“So,” I said to start everything off. “Let me know something. Who the fuck is these niggas that got enough heart to steal from us, and where the fuck they at, right now?”
No one said anything. They all simply stood there nodding unknowingly, until Little Jay broke the silence. “Exactly how much did these mu’fuckas get, anyway?” he asked.
“Almost a hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” answered Cee.
“Shit,” said Vision. “Somebody’s gotta die, ya’ll.”
“You damn right,” I agreed. “So, as of now, we don’t know anything?”
“We don’t know shit, dog,” answered Poncho honestly. “Somebody gotta leak something sooner or later, though.”
“Yeah, better sooner than later,” I added. “We can’t have the street saying that it ain’t nothin’ to take from the Time Bombs. We gonna have to put these streets under pressure.”
“Pressure bust pipes,” added Ceelow.
“Yup, and it’s time to apply some,” I continued. “These mu’fuckas out here gonna know not to ever fuck with something or someone that’s part of this crew. Our first priority is find out who, and where these mu’fuckas at with balls big enough to steal from us, and that’s it. I got fifty thousand for the cat that brings me their heads. Let all ya’ll mu’fuckin’ workers know what the deal is.”
Everyone nodded in agreement while I went on further, and the focus grew deeper and deeper in their faces. They were to know that they had a family, and that they were a part of something bigger than a street crew that dabbles in narcs. The Time Bombs was a movement that needed to be represented properly. When you’re part of a family, you have to be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect it. If any of them had anything to do with it, after this occurrence, there would be no more instances where the dedication of a Time Bomb soldier would be questioned.
CHAPTER 11
“Leave some for me, nigga,” said Boogie to Reggie. “That’s all we’ve got left.”
“Shut the fuck up, Boogie,” countered Reggie. “And how the fuck you smoke up three thousand dollars’ worth of crack in just a few fuckin’ days, anyway?”
It had been almost a week now since Boogie and Reggie had broken into one of the houses that were known Time Bomb stash houses, and they’d been too preoccupied with the findings from their heist to even bathe or change clothes. When they were through emptying out that hollowed-out wall, they’d rented a hotel room on Burke Avenue and Boston Road, named “The Paradise,” and never once had seen the light of day since. They didn’t even eat. All they did was smoke, and smoke, and smoke.
Boogie and Reggie hadn’t known each other long, but if you’re as much of a dickhead as Boogie was, you could make a lot of friends when you’re telling a bunch of rock-heads that you could get access to unbelievable amounts of crack. Boogie and Reggie both hung out at the same place when smoking their poison, and when Reggie heard Boogie talking his shit, he’d taken him very seriously. He’d put him under pressure until he’d told him everything he knew. Boogie told Reggie about when he used to be a part of the Time Bomb organization, right up until they’d found out that he was a user as well as a seller. Before he’d parted ways with them, he knew enough to get over on them at least once. He’d just been too afraid of what might happen to him if he ever tried anything. For good reason, too; until he’d met Reggie. Reggie had convinced him that no one would find out, as long as they did it correctly, and that was enough for him. No one but a fuckin’ crack-fiend would even imagine double-crossing a Time Bomb, and he was the one stupid enough to think that he could get away with it, too.
“What?” asked Boogie. “What the fuck you mean ‘how did I’, like you wasn’t right here with me, Reggie. Half of that smoke is in your lungs, nigga.”
“Whatever, nigga,” said Reggie, dismissing his statement. “Like I said, how the fuck we only got this last little bit of this shit left, man?”
“I don’t know, man,” said Boogie with confusion in his voice. “It seemed like a whole lot more than that when we took it.”
Before the words were even completely out of his mouth, he looked up at Reggie with distrust. He thought to himself that they couldn’t have possibly smoked up all of that crack-cocaine in only six days. If this was all that was left over from the entire supply they’d stolen, there had to be something going on that he didn’t know about. He started to suspect Reggie of foul play. He stared at him with a look in his eye that could’ve burned a hole in the wall. Reggie was so involved in the pipe that he’d been inhaling so deeply from, that he didn’t even realize how angrily Boogie had been gazing at him. When he finally did look up, he noticed the fire in Boogie’s eyes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked.
