Slick Kid laughed. “Baby, just follow your nose.” Next thing I knew Slick Kid was in the bathroom where we were with his Sharp VL video camera rolling. He was cracking up and filming me and Bullet’s cool-out session in the tub.
“Wait a minute,” Natalie yelled. “Let me get in it, too. You don’t mind, Winter, do you?” She pulled off her shirt and pants and hopped in the Jacuzzi with me and Bullet. Slick was laughing and taping us talking ’bout, “Ah Bullet, you a big willie. Now you got two girls.” Bullet positioned himself between me and Nat to pose for the camera.
“Don’t put your hands on my girl,” Slick Kid joked and yelled.
Natalie loved it. “We’re in the movies, y’all. Want to do any shout outs?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, liquor talking. “I want to give a shout out to Simone, to Zakia, Asia, my girl Toshi, and all the live motherfuckers in Brooklyn BK to the fullest. I love all my peeps! Stay live y’all.” Slick Kid wanted to get in the movies so he started filming himself with the camera.
“Attention niggas, this is Slick Kid. I just wanted to say the black man is God.” Bullet cheered him on and added in his shout outs. We all laughed, drank, and puffed. We played cards, ordered movies and room service, buffalo wings, french fries, and lemonade. We had a good old Brooklyn-style good time.
At 2:30 A.M. I told them I had to roll. Bullet wanted me to stay but I told him I had to take care of some important shit and I’d pick it up with him later.
“What about breakfast? Time to make the doughnuts!” Slick Kid yelled. They decided to stay in the room till checkout since they paid for it. By this time Bullet confirmed that he still lived with his grandmother and he didn’t have no ride home. I told him don’t worry about it, I’d come pick him up some time in the Benzo and, as long as he kept it real with me, we could do it again!
My buzz was wearing off. This was a good thing because I was driving in the light rain of the late night/early morning, organizing my story about the college party. I had never been to one in my life. As far as I knew Santiaga had not either. Still I rehearsed it, knowing how clever Santiaga was.
When I pulled up into the driveway, Santiaga’s Lex was not there. I was surprised since I was an hour and a half late and one hundred percent sure he’d be sitting in the kitchen with a mean old screw face ready to drill me. Luckily I realized that I was still wearing the red leather shorts. Panicked, I swung the car around to the back. I popped the trunk, grabbed my Gucci suitcase and unzipped it. I pulled out a fresh pair of stockings and picked up the satin dress. I was quiet about closing the trunk so as not to wake Mommy. I ran under the shed in the back of the house and started to peel off my little red outfit. My body was covered with goose bumps and shivering from the cold 4:30 A.M. air. When I took off my Gucci shoes, I realized I had left my Joan and Davids in the car. I clutched my car keys, tweaked the alarm off and tipped back to the trunk. I stuck the key in and swapped the shoes. By the time I got back under the shed my feet were covered with mud. I took off my panties to use them as a tissue to clean my feet. When I went to slip into my new stockings I pushed too hard and my big toe ripped through the bottom. The tear ran all the way up my leg.
I took a deep breath to calm me down. People who panicked made stupid mistakes, overlooked critical things, I reminded myself. OK so I’d put on the dress, no stockings, and I’d say they tore at the party. I started fumbling to put my hair back into place when I heard a noise from the side of the house. It sounded like cracking sticks under somebody’s foot. I kicked the mud-covered panties under the bush and stuffed my little red outfit into the nearby garbage can.
“Come out of there whoever you are before I blow your fucking head off.” The voice came from the side of the house. It sounded like my mother. I was trembling.
“Mommy,” I called out. “Is that you?”
“Winter, are you OK?” She asked as though somebody had me bound and gagged.
“I’m fine, Mommy. I was just parking the car back here.” She swayed around the corner with her flashlight and the little.22 gun Santiaga had given her for personal security.
