“The Devil Gets Beat Down in Coney Island”
It was the first weekend that Coney Island amusement park opened for the summer season. I took the D train with my friend Poke, an already legendary graffiti writer, known as being the “son” of Devious Doze of Tc5/Rock Steady fame. I met Poke through Kano Tc5, and then through mutual friends that he went to school with at Art and Design. Poke and I hit it off instantly. It was easy that we already had a common thread in graffiti and both of us being down with the Five. I liked Poke. He was a misfit like me. Kids like Poke and I didn’t rob other kids for the sake of gain. That was just icing on the cake. We robbed for the thrill of an adrenalin rush. We robbed to get off on the fear in our victim’s eyes. We robbed because we were egotistical, sociopathic bastards. Today, however, we weren’t going to do any robbing.
Poke’s girlfriend, a marginally attractive girl named Jenny lived in the Coney Island projects was the purpose of our visit. I didn’t really know Jenny and the few times that I met her was a strictly hi and good bye exchange. Her energy didn’t solicit much more than that. When we met up with Jenny, she was with some friends hanging out on some park benches in front of her building. Her friends weren’t very attractive as well, but were friendlier and more fun to be with. Within ten minutes Poke and Jenny went upstairs to her apartment, obviously to go fuck. This was fine with me and Jenny’s girlfriend as we stood outside, drinking 40 ounce bottles of malt liquor. I told them stories and we talked about our sexual interests. I got two of them to show me their breasts. The more I drank and smoked, the more I wanted to have sex with them. They all seemed interested and I wasn’t focused on any one of them in particular, thinking whatever was going to happen was just going to fall into place.
Poke came out of Jenny’s building alone. We all questioned where Jenny was? Poke simply told us upstairs.
Come on, Psych. Let’s go get a forty.
I agreed and told the girls that I would be back. I couldn’t wait to tell Poke that they showed me their nipples.
Ay-eee Bee, I wish I was there.
We walked and talked about graffiti. He told me a story how he vamped Duster, U.A.
I didn’t know that. I told him.
There’s a lot I didn’t know.
We went into the corner Bodega store and went to the beer refrigerator where we argued over shoplifting Colt 45, Budweiser or Cisco. I was afraid of Cisco. The stuff was poison and I knew I would find myself on the ground, not knowing where I was with just one bottle. I stuffed my 40-ounce bottle in my waistband, not caring that it was obvious that I had a bottle of beer on my person through my tee-shirt. Poke stuffed the Cisco on him. We hurried out the store while the counter man was distracted by a Yankee game on TV.
We walked through Coney Island streets openly drinking and talked about how Tc5 president Seen says that anal sex was the best. At 16, we both still thought that he was nasty and made jokes about it. All of a sudden, a small group of 12 to 13 year old boys ran up on us. They flung objects at us. I got hit in the lip with what I thought was a rock. I looked on the ground and saw that it was a Chinese flying star.
What the fuck? I looked at Poke.
I got beef with these kids.
Jesus! I thought to myself.
I was too shocked to verbalize that he would have me walk around in a neighborhood, knowing that he had beef…even if it was with 13 year olds. We chased them and they scattered back into their buildings, alleys and wherever else in the woodwork they came from. Thinking that was the big adventure of the day, I continued walking around the Coney Island area without a care in the world with a bloody lip.
Two blocks later, a station wagon filled with Latin and Black guys turned the corner and drove our direction, followed by a van with guys hanging off the side of it, wielding pipes, bats and chains. It looked like a scene out of a bad movie.
Somebody is going to get their ass kicked! I announced to Poke as he squinted at the two vehicles, trying to make out the faces within.
Run! Poke yelled as he made a swift about face and booked. I followed behind. We ran about half a block when it became obvious that it we were not going to out run the two vehicles. I also got a stitch on the side of my abdomen.
You wanna stop and fight? Poke asked.
We didn’t have much of a choice I thought.
Yeah. I huffed and puffed to him.
