappers. You could spit about street life on a record, but confronting the real deal was another story entirely. But Jack's tactics weren't just about brute force. He had a different kind of power, a dark charisma that let him manipulate without ever drawing a gun. This was the art of friendly extortion, a twisted game where favors and fear blurred together. He didn't need to raise his voice or make explicit threats. His reputation did that for him. And if the whispers are to be believed, Jack had an ace up his sleeve that made him even more untouchable. a cadre of off-duty NYPD officers, men who moved with the same streetwise code but carried badges, giving his empire a layer of protection that most street hustlers could only dream of. So, I kind of had like this friendly relationship with him and I never utilized him as an informant. More like a guy I could have a conversation with about the industry and like, you know, rumor mill. These were the stories that built the legend of Haitian Jack. A figure so feared that even the hardest street soldiers kept their distance. Even Mike Tyson, the baddest man on the planet, a human wrecking ball who crushed opponents in the ring and proud the club scenes with the same ferocity, found an equal in Jack. They had a mutual understanding of power, fear, and survival in a world where only the ruthless thrived. They moved like through the neon soaked nightife of the '9s. Arriving at clubs and bulletproof cars, draped in designer suits and dripping with street earned respect, TK Kirkland, a comedian with his own ties to the street scene, recalled a night when Tyson pulled up in a Lamborghini, Jack riding shotgun to a Versace party in South Beach. One of the things that you mentioned in the Tyson interview is that he would pick you up in the Lambo with Haitian Jack. Yes. Yes. Yes. Okay. Um, Haitian Jack was a good friend of mine. Mike Tyson and we Mike picked me up in a Lambo. We all went to Versace's party. It was a scene straight out of a gangster flick. Celebrity mingling with raw street power. The kind of place where Madonna might brush shoulders with men who had the kind of histories most people couldn't stomach. But for all the camaraderie, there were dark whispers about their bond. Tyson, even at the peak of his power, was said to have his own wary respect for Jack. Despite his fearsome reputation, Tyson knew better than to ignore the weight Jack carried. There was a raw, unpredictable danger to Jack, something that transcended fists and muscle. Tyson, a man who once claimed he wanted to eat his opponent's children, knew the difference between a street legend and a mere tough guy. Jack was the former, an apex among. This edge even colored Tyson's relationship with Tupac. When the two became close during the filming of Above the Rim, Tyson reportedly pulled Pack aside, warning him about Jack, hinting that the charismatic Haitian might be more dangerous than he led on. It wasn't a mere heads up. It was a lifeline from one man who had danced with darkness to another, still learning its rhythm. Tyson, no stranger to the treacherous circles Jack ran in, saw the potential for disaster in Pack's growing connection to Jack and tried to steer him away. Tyson's warning was simple but chilling. You're out of your league. I told Parkman, I say, "I don't know if you I think you're out of your league right now." It was the kind of thing only a man who understood the brutal calculus of the streets could say. I known Jack the Scooter and I used to say, "You're out of your league." You know, you hang with the big boys now. Yeah. Now you're out of your league. But Pac, ever the rebel, didn't heed the warning. In his mind, he was a soldier, a warrior poet destined to fight the powers that sought to crush him. He brushed off Tyson's concern, choosing instead to double down on his street ties. A decision that would haunt him in the years to come. He called me a hang on. The funny thing about it, when P comes to New York, I'm the first person he calls and hangs on to me. Haitian Jack's eventual exile to the Dominican Republic marked the end of an era. and he shows up and we jumped him and that was the the last day he saw the the sidewalk in the United States of America. He was in jail, but it didn't signal his disappearance. In the eyes of many, Jack's name still carried weight in the streets. The myth surrounding him grew, as legends do, when the real story became tangled with whispers and halftruths. His exile was symbolic. The world he had once ruled, full of flashing lights, private jets, and underworld dealings, had vanished, leaving behind only the echoes of his past. Yet, despite his absence, the impact of his actions continued to ripple through the hip-hop world. Jack, there's a reason that you're not sitting here with us in the United States. What did the feds get you on? I shot somebody in LA in a club on Melrose. Jack's influence didn't simply fade into the background. The tension and fear he inspired, particularly among those who had crossed him or his allies, lingered. Even in the Dominican Republic, a place far removed from the chaos of the US music industry, Jack remained a figure whose presence was felt, albeit through whispered conversations rather than public appearances. The ghosts of his past, particularly his alleged involvement in the shooting of Tupac, continued to haunt those who were part of that world. Despite the years that had passed, the unresolved mysteries surrounding the events of 1994 persisted. How much time did you serve total throughout your throughout your career in the streets? How much time did you give to the system? Did you ever calculate it? It's around it's around nine. Yeah. Then there was the fear. Fear of crossing Haitian Jack. Fear of his connections. Fear of the power he wielded whether directly or indirectly. That fear didn't fade with his exile. It only grew. Stories about him were exchanged like urban legends, with each retelling adding new details, new fears. The myth became more frightening than the man. Jack wasn't just someone you didn't want to cross in the streets. He became a figure whose name was spoken with reverence, a reminder that in the music industry, power wasn't just about fame. It was about survival. Despite his absence from the American scene, Jack made attempts to reclaim control over his legacy. He knew the importance of controlling the narrative, of rewriting history in his favor. Through interviews and documentaries, he began to reframe the stories that had been told about him. He wanted the world to see him as more than just the villain, more than just a feared figure in the background of hip hop's most infamous events. His voice, though, was one that people listened to more out of curiosity than belief. No matter how many times he tried to change the story, The Legend of Haitian Jack, the man behind the curtain, could never be fully rewritten. One of the most striking things about Jack's legacy was the dichotomy between the stories told by those who had worked with him and those who had feared him. People like Brian Go Glaze Gibbs, a former associate of Jax, painted a picture of a different Jack, one who was more complex, more human. I had these guys like, you know, um that used to be partner with him. They came to me and wanted me to kill them and they told me, "Listen, we name your price. We'll give you anything you want." Jack, also according to Bill Courtourtney, wasn't a killer or a cold-blooded gangster. He was a man who had lived a life of crime and like many before him, had managed to survive in a world that chewed people up and spit them out. And Jack wasn't a killer. He wasn't a murderer or anything like that. In these accounts, Jack was a character full of contradictions, capable of charm and ruthlessness in equal measure.