Cracked Dreams (10 page)

“Well, what the fuck's on the West Coast for us?” asked Poncho.

“Opportunity, dog. The time I spent out there ain't go to waste. I met a few real niggas out there, and on some real shit, all it would take is a phone call and they'll be ready for whatever. It's that real, son. You know gangsta recognize gangsta, and they respected my flow. They want to get it just the same, son. They even hungrier than we were when we first started.”

“Word?” asked El. “You sure about this, dog?”

“One hundred percent, my nigga. As a matter of fact, I spoke to my sister before ya'll got here and she said you can even stay there for a while until shit starts really jumping.”

“Oh, that's love for real, son,” said Ceelow. “She a real gangsta bitch, huh?”

“Listen,” I said with a stern voice. “Just so that ya'll niggas know, there ain't gonna be no disrespect in anybody's mouth regarding my sister, Rachel. That's still my sister, ya na'mean. Don't get it twisted.”

“My bad, son,” said Cee. “You know what I mean, right?”

“It ain't nothing, dog,” I said, relaxing my tone. “I'm just bugging. I know what you meant.”

“Anyway,” Trigger said, interjecting. “When and how is all of this going down?”

“All right, peep this. If this is going to work properly, you can never get out of control out there. As soon as some overworked dickhead pig takes a peek into your history, he gonna see a fucking big ass warrant for your arrest staring back at him. All they need is a reason to take you down, and you'll be extradited back to NY facing trial again. You'll have to come in contact with no work whatsoever, so that they can't tie you to shit. Them mu'fuckas out there need not even know your real fucking name, na'mean? You'll be a completely different dude out there at all times; no matter what. If you call your mom's, that's your ass. We have to assume that everything that's connected to you, is connected to the mu'fuckin' FBI also. Don't even let the workers know what's up, 'cause I trust them and all that, but if one of them gets knocked who's to say they won't give you up to get off. You gotta be on them P's and Q's.”

As I went on and on and on about how careful Trigger would have to be to make this whole thing work, it seemed that he'd been taking it all in very seriously. He knew how much he'd be responsible for and I trusted my nigga with that. If I had to put this kind of shit in anyone's hands, it would be the Trigger-man's. Especially with what he was leaving in NY waiting for him, I knew for a fact that he wouldn't be careless in taking on this project; even with very little help from home. This is what it had to be, until that day came where we hung it up. When all of this was over, we could all buy some land on some tropical island and chill. We'd just have to see.

The day after that was supposed to be Trigger's first day back in court with Judge Marilda Rosenberg fully prepared to dive in headfirst. Unfortunately for the unsuspecting judge, there wouldn't be any more deliberations for her to referee. This would be the beginning of the mu'fucking end for Mr. Peter Beckford. Once Trigger became a no-show that first morning, there was a warrant issued for his arrest. The judge would set two more court dates before she would officially declare him a fugitive of the law. Once this happened, I got the call I'd been nervously waiting for.

“Hello.”

“Hola, Sr. Spits. I think we have some things that we need to speak about concerning your organization, no?”

“All right, cool, Mr. Ortiz. Where and when?”

“I'll come to you.”

Now, that was a bit frightening to hear Romero Ortiz, the king of drug trade in Puerto Rico, saying that he's coming to me. The dude never left that island as long as I knew his ass, and now he was coming to see me? What for? Did he only make personal visits when he wanted to make sure a hit was properly executed? Did he want to send the message that I wasn't untouchable and that I could get it just like everyone else? I didn't know what to think after hanging up the phone with him. I just told myself to be ready for anything, and cross any bridge once I got to it with both guns blazing. My destiny would already be written, so all I had to do was play my position and let the chips fall where they may. I got a call later that evening from one of Mr. Ortiz's associates informing me that he would meet me at a tapas restaurant in SoHo, named Pintxos. I would meet him there at 7:30 sharp the next evening.

