Cracked Dreams

by Michael Daniel Baptiste

  Trigger took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, just make the next two lefts and go straight down. You can’t miss it,” he said, pointing in the right direction.

  He inserted the pistol back into his pants and entered the cab still waiting for him patiently across the street. He got into the backseat of the car and it pulled off. “Oh shit!” he said out loud as he turned back toward the building he’d just exited. The cab pulled away as that black Astro van was pulling up. When it stopped, the doors flew open and what looked like federal agents came charging out of it with MP-5 fully automatic mini-machine guns in hand. They flooded the apartment building in search of what had just slipped through their unknowing fingertips. It was already looking like a good day for Trigger. He made it to the airport early enough to check in and get breakfast before his flight. When he reached Los Angeles, the infamous “Red” that he’d heard so much about was there to pick him up. He figured Spits meant for them to get acquainted as soon as possible. That was the reason for him sending Red to pick Trigger up. It didn’t matter to Trigger though. As long as this mu’fucka knew who was the boss, they would have no quarrels.

  Red took Trigger to Rachel’s house. Trigger and Rachel had met a few times while they were both younger, when she used to visit New York. They exchanged hellos, and Trigger showed his gratitude for her letting him stay there. They spent a minute catching up, and then he called Spits.

  “Yo, who dis?” Spits asked, answering the phone showing aggravation as if the person who called was interrupting.

  “What up, my nigga?” said the voice on the other end.

  “Trig?” asked Spits with excitement.

  “Holla at me, dog. Where you at?”

  “My nigga, I’m over here at the mall turning this bitch upside-down. They ain’t gonna have shit left when we done, dog. How long you been here?”

  “I just got here a minute ago. Your boy Red came and got me from LAX.”

  “Yeah, I told him if I wasn’t back in time to go ahead and do that for me. So everything went down according to plans?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that, but I’ll fill in all of those blanks when you get here. How long you gonna be anyway?”

  “I’ll be there in a few. We about to have some lunch and then we’ll be out.”

  “All right, God. I’ll see you in a minute, then.”

  “Yeah, nigga. One.”

  “Peace.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Are there any new developments on the Beckford case?” asked the FBI’s Assistant Director to the two agents that were assigned the case.

  “No, sir,” responded Agent Cassett, nodding his head with hopelessness.

  “The bastard just disappeared off the damn face of the earth,” added Agent Clifton, showing his aggravation by slamming his fist down on his desk.

  “Pardon me, Clifton,” said the Assistant Director.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Chistov, sir,” he said, retracting his previous outburst. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have nothing to report regarding the Beckford case as of yet.”

  “Well, as long as you both are aware that regulation of drug traffic in this country is our number one priority. Flagrant violators of this directive, such as this Peter Beckford and this Michael Banner character, have to be made examples of. We must send a message to the underworld that illegal drug trafficking will not be tolerated in this country.”

  “Yes, sir”, said both Agent Cassett and Clifton at the same time.

  “He can’t hide forever,” added Agent Cassett. “We’ll get him sooner or later, sir.”

  “Well, as you were, gentlemen,” he said as he walked away.

  Anatoliy Chistov, Assistant Director of the FBI, was one of the most passionate figures in the Bureau regarding eliminating narcotics trade in the U.S. He was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, and had only spent a small portion of his early childhood there. He’d come from a small family that had very little, and when his father suggested to his mother that they move to “America, where the streets are paved with gold,” she couldn’t have been more excited. But when they’d arrived, instead of the golden opportunities they’d expected for themselves and their son, all there was were drugs. Still surrounded by poverty, starvation, and the daily grind of the struggle, their self-pity got the best of them and they surrendered to the streets in the form of heroin. Anatoliy grew up in Brooklyn, New York in a predominantly Russian community, and saw his parents and their friends slowly deteriorate from drug use. He vowed to his father, while on his deathbed, that he would rid the streets of this horrendous menace. He’d since climbed the Bureau’s ladder until he’d become Assistant Director; exclusively specializing in narcotics.