“The light, take the light out of my face, Mommy, please,” I said, not wanting her to see my panties in the bush. “Everything’s OK.” I went toward her, hugged her and walked her back around to the front of the house. “What happened to the lights in the backyard?” I asked.
“They broke ’em. They broke everything. Messed up all our stuff. They took the Lex. They took Santiaga. They tore up the house.” Her words were going into my head in slow motion. My body froze like ice. Anger consumed me.
“Who took Santiaga?”
“The police. They came with papers talking about they charging him with this and that and the other thing. They searched through all of our belongings. They cut up my damn mattress. They scared the shit out of your sisters. They was crying and screaming.”
“Where did they take him?”
“Central booking, the regular. They said they don’t know where he’ll end up. Just call the precinct, they said. He won’t be arraigned until Monday since this is the weekend night.”
“When did they come?”
“Santiaga got back right after you left here. He said he had a feeling that something wasn’t right. I’m surprised you didn’t see him on your way out. The cops pulled up here about a half-hour later, big Long Island white-boy, by-the-book cops. They came from everywhere without warning, up the driveway, out of the sky, the roof, the backyard. Before I knew it, they were inside the house, outside the house, all in everything like roaches. They arrested everybody, Santiaga, our security, everybody except me and the kids. I didn’t know how to get to you, Winter. Eventually I beeped Midnight. It was about 10 P.M. I told him what happened and asked him to go out to that school to tell you to come back home. He called me back at about 11:45 P.M. talking ’bout you wasn’t there. He looked all over.”
My guilty eyes locked into my mother. Her eyes were bloodshot, her mouth twisted, her face stained with tears. We needed a strategy to get out of this confusion. “What did Santiaga say?”
“He was calm, cool. Of course they had his hands cuffed, locked tight in back of his body like he was some kind of criminal. He looked me dead in my eyes. All he said was sorry.” Momma was hysterical or delirious or both. “I told Santiaga not to worry. I would come to get him out. Then one of them smart-ass cops, not the one in regular uniform, one of them feds or something, said it would be a long, long, long time before you’ll see him anywhere besides behind bars.
“That’s what you think,’ I told them bastards. “That’s what you think.’ The next cop picked up your picture and was like woo wee that’s a fine ass. That’s when Santiaga started breaking. He said he would make it so that cop would never see his own kids again. The other cop started reading Santiaga his rights.”
“Mommy, how many cops were there?”
“Inside or outside the house?”
“Both.”
“About fifteen cops inside and twenty outside, in the back, everywhere.” I sat down on the kitchen stool.
Daylight seemed to rush in. I made my mother take one of those sedatives the doctor prescribed for her facial pain. She had fallen asleep along with the kids. At 9 A.M. Magdalena arrived to work.
“What happoned?” she asked with her Latino accent.
“Long story,” I muttered. “Take your time cleaning this mess. We gotta straighten it up but it’s no hurry.” She had a look on her face as if she expected to be paid more money to repair the disaster.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you at the end of the week,” I told her. Money, money, I thought. Santiaga’s gone. How will we get money? The upstairs safe popped into my head, the one situated behind my mother’s clothing closet that I wasn’t supposed to know about. I ran up the stairs. I pushed open my mother’s door gently, not wanting to disturb her. She was there sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette, something I never ever saw her do.
“Looking for the
safe?” she asked. “It’s gone. It’s empty. It’s gone.” She pointed to the closet where the safe door was open and empty. “Them bastards had warrants, papers, a whole bunch of shit. They said they been watching us for a long time.”
“Other than the money, did they take anything else?”
“Other than the money,” she said sarcastically. “OK, other than the hundred and fifty thousand dollars they stole from our safe, for evidence they said. Ha! Evidence. They’re probably out shopping with that dough right now. They took the guns. They took plenty of guns.”
“Coke?” I asked cautiously.
“None, Santiaga had just come back from his runs. Everything he had was already gone.”
“How much money you got?” I was afraid to hear the answer.
“Seven hundred bucks, that’s it,” she said dryly.
