Cracked Dreams (13 page)

After we'd set up shop on the Cali side, the next few days were a complete success. We moved more product in the shortest amount of time than we'd ever moved; especially in a new spot. It was like the fiends were waiting out front of the spots for us to get there. We lined them mu'fuckas up for what seemed like blocks to get a hit. After the samples were done, it took not even fifteen minutes for the first sale to come. After that first sale was dealt, it was all over. Fiends were coming back three and four times with more and more customers. It didn't stop until they'd almost depleted their entire stock of prepared product.

The success meant that it had finally become time for me to return to the Bronx. Now that I felt comfortable enough with Trigger and the new West Coast enterprise, I was ready to leave him all of the responsibility and go back home. Only if I knew that it wouldn't at all be as peachy in New York
as it was in California. There would only be more work for me when I reached home. The life of a drug dealer was the furthest thing from the
“easy way out,”
for real.

The night before I left, Trigger and I engaged ourselves in a lengthy conversation about life, responsibilities, and how only one's choices would determine their destiny. The conversation was meant to prepare Trigger for what he was about to embark on, but I soon realized that he'd already been prepared for this kind of accountability. In fact, he'd been ready and willing for a long time now. Now, he had the opportunity to show off his skills.

We left each other with a pound and a hug. We knew it wouldn't be too long before I came back to check up on things, so everything was real relaxed. Ginger and I went to the airport and caught a flight back to New York, after a two-week long vacation/business trip.

“Even though I'm glad me and your sister and I clicked so well, I was starting to get a little homesick,” Ginger told me during the plane ride home as she laid her head on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I feel you,” I responded, kissing her on the forehead. “I kinda miss the grime, myself.”

We were both happy to be returning home; especially with the memories we could both take back with us. The trip had taught us both a little bit more about each other, and now we could see each other just a bit clearer. It only made us closer. The time was well-spent, but it was time to go. This had also been the longest time I'd spent away from work with only little contact with back home.

When I arrived, I hadn't realized that no one knew we were coming back, so I didn't set up any transportation for us from the airport. We hopped in a yellow cab and went to Ginger's house where I'd left my truck. When she was settled in, we parted and I went to my apartment to unpack and take a nap before coming back out later in the evening.

Not even two hours into my nap, my phone rang. It was Vision and he had news that wouldn't allow me to return to the comfort of my sleep. Vision informed me that we'd been robbed of over fifty grand in cash and
almost a hundred thousand dollars' worth of coke and crack. When I was fully awake and realized what I'd just been told, I jumped out of the bed and began to yell into the phone receiver at Vision.

“What?!” I yelled uncontrollably. “Where the fuck was everybody at? How in the fuck do you let a nigga steal from us, the Time Bombs?”

“Calm down, dog,” said Vision, trying to bring me to relax my anger. “I ain't the enemy, son. Don't kill the messenger, ya na'mean.”

“My bad, dog,” I responded with a more relaxed tone of voice. “How did this shit happen?”

“Some mu'fucka broke in through the back way, and shit. They knew exactly what they were there for, too, 'cause they didn't touch anything else. Nothing was overturned or disturbed. They went straight to the closet, and emptied out the inside of the wall.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, now better understanding the situation. “So, they knew where the stash spot was and all that, huh?” I asked to myself rhetorically.

“Straight up, son. I spoke to Ponch so him and El are going to look into the shit. It won't be long. You know mu'fuckas can't keep they mouth shut out here. Anybody that's one hundred thousand stronger overnight won't be able to keep it to himself, ya na'mean?”

“Word, I feel you, dog. But fuck that shit, son. I want everybody on this shit and nothing else.”

“That's cool. We got a meeting scheduled in about 45 minutes.”

“Where at?”

“Over on the Block.”

“I-ight, then. I'll meet ya'll there.”

“Yeah, my nigga. Peace.”

“Peace.”

When I hung up the phone, I sat there and thought to myself for a little while. I was trying to play the situation back in my head. I couldn't quite fully grasp the concept that someone had actually gotten over on me. How the fuck did they know where to go? Could it be some worker mu'fucka who robbed me and just made it look like a break-in? Could it be some nigga that just didn't quite make that cut and decided to hate on the rest of
the family? A thousand questions went through my head after I received this news. It just didn't make any sense to me that these types of things were possible. This occurrence let me know that I wasn't exempt. I could get it, too, just like everybody else.

The meeting was scheduled for eleven o'clock. It would be imperative that everyone show up, as this meeting was incredibly important to me along with the other family members. When I arrived on the Block, I could spot in the shadows of the buildings El Don, Poncho, Ceelow, Little Jay, Vision, plus a few other key workers, all occupying the steps in the front of the building that I'd grown up in along with Cee, Trigger, and Pop. With all of them taking slow sips from plastic cups containing a mixture of Hennessey and Alize, called
“Blood Passion,”
no one could reflect a bit of happiness or contentment. They all just stood or sat there, with a blank and empty facial expression, looking as if plotting.

The address of the building was 666 East 224th Street. It was peculiar, but that was the perfect numbers for the building. It spawned some really devilish mu'fuckas, and the younger generation of hell dwellers would be ten times worse, but that's a different book altogether. Anyway, this was
“the Block.”
To us, it was the foundation. No matter how far this game took us in life, it was always just mandatory that we return once in a while. Until we owned our own houses on that exotic island somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, it wasn't that hard for us to stay away. In fact, when it came time for us to get our own apartments, we all moved to other parts of the Bronx, except for Cee. He moved two flights upstairs from the apartment that he'd grown up in, where his mother and little brother still resided. Maybe he thought he would be selling out by moving anywhere too far from the Block, or maybe he just didn't think he was good enough to live anywhere else. In any case, it was time to get down to business.

