The Days and Months We Were First Born- the Unraveling (12 page)

J.J.’s Piff Palace

If you can smoke it, we got it!

Three locations in Downtown Elizabeth

Call 973-555-0002 to reserve your table

In another advertisement, there was a quartet of scantily dressed women. One was Black, one was Asian, one was White, and the other was Latina. And each woman was in a
come-hither
pose. The message underneath said:

Come and fulfill your fantasies at Ma Susie’s

Susie has your gal or guy, guaranteed!

1085 Lafayette Street

Call 973-555-OHHH anytime baby

We’ll be waiting for you

Group rates are available

There were countless other advertisements as well. All were either tailored to the poor residents of Elizabeth, NJ, or the patrons who had visited the town to seek their pleasure.

When it came to the Municipal Explosion, cities such as Newark and New York made out like bandits, but in order for them to be successful, other cities and towns had to become victims. Elizabeth, NJ was one of those towns.

As the middle and upper class moved into the two big cities, other municipalities were designated as zones for the lower class and disadvantaged. The property owners of those towns were bought out in wholesale settlements. The neighborhoods were either taken over, or were razed to the ground and replaced with vast Federal Housing Projects. The government’s message to the poor was, “You need somewhere to live. You are no longer welcome in the inner city. And these are the locations we are providing.”

So people moved in, because they were priced out and discriminated against everywhere else.

The towns had many nicknames—Fed-villes, Trap-towns, Uncle Sam’s Pens, The Outhouses,
and PJ’opolises, to name a few. But the most common reference for such a place was Satellite Slums
.

The New York area had five: Yonkers/Mt. Vernon (North District), Great Neck/Port Washington (East District), The Hempsteads, Paramus, NJ, and Elizabeth, NJ. All in all, there were fifteen million people living in concentrated pockets. It was reminiscent of the housing projects of the twentieth century. Only this time, it wasn’t the city’s or the state’s problem. It was exclusively the problem of the Federal Government.

The Feds built, managed and maintained the housing. They subsidized public transportation such as the commuter buses. And they also took care of policing, education and social services. But of course, the Federal Government proved that it was inept.

Crime was rampant. Fraud was widespread. The education was horrible. The homes fell apart. The projects were shoddy within a decade of being built. And unemployment averaged over 25 percent. To sum up, the slums were shitholes, and Elizabeth, NJ was one of the most notorious. The city had a population of close to 1.4 million, all living within an area that used to fit 130,000.

The majority of the employed citizens, those who could find employment, worked in either the two major cities or the surrounding suburbs. They worked at menial and minimum wage jobs, or in the case of immigrant guest workers, below minimum wage jobs. The commuter buses were always packed. However, the upside was transportation was dirt cheap, and it ran twenty-four hours.

When the United States dissolved in 2040, the East American Government took over. And under the East Americans, things became a little more liberal.

To tackle unemployment and the lack of economic activity within the slums, the East Americans legalized drugs and prostitution within certain city limits. Elizabeth, NJ became our Vice Zone
.
It was similar to how Indian reservations were allowed to have casinos.

The move was effective. Damn effective.

Patrons from the region and all over the world swarmed to the red-light districts, smoke shops, and accompanying hotels and restaurants. Elizabeth, NJ was more popular than Atlantic City or the Aqueduct in Queens, NY, and it wasn’t even close.

My roommates used to drag me to the smoke shops on many occasions. They absolutely
loved
that town. I used to hear of epic whore binges from fellow students at NYU. Often, they bragged in class that they were able to have a woman of every race, all in one night. It was no wonder Elizabeth, NJ had the nickname, Rock City. It was definitely the place to go and get your rocks off.

***

Frelinghuysen Avenue turned into Newark Avenue, Newark Avenue turned into North Broad Street, and North Broad Street led me directly into the heart of the city. I was driven by curiosity and momentum, as opposed to common sense and concern for my safety. If I had made that walk a thousand times over, I never would have been so careless. But for some reason, that day, I wanted to see what had become of this place.

The double-tenant homes were dilapidated. Shingles were missing from the roofs, the sidings had lost a considerable amount of paint, and gray, weathered planks of wood were exposed underneath. The one-level storefronts, which used to house convenience shops, liquor stores, fried chicken spots, Chinese restaurants and churches, among other things, were covered in grime and emptied out by looters. And the crumbling apartment towers of the projects, which I saw from as far out as Ironbound, were especially dismal up close.

The towers were at least thirty levels tall, and built of refurbished brick and glass from buildings that were demolished during gentrification. The windows were ridiculously small. The towers resembled huge, patched-together prisons. Some of the towers had suffered through fire. I knew this because large swaths of brick were blackened on the outside, and many of the small windows were broken, revealing dark oblivion inside.

One of the signatures of Elizabeth, NJ was the graffiti. It was everywhere. On the homes, on the stores, on the schools, on the sidewalks, and on the street signs, the markings of spray paint were without exhaust. The markings indicated the confines of gang territory. There were the
WALNUT POSSE, the
HUSTLIN SCOTZ
, the FAIRMOUNT KILLAZ, the
439 BOYZ
and many, many more.

In this town, gang authority
held
more
weight
than law enforcement. Law enforcement was corrupt, and made up of men and women who were illiterate and
who
made piss-poor wages. On the contrary, the gangs were organized, and were competently run. For a fee, they protected their subjects and interests with brute force.