  Special Agent Phillip Cassett and his partner Simon Clifton had gotten this assignment directly from the Assistant Director due to their evident passion for criminal justice. Phillip and Simon had first met in training camp and immediately clicked. Their relationship had soon extended further than the workplace, and they had become very good friends. They were quite pleased to find out that they would be assigned to the infamous Time Bomb Family case and were eager to show their supervisor, Assistant Director Chistov, that their feelings regarding criminal justice didn’t differ from his own. They both respected his views and methods while they worked alongside him. Being that they shared the same vision, they all adopted a high amount of respect for one another. Although sometimes confusing that with a comfortable friendship, they’d maintained a professional relationship.

  “It seems as though Anatoliy won’t rest until the Time Bomb Family, and all of its members, are comfortably locked away behind bars for a long, long time,” said Agent Clifton to his partner.

  “Yeah,” responded Agent Cassett. “I feel the same way.”

  While everything seemed quiet back in New York for the Feds, the party had just begun on the other side of the country—in California. The new West Coast chapter of the Time Bomb Family thought that a little get-together at my hotel room was in order. We’d spent the last three days preparing for this one, and finally it was here. Early that morning, Tone had arrived with the first package. He was exactly on time and everything was going down according to plan. Actually, Tone had been one step ahead of me, bringing more than what was expected of him. I had only proposed that we ship ten kilos to start everything off, but Tone had taken it upon himself to bring fifteen. Plus, to congratulate our new deputy and his lieutenants, Tone had brought six .40 caliber Desert Eagles. The surprise was met with a warm welcome and Tone felt the gratitude. We’d spent the rest of the day cooking and bagging. Now, it was time for celebrations and congratulations as tomorrow would be a lot of work.

  “Yo, listen up,” I said, standing on a chair as I addressed all the Cali niggas of enough importance to be at the engagement. Besides me, Tone and Trigger, there was Red, and the five dudes that he suggested we appoint as lieutenants. “This is it, mu’fuckas. Today marks the beginning of the mu’fuckin’ end for all of us that used to be broke, that used to be hungry, that had to rob and steal for paper, that thought that there was nothing in this world made just for us. Your niggas right here are all that matter; that’s it. Nothing else will ever be more important to ya’ll mu’fuckas than all of your niggas. Can’t no bitch, or no cheddar, or no fucking punk-ass rat mu’fucka goin’ turn you against your crew. If that’s the way you feel, then you can be down with us. We are the TIME BOMB FAMILY! No team will beat us, ya’ll feel me?”

  “Yeah, yeah!” they all screamed in unison, nodding in agreement. My words weren’t being taken lightly. My speech wouldn’t fall on deaf ears.

  “Look at me,” I continued. “Look at my mu’fuckin’ right-hand man Trig. Look at us together. Ain’t nothing ever gonna break that up, and that’s from the heart. Learn that who ya’ll niggas call your family, will be just that and nothing else . . .family! Now, let us toast.” We toasted to “To Dom P’s and palm trees” and all began sipping our champagne together.


  “Yo, hurry up, Reggie!” said Boogie nervously. “What the fuck’s taking so long?”

  “Shut the fuck up, nigga,” Reggie responded. “I told you I got this, all right?”

  Boogie was short and light-skinned, but where he fell short in height, he made up for in weight. He weighed about two hundred and thirty-five pounds, standing at about 5 ft. 7 in. Reggie was tall and brown-skinned. Although he was a rather slim dude, he was very well-built, though it seemed that his features were dwindling due to his most recent experimentations with drugs.

  “We gonna get caught, man,” said Boogie with fear in his voice. “If they find us here, man, they’ll kill us without a second thought. Fuck it, I’m out of here.”

  “I got it,” said Reggie as he finally picked the lock on the door he was kneeling in front of.

  Boogie turned back around. “It’s about fuckin’ time.”

  “Shut up, nigga, and come on.”

