Cracked Dreams (6 page)

By now, the TB Family was moving two kilos monthly through Tone down in Daytona Beach. They transported approximately twenty-five kilos for the Ortiz Brothers every month. Along with some street corners they had under control along Bronxwood Avenue that they called “The Woods” they had an apartment set up for hand-to-hand sales and a phone number that you could call for weight volumes. And now with this deal set in motion, it put their average gross at about $2.96 million every three months (give or take a few hundred grand). Whoa!

When they left Fernando's, they parted ways once back in the Bronx. They all had to get back to the crib to get ready for that night. A celebration was in order and if they knew how to do anything, it was party. When Spits reached his apartment, he went fumbling through his closet for the perfect outfit. When he was finally satisfied, he had a jet-black Iceberg leather pair of pants laid out with a jacket to match jean-suit style. Under
that he would put a charcoal gray and black Iceberg sweater and the skull hat to go with it. On his feet would be a crispy pair of Wallabee Clarks, black with the sides dyed charcoal gray. He posed for himself in the mirror while adjusting his sleeve on his new Cartier watch so that the diamonds in the bezel could be shown. He polished off the ice on his right-hand ring finger where he wore his Time Bomb crew ring, and he was ready to do it up until sunrise.

They'd all meet on the Block for a little fashion show before they were off. Spits insisted on reaching there after everyone had already showcased their gear so that he could blow up the spot. He pulled up in his newly waxed Lexus LX450, with the streetlights gleaming off the hood. As the driver's side window came down Spits let his hand hang out, and the ice sparkling from his watch was even more blinding. When he smiled out of the window, they all began to holler in awe at the show he was trying to put on.

Capone -N- Noreaga were supposed to be performing at Jimmy's Café in the Bronx that night, and Spits intentionally had their debut album
War Report
bumping from his system. When the door opened, the song playing was suited perfectly for the situation. After they'd all given each other pounds and hugs, they began singing along with the music.

“T-O-N-Y . . .Invade NY . . .Multiply . . .Kill a cop . . .Me and you . . .You got beef . . .I got beef.”

It had become the new street anthem in the Bronx and every other hood you could imagine and for good reason, too; especially for the Time Bombs. The streets had been eagerly awaiting this type of bomb since the
Infamous
album in '95. As laid-back as the vocals were released, it still brought the animal thug out of you. As the crew went on chanting, Spits took a long hard look at their circle. He looked at them all closer than he'd ever looked at them before and said to himself, “This is my family.”

They had more fun that night than they'd ever had. It was like a new life party, or like a huge weight had been lifted off their shoulders. They finally could relax in knowing that they'd be financially set for the rest of their lives. It was the most comforting feeling to have.

The night was temporarily saddened at the news that Capone wouldn't
be performing, as he was picked up by the police on a robbery charge, POSSIBLE LEGAL ISSUE but Noreaga still came out and did his thing. When the crew was tired and sweaty from going crazy on the dance floor, they all met back at a booth in the VIP area. As the best night of their lives together came to a close they gathered around the table, each with a bottle of Cristal in hand, and still toasted to “Moe's, hoes and zeros” for old times' sake. They also vowed that the next toast, and from then on, would be to “Dom P's and palm trees” respectively.

M
onday, March 17, 1997 was the day Trigger's trial was set to begin. It was a cold and rainy day in New York but you couldn't have asked me, because I was in sunny California. My intentions weren't completely political; I mean, I had no desire to be anywhere near the courtroom, but for a while I'd wanted to visit my sister, Rachel. Rachel and I hadn't seen much of each other during our childhood, but we'd gotten closer to one another as we grew.