“Fuck you, motherfucker!” yelled Boogie as he charged toward Reggie, lifting him out of his chair and slamming him up against the wall. “You shiestie bastard, you stealing from me?”
“What?” Reggie asked with uncertainty. “No, I ain’t stealing from you, nigga. What the fuck are you, crazy?”
“Yes, you are, nigga! Don’t fucking lie to me!”
Reggie, finally realizing that there was no reasoning left in Boogie, fought to push him off. When he wouldn’t let go, he lifted his hand and swung down, smacking Boogie in his face with the back of his hand. Dazed from the impact of the slap, he loosened the grip he had on Reggie enough for him to push him off and hit him with a closed fist across his jaw. He hit him twice more before Boogie curled up on the floor crying. When Reggie saw Boogie burst into tears the way he did, he started to feel sorry for him. He took his share of the loot they had and left without saying anything to him.
This whole incident left me in a slump of confusion and doubt. The next few days hadn’t been the best of times for me. I spent most of the time with my younger brother, along with my mother in the new house that I’d just recently purchased for them on the North East Side of the Bronx. It had three bedrooms, an attic that we’d turned into a bedroom for my brother, and a basement. It wasn’t as far away from the city as I would’ve liked, but my mother insisted on continuing her job until her pension came through, so I kept it within the five boroughs. If it were up to me, she would’ve been somewhere in Florida without the stress of the city, but that would have to wait for whenever she decided to retire. It took a while, but she’d finally agreed to move out of the apartment we’d rented for the last few years. It was too hard for her to believe that she didn’t have to struggle and starve for ends to meet anymore. All she knew was hard work, and nothing else. It was healthy for her to have something that she could call her own. I made sure no one knew about this place either; not even Ginger. Not that I didn’t trust her, but if anyone ever wanted to get at me through my family, they’d be almost impossible for the average dude to locate. Plus, if anything ever did happen to me, I had a safe built into the basement floor with five-hundred thousand dollars in cash inside that only my mother knew the combination to. She was set.
When I needed to escape though, that’s where I would go just to bring me back down to earth. Spending time with my family made me reflect and that, in turn, kept me level. I could only stand so much of the streets before I would just become a part of it with no feelings, second thoughts, or plans for bettering myself. I needed to have a little of both to keep me where I needed to be with myself. As this would be my little getaway from the world, I even built myself a small production studio in what was the shed in the back yard. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but when I needed to pound out some sounds and make music, it could be done there just to relax me. That’s where I was when I got the call.
“Yo, who dis?” I spat into my cell phone receiver.
“Yo, what up?” said the voice on the other end. “It’s Vision.”
“Oh, what up, my nigga? Everything good?”
“No doubt, playboy,” he said with a hint of excitement in his voice. “Matter of fact, it’s better than good.”
“How�
�s that?”
“I got that info about that thing.”
When I heard that, I knew instantly that he’d found out who it was that had broken into our spot. Now I was excited, and I couldn’t wait to hear the mu’fucka’s name.
“Say word,” I said, gripping the phone tighter against my ear, making sure I didn’t miss a word.
“That’s my word, God,” he said, confirming my assumption. “You remember that kid that used to be a worker for us, but kept coming up short on his packs?”
“Who, that nigga that started smoking woolies, and shit?”
“Yup, that’s him, that fool ass nigga Boogie. As for our old friend, don’t even sweat that kid. He’s not among the living anymore. I took care of that fiend mu’fucka myself. The only thing is, while he was crying and begging me for his life, like the bitch that he is was, he confessed that it wasn’t entirely his idea. He claims some other so-called, thug-ass-crack-fiend-nigga named Reggie made him do it.”
“Reggie?” I asked, not recognizing the name. “Who the fuck is this dude?”
“I asked around a bit. He’s a nobody, but I got him in my radar. I think it’s time to go check the kid, and see what he got to say about this shit, ya na’mean?”
