Dutch (24 page)

DD: Oh, i’ight. Yo, bruh, I’ve been trying to get wit’ cha for a minute—why now?

R: Because… I got somethin’ to say. I feel like I owe it to a lot of people, who knew who I was—to know who I am now, ’cause,
you know, my parents, they tried to raise me in Islam. My wife always tried to get me on my deen, but them streets had me,
now the beast got me. My kids [Rahman has three] don’t have a father and my wife has no husband and I think the world should
know why. Maybe they won’t make the same mistakes.

DD: Tell me how you met Dutch.

R: I met Dutch maybe fifteen years ago, when we were both stealin’ cars. I was probably no more than fourteen at the time.
See, we were stealin’ cars for fun, you know, doin’ tricks and outrunnin’ 5-0, but Dutch, he had a connect. Now back then,
it was damn near impossible for little cats like us to have a chop-shop connect. So Dutch went around the whole city, collecting
the best little tackhead car thieves he knew about, and my name rang bells back then for being one of the nicest.

DD: Didn’t Dutch go to jail for stealing cars?

R: Yeah, but for the city, it was the worst mistake they could’ve made. See, Dutch was always smart. I don’t know if he ever
took an IQ test, but there’s no doubt in my mind he was a genius. He knew cats’ hearts, [he] knew how to manipulate and strategize.
He was a cold-blooded individual, but he was no fool. There was definitely a method to his madness.

DD: Madness like the “Month of Murder”?

R: The Month of Murder was like… like a military coup. Kazami [a murdered Newark drug lord] was king, and when he fell, all
the king’s horses and all his men had to go with him. Anybody loyal to that regime was erased and replaced. See, ’cause you
had a lot of cats who wanted the crown, too. Kids was plottin’ left and right. Like Money-Murph, in Jersey City. Dutch knew
Jersey City was gonna be hardheaded ’cause the beef between J.C. and Newark is legendary. Wasn’t no Newark nigga gonna run
J.C. But Dutch came and got me on a Ninja and we rode to Jersey City, right into Kurrywoods, one of the roughest projects
there. He rode right up on Murph and his people. Now keep in mind, we ain’t got
no
gun, no nothin’, just heart. Yo, guns was clickin’ everywhere ’cause these cats was ready to dead us, but Dutch took off
his shirt, walked right up to Murph, and told him to shoot him a fair one. Dutch had on Kazami’s dragon chain and everybody
knew it. Murph just looked at the chain, so Dutch took it off. He threw it at Murph’s feet and told him, “If you a ‘live’
nigga, lock ass and take what’s yours.” Yo… Murph shoulda just shot him then, ’cause Dutch beat son ass in front of all his
people—clowned him. Just like that, Murph wasn’t the man he was before, and Dutch moved into J.C. wit’ ease. Real respect
real.

DD: Now that’s gangster.

R: Naw… That’s Dutch. Like I said, cats respected Dutch, and in the game, that’s bottom line. Machiavelli once said,
“A ruler should be feared instead of loved.”
But in the game, a scared nigga’ll kill you quick. Either wit’ another team or wit’ the police. So even though everybody
didn’t love Dutch, neither did everybody fear him… but everybody did respect him. I think that’s the balance—between love
and fear.

DD: Speaking of “everybody,” rumor has it that more than a few record labels owe Dutch more than a thank-you card. Care to
elaborate?

R: Naaw… But let’s just say, if it wasn’t for Dutch, a lot of cats, not only in entertainment, but clothing and sports, wouldn’t
be where they are today. Not only because of the paper Dutch put out, but [because of] the protection. Everybody thinks the
Jews run the industry. They don’t. They
own
it, but the mob controls it. But being under Dutch’s wing, they avoided a lot of the bull crap.

DD: You mentioned the mob. I’ve heard it said that Dutch was the first black cat
in
the Mafia.

R: [Laughs] Naw, naw, Dutch wasn’t in no Mafia.

