“You know how I am about having new faces around me, Tyriq, that’s not good business. I deal with a selected few.”
“Get used to him, ayyite Manny? He’s gonna be around more often,” Tyriq said.
Sgt Manny looked over at me, his face not looking too pleased. “If you say he’s your boy and he’s cool, then ok but no more faces, Tyriq. I fucking mean that.”
“What, you threatening me, Manny?”
“This is my fuckin’ Job, Tyriq. I’m risking a lot dealing with your black ass, you hear me. If it wasn’t for the money, I’d have your black ass up in Rikers Island so fast, you’d think that your mother gave birth to your there.”
Tyriq laughed, peering at Sgt Manny. “Money talks, right?”
“That’s right, my nigga and don’t ever forget that,” Sgt Manny sarcastically replied. “And speaking of money, where’s our cut?”
Tyriq reached into his jacket and pulled out a white envelope bulging with cash. Sgt Manny took it and counted the cash quickly.
“Fifty Gs’ all there,” Tyriq said.
Sgt. Manny smiled and stuffed the envelope in a bag.
“Do I still have a clean bill of health?” Tyriq asked.
“Everything’s alright at the precinct. The Lieutenant will be happy. This little incentive keeps you off our shit list. My officers are gonna keep doing what they do, as long as you keep doing what you do and that includes dropping fifty grand a month.”
Tyriq gave Sgt Manny a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry about the money. That’s not a problem. Money is gonna keep coming.”
Sgt. Manny smiled, staring at Tyriq. Tyriq’s stare let Manny knew he was not the one to be fuck with.
“I’ll see you around, Tyriq.”
“Use the backdoor. You don’t want my peoples to see your white ass.” Tyriq cautioned.
“Fuck you!”
The officer left and I asked. “What’s up with that?”
“One hand washing the other,” he said to me. “See the one thing you need to go far in this game here, is influence. A bulky envelope to the city’s finest once a month is all the influence I need to keep my business going without problems from these crackers. Cops gonna be in your shit one way or the other, either locking you up, or getting a piece of the action—either way, you’re gonna pay.
“You trust that cracker?” I asked.
“Nah,” he admitted. “That’s why I always have a back-up plan.”
“And what’s that?”
Tyriq chuckled. “C’ mon, enough about business, let’s go get our party on,” he said putting his arm around me and leading me out the room. We went back into the main club.
“Soon, you’ll be a pro at this, Vince.”
Twenty-Two
Spoon...
Spoon walked out his three bed-room home in Brentwood feeling sick. He had to make another trip down the New Jersey Turnpike. It was three weeks since their last meeting. His stomach was in knots.
Fuck snitching
, he thought but his back was against a wall.
Spoon tossed his .9mm handgun onto the passenger seat and then quickly curved over facing the grass and vomit. He stayed in that position for a few moments, then wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up, trying to regain his composure.
Life was getting risky and he wanted a way out. The safety of his kids and his two baby mammas were on his mind. The heat was on and the government was using him as their pawn for the meltdown. Spoon had been wired up for weeks taping. He had the recorder in his pocket and wanted to smash it but knew better. Tyriq was his brother. He hated the feeling of betrayal. His cell rang.
“Yo,” he answered.
“You remember the location?”
“Yeah…”
“You have sound?” Agent Smith asked.
“Yeah…”
“Be there on time.”
“I’ll be there.”
Spoon hung up. He had recorded Tyriq along with others in the crew. It wasn’t concrete evidence but Spoon knew it was something.
He got behind the driver’s seat, started the car and was ready to back out the driveway. His cell rang a second time.
“Yo…” Spoon answered.
“Where are you?” Tyriq asked.
“On my way out to take care of sump’n…”
“We need to meet. Sump’n came up.”
“What…?”
“I don’t talk business over the line. Meet me at the lounge, we’ll talk,” Tyriq said.
“I’m busy…”
“Busy doing what, my nigga? Shit’s important, come holla at me…”
“I’ll be there in a minute…”
Nervousness coursed through him. Tyriq was shrewd but Spoon was careful when he was around the crew. Tyriq had many inside paid moles in the streets, from law enforcement, to civil service workers and attorneys. Spoon didn’t know who knew what. The Jamaicans had so much money to spread around for information they wanted on an individual that niggas would give up their own mothers for the power of a dollar.