“Yeah, no doubt, my nigga,” I said, now biting my bottom lip with anticipation. “I feel you, one hundred and ten percent, for real.”
“So I’m going to be on the Block. I got this shorty that wanna start bubbling for us, so I want to see what she’s working with. What time we gonna link up?”
“Let’s see, when I leave here, I’m gonna go ride the Avenues and pick up some paper. I’ll be over by the Block in about an hour or two.”
“All right, that’s cool. I’ll be here. Yo, don’t forget to silence them things, feel me?”
“Yeah, my nigga. I got you. One.”
“Peace.”
I left my mother and little brother with a hug and a kiss, and they couldn’t have imagined in a million years the crazy things I had going through my head at that point. As I entered my car, I immediately called Little Jay. He had a package waiting for me that I was saving for a couple of days now, since we’d had that meeting on the Block. When I hung up with him, I would be heading past Magenta Avenue to make a pick-up, then over to Burke, then back up to the Woods. When I had enough paper, I slid in and out of highway traffic on the Cross-Bronx Expressway to head over to Castle Hill Avenue, where Little Jay was waiting for me. I made a left turn off of the highway, then a right on Gleason Avenue and drove down halfway into the block where Little Jay rented the basement of a house. When I pulled up, he was already waiting out front with a black briefcase in hand.
Little Jay reminded me so much of myself that I tried my best to come across as a positive role model for him. If he followed behind all of these dumb-ass niggas in the streets, then he wouldn’t ever accomplish more than what they had. I wanted for him what I had. Ever since we’d put him down, he’d done nothing but express his love and dedication. The name, Little Jay, obviously came from his physical features. He was about 5 ft. 3 in. tall, but he would go blow for blow or buss his gun in a second. He was half black and Puerto Rican and had a curly Afro.
“Yo, what up, son?” I said as I put the car in park. “That’s my shit, right? Ain’t nobody fuck with it, right?”
“Nah, it’s just me in here,” he said as he approached. “Honestly, I was wondering what the hell it was, but you know I ain’t gonna fuck with your shit.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I just got the word from Vision about that little job that everybody was supposed to be on. This right here,” I said, taking the case from him. “This is what would have gone to you if you was the nigga that found out first.”
I opened the case and saw Little Jay’s eyes light up as he saw what was inside. There were two chrome-plated .44 caliber Desert Eagle hand-cannons with two clips both filled with hollow-head slugs. To mystify him even more, I opened up the knapsack that contained the cash that I’d just collected, totaling fifty thousand dollars. Fifty grand in cash looked like a whole lot more than it was and I purposely exposed Little Jay to this to make a point. If my intentions were satisfied, he’d know what was rewarded to hard workers. He could take this as a lesson learned.
Finally, it was time to meet Vision. I was nervous with anticipation. When I turned the corner on to 224th Street, off of White Plains Road, I spotted Vision sitting in his white SL500 Roadster with some broad bent over at the passenger side window. As I pulled up, the gleam from the CL600 I was pimping quickly shifted her interest to my direction of the street. She stood straight up and all I saw was the ass. The bitch had an ass like a fuckin’ horse, with long legs, too. She had a chocolate complexion, a thick frame, and a pretty face with big brown eyes and big lips. She was appropriately dressed in a baby T-shirt with blue jeans. She looked like she just knew, she was a dime, but I could tell she was a bird though. When I pulled up beside Vision, and told him to hop in, I saw her face light up.
“Who this bitch riding your dick?” I asked as he got in.
“Oh, that’s my new gangsta bitch, Simone,” he said with pride. “Yeah, looks like it’ll work out with her. She’s for real, dog.”
“Yeah, i-ight,” I said, disregarding his statement. “Peep this.”
As I reached into the back seat for the gift I had for Vision, here comes Simone interrupting us to be nosey.
“Are you Spits?” she asked with a confident grin that suggested I could have you if I wanted.
“Yo, Vision,” I said without even acknowledging that she’d spoken. “This is business, my nigga. Tell this bitch to widen the grip.”
