Cracked Dreams (26 page)

When Ceelow felt that hot liquid, he thought for a second that he was the one that was hit. That thought quickly vanished when he realized that
Winston's lifeless body was lying on the ground next to him with the back of his head blown out.

Cee had realized that Jacob was finally taking revenge for the scuffle he'd had with Winston. Now Winston was dead, and all he died over was a fucking ten-dollar bag of weed. Jacob got Winston back for that day, but when he went fleeing, the gunshots didn't stop. They only continued as he attempted to engage himself in a gunfight with the police, of course making him the next to fall victim to the streets. It had happened so fast that if you blinked for too long, you would have missed it. Inside of sixty minutes, three people were dead in the streets of the Bronx.

Before Cee got a chance to make his own getaway, the police had already surrounded him. Now he would be going through the system, ironically not even for the crime that he'd actually committed that night. He wasn't worried about it, but he couldn't have picked a worse time to get arrested, with it being the end of the week, plus with all the following week containing the Christmas and New Year's holidays. Before he knew it, it could be a week or two before he got to see a judge. Cee would have to call Riker's Island home for a little while.

“Did you hear about what happened in California?” asked Special Agent Cassett as he walked up to his partner sitting at his desk.

“Yeah,” responded Clifton. “Peter Beckford, a.k.a. Trigger, was gunned down on Interstate 680 early this morning. The shit is all over the news. This whole thing is going to lead to a huge shit-storm. I can feel it.”

“Well, I wouldn't normally say this, but I ain't too sad to see him go,” Cassett said.

“The little fucker must've pissed off the wrong people out in California,” Clifton said. “I wonder what he was doing out there to begin with.”

Just then, one of their colleagues came over to where they were sitting and said, “Hey, fellas! The Assistant Director wants you guys in his office, ASAP!”

“Aw shit!” Clifton snapped. “You know we're in for it now.”

“Yup!” Agent Cassett agreed.

When they reached Assistant Director Chistov's office, they were directed by him to be seated until he was done on the phone. They sat there with their backs straight up and their hands folded, as they waited for him to complete his phone call, which seemed like a more “politically correct” version of the chewing out they would be receiving. With every word spat at him from the other end of the phone, his face grew more and more twisted. He began staring at Cassett and Clifton with a fierce and vengeful look on his face. They knew for a fact that they would be in for it.

When Chistov finally hung up his long and drawn-out phone call, he
began in a calm voice by saying, “I'm pretty sure you boys heard about what happened to Peter ‘Trigger' Beckford in California not too long ago?”

They both nodded in agreement.

“You may have most recently been informed of his alleged involvement with another crime syndicate located in the Sunnyvale part of California?” He paused for a second, and then continued, “But what you probably don't know is that Peter Beckford has been living in California under the name Nathaniel Evans, and that he's probably been living it up out there since he jumped bail.” He paused again, and then went on in a higher tone. “I cannot believe . . .that this Time Bomb Family is showing so much blatant disregard for the laws of this country, and yet they continue to be given the easy way out!”

“Well, sir,” interjected Agent Clifton. “I think that many would agree that Peter Beckford got what he deserved, and that he wasn't granted the easy way out.”

“Excuse me, Clifton,” Chistov answered. “Did he stand trial?”

“No sir, but—” he said, before the Assistant Director cut him off.

“Did he serve time?!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

“No, sir,” Clifton answered, seeing the direction of the questioning.

“Well,” Chistov said firmly. “Then he got the easy way out! When I say I want someone to go down, then that's what I mean. Now, if that doesn't happen because we were too busy sitting on our asses, then we've lost, gentlemen . . .we've lost!”

“We still have the East Coast organization in our grasp, sir,” Cassett reminded him. “We can still move forward with the plans that we have laid out.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm a little bit concerned about our plans now,” Clifton added. “If we're going to move, I think we need to move as soon as possible. I don't think, with his new development, that we have the option of waiting any longer.”

“That's absolutely absurd, Clifton,” Chistov said. “We will remain focused. We cannot screw this up, too, boys. We won't let another one of these career criminals slip through our hands. It's all we have now, and we will follow through.”

I got back to Ginger in Hawaii the next afternoon. After making sure once more that Rachel would make a successful recovery, I chartered the next available flight. As much as I wanted to stay with her, too many things were pulling me in the opposite direction. First of all, no one could even find out that I had gone to California with all of the things that had happened out there. It would be too easy to put two and two together. The only people that would ever know were Ginger, Rachel and Red. At that point, Red was my mu'fucka. I loved that dude for what he'd done for me. I basically owed him my sister's life, so he could be trusted with my life as well. On top of that, I'd spent almost two days of my vacation with Ginger out in California, and it was now Christmas Eve. Ginger would never have forgiven me if I'd left her all alone in Hawaii through the holidays when it had been my idea to go away. I had anticipated her feeling lonely and spending the entire time in the room alone, but I should've known that wasn't Ginger's style at all. When I got back, she was ecstatic to see me but she had kept herself very busy in my absence. She greeted my arrival at the door as I entered, and first inquired as to Rachel's condition. When I told her that everything would be fine, she went on to show me how she'd occupied her time alone. She led me to the bedroom, and as I walked in, it seemed like she had a shopping bag for every hour we'd spent apart. I simply smiled and kissed her on her forehead. I spent the remainder of the afternoon on the bed while she modeled all of the clothes and jewelry she'd bought. I would soon forget about all of the things that had happened in the past two days, but that wouldn't last long at all.