Spoon had witnessed what the Jamaicans were capable of doing firsthand. They sometimes knew about informants, upcoming raids by police, or future warrants on certain spots before they were carried out. Payments to civil service workers, clerks, or court officers got them information.
The Jamaicans would take care of the informant ASAP.
Demetrius had came to Tyriq and asked for his help in locating Stipple, one of his drug runners who was about to turn states evidence against them. He had been hiding in Queens to escape death. In return, Demetrius promised to give Tyriq five extra bricks free.
“Just find dat blood-claat snitch and terminate him,” Demetrius said.
Tyriq subtly put the word out about Stipple around town, turning to moles and paid officers for any information about Stipple. With enough money being spread around, word got back to Tyriq. Stipple family’s whereabouts were discovered, and where Stipple would be testifying at a preliminary examination were also known. Demetrius put two of his most feared enforcers to handle the hunt—Rude Boy Rex, and Nappy Head Don. They both were callous, brutal, and skillful. These two men were ready to kill
at will, even shoot someone in cold-blood in public.
With the information on Stipple’s family, Spoon rode with Nappy Head Don and Rude Boy Rex to Astoria, Queens. It was Spoon’s first time meeting the two Jamaican hit men. By their cold stare, Spoon knew these men were pedigree killers. They parked in front of the projects on 27
th
Av and calmly made their way into the belly of the projects to carry out the mission.
It was a chilly November morning and many residents busied themselves with the day’s chores. No one noticed Nappy Head Don strolling through the streets in a long, leather trench coat, with his neatly cared for dreads falling down to his back and tied together with rubber-bands. Concealed under his coat were a machete and a fully loaded Glock 17. Rude Boy Rex had on the same style trench and wore his dreads out, looking like a lion’s mane was around his face. He carried a long machete and a fully loaded Uzi. He sported red beads and wore a murderous stare that made him look crazy.
Spoon wore a dark brown North Face Parka and ski hat. He followed behind the homicidal duo the .380 concealed snuggly in his waistband. The men were unfazed by the cold. Nappy Head Don looked at Spoon.
“Bredren, mi gwan find dis batty-boy-snitch and cut off his bombaclaat head…yuh hear? Mi kills for fun.”
Spoon went along and braced himself for anything that could go down. They made it to the building and took the elevator to the fifth floor and found the apartment. Nappy Head Don put his ear to the door and heard the television playing loudly. He knew someone was home. Nappy Head Don then looked at Rude Boy Rex and said in his thick Jamaican accent, “Rude Boy, we come n’ silence.”
Rude Boy nodded, knowing what he meant. While Spoon sat back and watched, Rude Boy Rex began picking the lock to the apartment door silently and skillfully with a small electric pick gun. Within a minute they had entrance to the apartment with the element of surprise to the residents.
All three men walked in. Spoon quietly closed the door behind him and removed his .380. Nappy Head Don and Rude Boy Rex pulled out their long machetes and examined the place. The TV was on in the living room. No one was watching. Soon they heard voices coming from the kitchen and the bedroom. The hallway was short and narrow, and cluttered with sneakers,
shoes and children’s toys. Nappy Head Don was the first to slowly creep down the cluttered corridor with his machete gripped in his hand and heard a woman say, “Stipple, I’m scared baby. Where are you?”
Nappy stopped, listening to the conversation and then heard the woman say, “I got our shit packed. What about the police? I know baby. My sisters in the bedroom with Sheila…Do you gotta do this? I need you here…okay…yes…I hear you…”
Before she could say anything else, Nappy Head Don moved stealthily at the woman and put the sharp blade to her throat. She shrieked, and her eyes widened with fear. The phone had dropped from her hands and fell to the floor.
“Mi come fi yuh blood-claat husband,” Nappy said. He had her in a stronghold position and pressed the machete deeper into her exposed throat, nicking her with the blade.
“Via, you there….Via, what’s goin’ on?” Nappy Head Don heard Stipple shouting through the phone receiver.
Rude Boy Rex rushed into the bedroom wielding the machete around like a mad man and soon Spoon heard screaming and panicking coming from the bedroom.
“Mi wan talk to Stipple, pick up the phone slowly,” Nappy ordered.
She was in tears and shaken, but did what she was told, picking up the phone and holding it in her hand. She still heard Stipple’s worried voice crackling over the phone line.