Her facial expression switched to I didn’t want you, anyway and she assumed her position back on the corner, after sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes.
When I opened the briefcase, his eyes lit up as well. He started rubbing his hands together as if he couldn’t wait until he could use his new toys.
“You know what I like, God,” he said as he lifted one of the pistols from its position in the briefcase. “I didn’t know you was coming through like this.”
“That’s all you, baby.”
“Oh, word?” he asked with even more excitement in his voice. “Say word, my nigga.”
“Word up, kid. Consider that a gift for a job well-done.”
“Good lookin’, son!”
“Ain’t nothing, dog. You deserve it. I got some cash for you, too, ya na’mean? I’m sayin’ though, tell me how it went down, kid.”
“Oh, you mean ya man Boogie?” he asked as if he couldn’t wait to tell the story. “Peep the drama, kid. I finds out from the streets that some bitch-ass nigga is up and down the Ave talkin’ all this ‘the Time Bombs is soft’ shit. Come to find out, this is the dude that broke into our spot, and his dumb ass is still in the mu’fuckin’ Bronx. So I goes to pick up the kid Frenchie from over there on 219th Street, ’cause he got a call from some bitch that tells him that our boy Boogie is on 228th Street right over there by the library. I left my car there, and we jump in his whip. The whole fuckin’ time I got the Tec-9 sitting on my lap, ready to let them things go, ya na’mean?”
“Word?” I asked, feeling his energy. “Proceed, my nigga.”
“Yeah,” he continued. “So we finally get to where he at. While we pulling past 226th, we spot the cat coming towards us but he turns down 229th, so we cut down the 8th to cut him off.”
“Come on, nigga,” I said, interrupting him. “Hurry up and get to the good shit already.” My attention was fully piqued.
“Just be easy, God . . .I got this,” he said, easing his way back into the part of the story where he’d left off. “So, when we made that right-turn on Lowerre Place, the look on his face was worth a half-a-mill, kid. He was sooo shook. I cracked a smile and winked at him, and that’s when he took off running. Frenchie jumps out the whip to go after him and I speed down the street to cut him off. I pull up on the curb in the front of him and Frenchie grabs him, pushing hi
m on the floor. I jumps out the whip with the big boy Tec in my hand, and I could’ve swore this nigga pissed on himself by the way he looked. ‘Click-clack’ . . .French cocks the nine-milly and puts it to his face. As soon as I got in arm’s distance of the nigga, I swung the Tec from over my shoulder and cracked the shit out of him. BONG! BONG, I hit him again with the banger and the nigga starts crying and shit, tellin’ me all kinds of bullshit about how some other nigga gassed him up to do it and how it wasn’t his idea, blah, blah, blah. When I heard enough of his shit, I started dumping on him. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM . . .I must’ve put nine shots in his chest, before Frenchie grabbed me and shoved me in the hooptie.”
“Damn, son!” I said, extremely pleased with how the story climaxed. “I wish I was there, yo. That’s my word, I wish I was there. That shit was gangsta.”
“For real,” agreed Vision with a small chuckle.
“So, umm . . .what’s up with this dude, Reggie?”
“Oh, Reggie? This mu’fucka is not a threat, whatsoever. This bitch Simone said she knew the nigga. She made me promise to put her on if she gave me the low-down, so I said whatever. I found out mad shit about the nigga, though. He used to be down with them niggas from the other side a while back, until this asshole started selling dummies to make extra money on the side. When their reputation started to get fucked up because of his bullshit, these niggas beat his ass right there on the Ave to let everybody know that they wasn’t fuckin’ with him no more. Peep how he used to wear these jeans with his name written down the front of them, right . . .so these niggas made him strip butt-ass-naked, and then hung his jeans from the light-pole.”
They both gave a chuckle when Vision told that part of the story, then he continued.
“He fell off after that though, and now he’s all strung out on crills. His life is lost once we catch up to him, though. That’s my word. I’m gonna put one of these slugs right here in the back of his head.”
Cracked Dreams Page 10