DD: Was he connected?

R: [Rahman pauses before he answers.] Dutch was connected to a lot of people.

DD: Are you still in contact with Angel? [Angel Alvirez is the only other surviving member of the family, besides Roc. Craze
hasn’t been seen since the shootout at the trial.]

R: Me and Angel is always gonna be fam, but we both dealin’ wit’ our own issues. But I keep her in my prayers. I sent her
a Quran, too.

DD: Now that you’re Muslim, how do you see your former life? Is there any good that came from it?

R: In Islam, this world is called
“dunya,”
meaning “low place.” I was totally
dunya
, we were totally
dunya…
I can’t say that any good came out of that life except I learned about the mercy of Allah. When I was arrested, I had been
shot by the feds. But they waited over an hour to call an ambulance, hoping I’d die. But I didn’t, I’m here. Allah gave me
another chance.

DD: What’s the status of your appeal?

R: To be honest, I’m really not concerned with that. I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t want to go home, but I really don’t
feel I’m ready. It’s easy to be on your deen in prison, but out in that world, in the
dunya…
it’s a whole ’nother story, especially for me. You gotta realize, since I was real young I’ve been spoiled by the life I
led. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. During the Month of Murder, me and Zoom walked up in Livingston
Mall, rang they fire alarm, and in the confusion ran up in the arcade and murdered two cats from Edison, loyal to Kazami.
I’m not proud of what I’ve done. I was sick, and I know I’m not completely cured. I need to fight my own jihad and let the
Quran be my medicine.

DD: What do you want people out there to know, before we end this interview?

R: I want them to realize that, no matter how many times you get away wit’ what you’re doin’, it
will
catch up with you. Because when it’s all said and done, it’s not about man’s law, it’s about God’s law, the law of retribution.
Just look at everybody who lived this life. Where they at now? Why do you think you can be any different, be the one who gets
away? It’s like the lottery—one out of a million hit, and that keeps the other 999,999 going broke. But you ain’t playin’
wit’ a dollar and a dream in the game, you playin’ wit’ your
life.

DD: One more question. It has been said by many people that Dutch isn’t dead. Many believe that the police decided to cover
his escape by saying he’s dead because they couldn’t allow people to think someone could have the kind of audacity to try
something like that and get away with it. What do you think?

R: [Rahman laughs again.] People think Tupac and Elvis alive, too. People don’t like to let go.

DD: But what do
you
think? Do you believe Dutch is dead?

R: [Rahman took another long pause before he answered me.] I believe many things, but to say “belief” in relation to Dutch
implies hope, and as much as I loved Dutch… and in some ways still do, I no longer wish him on this world… But for their sake,
they better hope he is.

C
raze held the issue of the
Don Diva
magazine in his hands. He scanned Roc’s article once more, closed the magazine, and looked at Roc on the cover. It was a
special edition dedicated to Dutch. The whole issue was based on Dutch. The cover read:

IS DUTCH REALLY DEAD?

Craze smiled, then closed the magazine. He was standing on the balcony of his hotel suite, looking down over the Paris night.

The balcony on which he stood had once been occupied by kings and queens, who once reigned from it. It made him think back
to how it all started. They had dared to do the impossible and made it look easy. Had taken on any and all, meeting every
challenge and winning them all. Now he was dining with international players and romancing women who only knew one word in
English.

His name.

But he knew it wasn’t over. He knew there were those who wouldn’t rest until they knew the answer to the question on the
Don Diva
cover, and knew for sure. But whatever the future held, he felt confident. Confident that no one could stop them now. They
had come too far. He remembered Dutch’s words from years before…
Ain’t no turning back now.

He heard the door of the suite open and close. He walked back into the room to greet the three surviving Charlies, accompanied
by the man he had walked through hell with and emerged on the other side with, unscathed.

Dutch.

Craze handed Dutch the magazine. He looked at the picture of Roc on the cover.