  As they entered the house through the back door they’d just picked, they quickly went directly for the closet. They walked past the stereo on the floor, and bypassed the television set sitting on the kitchen table, and hit the closet first. It seemed as though they knew exactly what they’d been there for. In fact, they did know exactly what they were there for.

  Reggie and Boogie didn’t know it yet, but they’d just committed the only breaking and entering misdemeanor charge that could possibly earn them the death penalty. You see, the house they’d just broken into wasn’t just any house, and the people that rented the space weren’t just any normal tenants. They had just picked a lock on a door attached to a house that was being rented by the Time Bomb Family. Just the breaking and entering portion of this could be considered means for a lynching. If they only knew the magnitude of danger they were in, just being in that house, they might not have been as dim-witted.

  “Is this it, Boogie?” Reggie asked.

  “Yeah, that’s where they always used to keep it,” responded Boogie.

  They stood there for a second in the front of the closet doors and only could imagine what would be waiting for them on the other side. When Reggie opened the doors, he banged around until he felt the portion of the wall that was hollowed out. A plank off of the wood panel that covered the interior of the wall slid from its position and the inside of the wall was exposed. They both just stood there in amazement when what was behind that plank was revealed. Staring up at them was a little over fifty thousand dollars in cash and two kilos of uncut cocaine, plus three G-packs already cooked, cut, and bagged. Their eyes lit up as they began shoveling the cash into a pillowcase they’d brought for their findings. When the cash was securely tucked away in the pillowcase, they each took a kilo of the coke to carry in their coat pockets along with the baggies of crack. When there was nothing left, they were gone. As quickly as they’d appeared, they’d disappeared with pillowcases full of cash and their coats filled with coke and crack. They fled the scene thinking that there would be no repercussions for this heinous act. Yeah, right!

  After we’d set up shop on the Cali side, the next few days were a complete success. We moved more product in the shortest amount of time than we’d ever moved; especially in a new spot. It was like the fiends were waiting out front of the spots for us to get there. We lined them mu’fuckas up for what seemed like blocks to get a hit. After the samples were done, it took not even fifteen minutes for the first sale to come. After that first sale was dealt, it was all over. Fiends were coming back three and four times with more and more customers. It didn’t stop until they’d almost depleted their entire stock of prepared product.

  The success meant that it had finally become time for me to return to the Bronx. Now that I felt comfortable enough with Trigger and the new West Coast enterprise, I was ready to leave him all of the responsibility and go back home. Only if I knew that it wouldn’t at all be as peachy in New York as it was in California. There would only be more work for me when I reached home. The life of a drug dealer was the furthest thing from the “easy way out,” for real.

  The night before I left, Trigger and I engaged ourselves in a lengthy conversation about life, responsibilities, and how only one’s choices would determine their destiny. The conversation was meant to prepare Trigger for what he was about to embark on, but I soon realized that he’d already been prepared for this kind of accountability. In fact, he’d been ready and willing for a long time now. Now, he had the opportunity to show off his skills.

  We left each other with a pound and a hug. We knew it wouldn’t be too long before I came back to check up on things, so everything was real relaxed. Ginger and I went to the airport and caught a flight back to New York, after a two-week long vacation/business trip.

  “Even though I’m glad me and your sister and I clicked so well, I was starting to get a little homesick,” Ginger told me during the plane ride home as she laid her head on my shoulder.

  “Yeah, I feel you,” I responded, kissing her on the forehead. “I kinda miss the grime, myself.”

  We were both happy to be returning home; especially with the memories we could both take back with us. The trip had taught us both a little bit more about each other, and now we could see each other just a bit clearer. It only made us closer. The time was well-spent, but it was time to go. This had also been the longest time I’d spent away from work with only little contact with back home.

  When I arrived, I hadn’t realized that no one knew we were coming back, so I didn’t set up any transportation for us from the airport. We hopped in a yellow cab and went to Ginger’s house where I’d left my truck. When she was settled in, we parted and I went to my apartment to unpack and take a nap before coming back out later in the evening.

