The Lincoln Towntown drove slowly through the snow on 177th street. I noticed from a distance that my cousin and a couple of his workers were taking turns beating one of his employees in the crack business. It was an strange sight to see at 4 am in the morning.
“Oh shit, Laura...check this out!”
Laura looked. She didn’t think I’ve noticed but she loved to see people get beat up.
“Let’s get out!” She gushed.
I ordered the driver to stop and we got out to investigate.
“Cousin Psych!” My cousin greeted me as I looked at the bloody, battered worker.
“I guess he doesn’t work for you anymore?”
“Cousin Psych, he stole from me. It broke my heart. I gave him a job when he was living in a room in the basement. And look...”
My cousin cracked him in the jaw, hurting his fist in the process. I looked at all the guys hands and as I suspected, they were all swollen. I wondered how many hairline fractures they were causing themselves.
“That’s fucked up, bee.”
“What would you do if you were me.”
I laughed. “I would stop fucking up my hands, that would be the first thing I would do.”
“And then what?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll give you a five hundred.”
“Laura, do me a favor and run up to the house and get the duct tape. It’s in the kitchen. In the cabinet drawer. You can’t miss it.
“Why do I have to go?”
“Because you had a really good time tonight. And you’re my bitch. Now go. Also bring the oldest pair of Timberlands I have and any bullshit sweater.”
Laura reluctantly walked over the one block to my building. I looked around and pointed to an alley way.
“Take him in there.”
My cousin Junior and his boys escorted the dude into the dark alleyway. Once inside I addressed him.
“You think my cousin’s a bitch?”
The dude wouldn’t speak. I took out a 357 that I had concealed in me and cocked it and shoved it to his forehead.
“You think my cousin’s a bitch? Answer me before I fucking splatter you all over!”
“No, no. It’s not like that.”
I whacked him on the bridge of his nose with the butt of the gun, distorting it forever.
“Liar!”
I waited for him to recover from the blow as my cousin boasted to his workers that I knew what I was doing. At 17, he considered me a creative genius, especially when it came to handling my adversaries.
“Now take off your clothes. Everything off now!
The dude looked confused as did my cousin and his workers.
“I’m not going to tell you again.”
“I’m sorry!” The dude cried.
“Nigga, you know the deal in the streets. You knew when you stole from my cousin that if you got caught, very bad things would happen to you. Now guess what? You got caught. Now you have to deal. Take off your clothes!”
I hit him again in the same exact spot to motivate him a little. He stripped off all his clothes. Laura returned with the duct tape but forgot the boots and sweater. But it was okay since I had the dude’s boots and coat, which was even better.
“Duct tape his hands around his back and I’ll be back in like twenty minutes. Come on, Laura.”
“Where are you going?” My cousin wanted to know.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”
Laura and I took a cab five blocks to 181 street train station. Since I was strapped, I paid my fare and we took the elevator to the train platform where a community of homeless people lived because it was warm. I spotted the gay, black, homeless guy with a dress and a flower in his nappy hair. He had on sloppy red lipstick. He was barefooted as always and smelled like a combination of the foulest things imaginable.
“Yo homo, you want to make twenty bucks?”
“For real?”
“Yeah, come on.”
Laura and I had to hold our breathe riding in the elevator with him. I gave him the boots and the coat to keep warm. We walked back to 177th street.
“Maybe you should go home now.”
“No. I want to see.”
“You sure?”
Yes I’m sure.”
My cousin and his boys laughed when I arrived with the dirty, homeless, homo. It was easy to imagine what I had planned.
“You sick fuck, how do you think of these things?” My cousin asked.
“I just think about what I don’t want done to me.”
“Makes sense.”
We took the homo to the alleyway.
“Homo, take out your dick. Tonight is your lucky night.”
I hit the dude on the nose again with my gun.
“On your knees, bitch and suck his dirty, nasty dick!”
“Noooo, please. I’m begging.”
I cocked my gun again.
“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to. I mean if it was me, I’ll just take the bullet. It’s on you.”
The dude reluctantly moved his head towards the,homeless homo’s dick. The homo helped him out by grabbing the back of his head and shoving his dick inside his mouth. Everybody laughed at once, except for Laura who looked horrified.
“Bust in his mouth, Homo!” I encouraged and in five minutes that’s exactly what the homo did. The dude immediately threw up. Again we all laughed.
“There you go, motherfucker! I hope the money was worth it.”
Then it occurred to me to ask my cousin how much money did the dude steal.
“Forty bucks.”
“What?”
“Forty bucks.”
“You mean I just had a man sodomized over forty bucks?”
“How much did you think it was?”
“At least a couple of thousand.”
“It doesn’t matter how much it was. He still violated.”
“It matters to me that I’m going to hell over 40 bucks. Come on, Laura”
Laura and I walked home in silence. I felt guilt ridden. Somehow I knew that 40 bucks could have been an accounting error of some sort and there was a possibility that the dude could have been innocent. Once in my room, Laura confronted me.
“I knew you were crazy, but I didn’t know you were such a monster!”
“Slow down before you start pointing fingers. I never wanted to throw this in your face, but didn’t your father throw your mother out the window and killed her because she finished the last of the coke?”
Laura looked at me stunned.
“You finish the coke each and every time we party. I can’t even look away for ten seconds and you’re sniffing triple lines and you’re still alive. I fucked up, but I’m not a monster.”
Tears were streaming down Laura’s cheek.
“I’m sorry about tonight. I love you.”
I didn’t sleep much that night. I couldn’t help but think my actions for that night would come back and haunt me big time. What a fucking asshole I am.
Posted on December 30, 2007 at 12:23 AM | Comment (5 comments)
I walk to the bathroom from my usual seat by the front room window where I spent my childhood counting cars day after day. While I walk through the living room, my uncle Ernie staggers out the kitchen, unshaven and dirty looking with a Salem 100 dangling out his mouth. He takes a random, drunken swipe at me in the living room. This isn’t anything new. This is my life, but I am eleven years old now with premature signs of both muscular development and rage. I push the drunken man against the wall and beat the shit out of him. I hit him with countless punches and as hard as I can. I want to hurt him. No, I want to kill him. Elsie comes out of the kitchen. Her hair is the usual fright that it is. Her skin is yellowish. Little does anybody know, her liver is giving out on her from severe chronic alcoholism. All the long, we think it’s the Cancer that is doing this to her.
“Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” She screams.
She attempts to scratch my face from behind. Before she can do much damage, I push her off me. It’s not so easy to fuck me up anymore. Didn’t they know that I would one day turn on them like any abused dog would? I kick her in the stomach. She falls on to the floor, holds her stomach and cries.
“Get out! Please! Just get out!”
I go to my dresser and pack a book bag of the little, busted clothes that I have. Elsie tries to intervene.
“Don’t take anything with you. It’s not yours. Just get out!”
“Leave me alone and let me go! before I hit you again! I scream at her.
Tears of anger roll down my face. I’m trembling and my nervous system is all out of whack. I shove her out of my way, but she just keeps getting back in my face. I pack what I can and on my way out, I take a B.B. gun that my Uncle Tony gave me off a makeshift mantel.
“That’s not yours! You can’t take it! “
Elsie throws her body in front of the door. Ernie wants to get in, but I can see in his eyes that he is now afraid of me. I physically peel Elsie away off the front door. I open it enough so I can squeeze through and leave. As I walk through broken streets, I think of my master plan. It comes fast to me. I was going to rob subway passengers with my B.B. gun and that’s how I would buy any kind of food I wanted. I find my way to the 181 street train station and hop the turnstile. I ride the 1 train to 242nd Street and Van Cortland Park. It’s a sunny day and this is a park that I’ve only heard about through some of my classmates. It’s massive with lots of green. From the elevated train station, I see that it has a pool and lots of families are having picnics and barbeques. There is an abundance of trees, hills and mountains. It’s a never ending paradise for a kid like myself. The first thing I do is watch the people play in the pool from outside the steel gate. Everybody looks like they are having so much fun. I investigate how I might be able to get in, but am disappointed to find out that you have to pay an admission that I do not have. I think about sneaking in, but I lack the courage and the know how to do so. Besides, it’s being patrolled by two police officers and I think that it’s best not to draw attention to myself.
