Cracked Dreams Read online

  I’d arrived the Friday before and had only intended on staying a couple of days, but it quickly turned into a week. Since it had been so long since we’d seen each other, we took advantage of the time. It was a relaxing experience to just hang out without having to deal with the day-to-day bullshit that consumed most of my time in New York. Trigger and the Doberman were working hard on his defense, so it was left up to Ceelow to handle most of the responsibilities regarding business. I made sure to call back home at least twice a day to find out how the trial was going, and if there were any emergencies related to the Family. I would be back in New York in time for any support Trigger needed when it started getting down to the nitty-gritty in court. As for now, I felt like a seventeen-year-old again, and I didn’t mind at all. We went to theme parks in the day and to restaurants and nightclubs in the evening. We even blew some California chronic together. Rachel was like my best friend, and it didn’t at all feel like we’d spent so much time apart. But honestly, after a week had passed by it was time for me to return to the grime where I belonged. I started to feel homesick, so we had to part ways. I promised her that it wouldn’t be long before I came back to visit, and we said our good-byes.

  The night before I left, I called Ceelow to inform him that I’d be there in the morning, and that we needed to have a meeting so we all could be brought up on current events. My flight landed a little after nine o’clock, and Trigger and Cee were waiting for me in Trigger’s Range Rover.

  “What’s up, son?” Ceelow asked as I exited the airport. “How was the flight?”

  “It was cool, you know,” I answered. “Different toilet, same shit. How ya’ll holdin’ everything down in our borough?”

  “Shit, everything is still under control over here, dog,” Trigger answered. “We got the city under lock and key, my nigga.”

  “Cool, ya’ll niggas ain’t eat yet, right?” I asked.

  “Nah, Don P. gonna meet us at M&G’s over there on 125th Street,” answered Trigger.

  “Oh, i-ight. Let’s get over there then,” I said. “I’m hungrier than a mu’fucka.”

  As the truck pulled off, it didn’t take long before they started making inquiries about California.

  “So, what’s good?” asked Cee. “Tell us how it is out there in Cali.”

  “Oh, it ain’t nothing like over here, dog. Everything is the opposite. The way we like to relax and hang out is not how they do it out there. Besides that, the niggas are all arrogant and conceited. Because of the men-to-women ratio out there, the broads have to push up on the dudes. Rachel introduced me to some of them niggas though. I mean they mad cool and all, but they too wild and shit. I even got into it a bit wit some niggas out there, and the cats that I was with held me down. They even let me hold a pistol so I could be ready for anything. I got some real niggas out there, for real.”

  “Oh, word,” Trigger said. “Maybe we could set something up out there, too.”

  “You never know, dog. We just might,” I said, already thinking way ahead of him.

  When we arrived at M&G’s, El Don and Poncho hadn’t reached there yet, so we waited for about twenty minutes before we just said, “Fuck it,” and got a table without them. I ordered some home fries, beef sausage and a tall stack of pancakes. Trigger got cheese eggs, grits and salmon, and Cee had an order of waffles with bacon on the side. Once we’d all placed our orders, we started discussing issues of business.

  “How’s the trial going?” I asked.

  “Oh, we ain’t really get down to it yet,” Trigger replied. “Everything is moving in slow motion and shit. They picked the jury though; a bunch of crackerzoids. The Doberman said that our best defense is that we didn’t know that it was police runnin’ up on us, being that they never identified themselves. On that alone, he said that all of the evidence would be inadmissible. Besides that, we gonna see if we can turn a couple of those jurors to force our hand, or get a hung jury. These are all the Doberman’s ideas. If you ask me, I should just fucking disappear right now, you know?”

  “Yeah, I feel you, dog,” I said in agreement. “But let’s just put some faith in our Doberman, and see what he can do with it. If it comes down to that, I know exactly what to do. Don’t even worry about it, my nigga.”

  “I-ight, son,” said Trigger, showing no worries. “I know if you say you got me, you ain’t bullshitting.”