  Not even two hours into my nap, my phone rang. It was Vision and he had news that wouldn’t allow me to return to the comfort of my sleep. Vision informed me that we’d been robbed of over fifty grand in cash and almost a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of coke and crack. When I was fully awake and realized what I’d just been told, I jumped out of the bed and began to yell into the phone receiver at Vision.

  “What?!” I yelled uncontrollably. “Where the fuck was everybody at? How in the fuck do you let a nigga steal from us, the Time Bombs?”

  “Calm down, dog,” said Vision, trying to bring me to relax my anger. “I ain’t the enemy, son. Don’t kill the messenger, ya na’mean.”

  “My bad, dog,” I responded with a more relaxed tone of voice. “How did this shit happen?”

  “Some mu’fucka broke in through the back way, and shit. They knew exactly what they were there for, too, ’cause they didn’t touch anything else. Nothing was overturned or disturbed. They went straight to the closet, and emptied out the inside of the wall.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, now better understanding the situation. “So, they knew where the stash spot was and all that, huh?” I asked to myself rhetorically.

  “Straight up, son. I spoke to Ponch so him and El are going to look into the shit. It won’t be long. You know mu’fuckas can’t keep they mouth shut out here. Anybody that’s one hundred thousand stronger overnight won’t be able to keep it to himself, ya na’mean?”

  “Word, I feel you, dog. But fuck that shit, son. I want everybody on this shit and nothing else.”

  “That’s cool. We got a meeting scheduled in about 45 minutes.”

  “Where at?”

  “Over on the Block.”

  “I-ight, then. I’ll meet ya’ll there.”

  “Yeah, my nigga. Peace.”

  “Peace.”

  When I hung up the phone, I sat there and thought to myself for a little while. I was trying to play the situation back in my head. I couldn’t quite fully grasp the concept that someone had actually gotten over on me. How the fuck did they know where to go? Could it be some worker mu’fucka who robbed me and just made it look like a break-in? Could it be some nigga that just didn’t quite make that cut and decided to hate on the rest of the family? A thousand question
s went through my head after I received this news. It just didn’t make any sense to me that these types of things were possible. This occurrence let me know that I wasn’t exempt. I could get it, too, just like everybody else.

  The meeting was scheduled for eleven o’clock. It would be imperative that everyone show up, as this meeting was incredibly important to me along with the other family members. When I arrived on the Block, I could spot in the shadows of the buildings El Don, Poncho, Ceelow, Little Jay, Vision, plus a few other key workers, all occupying the steps in the front of the building that I’d grown up in along with Cee, Trigger, and Pop. With all of them taking slow sips from plastic cups containing a mixture of Hennessey and Alize, called “Blood Passion,” no one could reflect a bit of happiness or contentment. They all just stood or sat there, with a blank and empty facial expression, looking as if plotting.

  The address of the building was 666 East 224th Street. It was peculiar, but that was the perfect numbers for the building. It spawned some really devilish mu’fuckas, and the younger generation of hell dwellers would be ten times worse, but that’s a different book altogether. Anyway, this was “the Block.” To us, it was the foundation. No matter how far this game took us in life, it was always just mandatory that we return once in a while. Until we owned our own houses on that exotic island somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, it wasn’t that hard for us to stay away. In fact, when it came time for us to get our own apartments, we all moved to other parts of the Bronx, except for Cee. He moved two flights upstairs from the apartment that he’d grown up in, where his mother and little brother still resided. Maybe he thought he would be selling out by moving anywhere too far from the Block, or maybe he just didn’t think he was good enough to live anywhere else. In any case, it was time to get down to business.

  After parking across the street from the building by a hydrant, I got out of the truck and entered the cipher of the rest of the Time Bombs. We all exchanged pounds and Cee handed me a cup of Blood Passion he’d prepared for me. I began to sip along with the others, and this began the meeting.