Ginger never knew of anything that had taken place while I was in Cali, and that's only because she didn't need to know. That's how it needed to be. I simply told her that some guys had broken into my sister's apartment and tried to kill her when she found them there, and that she'd be fine. It was true, except of course for the part about guys breaking into her apartment and her finding them there.

I just overlooked the part about it actually being my best friend, Trigger, that had done that shit to my sister, simply because she was pregnant with
his baby and he was afraid of what I might do when I found out. His panic led to his death, and now I neglected to even think twice about what I'd done. I preferred to believe that it had been a stranger that had done those things. It was easier for my mind to conceive that as a reality. That bitch-ass mu'fucka deserved exactly what he'd gotten. He should've been a businessman instead of a fuckin' playboy. Fuck 'em!

As my mind began to wander from the fashion show that I was receiving, Gin started to realize that something clearly must've been upsetting me. She came over and sat on the bed next to me. She got her arm around me before I came back to reality. I attempted to shake off the ill feeling that kept my attention divided from Ginger, but it didn't go away. She kissed my cheek and that forced a small smile to my face.

“She's going to be fine, baby,” she said, referring to Rachel. “You don't have to worry about that. She's a strong girl. Nothing can ever take that from her.”

I wanted to tell her that Rachel's condition, although very important to me, wasn't the only thing on my mind. I wanted so much to relieve some of the stress I was putting myself through, but I wasn't able to bring it to the surface. It's better that she not know, is all I kept telling myself, but it was getting harder and harder to conceal the frustration. “I know, baby,” I said, trying to lift some of the pressure she felt to cheer me up. “I only have one sister, though . . .you know what I mean?”

“I understand, baby,” she answered. “But she wouldn't want you to be here worrying yourself, baby; especially when you're all this way from home. You know what?” she said, taking a peek at the clock on the nightstand. “I know what'll make you feel better. I was going to wait until twelve o'clock to give you this, but whatever. It's already a quarter after ten, so it's Christmas in New York already.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, remembering that it was Christmas Eve. “I almost forgot all about that.”

“Yeah, wait right here, baby,” she said, leaving the room to locate the gift she'd bought me. She reentered the room with a box in her hand wrapped in red with a white ribbon. She handed me the box and I actually felt like a little kid again as I anticipated what might be inside. As I gave a tug at the
ribbon, and pulled back the wrapping paper, I saw a black box that looked as if it contained jewelry, but it was too big and heavy for that. I looked up at Ginger suspiciously, and proceeded to open the case. When I opened it, there was a gleaming chrome studio microphone, with the words “Time Bomb Records” engraved on the handle in script.

I had only told her about my idea for starting a record label once in passing, and she'd remembered. I absolutely loved it. It was perfect. Ginger was good for making a shitty day seem like the best.

W
hen it came time for Ginger and Spits to return home, they had reached complete and utter tranquility. Everything Hawaii had to offer them was accepted by them one hundred percent. They had the best time possible in this beautiful villa in Maui but, unfortunately, they'd come to the end of their dream vacation and it was time to go back to work.

By the time they landed on the East Coast, it was a little past 11:00 p.m. From the airport they took a cab to their home where they found a truck in their driveway. Before they were completely pulled into the driveway, Spits realized that it was El Don and Poncho that were parked in front of his house in Don's black Toyota Land Cruiser. As soon as Spits realized who it was, he knew the only thing that could have brought them all the way out to New Jersey from the Bronx was the one thing that he had been avoiding the entire time he'd spent in Maui since he'd returned from Cali. They were immediately approached as they exited the cab with the news of Trigger's death.

“Yo, dog,” Poncho began as Spits and Ginger approached the door where they had been awaiting his arrival. “I don't know if you know this yet, but if you don't, we got some bad news just recently from the West Coast. It's about Trigger.”

“Something happened to Trigger?” Ginger blurted out before Spits gave her a look that suggested she leave them to talk amongst themselves. “Him,
too?” she said, still baffled as she turned toward the door to enter the house.

When Spits and Don P. were alone, they continued.

“What happened to Trigger?” Spits asked as he made an attempt to express obvious confusion and concern. “He got knocked, or some shit?”

“Nah, son,” El answered. “He's dead. Somebody bodied him.”

“What?!” Spits said, raising his voice. He looked into the faces of the persons that brought this news to him. The information that they provided was so upsetting, they couldn't even return the glance. They were avoiding the eyes of Spits, and found themselves staring at the ground until it was safe to make eye contact. “I can't believe this is happening. Who the fuck did this shit? That mu'fucka gonna die. Who the fuck did this shit?!”

Although Don P. shared Spits' distress, they were even more hurt that they couldn't answer the question that could've possibly brought some light to a rather dark, fucked-up situation. It would've made them feel so much better bringing this news if they could also deliver news that whoever was responsible for it was somewhere leaking out the rest of his brains onto the floor. They wanted to say that they'd found out who'd done it, and that they'd been torturing his ass for the past two days waiting for Spits to come home to finish him off. They wanted to say, “Yeah, we got the nigga in the trunk right now, son!” But they couldn't do that. All they could do was stand there in silence staring at the fucking ground. All they could do was wait for Spits to break the silence. So until that happened, they just stood there.