After parking across the street from the building by a hydrant, I got out of the truck and entered the cipher of the rest of the Time Bombs. We all exchanged pounds and Cee handed me a cup of Blood Passion he'd prepared for me. I began to sip along with the others, and this began the meeting.

“So,” I said to start everything off. “Let me know something. Who the
fuck is these niggas that got enough heart to steal from us, and where the fuck they at, right now?”

No one said anything. They all simply stood there nodding unknowingly, until Little Jay broke the silence. “Exactly how much did these mu'fuckas get, anyway?” he asked.

“Almost a hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” answered Cee.

“Shit,” said Vision. “Somebody's gotta die, ya'll.”

“You damn right,” I agreed. “So, as of now, we don't know anything?”

“We don't know shit, dog,” answered Poncho honestly. “Somebody gotta leak something sooner or later, though.”

“Yeah, better sooner than later,” I added. “We can't have the street saying that it ain't nothin' to take from the Time Bombs. We gonna have to put these streets under pressure.”

“Pressure bust pipes,” added Ceelow.

“Yup, and it's time to apply some,” I continued. “These mu'fuckas out here gonna know not to ever fuck with something or someone that's part of this crew. Our first priority is find out who, and where these mu'fuckas at with balls big enough to steal from us, and that's it. I got fifty thousand for the cat that brings me their heads. Let all ya'll mu'fuckin' workers know what the deal is.”

Everyone nodded in agreement while I went on further, and the focus grew deeper and deeper in their faces. They were to know that they had a family, and that they were a part of something bigger than a street crew that dabbles in narcs. The Time Bombs was a movement that needed to be represented properly. When you're part of a family, you have to be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect it. If any of them had anything to do with it, after this occurrence, there would be no more instances where the dedication of a Time Bomb soldier would be questioned.

“Leave some for me, nigga,” said Boogie to Reggie. “That's all we've got left.”

“Shut the fuck up, Boogie,” countered Reggie. “And how the fuck you smoke up three thousand dollars' worth of crack in just a few fuckin' days, anyway?”

It had been almost a week now since Boogie and Reggie had broken into one of the houses that were known Time Bomb stash houses, and they'd been too preoccupied with the findings from their heist to even bathe or change clothes. When they were through emptying out that hollowed-out wall, they'd rented a hotel room on Burke Avenue and Boston Road, named
“The Paradise,”
and never once had seen the light of day since. They didn't even eat. All they did was smoke, and smoke, and smoke.

Boogie and Reggie hadn't known each other long, but if you're as much of a dickhead as Boogie was, you could make a lot of friends when you're telling a bunch of rock-heads that you could get access to unbelievable amounts of crack. Boogie and Reggie both hung out at the same place when smoking their poison, and when Reggie heard Boogie talking his shit, he'd taken him very seriously. He'd put him under pressure until he'd told him everything he knew. Boogie told Reggie about when he used to be a part of the Time Bomb organization, right up until they'd found out that he was a user as well as a seller. Before he'd parted ways with them, he knew enough to get over on them at least once. He'd just been too afraid of what
might happen to him if he ever tried anything. For good reason, too; until he'd met Reggie. Reggie had convinced him that no one would find out, as long as they did it correctly, and that was enough for him. No one but a fuckin' crack-fiend would even imagine double-crossing a Time Bomb, and he was the one stupid enough to think that he could get away with it, too.

“What?” asked Boogie. “What the fuck you mean ‘how did I', like you wasn't right here with me, Reggie. Half of that smoke is in your lungs, nigga.”

“Whatever, nigga,” said Reggie, dismissing his statement. “Like I said, how the fuck we only got this last little bit of this shit left, man?”

“I don't know, man,” said Boogie with confusion in his voice. “It seemed like a whole lot more than that when we took it.”

Before the words were even completely out of his mouth, he looked up at Reggie with distrust. He thought to himself that they couldn't have possibly smoked up all of that crack-cocaine in only six days. If this was all that was left over from the entire supply they'd stolen, there had to be something going on that he didn't know about. He started to suspect Reggie of foul play. He stared at him with a look in his eye that could've burned a hole in the wall. Reggie was so involved in the pipe that he'd been inhaling so deeply from, that he didn't even realize how angrily Boogie had been gazing at him. When he finally did look up, he noticed the fire in Boogie's eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked.

“Fuck you, motherfucker!” yelled Boogie as he charged toward Reggie, lifting him out of his chair and slamming him up against the wall. “You shiestie bastard, you stealing from me?”

“What?” Reggie asked with uncertainty. “No, I ain't stealing from you, nigga. What the fuck are you, crazy?”

“Yes, you are, nigga! Don't fucking lie to me!”

Reggie, finally realizing that there was no reasoning left in Boogie, fought to push him off. When he wouldn't let go, he lifted his hand and swung down, smacking Boogie in his face with the back of his hand. Dazed from the impact of the slap, he loosened the grip he had on Reggie enough for him to push him off and hit him with a closed fist across his jaw. He hit him twice more before Boogie curled up on the floor crying. When Reggie
saw Boogie burst into tears the way he did, he started to feel sorry for him. He took his share of the loot they had and left without saying anything to him.