I had nine hundred fifty dollars myself. That made a total of sixteen hundred fifty dollars, which, based on what we were used to spending, might as well have been seventeen dollars. Who could we call? My mind went blank. I sat on the floor in her room and my nerves numbed neutral. I had no feeling. The ringing of our telephone brought me back to reality. I picked it up. It was my mother’s sister, Aunt Laurie, on the line.
“Where’s Santiaga?” she demanded. Not having thought of what I would tell people, and when to tell them whatever I decided to tell them, I said nothing.
“Winter, stop playing, put Santiaga on the phone. These motherfuckers came and picked Stevie up outta here this morning and I need Santiaga to send somebody over to see what’s happening and to bring some money so we can get him outta there.”
“Santiaga’s not here right now Aunt Laurie. Call back in a little while. Mommy don’t feel well. Or I’ll call you back. Sorry about what happened. I’ll give Santiaga the message.”
“Winter, these motherfuckers went crazy out here, arrested everybody. Tell your father somebody gotta come help us out down here.”
By sundown it was apparent it was a total wipeout. One by one, women’s voices filled with fear, rage, and hysteria, called demanding that Santiaga rescue their husbands, brothers, sons. They had all been bagged. I contacted Santiaga’s lawyer Bob Goldstein. He was already on the case. He told me that right now there was nothing he could do but wait. He had phoned the precinct and verified Santiaga’s presence. Now he awaited arraignment and placement. He was seeing what the bail looked like, what all the charges were, and what the evidence was like. He told me to come down to the office on Friday to handle matters and to bring my mother.
Magdalena did a hell of a job bringing the house back together again. I slid her a fifty-spot for the extra work. It killed me to let go of the cash, but I did it just to keep the peace with her. I’d need her to watch the kids. Magdalena grabbed the money real quick and held onto it real tight.
6
Monday morning we all was up early and dressed. There was no doubt that we would support Santiaga at his arraignment. We would show those motherfuckers that family sticks together. My mother put the girls in the back of her car and took the passenger seat. As I started to back the Benz up I saw flashing lights moving up our driveway. A cop on the loudspeaker said: “Turn off the ignition.” I weighed my options. I wanted to floor the gas pedal, ram the police, and then pull out to go handle my business. But my little sisters were in the car, so I turned the ignition off.
“Get out of the car. Everyone step out of the car. Move away from the car.” The police signaled the vehicle behind him. It was a police department tow truck. The officer walked up to my mother and handed her a piece of paper: “We are authorized to remove this vehicle, which is now government property.”
“Uh-uh, motherfuckers! This is my car. How the hell you gonna come and take my car?” Angry tears shot out of my eyes. “You don’t have the right to take people’s shit.” I went buck wild cursing them assholes out. I pushed the car door open, jumped out and started swinging my fists in the air.
“Ma’am, ma’am, ma’am, calm down, ma’am. Now listen. Here’s how it works. We’re going to take this car, right now, right here, today, this minute. We’re authorized to do so. You go downtown. If you can verify the source of your income and prove that you personally purchased the vehicle, then you can get it back. We hold it for sixty days, if you can’t prove it, we sell it at the auction. All merchandise purchased with illegal monies, by criminal activity, are subject to seizure.”
Momma thumbed hysterically through the yellow pages trying to locate a cab that would come around our way. It took an hour to strike a deal with a somewhat local cabbie to drive us into the city. I paid a hundred dollars to get into the city. Money was going fast.
By the time we got to the court, we had missed Santiaga. I called the lawyer’s office. His secretary said the lawyer must be on his way back to his office because he was there at the court to represent Santiaga earlier today. I hung up the phone without verbally acknowledging her words. It took damn near all day just to get back to our house on public transportation. Then we had to walk three miles to get from the train station to our “safety house.”