I explore other parts of the park. I’m thrilled to see that it has a lake that is infested with tadpoles. I step too close to a bullfrog and it leaps into the water, startling me. The frog is as big as my head. I remember a TV show where campers club a bullfrog and roast it over a campfire. I fantasize that this is what I’m going to do to survive. I find abandoned railroad tracks that are used for hiking and that’s what I do. I walk and walk and walk, taking in all the nature. I search for signs of wildlife, but there is none that is visible. Although the trail is desolate, I don’t know any better to be concerned about anything. I realized that it is just me now. Me against the world and not only am I just fine with this. In my heart, I feel that is what’s best. People? Fuck them. I think about my father, believing that he had died of a heart attack and wonder why did he have to die? I think about my mother and wonder why did she let Elsie and Ernie have me? She had to know they would be mean to me, beat me and treat me bad. I thought about Elsie and think about how evil she was to me. I think about the beatings and all the pain she’s inflicted on me. I could no longer feel the pain, but her words echoed in my head. I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t retarded. I wasn’t a piece of shit and I was going to amount to something. My soul told me so. My soul didn’t believe anything she said...but somehow, I did. The words played in my head and I think about them a lot. Maybe they were true. What did I know? I was just a kid. I continue along the tracks, absorbed in my thoughts. I see shadows within some trees and bushes in the distance. I know right away that they are human. They are close to each other. Intimately close. Is it a man and a woman doing it? I think and hope. I approach with caution. I’m very careful not to make any noise that might make them aware to my presence. As I get closer, I become more excited at the prospect of seeing two people having sex. I hope the girl is pretty. I get close enough so that I could catch glimpses of the people through trees and leaves. Something isn’t right though. My heart speeds up. None of the two figures look anything like a girl. I toke a step closer. I could see them a little more. It’s a boy older than me, maybe sixteen. He is Puerto Rican and tough looking. There is a man’s head at waist level to the boy. The man is old and weathered and winkled. He’s sucking the boy’s dick. He is ugly and looks equally tough. I slowly take my bag off my shoulder while keeping my eyes on the two. My instincts tell me that this was dangerous. I don’t have B.B.’s in my gun, but I think that the sight of the gun will keep them away. I slide the bag down my arm. Maybe they have money and I could rob them? Maybe they had a lot of money. Like twenty or even fifty dollars. Yeah, that’s what I was going to do? I’m going to rob these two gays. The boy grunts. I see sudden movement. The older man stands up. I get nervous and panic. My bag slips through my hand and fingers. I try to catch it but I’m not swift enough for the weight of gun. The bag falls to the graveled ground and makes a flat noise. The two assholes are alerted. I see the older man’s face. He scares me.
“What are you doing?”
He has white hair and light grey eyes that contrasts with his dark tanned, wrinkled and weathered skin. He has no teeth and I see only his tongue moving inside his mouth. He looks evil. The boy is angry as well. He zips himself up.
“I’m gonna fuck you up!”
I freeze. Oh shit! The two work their way through the bushes. I run. And I run and I run. I know to be careful not to trip on the wood planks that made up the tracks. the balls of my feet landed on every third track and bounced back up. I take careful, measured breaths so I won’t tire. As much as I want to, I feel like I shouldn’t look back because if I do, it would slow me down and the two assholes would catch me and fuck me up and might do bad things to me. I have to look anyway. The two assholes are not chasing me anymore. I can see them far in the distance. I stop to catch my breath. I still don’t feel safe. It looks as if they are still coming my way. I continue to run and this time I do not stop until I am at the heart of the park by the pool, the picnics and the train station and was surrounded by people. Even then I don’t stop. I keep walking out of the park, winded with a cramp on the side of my tummy.
I walk onto Broadway, always looking back over my shoulders every other minute. I am paranoid. I walked along under the elevated train tracks. I think about the two disgusting gay guys and what they were doing. This made me think about Alfred. Why wouldn’t he just take me outside with him, away from Elsie and Ernie? Wasn’t he suppose to be my big brother and protect me? Why did he use to make me do those things in order to get away from them? I hate Alfred. Maybe even more so than Elsie and Ernie. I walk and walk into dusk. I’m hungry. I walked into some deli’s that are empty and not very good for stealing. I find a supermarket, but my summer clothes don’t allow me to conceal much. I steal a large Nestle Crunch bar and this will be my dinner for the night. Night falls and the air is warm. People are out, hanging out in front of their buildings, on the stoop. Listening to music, playing Dominoes, drinking beer and smoking Newport cigarettes. The night feels festive and everybody seems happy or at least content. I wander aimlessly through Inwood and back into Washington Heights. Once tired of walking, I sneak into the subway. I ride the number 1 train downtown, not knowing where I am going. I must look like an obvious runaway because some of the adults on the train look at me with curiosity and concern. I have no idea what time of night it was. The subway stops at 42nd street and Times Square. I have been here once before to see the movie Superman with Alfred and I know that this was a fun place. Even if I didn’t, everybody knows of the mystique that 42 Street carries and I would have gotten off anyway. The station is big and confusing with many exits and entrances and different token booths in different parts of it. Hundreds and hundreds of people travel through it. Compared to counting vehicles from my window at home, people watching was fun and Times Square had the most interesting people watching I’ve ever experienced. This is pre-Giuliani/Disney Times Square when the strip is still infested with peep shows, pimps, prostitutes and delinquents of all sorts. It is cliché like an old Martin Scorsese movie. There is something about all the lights and business of Times Square that is very attractive to a kid. I find that Times Square at night is very different from Times Square at day when I saw it. There is an element of danger that is very real. There are packs of hoodlums from outer boroughs like Brooklyn and the Bronx that would fuck you up for the slightest infraction like making eye contact. Most of these gangs are going or coming from the Kung-Fu triple features or the pinball arcades. As enticing as the arcades look to me, I know better than to step inside any of them. I look at everybody and everything but avoid eye contact with anyone as if my life depends it. Even the hookers look like they will spit a razor blade out their mouths and fuck you up.
I make my way from Broadway, paying special attention to the posters on the porno theaters, to Eighth Avenue, which is the abyss to a lone eleven year old. This avenue has to be the sleaze capital of the world. Every other person looks like they have just gotten out of prison or should be in prison. Drug dealers peddled their dope freely in the street. Anyone who has money, even an eleven year old like me can purchase cheap drugs and sex with ease. There are three card Monty hustlers tricking people out of their money and people out to take other people’s money any way that they can. I see mean, evil eyes leering at me, probably trying to figure out how I can best serve them. As naïve and with little experience that I have, I know that this is not the place for me to explore. I quickly make my way back to Broadway where things feel much safer.
I walk by a narrow entrance that is between two theaters. I see that it has a flight of stairs that lead to a red door on the second floor. There is a sign advertising some sort of play by the side of the entrance. The door opens slightly. I can see the hand holding it open. I can also see that inside has mirrors and I catch a glimpse of a woman revealing a lot of flesh. The man comes out of the door and down the stairs. I walk away in a hurry. I look to see the man walking in the opposite direction downtown. I immediately creep back to the entrance and look up. Nobody is there. I trot up marble stairs, some of them are broken and I take care not to make noise. I get to the red door feeling nervous. I push it open a crack to see mirrors and plants. I pushed the door open some more. A pretty middle aged woman suddenly appears. I get scared but she smiles. She has curly, dirty blonde hair and her chest is huge and hangs low. I’m about to dart down the stairs but she opens the door fully and tells me to come in with a raspy voice. I walked in slowly, ready to run in a moment’s notice if necessary. The woman tells me to sit on a red velvet couch and disappears behind some red velvet drapes. Within seconds a group of about ten women come out from behind the drapes. They are all in lingerie or underwear and in different shapes and heights. They are pretty to me. One of the women has her breasts fully exposed. Her nipples are puffy looking and the same color as the rest of her skin. My attention is on her. She asks me how much money I have. I shake my head.
“I don’t have no money.”
I try to manipulate her with puppy dog eyes and hope that she feels sorry for me and maybe, just maybe, I will be able to have sex.
“Why don’t you go home and get money from your parents and come back.”
“Okay,” I lie to her.
The older woman walks to the door, unlocks it and smiles at me. I know I have to leave. Back on Broadway, I think about the place and the scantily clad women and how I will return one day with money and sex with the one with the invisible nipples. I can’t wait for that day. The streets are less busy and the temperature has cooled down. I feel cold in my dirty Tee-shirt. I walk uptown and see that there was a subway station at 50th Street. I duck underneath the turnstile. I flinch when the token booth clerk screeches, “Pay your fare!” through her microphone. I walk to the front of the station in time for the train to arrive. I enter. Maybe five people occupy the car. I become aware that I’m hungry again. I’m very hungry. I don’t know what time is but I know that not many stores would be open at whatever this time it is. Reality sinks in. I am alone. Very alone. Me against the world and no, it isn’t alright. I’ve been to bed hungry many, many times before, but now I didn’t even have a bed. I’m tired and hungry and afraid. What am I going to do? I think about my father again. If he didn’t have a stupid heart attack and died, I know he would have loved me and taken good care of me. He would have brought me lots of clothes and toys and made sure I was never hungry and cold. I know this because he was my real father and every father loves their little boy. If my father hadn’t died, I would have had a normal life and that’s all I want. I do something I haven’t done for a while. I cry. I cry because no matter what, everything always sucks for me and I’m only eleven and I feel so emotionally tired. People look at me, obviously feeling sorry for me. I appreciate this. I don’t remember falling asleep
Posted on December 21, 2007 at 11:17 PM | Comment (14 comments)
The first one of you to cross my arms reach, I’m taking out your intestines! I warned.