While I was there, I stayed with her at her apartment complex in Sunnyvale, California called Oak Pointe Apartments. It was a real shitty neighborhood and the complex security was some real bullshit, but she had a duplex three-bedroom apartment to decorate, and it was decked out top to bottom. Her living room consisted of two cream-colored leather sofas with a light-gray trim and pillows that matched. A glass coffee table was set in the middle of the room in front of a big-screen television with a satellite connection and DVD. Wall-to-wall carpeting flowed through the entire apartment, also cream-colored with a light-gray border, and vertical blinds shielded the apartment from the sun. She had a master bedroom, a guest bedroom and turned the last room into an office that she mostly used for her schoolwork. She attended California State University pursuing a degree in nursing, and also maintained a job at the San Jose Hospital as a nurse's aide. Her father mostly paid for her education expenses, while her bills were up to her to handle. She had a nice little setup out in Cali, and she made her little brother proud.

I'd arrived the Friday before and had only intended on staying a couple of days, but it quickly turned into a week. Since it had been so long since we'd seen each other, we took advantage of the time. It was a relaxing experience to just hang out without having to deal with the day-to-day bullshit that consumed most of my time in New York. Trigger and the Doberman were working hard on his defense, so it was left up to Ceelow to handle most of the responsibilities regarding business. I made sure to call back home at least twice a day to find out how the trial was going, and if there were any emergencies related to the Family. I would be back in New York in time for any support Trigger needed when it started getting down to the nitty-gritty in court. As for now, I felt like a seventeen-year-old again, and I didn't mind at all. We went to theme parks in the day and to restaurants and nightclubs in the evening. We even blew some California chronic together. Rachel was like my best friend, and it didn't at all feel like we'd spent so much time apart. But honestly, after a week had passed by it was time for me to return to the grime where I belonged. I started to feel homesick, so we had to part ways. I promised her that it wouldn't be long before I came back to visit, and we said our good-byes.

The night before I left, I called Ceelow to inform him that I'd be there in the morning, and that we needed to have a meeting so we all could be brought up on current events. My flight landed a little after nine o'clock, and Trigger and Cee were waiting for me in Trigger's Range Rover.

“What's up, son?” Ceelow asked as I exited the airport. “How was the flight?”

“It was cool, you know,” I answered. “Different toilet, same shit. How ya'll holdin' everything down in our borough?”

“Shit, everything is still under control over here, dog,” Trigger answered. “We got the city under lock and key, my nigga.”

“Cool, ya'll niggas ain't eat yet, right?” I asked.

“Nah, Don P. gonna meet us at M&G's over there on 125th Street,” answered Trigger.

“Oh, i-ight. Let's get over there then,” I said. “I'm hungrier than a mu'fucka.”

As the truck pulled off, it didn't take long before they started making inquiries about California.

“So, what's good?” asked Cee. “Tell us how it is out there in Cali.”

“Oh, it ain't nothing like over here, dog. Everything is the opposite. The way we like to relax and hang out is not how they do it out there. Besides that, the niggas are all arrogant and conceited. Because of the men-to-women ratio out there, the broads have to push up on the dudes. Rachel introduced me to some of them niggas though. I mean they mad cool and all, but they too wild and shit. I even got into it a bit wit some niggas out there, and the cats that I was with held me down. They even let me hold a pistol so I could be ready for anything. I got some real niggas out there, for real.”

“Oh, word,” Trigger said. “Maybe we could set something up out there, too.”

“You never know, dog. We just might,” I said, already thinking way ahead of him.

When we arrived at M&G's, El Don and Poncho hadn't reached there yet, so we waited for about twenty minutes before we just said, “Fuck it,” and got a table without them. I ordered some home fries, beef sausage and a tall stack of pancakes. Trigger got cheese eggs, grits and salmon, and Cee had an order of waffles with bacon on the side. Once we'd all placed our orders, we started discussing issues of business.

“How's the trial going?” I asked.

“Oh, we ain't really get down to it yet,” Trigger replied. “Everything is moving in slow motion and shit. They picked the jury though; a bunch of crackerzoids. The Doberman said that our best defense is that we didn't know that it was police runnin' up on us, being that they never identified themselves. On that alone, he said that all of the evidence would be inadmissible. Besides that, we gonna see if we can turn a couple of those jurors to force our hand, or get a hung jury. These are all the Doberman's ideas. If you ask me, I should just fucking disappear right now, you know?”