When I arrived at Pintxos, it was six o'clock. I wanted to get there early to scope out the area, and look for anything out of the ordinary. I went down Washington and up Hudson Street, then across Canal Street, then over to Vandam Street. I covered every inch of the entire area. I drove up, down and around those streets over and over again until I'd memorized every last thing, from the timing on the streetlights, down to the color the bums had on. When I felt comfortable enough with my surroundings, I pulled back up to the restaurant where I was probably going to meet my
death. I bypassed the valet parking and found a spot around the back in case I had to make a sudden exit. I was prepared to my fullest ability. It was time to meet with Mr. Ortiz.

“I'm here to meet an associate of mines . . .a Mr. Romero—” I said right before the maitre d' cut me off dead center of my sentence.

“Right this way, Senor Spits,” he said as he led me to Romero's special table. “Mr. Ortiz left specific instructions to show you to his table until he arrived. He'll be here shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said with uncertainty in my voice.

He wasn't here yet? Why would he be late to a meeting that he'd arranged? With all of these things racing through my head, I was beginning to regret even coming at all. Then, I realized that I had no choice. If I hadn't come because I thought that I would be killed, that would just give him a reason to kill me anyway. One way or another, I had to be here.

“Good evening, Senor Spits,” Romero said in suave voice as he stood in front of the table. “Did you find this place all right?”

“Yeah, it was no problem. I come here all the time,” I said sarcastically. We both gave a chuckle, and then it was time to get down to business.

“Senor Oberman has informed me of your situation here in the States, Senor Spits. He told me that one of your associates got himself into a pickle.”

“Yeah, but we have a contingency plan all ready to take effect now. He's not an associate either, Mr. Ortiz; he's family. Everything is under control.”

“Yes, I'm sure everything is under your control. But, you should understand my dilemma if you and your institute were to be placed under extreme surveillance by law enforcement. I would like for you to reassure me that our relationship will not be tarnished due to all of this legal basura.”

“I feel you, Mr. Ortiz—”

“Please,” he said, interrupting before I could finish. “I've told you on numerous occasions that you need not call me Mr. Ortiz. That sounds so formal. We, Senor Spits, are colleagues. Call me Romero.”

“That's cool, Romero. I was saying that I'd never do anything that could possibly affect our relationship in a negative way. My first and only priority is to preserve our business interests. You have my word on that.”

“Good. Now we can discuss your plans for our future establishment located in California.”

“What?” I asked with bewilderment. “How did you—”

“Listen, Senor Spits,” he said with a condescending smile on his face. “I have eyes and ears everywhere. You should learn not to underestimate the people that you do business with. I'm sure that you wouldn't be pondering using another connection for this infrastructure. That would be most disappointing, as I'm very excited that we are expanding our businesses to the West Coast. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I got you in my radar. The fact that you had been informed of our new venture doesn't make me uncomfortable. You just caught me off guard; that's all. I'll try and make sure that doesn't happen again, but I had no intention on cutting you out. Besides, I have no other connections.”

I was starting to figure out that this meeting had nothing to do with Trigger's trial. That may have been of some importance to him at some point in time, but that was the furthest thing from his mind, now that he'd found out about us expanding to Cali. With all that “we” and “our” shit he was talking, Trigger's issues had absolutely nothing to do with it. He just wanted to make certain that I knew that he knew what we were planning, so that I wouldn't try and cut his greedy ass out. I don't know how, but he'd found out. I also didn't know how much he'd already known, so I told him everything. No detail would be left for his imagination. He would be no threat with this information anyway. Shit, ain't no cop gonna give him a shorter sentence for giving little ol' me up. If anything, it'd be the other way around. For anybody that gets their hands on Senor Romero Ortiz, I'd be the last thing on their minds.

When our meeting was done, I left the restaurant with a sigh of relief. I'd imagined all the worst that could've happened from this situation, but I'd never imagined that all that prompted this meeting was plain old greed. When I left there, I went home and called Gin.