My back was truly against the wall in the New Jersey prison system. On my side was my best friend Eddie aka Resk Tc5. We were surrounded by 30 to 40 of the most grimey, ghetto minded inmates from Newark, New Jersey. Some had shanks while others had razor blades. Eddie and I were strapped with a shank in each hand. Still, I was scared to death and with every reason to be. It didn’t look like I was getting out of this one alive or at least permanently fucked up. Maybe I should have let things go earlier that morning. Damm, I fucked up. Once again.
Eddie, don’t you see what’s going on?
Eddie was unmoving his belongings from the big room he just moved back into to his original smaller room. In this particular institution, the bigger cells were reserved for inmates with seniority.
Wussy has more seniority than me! Eddie protested.
Yeah, I know. But he doesn’t want the room. He’s only taken it because Bilah pressured him to. Not only that, they waited until you moved all your shit! Fuck that shit, bro! They’re trying to play you.
Wussy passed by.
You lucky I don’t fuck your little bitch ass up! I yelled at him.
Then I saw Bilah standing in front of his cell with his stupid purple doo-rag on, smirking. Bilah had a face that was easy to hate. He liked to shadow box while looking around to see who was checking him out. Let’s just say, I didn’t like him.
Yo, the rules are the rules, homey. He snickered.
We’re in jail! Fuck the rules, motherfucker!
Whatever! Just as long as your brother moves his shit out.
You hear that nigga, Eddie? He’s popping shit! Either you’re going to fuck him up or I am. What’s up?
Go strap up! I warned Bilah that he better put on his fighting clothes.
Both you niggas ain’t shit to me.
Eddie gave the scenario some thought and realized I was right. He finally got mad. He finished moving every thing out of the big room as Bilah heckled him. When he was finished, Eddie invited him inside. I went up to Bilah and looked up at him.
Get the fuck in there.
What? You two are going to jump me?
Nobody needs to jump you.
When Bilah was going to enter the bigger room with Eddie already seething inside, I couldn’t resist shoving him in from behind. Bilah ran into a haymaker that Eddie timed just right. The two traded some very hard punches.
I kept on checking for our cell block correction officer between cheering Eddie on. I didn’t see when Eddie bit the dude, but I saw the stupid look on his face afterwards. It put me on the floor, laughing. The fight finished and Eddie walked out of the room triumphantly.
When Bilah tried to leave, I blocked him.
You know what time it is!
I already fought your brother! He protested with fear in his eyes.
It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of me. The dude towered over me by a good 5 inches. It was more that Eddie just took out all the fight in him, but I didn’t care.
You know the rules. If you fight one brother, you have to fight the other.
So you’re jumping me?
I didn’t answer the question. I just hooked off on him and didn’t stop hitting him until it I felt it was pointless.
Word had spread through the building that the two Latin brothers from New York had jumped and beaten Bilah. During lunchtime mess, I saw Bilah congregating with his boys from Newark. Bilah had a reputation as a knucklehead and most of his boys didn’t take him serious. Newark is such a presence in the N.J. state prison system, that there were enough kids who were bigger knuckleheads than Bilah that did take him serious. It seemed that he had all of their attention right now, wilding them up for his cause. I knew Eddie and I were going to have some problems.
Back on the tier, some of the Latin guys called Eddie and I into a meeting.
Jorge spoke. This is the deal. Bilah got his Newark buddies to believe that you guys jumped him. I told them that wasn’t what happened, but they don’t think its right….
Everybody looked at me like I was the bad guy.
…..that Mr.Psycho here fucked him up when Eddie already took care of business. That was stupid, dude. Why you do that?
It’s too late now. I did what I did.
Eddie looked at me. You shouldn’t have done that.
I know! I’m a troublemaker...what can I say?
Listen, we can’t get involved. Because then it’ll go from being a personal thing to being a racial thing and we don’t want that. Besides, I’m up for parole in four months.
Who asked these fuck faces for help? I wondered but refrained from saying.
Jorge unwrapped four impressive looking homemade prison shanks from a prison issued towel. They were sturdy with jagged edges and sharp..
Word! I blurted out.
After recreation, they’re going to step to you two in the dug-out. There will be about 30 to 40 of them. Don’t talk, just start shanking away. They’re going to kill you. Good luck.
Jorge and the guys left my cell. Before they fully left, Jorge stopped to look at me.
You realize that this is all over a big room?
I know. It’s too late now. What do you want me to do?
Jorge left. I looked at Eddie. You’re mad at me, bro?
I’m not mad at you. This is fucked up though. You know that Bilah has mad people from Newark.
I know. I know.
Recreation in the gymnasium was called out the evening. Eddie and I left our tier together and stuck close together. We lifted weights, trying to ignore that Bilah and his boys were on the bleachers, staring at us, doing their best to intimidate us. Bilah strolled towards us.
Are you cowards afraid?
I was more afraid of fucking your mother because I knew she was really a man!
I don’t know why but Bilah looked at Eddie.
Don’t look at him, I said it. Your mother’s a fucking MAN!
You see, I was going to let you guys slide, but forget it now.
I don’t want you to let us slide, motherfucker! I like beef. The more the better! I live for this shit!
Eddie told me to chill.
Let him yap away, Eddie. It doesn’t matter. Ya’ll going to die tonight anyway.
I’m fine with that. But you better believe I’m taking at least one of your boys with me. And I know my anatomy. I’m not missing any vitals.
You don’t have any guns.
Keep on thinking that. Yo, we’re trying to work out here!
After Bilah left, Eddie scolded me for talking shit to him
It’s your fault that we’re here in the first place. Fucking New Jersey! I was fine in New York.
What? I didn’t twist your arm.
And I didn’t twist your arm to go beat up Bilah.
Right now I’ve would have been all warm in bed with Laura and shit.
I can’t believe you’re still talking about that hoe. She’s not talking about you!
Shut up, asshole!
REC OVER!!! REC OVER!! The loud speaker screeched. It was time to go back to our cell blocks. It was time to face death.
Yo Vincent! Whenever Eddie called me Vincent and not Psycho I knew he was serious.
What’s up?
You know I love you, man.
Yeah, I love you too. But it’s not time for all that though.
Approching the dug-out/staircase entrance to our tier was Bilah and about twenty of his homies.
There’s a lot of them, Eddie.
Yeah, and I bet there’s more inside the dug-out waiting.
I didn’t even think of that shit.
On the surface, I looked as cool as can be. Internally, every nerve was going crazy in spasms. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack any second. I wondered if you could see my shirt pulsating from the force of my heart rate. I was scared.
You’re ready? Eddie asked me.
Ready.
I had positioned my two shanks in the waist band of my khakis so that they were easily accessible. Bilah and his boys made way for Eddie and I to enter the dug-out. As soon as we did, Eddie and I whipped out our shanks.
Back the fuck up! I warned.
Yeah! What? What? Eddie grunted. He suddenly looked hyper and crazy in the eyes. I had to take a second look at him. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would have been on the floor laughing.
Bilah conveniently snuck behind all his boys. He wasn’t chancing getting stabbed. The thing was that these clowns needed leadership.
What’s up, Bilah?
Get them! Bilah ordered.
Any one of you get any closer, you’re getting it….and deep too, man! I mean it. I gave fair warning.
Even though they out numbered Eddie and I by dozens, it didn’t seem that any of them wanted to chance getting stabbed for Bilah.
One of you are about to go down with me and if you notice, Bilah is playing the back in safety. You niggas are suckers!
Yeah, look at Bilah…playing the back like a bitch! He’s not even willing to get stabbed for his own beef. Eddie helped me out with some psychological warfare.
What’s up with that, Bilah? One of his boys wanted to know. Why you’re playing the back? You suppose to be up front, leading this shit.
Don’t listen to them. Of course, they’re going to say some sneaky shit like that.
Sneaky? You’re the sneaky one. I’m just stating the truth. Come up front so I could twist both these shanks in you. Come on! I yelled dramatically, trying to put pressure on Bilah.
Right then, Smithy walked into the dug-out in his kitchen whites.
Whoa! Whoa! What’s going on here with my two sons from New York?
They wanna stab us up because Eddie and I fucked up Bilah this morning.
Nah, nobody is stabbingg my two sons.
I never really was fond of Smithy calling me his son, but in this case, it was welcomed. Smithy was from Newark and was a mystery to me. I never found out what he was in for. He always had a friendly disposition about him. I never saw him angry. I knew he meditated and practiced some sort of martial arts and held the respect of just about every inmate at Albert C. Wagner. Smithy was a good ally to have. I knew we were safe.
Bilah, if you got beef with Eddie or Psycho, you could go one on one with them anytime you want.
I tried Smithy, but they jumped me.
No, we didn’t! Eddie and I yelled at him at the same time.
You did so!
Smithy, we didn’t. I said.
It doesn’t matter. Anybody jumps you is going to have some serious beef.
You brothers know how I do.
All of Bilah’s homeboys acknowledged Smithy while I wondered how he did. There was more to Smithy than met the eye.
A correction officer walked in.