Tears didn’t have no place in this situation. What would Santiaga do? I asked myself. He would think, plan, and not panic. Alright, it seemed to me that we needed to have one big sale to get rid of all this shit in this house and get some money. I never liked it here anyway. We could move back into the city, get an apartment or something. I started pacing around the house randomly pricing things in my head. Who would we sell this stuff to? We didn’t know nobody around here. We would straight up have to put an ad in the papers, hang up garage sale signs and directions to our house. Let these folk come pick over it and pay way less than they would normally pay in the store.
I found Mama in her room. She had busted open a new pack of cigarettes and was going at it. “What do you think about a sale?” I asked her. “We sell all this stuff in the house to generate some cash flow.”
“I want to talk to your father,” she said.
“Seriously, Momma, what do you say?”
“I want to see what your father says. Whatever he wants to do that’s what I’ll do.”
“But Mommy we gotta make plans like Santiaga ain’t here ’cause he’s not.”
“You tryna say he ain’t coming back?” she asked like a crazy woman.
“No, I’m trying to say maybe if we put our heads together we can have some ideas ready for Santiaga. We can go see him tomorrow. I’ll know by the morning time exactly where he is.” The idea of seeing Santiaga delighted Mommy, who was starting to seem like an impostor to me.
“What we gonna do with the kids, they too much trouble to be tryna walk and travel back and forth with,” she asked, worried about everything.
“Magdalena will watch them,” I told her.
“Oh you think so. Lately, she been acting kind of funny,” Momma said.
At nine o’clock the next morning I was on the phone line tryna locate Santiaga. I slid Magdalena an extra twenty dollars and told her to baby-sit while me and Mommy took care of some business. She looked like she thought about rolling her eyes at me. She put the extra money in her pocket. We found out which jail Santiaga was being held at. Then we went to find out the cost of bail so we could pull the money together somehow. The court clerk smirked when he punched in the case numbers for Santiaga on his computer.
With some strange look of pleasure he pronounced, “The judge has denied bail because of the extremity of the charges. He’ll be sent out to Riker’s Thursday. You can visit him there.”
My mother’s face saddened with disappointment. As we turned to walk away her tears started flowing.
When we got home, Magdalena complained about the phone ringing, ringing, ringing. We thanked her for her patience and sent her home for the evening. The good thing was that in two days we would be able to talk to Santiaga. He would help us decide how to move. My mind was still tryna put things together. I asked my mother whose name the house was in and if it was a mont
hly cost or was it paid for in full. She told me it was paid for ’cause that’s how Santiaga does things, but she never saw the paperwork because it wasn’t her concern.
This time when I picked up the telephone, it was Natalie. “Girl what’s going on? It’s like a ghost town over here in BK.” Everybody’s getting locked up, I thought to myself. Whoever heard of a person who just starts talking before she even says hello, before she’s even sure if she’s talking to the right person?
“Who got knocked?” I asked, playing it off. She rattled off a list of familiar names, Daddy’s workers, bodyguards, and all of my uncles. Then she said, “I heard Midnight got picked up earlier tonight.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I said, almost mumbling.
“Yep, Asia saw the cops cuffing him over in front of Moe’s bar.” I wondered if Natalie had heard about Santiaga and was she just waiting for me to say something. “Yeah, Bullet told me about Midnight, too,” Natalie said.
“How’s Bullet doing?” I asked.
“He’s alright. His girl just had a baby. It’s a boy, eight pounds, six ounces, big huh?”
“His girl! Natalie you didn’t tell me he had a girl.”
“Like you would’ve cared. Don’t try to get new on me, Winter.”
“That’s not the point. I’m just saying you suppose to have my back. You suppose to let me know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to fill you in like you be filling me in, right!” Natalie said, getting loud with me. I really didn’t have time for Natalie’s attention games so I told her I had to go.
“The policia,” Magdalena said, peeking her head into my room without knocking on my bedroom door. “You motha is in the shower.” I jumped up, threw on some pants and a shirt, and headed downstairs.
The Coldest Winter Ever Page 8