I faced my enemies, knowing full well that I was about to get rocked. How rocked? I just didn’t know. I put my fists up, determined to make my first, if my only punch count. One of these fuckers had to get knocked out. My first punch was intercepted with a bat that broke my forearm in half. You really do see white sparks and lightening when that much pain is inflicted upon you. Next something crashed on top of my head and my legs were yanked out from under me. Within seconds my face was on the pavement and a yellow Timberland boot smashed me in the face and broke my cheekbone. I saw even whiter lightening. I cowered in a fetal position, covering my head and face the best that I was able to with my arms and hands. My body absorbed countless blows and kicks. Every other one causing whiter sparks. I decided if that I played possum, it might put an end to this nightmare.
Kill him!
I think he’s already dead.
The hell with that! Kill him some more!
It was then that I feared for my life. The attack was not going to stop until I did. I heard the sound of police sirens nearby. As the noise grew louder and louder, the hits became fewer and fewer until I was finally alone, beaten, aching and delirious. I could still hear the sirens, but they became faint and disappeared. I wasn’t quite sure what the fuck just happen or even why it happen? I saw my arm and thought what the fuck? It looked like a wet piece of wiggly noodle. I never saw anything like it before and I still haven’t. I looked around for Poke. He was nowhere around. I wondered if he was dead and where was he at. I tried to get up, but I was in too much pain. I stayed there and became aware that with every breath something was poking me internally. It was a broken rib threatening to stab my lung. I was all messed up.
Psst! Psycho!
I looked the direction that Poke was calling me from. He was behind a car. He looked around to make sure that it was safe before he came to me.
Yo Psycho, you’re okay?
I couldn’t believe he was asking me this. I was in a bad movie or dream. My pain reminded me that I wasn’t.
Look, I got fucked up too.
Poke showed me a gash in his hand that probably required three stitches.
I cut myself climbing over that fence over there.
Poke pointed to a fence down the block.
I am going to destroy your life, was all that I could think.
Police arrived and questioned us. Once it was revealed that we weren’t from Coney Island, they became hostile. One officer explained that the kids from around the area were good boys and that we must have been up to no good. I desperately tried to convince them that I didn’t do anything, but they didn’t care about anything I had to say.
The best we can do for you is get an ambulance to take you to Coney Island hospital.
No! All I was able to visualize was those kids waiting for me outside Coney Island hospital when I got discharged to finish me off.
Then I don’t know what to tell you then. You boys are on your own.
The two cops got in their car and drove away.
Ay-eee, those motherfuckers were dicks! That’s why I hate cops!
I was worried that the guys were going to come back and get me.
I wanna go home.
Poke grabbed me by my wet noodle arm and yanked me up. I saw multiple flashes of white, yellow and red lightening and screamed in convulsions.
You motherfucker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My tears were uncontrollable as I cradled my arm.
Ay-eee! I’m sorry, Bee.
I recuperated as fast as I could. Poke helped me up by my good arm and helped me get to the subway station like a wounded soldier.
Fucking Jenny, that bitch! It’s good that I snatched her Bamboo earrings off her ears.
Poke produced a pair of gold Bamboo style hoop earrings from his maroon colored Lee twills.
I slapped that bitch up. Ay-eee, Bee, that hoe is cut off for good for this.
I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. It was Jenny’s brothers and her friends who jumped me. I realized that I was lucky that I wasn’t dead.
At the train station, a couple of Spanish old ladies prayed for me and wiped off whatever blood I had with Kleenex tissues. On the two-hour train ride to Manhattan, I drifted in and out of consciousness. I started feeling cold and was trembling.
Ay-eee Bee, what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re shaking like a bitch. Stop that.
I was in shock. The train was in Manhattan and stopped at the 23rd street/8th avenue. My best friend, West One F.C. entered the car on the opposite end. He had might as well been Jesus Christ as far as I was concerned. It was too good to be true and I thought I was hallucinating. Poke thought he was an illusion as well.
Ay-ee Bee, is that, that nigga West?
West saw us and headed towards us. It was him.
What the hell happen, Bee?
They jumped me.
Poke showed him his gashed hand.
I got fucked up too.
West looked confused. You got jumped too?
Nah Bee, I was climbing this fence and….
I woke up delirious the next day in the hospital. I had a plaster cast on my arm and my body ached. I screamed and shouted that I wanted to go home until they discharged me. The sun hit my eyes, blinding me on 168th street and Broadway. I didn’t have any money so I walked the nine blocks to my house on 177th street. My aunt was pissed at me and yelled at me for going to Coney Island in the first place. I retreated to my room and fell back to sleep. I woke up trembling and in a cold sweat. The pain became worst. My aunt gave me whatever painkillers she had available and yelled at me for not getting any painkillers at the hospital. I was only 16, what did I know about painkillers yet?