What’s going on, here?
Nothing officer at least ten people answered at once. Everybody, including Eddie and I hid their shanks on their persons. Walking up the staircase relieved, Smithy gave Eddie and me two BLT sandwiches each that he smuggled from the guard’s dining room. Entering our tier, all the Latin guys looked like they seen a ghost. They were sure that it was over for Eddie and I.
Bilah walked into his cell pissed. I sat in Eddie’s cell while Eddie rehashed what happened to the Spanish guys while we ate our BLT’s and drank instant coffee that we called “hype’” because we made it as strong as possible.
I got up to retire to my own cell. It was snowing outside the bars of my window. The prison land was blanketed in snow. It made me reminisce about a snowball fight I had with Laura at the Cloisters in Fort Tyron Park. I thought about the time I had left on my sentence. I had close to four more years to do. Maybe getting stabbed to death wouldn’t have been so bad I concluded.
If you ever go get inked at Big Ed’s, ask him about the story. He’s a funny guy, so I’m sure you’ll get a laugh out of hearing his version. Peace.
Posted on December 19, 2007 at 07:54 AM | Comment (7 comments)
My vision was cloudy behind my swollen eyelids, but even in the night, I could make out my cousin’s trademark black baseball hat and shades. I see him bullshitting with one his street employees on the block. They seem to have some kind of brag fest going on. He lifts the the bottle of rum in the brown paper bag to his mouth and drinks. I aim the end of the shiny gun at his head as I brace myself physically for the impact. I squeeze the trigger. The blast it creates is a lot louder than I expected. It makes my eardrums ring. I can not hear and wonder if I will be permanently deaf as the window of the furniture store across the street shatters in thousands of little pieces. I squint looking for my cousin. People are running in every direction, scurrying like rats. Where’s my cousin? I see the stupid black hat behind a parked car. I point the gun aimlessly and shoot again. I can see that I missed my cousin but hit the car. Its alarm goes off. My cousin runs east. Look at the fucking faggot run, I think as I squeeze the trigger four more times. I stand in a cloud of gun smoke. It makes my eyes water. I sneeze, hurting my broken nose and blacken eyes.
I’m 15 years old and out of bullets. Fear and nervousness replaces adrenalin and rage. Police sirens are a common sound in Washington Heights, but now they are coming from all angles and I wonder if they are coming for me? Were my cousin and his boys making their way up the stairs, to shoot me or throw me off the side of the roof or both? My feet felt glued to the tar floor. The door to the entranceway of the roof opens, scaring the shit out of me. I aim the nickel plated 357.Smith and Wesson magnum at it. It’s my boy Necko who works for cousin, selling crack.
Vinny, what are you doing? His voice always had a soothing and calming quality to it.
I can barely hold back tears of anger as I explain that my cousin fucked me up for wearing his new Adidas sneakers to the yards.
Necko examines my face. The expression on his face said it all. I’m all fucked up.
Yo, you have to get out of here. Now!
Necko gently shoves me, Go!, and I dart across the rooftops to the last building on 178th street and I hurry down the fire escape. I hear gunfire.
One of my cousin’s henchmen hastily shoots my friend in the abdomen. Necko recovers from the gun wound and a year later as Necko moves up the ranks of the cocaine and crack trade, his assailant mysteriously disappears from the neighborhood, leaving a wife and three children behind. It’s known that Necko had always held a grudge against Jimenez.
I go to the George Washington Bridge bus terminal. I don’t want any of my boys to see me in my beaten condition. I go inside the men’s lavatory. There’s a Hispanic, middle aged homosexual man leering at me, crudely adjusting his crotch.
What the fuck you looking at? I yell at him. I kick him in the stomach. Get the fuck out of here before I kill you.
The gun drops out my waistband with the kick. The gay man stares at me confused. I pick up the gun and point it at him. He rushes out the restroom. I look in the mirror at my fucked up face and think that maybe I should have kept my weapon concealed a little bit better. I better go.
I walk out of the rest room and look around. I see the homo talking to P.A. police on the far side of the terminal. They look and walk my way. Oh shit! I run down the terminal stairs and on to Broadway. I flag down one of the hundreds of Lincoln Towncars that work as livery cabs.
I ride to 168th street and pay him. I’ve taken too many chances for the night to ditch him without paying the three dollar fare. I walk back uptown. I past McDonalds and toss the gun in a dumpster parked outside of it. At this point, it’s more of a liability than an asset.
I call home. My aunt picks up.
Hello?
Hi Titi.
Vincent, where are you?
I went to my friend’s house.
Oh my God, honey…I’m so worried about you. Are you okay?
No, that bastard broke my nose and I can’t see. My eyes are swollen shut…like Rocky.
You see that’s what he gets. You don’t even know what happened after you left.
What happened?
These other drug dealers, big time guys, tried to kill him and everybody on the block. Necko got shot. It’s been crazy here all night.
Nah, get out of here! Who does he think did it?
He thinks some Dominican guys from 173rd street. He said the names, some crazy names. Wapo, Grapo. I don’t know. I want you to come home now. It’s not safe out there.
I know about the guys from 173rd street. Not only is my cousin out of their league, but they pay him no mind. It’s a delusion of glanduer on his behalf that they should even be concerned about his Mickey Mouse crack operation.
I don’t want to come home. He might beat me up again.
He’s not. He’s getting ready to go to go to “war.”
Oh word! War with who? The guys from 173rd street? That’s funny to me.
I don’t know, I just know he’s here with all his boys with all these guns. I just want them to leave. I don’t need this. I’m an old woman you know. Come home, please. I don’t want you to be involved.
Okay.
I make my way up back to 177th street. Trying to glare at the people staring at my black eyes, but I don’t think I look very intimidating.
I walk into my aunt’s apartment. My cousin and his boys have my room occupied. I peeked in. There are guns scattered all over my bed. He snaps his fingers at me and dismisses me.
Get the fuck out of here. This is for real gangsters, not little kids. We’re going to war here.
Gangster shit! Word up! I say as I walk to my aunt’s room. The sarcasm is lost on him. My aunt treats my eyes with witch hazel drenched cotton puffs. Afterwards, we are able to listen to everything being said with the help of a couple of drinking glasses placed on the wall with our eardrums pressed on them. I smirk as my cousin blames one of his boys for stealing a nickel plated 357.magnum. Then I hear something that makes my heart drop.
I’m telling you, Bee, it was your little cousin. I saw him with my own two eyes. You’re bugging out!
I hear what sounds like a slap. My cousin yells.
My little cousin doesn’t have the heart to do something like that. He’s just a graffiti kid! Just say you’re afraid to go to war. You always been a punk, the weak link in this crew!
My aunt whispers to me.
He hit him right?
That’s what it sounded like.
My cousin is 25 years old and very stocky with Mike Tyson like strength, which he often abuses, both inside my household and in the street.
Oh my God. He’s too much. Somebody going to kill him, you know?
I sure do.
Get the hell out of here! My Cousin yells. My front door opens, I hear somebody leave and close the door.
One of my cousin’s boys wants to know if he thinks it’s wise to wait until they hear from the big boss, a guy by the name of Richard.
When Richard isn’t around, I’m the boss! What I say… goes! My cousin barks. My cousin sends someone to the liquor store for a bottle of Barcardi. I hear sniffing sounds.
My aunt whispers to me again. He’s been drinking and sniffing cocaine! That’s how he’s going to war? Jesus Christ! What a dumb ass.
I know. He’s a fake gangster.
Don’t tell him that.
I know.
My aunt and I grow bored of listening to my cousin’s bullshit and watch more entertaining gangsters on TV instead.
The next morning when I wake up, both my eyes and nose are killing me. Puss comes out of the ducts of my eyes. I can barely see out of the slits that are my eyes. I hope my cousin is dead. The fucking bastard!
My aunt sits in the kitchen, crying in her Bustelo coffee. For a second, I believe my prayers have been answered.
Titi, what’s happened? I ask innocently enough.
Oh my God. You look horrible. I haven’t heard from him. I think he’s dead.
Nah, he’s okay.
Where is he then?
He’ll be back around. I’m sure.
The phone rings. Shit! I think that I jinxed myself. My aunt picks up the phone. I learn in the first minute that my cousin is laying low at my dyke cousin’s house in the Bronx. He can’t come back to Washington Heights. He wants to speak to me.
What’s up? I asked, annoyed.
Listen carefully, Cousin Psych. This is important. I can’t come back to the hood for a while.
Why?
I’ll tell you later. For now, go to the closet in the hallway. Take the green toolbox that’s on the floor to your room and lock the door. Make sure Titi doesn’t see what you’re doing.
Okay.
The heavy toolbox puts strain on my eyes and nose as I struggle to carry it to my room. I open it and shift around. My eyes open as wide as they can at what I see.
Inside, my cousin continues, is five ounces of blow and about 2,500 dollars in cash. You see it?
No. I tell him as I flip through the cash in dominations of hundreds and twenties.
Keep looking, it’s there.