“Yeah, I feel you, dog,” I said in agreement. “But let's just put some faith in our Doberman, and see what he can do with it. If it comes down to that, I know exactly what to do. Don't even worry about it, my nigga.”

“I-ight, son,” said Trigger, showing no worries. “I know if you say you got me, you ain't bullshitting.”

“What's up with you though, son?” asked Cee. “You just want to be flying off everywhere and shit. You i-ight, dog?”

“Yeah, I'm cool, now. You just have to get out of New York every once in while, so that you can come back and appreciate all of this dirt and grime, you feel me? Besides, I ain't even really go nowhere yet. You'll know it when I'm really doing it up.”

“Oh, i-ight,” he responded. “I got you in my radar now. You ain't trying to leave a stone unturned, huh?”

“See, now you feel me,” I said with a grin as I winked at him.

As the food arrived, the conversation came to a halt. We all began devouring our meal, and then Don P. pulled up in a black Ford Expedition.

“Here these niggas go right here,” said Trigger as he pointed out of the window. “I wonder what the fuck took them so long.”

As they entered the restaurant, car tires screeching directed our attention to the street. All that could be seen from the restaurant window was a gray car turning the corner in a hurry. No one gave it a second thought except for Poncho, who thought the car looked familiar, but then brushed it off. Once it was out of sight we all paid the shit no mind and directed our attention as to why Don and P. were late.

“What's up, son?” I asked. “Where were ya'll mu'fuckas at?”

“We had to go to Central Bookings real quick to get this nigga Little Jay out,” answered El Don. “He got picked up last night outside his crib. He wasn't even dirty, or nothin'.”

“If he didn't have no work on him, why'd they take him in?” asked Trigger.

“The nigga had like eight grand in cash on him,” answered Poncho. “He was coming home for the night from The Woods.”

“That nigga's a dick,” blurted Cee. “What he doin' with all that money in his pocket? Why he ain't sending somebody to drop off after every two grand like he supposed to?”

“I don't really know,” responded Poncho. “But the kid is smart though. If he didn't drop off, he must've had a good reason. He did say some shit
about not being able to trust the new nigga we put with him up on 227th.”

“Who's he talking about?” I asked. “That nigga Roscoe?”

“I ain't too sure. Let me look into it,” said Poncho. “I didn't get all the details because we were in a hurry, but I'll holla at you.”

When we were all done with breakfast, I had Trigger take me to my crib so that I could drop off my bags and get my truck to run some errands. After everything, I'd end up over at Ginger's place all the way upstate. I often tried influencing her to move in with me, now that I had my own place, but she'd just reiterate the fact that she didn't want to leave her mother all alone. I didn't want to come between her and her mother, so I backed off. It also benefited my situation if I ever needed to disappear really quickly, so it worked out. Her mother was hardly ever home anyway, ever since she'd made detective. It was kind of ironic though . . .a detective's daughter in love with a notorious drug dealer. If only she knew.

“Hi, baby!” she said with excitement as she fumbled to unlock the door. “When did you get back? Why didn't you tell me you were coming over? I could've cooked something for you. I missed you so much, baby. How was California?”

She opened the door and gave me a big hug and kiss before I could answer any of her questions. The love she showed me was indescribable. It was so genuine that I could never doubt her sincerity for a second, or think that she was putting on a show, or saying things just to make me feel good. She really loved me a lot and I loved her just as much. She was my baby, my precious little Gin.

“Relax, Gin,” I said, trying to calm her down. “One question at a time, Mommy.”

“All right then, Daddy. Just go upstairs and wait for me. I'll be up in one minute, okay?”

“Cool, don't keep me waiting too long.”

She was upstairs in no more than two minutes with a Corona in each hand and wearing nothing but a smile. I looked up at her and thought to myself,
That's why I love her.