“Via, talk to me…Via, what’s going on. Via! Via!” they all heard Stipple scream out.
It didn’t make Stipple nerves any better when he heard his daughter and Via’s sister screaming. Via put the phone to her ear again and in a traumatized voice said, “Baby…baby...”
“Via, what’s wrong? You okay?” Stipple yelled.
Nappy Head Don snatched the phone from Via’s hand and shouted into the phone, “Stipple…mi need fi talk to you right now.”
Hearing Nappy Head Don’s voice made Stipple’s heart drop into his stomach. He knew everything he loved was fucked.
“Where’s my wife!” Stipple exclaimed.
“In mi hands. Da machete is on her blood-claat throat.”
“Oh fuck! Don’t you dare touch her,” Stipple yelled.
“Yuh think yuh can run from us…mi come fi ya, Stipple.”
“What you want from me?”
“Bredren, yuh know what we want…meet us here, at dis place soon, and nah bring batty bwoy cops wit’ ya, Stipple…mi want yuh alone, bredren… come alone for yuh wife and family’s life,” Nappy Head Don sternly said and hung up.
Nappy Head Don pushed Via to the floor and glared at her. Rude Boy Rex dragged her sister and the little girl from out the bedroom at knife point and they pushed the two down next to Via. The three were in tears, crying and panicking and huddling against each other in fear.
“You think he’s gonna come?” Spoon asked.
“Bredren, Stipples gwan come, cuz he know di shotta reputation vicious…him not gwan want ti find his family butchered in trash bags.”
Hearing that, Via and the others cried out louder and prayed.
An hour and a half later, there was a loud knock at the door. Spoon quickly stood up from the couch with the .380 in his hand and became alert. Nappy Head Don walked to the door and peered through the peephole, the blade still in his hand.
“Stipple…?” he asked.
“Let my family go,” Stipple shouted.
Nappy opened the door, and Stipple charged in like a mad man with a .45 firing a shot at but missing. Stipple was desperate and knew the only reasoning done with the Jamaicans was through violence. He wanted his wife and family freed from this brute’s hands by any means necessary.
He couldn’t overpower the six-two Jamaican gangster in the corridor. Spoon had his gun trained at the struggle but couldn’t get off a shot. Nappy Head Don quickly reacted and grabbed Stipple by his arms, and tossed him against the wall. Rude Boy Rex was about to come to his friend’s aid but Nappy Head Don soon had the struggle under control.
He swung the machete downwards with monstrous force. It sliced through Stipple’s arm, easily severing flesh and bone. Stipple screamed in horror, as his arm with the .45 in it fell in a pool of blood.
“Aaaaaahhh…fuck. Ah shit……Aaaaaahhh,” Stipple screamed
collapsing to the floor.
“Bombo-claat!” Nappy shouted. He was upset and kicked Stipple in the stomach while he was down screaming in agony.
Nappy Head Don dragged Stipple into the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood. He saw his family gagged, tied and sprawled butt-ass naked on their stomachs. When the family witnessed Stipple being dragged into the kitchen screaming with half his arm cut off, they squirmed, cried, mumbling incoherently from under the duct-tape covering their mouths. There was horror in their eyes.
Spoon walked into the kitchen. He was about to observe the savage killing that was ready to go down. The door was locked and the next door neighbors weren’t home. Stipple’s fate was sealed.
Rude Boy Rex and Nappy Head Don towered over the helpless and whimpering Stipple as he lay curled up on the floor. He was bleeding and was turning pale. He pleaded with his attackers.
“Please, let my family go. They have nuthin’ to do with this.”
“Stipple, yuh fate is their fate,” Nappy Head Don said.
“No…fuck you! Fuck you!” Stipple cried.
“Mi tired a the game, batty-bwoy,” Nappy said.
He walked over to Stipple’s wife and looked at her. Via’s arms were tied behind her back. Her naked breasts and nipples pressed against the kitchen floor. Unbeknownst to Stipple, Rude Boy Rex had raped, tortured and sodomized his wife beforehand with a broomstick and then did the same to her sister.
“Mi boy, Rude Boy fucked yuh blood-claat wife’s pussy hole real good…Stipple, why yuh runnin’ yuh blood-claat mouth to da blood-claat police? Ya were family, Stipple. Why yuh wan gwan and vex a man like me…huh, Stipple? Now ya fucked,” Nappy Head Don said.