I open up the zip lock plastic bag and sniff inside. It gives me shivers. The coke is beige, uncut and potent.
Dude, I’m looking everywhere. There’s nothing here. You sure none of your boys had access?
No, nobody had access but me.
Are you sure, it’s not in the little tool box instead?
Go check. it might be there.
Drunk ass motherfucker, I think to myself as I help myself to a sniff of cocaine. It stings.
Nah Dude, it’s not in here either.
You sure?
Dude, I’m looking in the toolbox as we speak. There’s nothing but screwdrivers and pliers in here.
It’s has to be there!
You wanna come here and check for yourself, Dude?
I can’t. What don’t you understand? They want to kill me out there.
I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not here, Dude. And I have a headache and puss coming out my eyes. I’m going back to sleep.
Damm, what am I going to do?
I don’t know, Dude.
You have any money?
I’m broke. That’s why I borrowed your sneakers in the first place. I would have brought my own if I had money.
I’m sorry about what I did, Cousin Psych. I guess I overreacted. Yo, you can have those kicks. They fit me small anyway.
Fuck those sneakers. I don’t want them. I got a job. I start Monday. I’m going to have a lot of sneakers! I tell him as I lie on my bed, flipping through his money.
Cousin Psych, I love you, man.
You want to speak to your mother?
I walk out the room and pass the phone to my aunt.
Later that night, I take a nice chunk of my newfound wealth and coke and spend the night at a local whore house. Isn’t this what all 15 year old boys do?
My cousin doesn’t return home for six months. He never hits me again after this.
Posted on December 16, 2007 at 03:24 PM | Comment (3 comments)
The Tc5/Fc dynasty in full effect at a Doze show 94. With some old school vets like Doze, Frosty Freeze, West, Serge, Eps, Dontay, Jel and others. Photo compliments of Jel FC.
Posted on December 14, 2007 at 10:53 PM | Comment (0 comments)
Not for anything, but I was rocking skulls way back then.
Posted on December 14, 2007 at 10:12 PM | Comment (2 comments)
Why are you so quiet?
The girl Bom-ba asked me, chewing gum. I looked at her. As beautiful as she was, she was still hard looking with nicks and scars scattered about on her face. Tell tale signs of her hard knock Newark existence. I just met her the hour before with her man, Hector. It took discipline not to stare at her, but I made the effort because I didn’t want to get into any beef with dude. I knew Hector from Bordentown and as cool as he seemed, I knew he was moody, unpredictable and shady. I was in his town, Newark, New Jersey. Ever since Coney Island I made it a point not to get into beef in foreign land.
That’s just how he is for now. Wait until you get to know him. He won’t shut up. Eddie answered Bom-ba for me.
I gave Eddie a dirty look.
Nigga, what? You know it’s true!
Yeah, Psycho never shuts up! Hector couldn’t wait to chime in. Nigga was always talking about what he was going to do when he got out. Everyday he was going to do something different! What are you going to do this week, huh? Become an airplane pilot or some shit? He laughed his stupid laugh.
Just because he had a smile on his face, doesn’t mean he wasn’t trying to play me. I did what was best and remained quiet.
What have you doing since you got out? Hector wanted to know.
I work at the Moma.
Moma? What the hell is that?
That’s the Museum of Modern Art. Eddie informed him.
Hector nodded like he was impressed.
You’re not clocking at all? Hector asked.
I shook my head no. Hector laughed as if I told the funniest joke he’s ever heard.
Those five years broke your ass! Hector said. Some niggas can’t do time. You’re one of them, Psycho. You’re just too soft.
In the five and a half years I spent at Bordentown, Hector was in and out three different times. He liked to pretend that he was proud of the fact that he couldn’t care less whether he was incarcerated or enjoying freedom in society. His eyes said something else during the times he laid in his bunk for hours.
I looked at my watch. Eddie’s curfew at the half way house was soon. Eddie looked at my face. He knew I was annoyed.
Chill. Psycho’s getting mad.
I glared at Eddie. Why did he have to go and say that for?
What the fuck? I’m just playing. Go ahead with that sensitive shit! Hector said with crazy eyes.
He wanted beef. I hate to admit that I was afraid of Hector. He was a strong, crazy kid who didn’t give a fuck. He reminded me of myself when I was an angry teenager. The only difference was that at 25, he was a man and this was his true character, not some adolescence angst phase he was going through. I knew he sensed my fear and got off on it. He was stupid though. He mistook fear for being pussy. He didn’t know that because it was that I was afraid of him, I would not hesitate to resort to biting half his face off if it ever came down to it. Eddie knew what I was capable of. When we were 15, we got into a drunken fist fight and was beating the shit out of me. Not only was Eddie twice my size but my right arm was broken and in a cast. Eddie was too intoxicated to have any compassion and once I saw the crazed look in his eyes, I got scared. Fortunately, the scar on Eddie’s jaw suits him well and gives him a sense of character. We made up the next sober morning and I had to buy him endless two liter bottles of Pepsi for two weeks.
You mad? Hector asked, staring at me hard in the eyes.
I stared at him back, forging indifference. Nah, I’m okay.
I thought so!
My ears grew warm and anger was warming up inside of me..
Leave him alone, Hector! Bom-ba jumped in. You’re always starting shit. What the fuck?
Why don’t you shut the fuck up! Hector snapped at her.
Fuck you, nigga! Don’t start showing off in front of your friends, cause you know what time it is!
Eddie calmly observed. Even though he was boys with Hector, I had no doubt that he had my back if absolutely necessary. Hector knew Eddie and I fought a lot and didn’t like each other at times, so it was understandable that he underestimated his loyalty to me.
Fuck this shit! Hector snapped, looking crazy as he scanned the diner for the waitress.
Where’s our food!
I took the opportunity to slide my fork off the table and clenched it tight on top of my lap. I chose the fork instead of the knife because the idea of five prongs going into his eye appealed to me much more than just a knife. I dared Hector in my mind to get too crazy for my comfort. Eddie caught this. I hutched my shoulders and looked at him innocently as to telepathically tell him, what do you want me to do?
What time is it? He asked. I think I want to go back to the half way house early.
Hector looked at his watch. Why? Chill. You still got almost a whole hour!
Then it registered to him.
You’re leaving because of Psycho? I’m just playing! Okay, I’ll leave him alone. Hector said, smirking at me with snake eyes.
Leave me alone? I repeated in disbelief in my thoughts. My own eyes were going crazy now. Rage was drowning out fear and evil was talking to me. Don’t you know I’m going to take your life in front of your bitch, you fucking moron?
Hector and I locked eyes. Hector blinked first. Then he smiled his fake smile.
It’s all good! Right Psycho?
Fucking sociopath, I thought.
He extended his hand. I put the fork back on the table. I thought it was only right to give him fair warning what kind of creature he was dealing with. The gesture went over his head. Hector never failed to surprise me to how stupid he was. I gave him my hand. He gave me a limp, meaningless handshake. I pulled away fast, letting his hand drop. He caught this and looked at me. I smiled. The idea of causing him to wear a patch over one eye for the rest of his life amused me.
The food arrived. Hector gave the harsh looking waitress attitude. We ate in tense silence.
The Museum of Modern Art, isn’t that some white shit? Bom-ba asked.
Stupid bitch was all that I could think.
Psycho’s half white. Eddie said. Thanks again, I thought.
Yeah, Psycho’s a fake Puerto Rican! He don’t even speak Spanish? Hector couldn’t wait to add.
You don’t speak Spanish? Bom-ba asked surprised. That’s fucked up!
I shrugged.
You’re cute for a white boy though! Bom-ba flirted. I looked at her. She had on fuck eyes. She licked her lips. As fine as she was, she wasn’t any prize, especially when she opened her mouth. She sounded like she was raised in a sewer. I still wondered about her and Hector. He was average looking at the very best. I was curious about what she saw in him.
I looked away. My adrenalin had started to subside and I didn’t want to start any shit all over again.
What’s the matter, Pa-pa? I intimidate you?
I looked at Hector like he ought to put his girl in check. She must have read my mind.
It’s okay. Hector and I have an understanding.
Yeah, I understand that you’re a hoe! Hector said laughing.
Whoa! I thought to myself. I recalled from Bordentown that Hector had a bad attitude towards women. He considered them a necessary evil and expected the worst from them.
The check came and Hector insisted on paying for everybody. Not out of generosity of course, but to pretend to be a big shot. He made a small show out of counting the money to pay out of his knot. He must have had at least a thousand dollars, but claimed that he was broke. What a dick! I thought.
I watched Bom-ba as she got up. She had a world class ass. Her jeans were so tight that you could make out the outline of her puffy pussy. Hector caught me looking and grinned this.
When we stepped outside the diner, the autumn air caused her nipples to become hard. They pointed to the sky through her thin wine V neck sweater. We agreed that we were going to drop Eddie off at the half-way house.
I’m horny. Bom-ba announced. Hector shook his head and laughed at this.