It took a day because the painkillers became ineffective. My aunt pleaded with me to go back to the hospital. For no real reason, I refused. I got all my coke dealing friends to leave me whatever coke they would. I had a lot. The coke didn’t get me high, but it did numb my body for hours at a time. I sniffed so much coke that I rotted out the membranes in my nose.
I received steady visitors daily. My aunt and my boy/brother Eddie-Resk had to give me sponge bathes because I was so useless. No less than fifty of my friends came to my house to see me and my phone rang off the hook day and night with people checking up on me. I saw or/and heard from everybody I knew except for Poke.
It took about two weeks and a half before I was well enough to go outside my block. The late legendary pop artist Keith Haring was having a party at the Area for the opening of his store The Pop Shop. Any graffiti artist that was anybody was invited to attend. It was a fabulous, glitzy affair. I went with West, Doze, Seen and my boy Fer. Within twenty minutes I saw Poke hanging out with Dontay and Kano. I had enough vodka with cranberry juice in my system by that time to want to break his face with my cast. Keith just happened to walk by to see me with my crazy eyes. I knew Keith through Kano and Dondi from the Fun Gallery and he knew of my reputation for being ill. He waved a finger at me.
Psycho!
I’m cool Keith. No beef. I promise.
Please.
You got that.
Poke approached me.
Yo Bee, what’s up? What the fuck? You don’t know how to say what’s up to your brother?
Get the fuck away from me before I kill you.
Yo Bee, I know I fucked up. I should have called you but I felt bad.
I inched up closer to him, ready to attack.
West came up to me and put his arm around my shoulder.
Yo, I have to talk to you.
What’s up?
West smartly walked me away from the bar and bullshitted with me. I didn’t see Poke for the rest of the night.
The next time I saw Poke was on an early morning on the one train. He was with Jenny. I was stunned to see him with her. The conversation was short, weird and awkward.
During that fall I saw him at different Tc5 get-togethers. My anger had cooled down enough to not want to fight him anymore. I could never forget Coney Island to this day though.
On a cold winter day, he called me and told me that he needed to make some money. He knew my cousin/brother Junior operated a 24 hour crack spot. He asked me to get him a job. I did. Poke worked the overnight shift and I would usually see him finish when I was on my way to school. We took the subway downtown together because he lived a couple of blocks away from my school. Junior sometimes gave me the money to pay Poke when he didn’t want to get out of bed. It was about a month into Poke’s employment when I told Junior that Poke asked if he could be paid in crack. Junior looked at me suspiciously. I lied and told him that Poke thinks he could sell them for double around his neighborhood because the crack around his way was weak. Junior was happy to hear this.
Let me know my shit is the shit.
It’s true. Your shit is the shit! I successfully kept a straight face on.
Junior gave me a package of crack.
I met Poke outside.
Yo Bee, what’s up? Junior’s a little short on cash--
Yo, that’s bullshit! We made like ten gees last night.
Listen, I’m just telling you what he told me. Just this once, he wants to pay you with a package. It’s wholesale value so you can make double what you would have made in cash.
I wanted to get a little coke though. You know, a twenty spot.
Nigga, this shit is better than coke. Why you think he made twenty gees?
You done it before?
Mad times! I lied.
How you do it?
Come with me.
I took him to the nearest head shop and purchased a glass stem with a filter screen and a lighter.
Look, you throw the jumbos in here by the screen and light it up and inhale. Just like a blunt.
Ay-eee Bee, I’m going to get fucked up.
Yes, you are. I gotta go to school.
I’m going to chill around her and see if I can fuck some crack head hoes.
You do that.
I love you, my brother.
I love you too.
To this day, Poke has never fully recovered from his crack addiction and has served no less than 15 years in and out of prison as a result of it. I consider us quite even. I know Poke to this day and it’s difficult to consider him a friend, but I have many fond memories of him. God bless him and God bless me as well. Now excuse me, I need a fucking drink.
Posted on October 22, 2007 at 09:40 PM | Comment (11 comments)