  “What’s up with you though, son?” asked Cee. “You just want to be flying off everywhere and shit. You i-ight, dog?”

  “Yeah, I’m cool, now. You just have to get out of New York every once in while, so that you can come back and appreciate all of this dirt and grime, you feel me? Besides, I ain’t even really go nowhere yet. You’ll know it when I’m really doing it up.”

  “Oh, i-ight,” he responded. “I got you in my radar now. You ain’t trying to leave a stone unturned, huh?”

  “See, now you feel me,” I said with a grin as I winked at him.

  As the food arrived, the conversation came to a halt. We all began devouring our meal, and then Don P. pulled up in a black Ford Expedition.

  “Here these niggas go right here,” said Trigger as he pointed out of the window. “I wonder what the fuck took them so long.”

  As they entered the restaurant, car tires screeching directed our attention to the street. All that could be seen from the restaurant window was a gray car turning the corner in a hurry. No one gave it a second thought except for Poncho, who thought the car looked familiar, but then brushed it off. Once it was out of sight we all paid the shit no mind and directed our attention as to why Don and P. were late.

  “What’s up, son?” I asked. “Where were ya’ll mu’fuckas at?”

  “We had to go to Central Bookings real quick to get this nigga Little Jay out,” answered El Don. “He got picked up last night outside his crib. He wasn’t even dirty, or nothin’.”

  “If he didn’t have no work on him, why’d they take him in?” asked Trigger.

  “The nigga had like eight grand in cash on him,” answered Poncho. “He was coming home for the night from The Woods.”

  “That nigga’s a dick,” blurted Cee. “What he doin’ with all that money in his pocket? Why he ain’t sending somebody to drop off after every two grand like he supposed to?”

  “I don’t really know,” responded Poncho. “But the kid is smart though. If he didn’t drop off, he must’ve had a good reason. He did say some shit about not being able to trust the new nigga we put with him up on 227th.”

  “Who’s he talking about?” I asked. “That nigga Roscoe?”

  “I ain’t too sure. Let me look into it,” said Poncho. “I didn’t get all the details because we were in a hurry, but I’ll holla at you.”

  When we were all done with breakfast, I had Trigger take me to my crib so that I could drop off my bags and get my truck to run some errands. After everything, I’d end up over at Ginger’s place all the way upstate. I often tried influencing her to move in with me, now that I had my own place, but she’d just reiterate the fact that she didn’t want to leave her mother all alone. I didn’t want to come between her and her mother, so I backed off. It also benefited my situation if I ever needed to disappear really quickly, so it worked out. Her mother was hardly ever home anyway, ever since she’d made detective. It was kind of ironic though . . .a detective’s daughter in love with a notorious drug dealer. If only she knew.

  “Hi, baby!” she said with excitement as she fumbled to unlock the door. “When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over? I could’ve cooked something for you. I missed you so much, baby. How was California?”

  She opened the door and gave me a big hug and kiss before I could answer any of her questions. The love she showed me was indescribable. It was so genuine that I could never doubt her sincerity for a second, or think that she was putting on a show, or saying things just to make me feel good. She really loved me a lot and I loved her just as much. She was my baby, my precious little Gin.


  “Relax, Gin,” I said, trying to calm her down. “One question at a time, Mommy.”

  “All right then, Daddy. Just go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll be up in one minute, okay?”

  “Cool, don’t keep me waiting too long.”

  She was upstairs in no more than two minutes with a Corona in each hand and wearing nothing but a smile. I looked up at her and thought to myself, That’s why I love her.