This bitch is crazy! Hector announced, smiling at me. His demeanor seemed to be genuinely changing for the better. I pegged him as a Gemini.
Eddie whispered that Bom-ba was a freak like I couldn’t figure it out for myself.
What? I’m keeping it real. I want some dick! Bom-ba continued on.
Why was she talking like this? I wondered. I thought she was way too beautiful to be so crude and vulgar. I wished that she could be quiet while I could still at least appreciate her looks.
Yo, because you’re white, does that mean you have a little dick? She asked me.
I ignored the question, thinking what a stupid bitch once again.
Answer me! She demanded.
I’m not gonna front! I got a little dick! Hector volunteered, trying to be funny.
Bom-ba stared at me. Well?
I don’t want to brag. I responded, successfully keeping a straight face.
I don’t like them too big. I don’t wanna stretch my shit out, you know. I got to keep it tight.
Was she actually saying this? Or was I imagining things. Eddie whispered, I told you she was a freak!
Hector laughed at me. Look at Psycho! Bom-ba’s fucking his head up! This is how we get down in Newark!
Word? I said, not knowing what else to say.
We got to the half way house and said our good-byes to Eddie. I felt bad to see him go into the house. I wanted him to go back to Washington Heights with me. Even though he had on a strong face, I could see in his eyes that he wanted the same. It was a rare day when Eddie didn’t piss me off, but it was just as rare that I stayed mad at him for more than half an hour. We watched him go inside.
Which way is the PATH from here? I asked Hector.
Hold up! Where you’re going? He asked, surprised.
I got to go! I responded almost before he could finish asking.
Talk to that nigga, Hector. Bom-ba demanded.
Come on, Psycho. Let’s hang out. I haven’t seen you since Bordentown. What’s the rush?
Because your happy go lucky ass mood might last for another ten minutes and I don’t have a fork on me. I thought to myself.
I got to wake up early to go to work in the morning.
He pulled me to the side. For the first time, Bom-ba looked vulnerable as she watched the conversation, trying to read every word that was being spoken.
Bom-ba wants to fuck you bad. Look at her. How are you going to front on that?
I looked at Bom-ba. She offered me a faint smile. Her eyes said please don’t say no. She seemed to soften up by the second. I looked at her body. I’ve never been with a woman as physically hot as she was. She gave Vida a run for her money, except that she was much prettier. I convinced myself that she wasn’t that bad.
She walked up to me and stood about an inch away from me. I could feel warmth coming off of her. She ran the tip of her nose down my cheek to my neck. Her hand cupped my crotch and squeezed. This did it for me.
What’s up? Hector grinned.
I looked at Bom-ba and she pouted at me. My heart rate jumped up thirty beats.
Don’t be scared, Daddy. I’m here for you. You could do anything you want to me.
Let’s go! I announced enthusiastically.
Hector smiled and slapped me five. I wondered why he was so happy that I was going to fuck his girl. Fucking freak, I thought.
Bet! We’re going to pick up an eight ball from my crib and I’ll buy a few bottles of Cristal and we’ll head to this telly that overlooks the river. We’re going to have a good old time tonight.
We? I asked, confused.
Hector’s crazy eyes came back, just that fast.
Yeah motherfucker! What do you think? I’m going to let you fuck my girl without me?
I attended several gang bangs in Junior High School, but strictly as a fully clothed voyeur. At every gang-bang there was always one kid who would eat the pussy and it was usually the fifth kid in line. Did Hector want to watch? What if he wanted to jerk off to me fucking Bom-ba? That would be too weird for me.
What are we going to do? I almost didn’t want to hear the answer.
Everything!
Everything?
Yeah, you know, I’ll fuck her while she sucks your dick.
Then what are we going to do? I thought. Give each other a high five? Nah.
I just stared at Hector, not believing the situation I was in.
Then we’re going to double penetrate her. She loves that shit. I’ll even let you get the ass. And yo, she doesn’t fuck with that condom bullshit. You can hit it raw. Shit feels mad good.
Hector stimulated fuck movements.
Double penetrate? I never heard of it before, but it the name was self explanatory. That’s even weirder. I thought.
Come on, let’s go! Hector said charged up.
How was I going to break this to him without him catching feelings? Impossible. Here we go again, I thought, feeling my cortisone levels raise. I felt as I drained my adrenalin for the day.
Hector. I really don’t get down like that.
Hector snapped. What the fuck do you mean you don’t get down like that? Look at her!
I did and I did want to fuck her….bad. I considered it for two seconds. Hell no! I didn’t even like guys talking to me while taking a piss in public urinals, what made me think I’ll be able to go through with something like this. My dick would swivel up inside my stomach with every right to.
Like I said, I don’t get down like that.
Are you gay?
On the contrary, I think it’s kind of gay to have my cock and balls less than an inch away from your cock and balls, clacking away like two click-clacks. Once again, I best kept my thoughts to myself.
I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just not my thing.
Fuck that nigga, Hector! Bom-ba transformed back to her hard, nasty self. He’s afraid of this pussy. He can’t handle it. White boy!
You’re a fag! Hector informed me.
Motherfucker can’t handle this pussy! Bom-ba repeated herself.
Get the fuck out of here! I never liked your punk ass anyway.
Stupid White boy! Bom-ba added.
I turned and walked the opposite direction from them at a brisk pace. Hector kicked me in the ass. Motherfucker! Adrenalin surged through me. I turned, ready to kill.
What motherfucker?
Hector lifted up his shirt and pulled out a nine miler meter handgun on me.
I stay strapped, nigga! Hector said as he looked around to see if it whether it was feasible or not to shoot me. It was. He took out the gun, cocked it and aimed at my head.
Hector! Bom-ba screamed. She ran to him and hugged him, kissing him on his neck and face.
Chill Papi. He’s not worth it. I don’t want you going back in. I just got out, Papi.
I found myself frozen when Bom-ba screamed at me.
Get the fuck out of here already, you stupid ass motherfucker!
I did. Once I got back to Manhattan, I decided to go to my boy Juice Tc5’s house. I have never been much of a weed smoker, but I needed to smoke a blunt or two. No matter how many undesirable experiences I’ve encountered, there’s really just no getting used to them. I told Juice everything that had happen before.
Whoa money. That’s ill. His eyelids half closed from being high from a previous blunt he smoked before I got there. Thank God, you’re alright though.
What about that? I ranted on. Motherfucker wanted me to fuck his girl in the ass while he fucks her in the pussy. That’s some disgusting shit!
That’s some homo shit!
My eyes lit up.
It is! Right? That’s some secret homo shit for real.
Yeah, money. What do you think? That dude is just using the girl as an excuse to get next to some dick.
I knew it! I said like I’ve been newly enlighten.
Juice laughed at me like I was retarded.
That weekend I went back to Juice’s house. His little cousin David was there with his beautiful girlfriend Monica, both from New Jersey. We did the usual, drank, smoke and talked shit. At one point, conversation came to a stall.
Yo money, tell David and Monica about what that nigga that pulled out on you caused you wouldn’t get down with him and his girl. Juice said giggling. He looked at David. Yo, this story is crazy!
As I rehashed the story, I noticed that Monica looked perplexed as soon as I mentioned the name Bom-ba, not the most common name in the world. When I got to the part when Hector made his proposal, Monica anxiously interrupted me.
Psycho! Tell me that you didn’t!
I didn’t.
For real, Psycho! You didn’t, right? Please tell me that you didn’t!
Monica, no! I didn’t. I promise you.
Monica looked relieved.
Yo, that girl has AIDS. Her kids have it, her whole family has AIDS. They’re famous in Newark.
David, Juice and I said “Oh shit!” in almost perfect unison.
Word? It took a few more seconds to fully register. Damm. How do you know?
Because my friend Denise works at the clinic she goes to. She’s a crack head prostitute! She likes to stick dudes up too. That girl is vicious. Don’t fuck with her, man.
But she looks so healthy.
That’s only because she just got out of jail a few weeks ago. She’s already sniffing coke. She’ll be smoking crack in no time soon. That girl’s mad nasty. She’s the biggest whore! Monica shivered.
I thought about Bom-ba, the toxic beauty from hell. The revelation fucked my blunt high up big time. I thought about how many lives I had left. Not that many at all. Perhaps maybe it was time to really slow down and be a little bit more cautious with my life? On second thought, whatever is going to be is simply going to be. Fuck that shit.
Posted on December 13, 2007 at 06:08 PM | Comment (9 comments)
I flicked the playing card on the floor. It was a ten of Diamonds, which meant that I had to do ten push-ups. I had more than half a deck of cards to go. I was relieved to see that the next card was a three of Spades. I was sweaty and my muscles were tight and trembling. I did the three obligated push-ups and gave myself a quick break to go inside my cell and take off my sweatshirt. My window was open and the cold winter air breezed inside. At first it felt refreshing, but then suddenly chills ran through my entire body with emphasis on my spine. I never felt anything like it before and I knew there was something that wasn’t quite right about it. I went to finish doing my jailhouse push-ups. I was unable to finish three playing cards, all in the low single digits. I felt unusually weak and tired. I went back to my cell to lie on the three inch thick mattress on my bunk. I buried myself under all three of the itchy synthetic wool blankets on me. Two of them I robbed from slightly more unfortunate souls than I.