“Even Roc think you dead,” Craze said, as he pulled out a cigarette and checked his pockets for a light. Dutch pulled out
the lighter he had taken from Mrs. Piazza. It was the same lighter he used to signal the Charlies, at the trial.

He held it up while Craze lit his cigarette from it. Craze blew out a smoke ring as Dutch replied, “They can’t stop what they
can’t see.”

Then… he smiled.

1. Do you think Dutch was a true thug in his heart, or just a regular guy from the hood who could have gone either way?
   
2. Could Dutch have established himself without brutally killing Kazami?
   
3. Do you think Delores could have done more to keep Dutch from the life he grew to lead?
   
4. Was Angel’s loyalty based on true friendship or her feelings for Dutch?
   
5. Would you have gone to jail for life to protect someone else? If so, for who and why?
   
6. What do you think made Nina different from the other women Dutch dated? Why do you think she gained his heart, when even
   Angel could not?
   
7. Do you think Nina genuinely loved Dutch or loved his money and power?
   
8. Do you think Roberto knew who Dutch would become? That said, do you think people realize how much they influence the youth
   around them?
   
9. Why do you think the people of New Jersey went crazy when Dutch was arrested? Shouldn’t the neighborhood want someone like
   Dutch off the streets?
   
10. Do you agree with Roc’s decision to leave the game? Why or why not?
    
11. Did you find yourself rooting for Dutch in the end? If so, why?
    
12. Were you happy with the ending? Why or why not?
    

G
et these people out of here!” Detective Smalls bellowed.

The Essex County Courthouse had become a madhouse. Screams of confusion and cries of pain filled the air and seared the ears
of the seasoned detective. In all of his thirteen years on the force, he had never seen anything like this. It was like a
terrorist had dropped a bomb on the courthouse and transformed it into a war zone. Paramedics, uniformed police officers,
and Newark’s Special Unit, along with the Newark Fire Department, all struggled to maintain order in the aftermath of the
massacre.

“Move aside, please. Move aside!” Smalls commanded as he directed the curious who had filed into the bullet-riddled courtroom
door.

“Officer! Officer! My son was in there, please…”

“Please don’t let my wife be dead! Someone help me!”

The faces and voices reminded Smalls of a recurring nightmare, one he could not wake up from. He had been one of the first
on the scene and had seen the human remains strewn like discarded waste. As he entered the smoke-filled courtroom, the smell
of death hit him in the face. It now lingered in his nostrils as he looked around in disbelief. The tragedy was an unbelievable
sight.

Frank Sorbonno’s body lay grotesquely twisted against the rear wall. District Attorney Anthony Jacobs’s body had been blown
to pieces, his headless remains sprawled on the prosecution’s table. The judge was slumped over his gavel, and nine of the
twelve jury members leaned every which way on top of one another.

Innocent bystanders and the disguised Charlies lay strewn on the floor. Their blood was splattered all over the courtroom
and even on the American flag that hung limp in the corner. That sight in particular caught Smalls’s eye and etched itself
in his memory.

Smalls sat down in the back row of the courtroom and ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
How could this have happened?
he asked himself as he continued to inspect the room. Dutch had single-handedly taken the American justice system and slapped
it with his bloody hand. If gunshots had been applause, the courtroom would have received a deadly standing ovation with Dutch
as orchestrator.

Smalls silently watched as ambulance workers rolled corpse after corpse onto soiled gurneys and out the courtroom doors. All
he could think of was Dutch. He prayed he would be found among the dead. He’d give his right arm to have Dutch in front of
him, bleeding, dying, and begging to atone for the atrocity he had inflicted on the flesh of the American justice system.
But Dutch was nowhere to be found. The police had sealed off the building and a ten-block radius around it. The feds had stopped
airline flights and bus and train departures. But all to no avail. Dutch had managed to slip through the tight noose they
had meticulously prepared for him and escaped unscathed. He mocked them all.