  That night, while Spits lay beside Ginger asleep at her place upstate, it was nowhere near bedtime on the streets of the Bronx. What El Don and Poncho had planned, the streets wouldn’t even be ready for. As they sat in Poncho’s black Expedition on 227th Street between Barnes Avenue and Bronxwood Avenue, they were patiently awaiting the arrival of one of their workers, Roscoe. They’d been waiting almost two hours for him to show up, and there was still no sign of him. It had gotten as late as 2:45 a.m., and his ass was nowhere to be found. Then after a quick glance at the side-view mirror, without saying a word, El Don opened his door on the passenger side of the truck and exited the vehicle. He walked down toward Barnes Avenue and made a right at the corner. Ten seconds after that, Roscoe came walking past the truck. Poncho saw him pass, but waited for him to get three-quarters of the way down the block before making a move. He then opened the door, got out of the car and called to him, “Yo, Roscoe! What’s up, nigga!” Roscoe, a little tentative, turned around and tried squinting to clearly see whom it was that called his name. As he stood there uncertain, the figure that he saw from up the block uttered the words, “Let me holla at you right quick, nigga!” Still confused, he reached for his waist where he had a Glock .9mm tucked under his belt. Suddenly, all he saw was black. El Don came from behind him and covered his face with a black laundry bag. When Poncho saw his brother make his move, he made his way to where they were, and proceeded to assist in getting Roscoe in the back of the truck. Once they got him in the truck, they took the gun he had hidden underneath his shirt and struck him on the back of his head with a crowbar. Roscoe lost consciousness once he was hit with the blow and could give no more resistance as they tied his hands and feet, and gagged him. When they were done, they closed the back door and drove off.

  “Mommy,” I said, trying to get Ginger’s attention, as she lay next to me peacefully asleep. “Gin, are you awake?”

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” she asked as she yawned and turned over to face me.

  “Nothing, I was just thinking; that’s all,” I responded.

  “Thinking about what?”

  “I was thinking we should go away somewhere, just me and you. Like Bermuda, or Jamaica, or to the Bahamas. Just somewhere far, you know.”

  “But, Daddy, you know how terrified I am of airplanes. Why can’t we just go to Miami or something like that?”

  “Come on, fuck Miami,” I said, a little annoyed at the familiarity of the conversation. “I want to see other kind of things, Mommy. I want to go somewhere exotic for a real vacation. I want to go somewhere that can make me completely forget about all this shit that happens every day in the streets of the Bronx. That’s how it was in Cali, but I still missed you. I want you right there with me.”

  “So, Daddy, you can go to all of those places. Don’t let me stop you,” she said, trying to conceal the fact that she wouldn’t rather be without me.

  “Listen, I ain’t goin’ nowhere like that without you, Mommy. That’s for real. If and when I experience that type of shit, I want you to be right there beside me. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I guess. But what about the flying part?”

  “Mommy, don’t worry about that. You think I’d ever let anything happen to you?” I asked, looking directly in her eyes waiting for a response.

  “I know, Daddy. I know you’d never do anything that could hurt me. Well, just let me think about it, okay?”

  “That’s good enough, Mommy. Just think about it and holla at me.”

  “I love you,” she said with an innocent little smile on her face.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Yeah, mu’fucka. You thought that you could just rob us blind and never face the consequences, huh?” asked Poncho with a black Tec-9 at the side of Roscoe’s head.

  “No, please,” pleaded Roscoe with his shirt drenched in sweat and his face covered with blood. “I never once stole anything from you. I swear it.”

  “Uh-huh, you a lyin’ mu’fucka, ain’t you?” asked Poncho. “You tried to be slick, but we got ya fuckin’ pussy ass now though.”

  “No, I didn’t. Please, you have to believe me. Don, please tell him I’d never do something like that,” he said to El Don, as if he could get sympathy from him.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t, huh?” Don asked. He walked over to them and took the Tec-9 from Poncho, lowered it away from Roscoe’s head, and then he lifted it back up quickly, swinging it across Roscoe’s face in a downward motion. “Why the fuck should we believe you?”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me,” he went on with his mouth now full of blood and running down his jaw.