Sleep came over me fast. My dreams were more disturbing than usual. I dreamt that I was walking on Saint Nicholas Avenue in Washington Heights at night and the streets were desolate. A Dominican man was walking my direction and even though I sensed that he had a gun, I wouldn’t move even though it meant that we were going to bump into each other. We did and with attitude he asked me, “Que pasa, motherfucker!” and took out his gun and shot me pointblank in the face. I woke up confused and shivering in a cold sweat. It took every ounce of energy to peel myself up from bed just to sit up on my bunk. I realized just how alone I was in my ten by eight foot cell. I collapsed back in bed under the itchy blankets and had more upsetting dreams.
Morning came and it was time for count. Inmates are required to stand in front of their cell of count. I barely made it to my door with my itchy blanket over me. A black guy in the cell in front of me checked me out.
What’s wrong with you, motherfucker? You got that shit?
I don’t feel good.
Nigga, you look like you’re dying? You fucking with those homos?
Nah man, I’m not fucking with any homos. What’s wrong with you?
Ain’t nothing wrong with me, nigga. I’ll fuck you up. I don’t care if you got that shit or not.
I looked away and did my best to ignore him, even though it burnt a hole in my stomach, I knew I wasn’t in any condition to fight.
Within the hours, rumor had it that I had AIDS and it seemed that everybody was much tougher than the day before. Every time I left my cell, someone accidentally on purpose bumped into me. I was aware that there was certain guys who didn’t like me and I was fine with that because they didn’t fuck with me. I wouldn’t fuck with anyone who was willing to do anything to win a fight either. Except that now, I felt as strong as a five year old and they knew it. And I knew that just because I had the flu, the criminals I lived with weren’t going to have either sympathy or compassion for me. It wasn’t in their scumbag nature.
I stayed confined to my cell and only ventured to one mess a day, usually lunch. Even this was burdensome as people gave me grief wherever I wanted to sit.
Get the fuck out of here with that AIDS shit!
In my misery, I had to force my self at a table. Eating utensils in prison are obviously plastic and when snapped in half can become a very pointy and sharp instrument that could do a lot of damage when plunged into someone’s eardrum with minimal force. I ate as fast as I could with my half a fork with people talking shit to me and then I made my way back to my tier and under my itchy blankets.
I thought about how fucked up prison was: no sex, no beer, crappy food, nothing but dudes and now the flu. I reminisced about going to different clubs like Roseland and a place called 10/18’s. It was easy to feel sorry for myself. Had I been patient and not look for short cuts, I would have been attending a prestigious college, Cooper Union, no doubt having lots of sex with freaky, artsy fartsy white girls. This was supposed to be the best times of my life, my fuck years, instead they were just fucked. In perfect timing with my thoughts, I threw up my chicken patty, mashed potatoes and overcooked veggies. The cold sweats and shivers came back. I escaped with sleep.
I dreamt that I was on prison property, in the midst of escaping when suddenly there was lions, tigers and gorillas everywhere. The animals had not noticed me as I was slowly creeping to the guard’s parking lot to steal a car. All of a sudden, sirens went off and flood lights shone on me. This alerted the beasts to my presence. Both the animals and prison officers chased me. I tried car after car and at the last possible second I found one that was opened and got in and locked the doors. As a correction officer tried to get in, a lion pounced on him and bit half of his head, tearing his flesh right off. Blood spurted and dripped down the window. I peeled off in a panic. An angry gorilla was running full speed towards me. I stepped as hard as I could on the gas and the impact of the hit caused him to crash right through the window shield. His head was split in half. Monkey blood sprayed all over me as I did a couple of donuts to throw the animal off the car. I backed up and ran over it a few times and speeded off. As I rode off prison property and onto the New Jersey turnpike, I looked back to see that there was hordes of lions, tigers and gorillas chasing after me in the distance.
A substitute guard woke me up by calling count. Substitute C.O.’s are always rookies who have a hard time maintaining discipline in a tier because of their inexperience. This guy must have been working at Bordentown no more than three weeks and was very naïve. What did this mean? This increased the likely hood that there would be violence tonight. As I stood by my cell to be counted, I could already sense the energy. The fools that talked shit were talking even more shit. The guy’s who looked hard, looked harder and the scared, were more scared. When it took the officer three attempts to count everybody, I knew he was way too incompetent to keep order. Somebody was going to the hospital tonight and I knew in my condition, it just might be me.
The video of the night was announced, Reservoir Dogs. I knew of the movie because I read the reviews in the newspaper approximately a year before. I knew it was better to stay in my cell, but I had been looking forward for too long to miss the movie. Since nobody had heard of the film, I was able to drag my chair and my itchy blankets to the TV room and get prime seating in the corner. I sat, quiet with my blankets covering me over my head, waiting for the flick to start. Little by little the room filled up with my neighbors. Some sneering at me, but most ignoring me.
A black kid named C-Born, my age from Patterson came up to me with his chair.
Yo, I wanna sit there.
I didn’t dignify him with a response.
The kid loved attention and he was often loud enough to get it. He started talking to the room at no one in particular.
Yo, what’s wrong with this AIDS infested Puerto Rican motherfucker?
A few guys told him to leave me alone.
Fuck this nigga. Yo, you’re going get up or do I have to make you get up?
The fire within was ignited.
Neither one is going to happen. If I was you, I’ll leave me the fuck alone.
Again, he spoke to his audience.
This nigga is talking real slick right here. He must not know C-Born.
I wished I had brought my broken eating utensil with me. I became angry with myself.
What the fuck you gonna do? You look like you’re about to die.
Then I have nothing to lose then.
With that he shoved my forehead, banging the back of my head. I didn’t fully get up from my chair when he attacked me. It felt like I was getting punched with bricks. I saw sparks and got dizzy with each punch. I tried to grab and hold on to him but I was too weak. He just pushed me off and kept punching. The only thing I was able to do was try to cover my face and body with my arms as I found myself cowering in the corner.
He even stopped for a few seconds to talk shit to his boys.
Yo, this is the easiest beat down I ever handed out in my life. Any of y’all want some of this?
His boys laughed. I heard one of them say, leave that pussy nigga alone.
I saw the nervous C.O. on the red phone. This meant the goon squad would arrive within five minutes to beat the shit out of both of us and drag us to segregation a.k.a. the hole for a mandatory period of 15 days for fighting.
My knees were wobbly and I just wanted to collapse. C-born kept on punching me, but he was slowing down. He was tiring out, but tried to play it off by talking shit about how much fun he was having beating me up.
The goon squad arrived at the front gate. The nervous C.O. fumbled with his keys and even dropped them. This caused the members of the the goon squad to become more intense. I was getting beat up, I was about to get beat up even more and then dragged to the hole for it all. This was unfairness that I could not tolerate. I would rather die.
As C-Born looked at the goon squad in shock, I took the opportunity to lunge at him. He turned as my teeth dug in the flesh of his cheek. I locked down. It took seconds before I tasted blood. C-Born screamed. I put every ounce of energy into locking my jaw, so much that my body went limp. C-Born fell back and I fell with him, latched on to his face. Once on the floor, I shook my head like a pit bull ripping the flesh off his face. The other inmates tried to pull me off, but this only made his cheek tear off more, causing even more damage to C-Born’s face.
I don’t remember when I was knocked unconscious by the goon squad. I woke up with my feet shackled to the bed post and my hands in cuffs. I felt delirious. It took minutes to realize that I was in the prison infirmary. On the bed next to me, was C-Born. His face was swollen and patched up. We looked at each other.
Are you okay? I asked.
C-Born was obviously doped up on painkillers.
Nah, nigga, he slurred, you fucked me up. I’m gonna need plastic surgery and shit.
Good.
Posted on December 09, 2007 at 05:22 PM | Comment (8 comments)
I don’t think I ever met a man with a bigger pair of testicles before or since. He was the only Asian inmate at the Albert C. Wagner Youth Correctional Facility and in three weeks, he inspired the scorn of everybody on my tier. The Black guys hated him because he was better at Spades and tossing dice and won all their cigarettes and bragged about it for hours afterwards. The white guys didn’t like him because he would pour his dirty laundry water on them from his wash bucket while they took showers and told them to shut the fuck up when they complained. The Latin guys didn’t fuck with him period and advised me to do the same. I couldn’t help but like the kid. He was an Asian Muslim who called himself Faloof and dressed in Nikes Air Force Ones. He had a tail extending from his push back hair style; he rapped, beat boxed, electric boogie and talked a good one. He was worth endless hours of entertainment…until now. Now I wanted to kill him.
“Faloof…You motherfucker!” You better wake up with your boots on! I screamed through my cell window after night lock up.