“What's up, Gin?” I asked once she'd answered the phone. “Listen, pack a bag, nothing heavy. We're going to California in the morning.”

W
hen Spits first told Ginger about his plans for California, she'd become very nervous. She'd still been contemplating his suggestion for them to go away, but had yet to make a decision. Now everything was moving so quickly. Before she knew it, he was spitting directions and locations at her before even asking her if she felt okay going. Spits automatically assumed that she'd want to be with him, no matter what. He was right about her wanting to be with him, but she couldn't help second-guessing the flight.

“I don't know about this,” Ginger said as they stood in line to board the plane.

“What do you mean?” Spits asked. “We're already here, Gin.”

“I know, but I'm having second thoughts.”

“Listen, this is business. I don't have time to play around. Now, I told Trigger that once I was out there to set everything up, that he could come. I can't let anything fuck that up, Gin. Trig's depending on me.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Ginger said, finally relaxing a bit. “Just promise me that you won't let anything happen.”

“I promise,” he said, immediately making her feel much better.

They boarded the plane and everything was moving according to schedule. The flight attendants went through all of the safety precautions, and then the pilot informed the passengers that they'd be approaching the runway shortly. When the aircraft left the terminal, Ginger grabbed on to Spits'
hand and held on tightly. Once it was on the runway, she put her head back and shut her eyes. Spits had never seen Ginger behaving so fearfully. The look in her eyes made him uneasy, but he tried making her feel better by maintaining his composure. As the jet started down the runway slowly and then faster, Ginger's grip on his hand grew tighter and tighter. An instant fear of dying came over her as the plane left the ground, but once it was in the air, she took a deep breath and calmed herself down. The pilot came on to inform everyone of the estimated time of arrival. He also informed everyone that the seatbelt light would be going off so that they would be free to use the facilities.

“See, Mommy,” said Spits. “I won't ever let anything happen to you. I promise.”

She looked into his eyes, and recognized the sincerity in his voice. “I believe you.”

“I can't wait to get to Cali so you can meet my sister. I think you two will get along real nicely.”

“I don't know, Daddy.” Ginger was nervous about meeting her. “You know, I can be a real bitch sometimes.”

“Shit, you ain't lyin' either,” he said with a chuckle. “If anybody, I know that's a fact. You don't have to worry about her approving of us, Gin. She's gonna love you.”

“We'll see.”

The rest of the flight was smooth and the turbulence was kept at a minimum. By the time the flight was over, Ginger hadn't even realized the minor bumps in the landing as the plane approached LAX. Spits had put her at complete ease. The only person that could've put Ginger in that frame of mind was him, and no one else. When they exited the plane, they collected the few bags that they'd checked, and were on their way. They immediately caught a cab to Rachel's apartment complex. When they got there, their arrival was met with open arms.

Ginger and Rachel hit it off immediately. As soon as they entered the apartment, all it took was a compliment to Rachel as to how nicely she'd decorated her place, and that was it. They went on and on about color
schemes, sale prices, different fabrics, and whatever else two women could converse about. You would have thought they'd known each other for years. This would work out perfectly for Spits, as he didn't need either one of them interrupting in the business part of this trip. They both had an idea of what was involved, but that didn't mean he welcomed their opinions. Spits waited for nightfall before making the call that would set this plan in motion.

“Hello,” said the voice on the other line.

“Yeah, is Red there?” Spits asked.

“Yeah, who's this?”

“Yo, tell him it's Spits.”

“Hold up a minute, dog,” he said, putting the phone down. “Ayo, Red. It's the homie Spits on the jack for you, blood.”

“Ayo, homeboy,” said Red as he excitedly picked up the telephone receiver. “What's up, fool?”

“Ain't nothin, son. I'm here now, so it's about to go down. You gonna be ready?”

“Oh, it's on, cuz. I'm ready for whatever, straight like that.”