  As Roscoe continued to profess his respect for the Time Bomb Family, and how he could never have done what they were accusing him of, Poncho pulled Don to the side as if trying to conceal the topic of conversation. When he felt they’d put enough space between them and Roscoe he questioned him in a voice that didn’t suggest he was trying to keep him from hearing anything at all. “What you want to do with him?” asked Poncho to El Don.

  Roscoe stopped pleading while El considered a suitable punishment. As he looked around the room, he could see no exit available for the situation they had him in. He was on his knees tied to a heater in the corner of a room in what seemed to be an abandoned building. He was also left clueless as to his location due to the boards on the window. It would’ve been completely pitch black if not for the flashlights they had. His strength was fading; he wouldn’t be able to take much more beating. His mind was racing and he didn’t know what to do, until he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do . . .but listen, and wait for his fate.

  “I don’t know,” El answered, pausing, and then taking a glance at Roscoe until his attention was at its peak. “We could cut off the nigga balls and feed those shits to him. Or we could pull out the nigga’s fingernails with a pair of pliers and shit. Or we could take his ass down in the basement and feed him to the mu’fuckin’ rats.”

  As Don went on and on about the different things they could do to Roscoe before putting him out of his misery, he began to grow more and more terrified. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was ready to tell them everything he knew with the small chance that they might let him go, or probably just kill him quickly. Even as he was ready to talk, his hesitation left El enough time to figure out the perfect way to make him talk. He left the room and when he returned, he had a grin on his face that would’ve done the job all by itself and in his hands a canister of gasoline. After lighting a cigarette he walked over to Roscoe and began pouring the gasoline all over him and on the walls next to him. His attempts to halt El’s actions went unanswered until the canister was completely empty. When he felt Roscoe was ready to tell all, he got down on a knee and let him sing the song in his ear. As the information began to flow, Roscoe asked that if he told, that they’d just kill him quickly and El agreed. When the questioning came to an end, El walked away from Roscoe while he was still dripping gasoline, and went over to Poncho. They conversed for a moment amongst themselves as Roscoe sat silently, watching, waiting for his death.

  “What are these fuckin’ bastards talking about?” he asked himself as he began to get impatient. He knew his fate was leading toward his demise, and it was just killing him to wait any longer. It was torture for him to just sit there not knowing what they were going to do to him, and to know that he would have to bear with whatever they had planned. As his thoughts started getting more and more rapid in his mind, his entire body grew tense and he began to cry uncontrollably. When he looked up at D
on P., ashamed of his appearance, they’d begun making their way to the exit. He suddenly became calm, let out a sigh of relief, and then thought to himself, Thank you, God. They’re going to let me live.

  Just as Roscoe’s hysterical cries came to an end Don P. stopped at the doorway. They stood there for a second before El turned around and looked into Roscoe’s eyes with a grin on his face.

  “Oops,” he said, snapping his finger as if he’d forgotten something. “It almost slipped my mind. Catch this, you rat mu’fucka.”

  He flicked the cigarette at him as they both laughed wildly. They watched closely as Roscoe yelled and fought to get free, just to make an attempt at putting out his flaming carcass. He pulled at the pipe he’d been tied to as pieces of his skin burned to the wall and peeled off his body. The smell of burning flesh and the screams he let out didn’t break Don’s and P.’s concentration once, as they left conversing of their findings. They left him on the floor ablaze with no regard, and with only one thing in mind: contacting Spits as soon as possible.

  My cell phone rang around 4:40 a.m. as Ginger and I were about to roll over to go back to sleep. It was Poncho. He sounded a bit distracted and confused as he spoke, but I knew it had to be serious. He said that he had something important to tell me, and that it couldn’t even wait until later in the morning. Disregarding the numerous requests by Ginger for me to stay in bed, I got dressed and ready to leave. I had business to handle. I reassured her that I wouldn’t have kept it from her if something were wrong and that there was no reason to worry. I told her to go back to sleep, and then yelled a promise to speak to her later as I shut the front door.