“Yo money, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep! My rap is way better than any bullshit that bitch is talking about anyway. That bitch is sucking big monkey cock right now!” Faloof yelled back at me.
Other inmates, including Eddie disguised their voice to mock me.
Laura! Laura! I love you Laura!
She’s back here sucking my big monkey cock. Oh Laaaaura!
This enraged me even more. Even though I was helpless to do anything, I put on my fight clothes. Cut off khaki shorts over thermal bottoms, a white tee-shirt and a pair of work boots. I paced my 12 X 8 feet depressed cell like a caged animal. To torture myself even more, I pressed play on my radio. Laura’s voice came on over Heat waves “Always and Forever.”
“Vincent, I love you more than life. If only I could turn back the hands of---Faloof’s voice replaced her with his beat boxing and rapping--- One Two, my name is Faloof…..
I scream and slammed my radio on the floor , succeeding in destroying my main source of entertainment. I collapsed on my bunk and cried in rage and frustration. I was nine months into my 5 to 15 sentence and the only remnant I had of my first true love was gone. I would never see Laura and now hear Laura again. At least that’s what I thought. Little did I know, she would be back on my dick upon my release. But that’s a whole different story.
To say that I was heartbroken was an understatement. My heart and soul was destroyed. Laura was my best friend and lover. We spent every moment we could together and within one day, she was taken away from me. And all I had to do was think about her, day in and day out. Of all the traumatic experiences I’ve ever suffered, how was I to know that this was the one that would take me years to recover from. Life would never be the same. Fucking bitches.
I fell asleep sometime during the night, but darted out of bed when I heard our cellblock officers walk through the corridor, unlocking the doors with jingling keys. When he got to my door, he peeked through my square window.
Whar’s up, Mayta? You’re up early today.
It ain’t nothing, dude. I said trying to playing nonchalant through gritted teeth. He looked at me with suspicious eyes. I waited for him to finished unlocking everybody and disappear into his station. It was still dark. I snuck and entered Faloof’s cell. I whispered.
Get the fuck up, motherfucker!
I shook him.
Get up.
He lazily sat up and rubbed his eyes without a care in the world.
Get the fuck up!
Faloof reached for his sneakers as he said…
I see I have to give you an early morning beat down.
That was too much for me. I didn’t even think. I hit him with no less than thirty hooks, all trying to penetrate his cranium. A Columbian guy named Jorge rushed in and took me off of him.
Vincent, what are you doing? You want to go to the hole?
I don’t give a fuck about the hole. I want to kill him! This was anger speaking. I had done nearly 90 days in solitary confinement at the start of my sentence. It’s safe to say that I probably lost a nice little chunk of my sanity there. I didn’t want anything to do with the hole.
Even though Faloof’s face was swollen and lumps were forming on his forehead before my eyes, he still talked shit.
You hit like a pussy!
I went to attack him again. Somebody called for Eddie. Eddie came in and yoked me up from behind. Eddie was my co-defendant and best friend. He’s also twice my size and weighed about a hundred pounds more than me, so I was trapped in his yoke hold.
Get the fuck off me!
Psycho! Stop. You’re bugging again. How is Pilar going to feel in you go to the hole. Come on, man.
Okay. Okay.
I pointed at Faloof and looked dead him in the eyes.
I was the only one that was cool with you and this is how you do me. I’m going to get you. You better believe that shit, cocksucker!
I went into the TV room and proceeded to tell everybody. Most everybody knew about Laura. I had become a running joke because of her.
Not Laura!
Yeah, that motherfucker rapped over my love tape that she sent me. My love tape!
He crossed the line now, son.
He did! He did!
As much as they liked to tease me, it seemed that they had genuine concern for me. Everybody knew that tape was my prized possession. I listened to it nonstop, along with “Careless Whispers” and reminiscing about the many nights we spent together. It didn’t help that nobody liked Faloof either. A tier meeting was called. Faloof tried to join, but everybody told him to get the fuck out of here. He knew something was up.
Smithy came up with the plan. After lunch, I was to take Faloof to his cell for a man to man talk. Half my tier would hide in the cell to the right of his. The other 15 would hide on the left side cell. Once I got him in, we would all bum rush him and fuck him up. I thought it was ingenious. How can that go wrong? Everybody got their revenge and it brought us all a little closer as a unit, which is rare for so many guys to get down for the same cause in prison.
For the remainder of the morning, Faloof brought a chair and sat by the gate by the correction officer’s station. He did not leave once, not even to take a piss.
After lunch, was afternoon count. During count, inmates are required to stand by their door to be counted. There are not to be any movement in the prison during this time until all the counts are tallied up and the administration knows that nobody has escaped. It takes roughly twenty to thirty minutes. Faloof cell was across the hall in front of mine, so we were face each other.
Yo Faloof, after count I want to talk to you in your cell.
Get the fuck out of here. Talk to me in front of the officers station.
You scared?
I ain’t scared. But I ain’t stupid. I know all you pussy ass niggas are scheming to get me.
Nah, man. I wanna make the peace. We were boys. What the fuck?
You’re pussy whipped, man. You want to kill me over some bitch.
Nah, I’m over that. You have any Cinnamon Toast Crunch left?
Yeah, why?
If you hit me off with what you got. I’ll let it slide.
Really?
Really. Besides, it’s true that bitch is out there sucking big monkey dick. Just like your girl is. Right?
You crazy. I got a good girl. I popped the cherry and the whole shit. She’ll never cheat or leave me.
Don’t be so sure of that. Anyway, are you going to give me some Cinnamon Toast Crunch or what?
Then we’re good?
Yeah.
Say word is born.
I don’t have to say word is born.
I’ll give you the Toast Crunch. I have to take a leak first. After the officer counted us, Faloof went into the bathroom/showers. Every body scattered in the two cells opposite his. It was hard to keep the smirk off my face. Faloof came back and we entered his cell. My back was to the entrance. Within seconds, the room was flooded with my co-inmates. I immediately got knocked down and cracked my head on Faloof’s iron bed post. Eddie and some others dragged me out of the jailhouse mosh pit. We went to my cell to look at the damage. It was a small gash extending from a previous childhood scar.
Fuck. What am I going to do?
Bruises and wounds are a tell-tale sign of fighting and could land you in the hole.
I don’t know. Let’s get a bandage.
A bandage’s not going to work. Who has a thread and needle?
Are you crazy?
I’m not going back to the hole.
Meanwhile, Faloof was being beaten half to death. Soon everybody exited Faloofs cell. I could see him on the floor in convulsions. I felt like a dick. He kept on repeating himself, “They got me! They got me!….
I covered my gash with a bandanna and immediately felt sleepy. I passed out. In retrospect, I realize I must have had a concussion. Internal Affairs woke me up. They were there to question everybody. Faloof was sent to Saint Francis hospital in Trenton, New Jersey.
As the Internal Affairs guy questioned me in his cheap suit, my gash bleed and blood dripped down my face. This bugged the man out.
What happen to you?
I was doing dumbbell bench presses and I caught a cramp and hit myself with the weight.
That’s one of the best ones I’ve ever heard in my career here.
It’s true, I said visualizing the scenario so I could believe it myself.
It hurt a lot.
Why didn’t you go to infirmary?
I was afraid they would send me to get snitches.
A big, strong guy like you?
Believe or not. Listen I was sleeping when that stuff happened with Faloof. I feel bad for him. He was cool.
The Internal Affairs guy dismissed me.
For weeks I listened to the first 20 seconds of Laura’s love tape over and over again. Faloof eventually came back to Albert C. Wagner. He didn’t rat anybody out. He just said he didn’t know what happened. Because of this he wasn’t put in protective custody. He was just put in a different tier.
Months later I saw him in the visit hall with his girlfriend. She was a hot, but sweet looking Asian chick. They were making out. I approached them. I waved to my God mother and god sister Lily that I’ll be right there.
Hey Faloof, what’s up?
Faloof looked extremely uncomfortable, as did his girlfriend.
This is that nice girl you told me about. Hi, my nice is Vincent.
I shook her hand.
Faloof told me all about you. You’re very nice looking.
I addressed Faloof, You’re a lucky guy, dude.
You look smart. You go to school?
Faloof spoke. What do you want?
I’m just saying hello. I can’t say hello?
I go to Rugters.
Nice. Very nice.
I had a scholarship to Cooper Union.
What happened?
I got my priorities twisted.
Too bad.
You can say that again. Listen, you look like a very nice girl with a future. There’s something you should know about your boyfriend.
I had her undivided attention.
Nightly, he’s forced to perform fellatio on a gang of black guys on our tier, and I suspect other things as well. He could be infected with the virus. Take care of yourself.
What’s fellatio? Faloof wanted to know.
You tell him. I walked to my visit, hugged and kissed everybody and sat down. Ten minutes later, Faloof’s girlfriend stormed out of the visit hall in tears. I made eye contact with Faloof and winked.
Posted on December 06, 2007 at 09:35 AM | Comment (7 comments)