But on September 3, 2068, there were no gangsters, there were no subjects, and there were no corrupt, underpaid police. There were no visitors from out of town, there were no whores, and there were no poor people who were trying to get by. Other than myself, there wasn’t a human being in sight. Not throughout my e
ntire walk to the city center.

And d
owntown, the smoke shops, strip clubs, cat houses, restaurants, and other places of business, pleasure, and vice were destroyed. The smoke shops had gone up in smoke. The strip clubs were stripped of everything useful. The cat houses were now only occupied by stray, feral cats. The restaurants and other places were equally assaulted. For all intents and purposes, the city of Elizabeth was dead.

***

I continued through all of this until I reached Elizabeth Square, a public area nestled between the old Union County Courthouse and City Hall. In its time, the Square was the city’s most attractive feature. The park was large, with a huge metallic fountain at one end, and an elevated platform at the other. The concrete ground was populated with dark green benches, northern palm trees that were spaced far apart, and slits for mulch and small flowers, such as daisies, lilies and tulips. Concerts, block parties, political rallies, and other events used to be held at this park. But by my arrival, things were an absolute mess.

There had been a great fight between the government and the people. Two military hovercopters were right in the middle of the park. Both crafts were shot down, burnt, and riddled with small bullet holes. But whoever was inside had killed scores of people before it was all said and done. There were craters where missiles had detonated. The palm trees were
knocked over from automatic gun
fire. The concrete was stained with brown and black blood. The blood had dried, been remoistened by the rain earlier that day, and
had
dried again. And there were shriveled, minute pieces of human beings. There were bone fragments, noses, ears and fingers, and other bits.
They
littered
the area
, like leaves on a fall day. The smell wasn’t as bad as the mass grave or the house where I had found my food, but it was still putrid enough to alter my breathing to shallow inhales. If I had to guess, this battle had taken place a few weeks prior.

I wandered through the middle of this mess for close to five minutes. Then I heard something.

I wasn’t alone. Someone was in the square with me. And it was such a fucked up feeling!

I drew my gun and looked around wildly. Whoever was out there, they could see me and I couldn’t see them. The walk to and through Elizabeth had lulled me. Suddenly, the bleak and ghoulish surroundings were perfect for an ambush. I thought to myself,
My dumb ass has walked right into a trap!

“I know someone is out there!” I said. I was probing with my gun for any movement. “Just show yourself and no one has to get hurt!”

Tough words for someone in my position, but I figured it was worth a try.

This bout of anxiety went on for close to a minute. Me, pointing my gun and acting as if I was in control; whoever, poised and quiet, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Mentally, I was preparing myself to die. To die shooting.

I will not drop my gun, I will not drop my gun....

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man.

He was standing behind one of the downed hovercopters. He was calm. He looked at me as if he had been standing there the whole time. He was an old Black man—had to have been at least seventy. He was a few inches shorter than me. He had a small, bald head. He had on a white tank top, loose fitting jeans, and what looked like winter boots. His arms, neck and chest were covered in faded, warped tattoos. His eyes were pale from glaucoma. From his ashen face and obstructed breathing, I could tell he was in the latter stages of cancer. He had nothing in his hands, but dangling from his mouth was an unlit cigarette.

My gun was trained directly between his gray, listless eyes. I was visibly shaken.

“You got a light?” the man asked.

He asked the question as if we were two people at a bus stop. His voice was raspy, but he was completely unruffled.

Perplexed by the question, I stuttered, “Excuse me?”

The old man sighed.

“Look. If you going to kill me, then go ahead. Knock yourself out. I really don’t give a shit. I’m dead already. But if you ain’t, do you have anything that’ll light this cigarette? I haven’t had one of these things in twelve years, and it makes no sense to be shy about it now. So I’m asking you, boy, can you help me out?”

In a meek voice, I asked, “Is this an ambush?”

“No, this ain’t no fucking ambush!” I jumped at the old man’s sudden loss of patience. “If this was an ambush you’d be dead already! Now do you have that light or don’t you have that light? I don’t have much time, boy!”

Feeling like an idiot, I lowered the gun from his head and reached into my pocket. I found the lighter I retrieved from Ironbound and tossed it to him.

The old man caught the lighter with his left hand and eagerly fired up his cigarette.

He tossed the lighter back to me and pulled a long, satisfying drag.

Before he could exhale, he coughed uncontrollably. He hunched over as smoke made an ungraceful escape from his nose and mouth. Tears ran down his cheeks, and left an incredible contrast against his gray skin. He laughed at himself.

“That’s some strong shit they make these days…well…made.”

“What happened here?” I said. “What happened to them?”

I pointed to the downed hovercopters.

“They fucked up…. That’s what happened to them. They flew over the wrong bunch of mad-ass peoples. My man Bucktooth Charlie shot them bitches right out the sky with an air missile. Where he found that muthafucka, I don’t know, but he shot ’em and they crashed right where you see them.

“We was about to put a whoppin’ on they ass, then them muthafuckas start cuttin’ loose with all that shit they had…muthafuckas was exploding like they was bombs…on some straight dynamite shit…that shit was crazy, man! They had to have chopped about a hundred folks…like they was grass…I’m tellin’ ya, I never seen anything like it.

“Finally, we got a hold of a couple of ’em, though. We dragged them out, and we fucked them up! I mean we
fucked-them-up!
Then we hung ’em…They still swingin’ over there in Scott Park.

“Fuckin’ government. Treat us like we animals…let us die from some fuckin’ plague that them muthafuckas probably caused. Then they got the nerve to fly over us like they the shit…hell nah!