Chapter 11
It was the fall of ‘94, and another school year was beginning for Christopher. He wasn’t too eager about starting another school year, but he was very anxious for the basketball season to get underway. Chris was in the eighth grade now, and you could say he was the most popular kid attending St. Angela. Chris and Bridget were still involved with each other, even though she graduated and went on to an all-girl high school.
“Chris, I know you see Alexis ova’ there staring at'chú, right?” Antwone asked while he, Randy, and Chris walked the halls in St. Angela, on their way to recess. Randy and Antwone were classmates as well as teammates of Chris. “Alicia told me Alexis been saying’ y’all go together.”
“I don’t know why she saying’ that. I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ that girl!” Chris responded while walking down the hallway trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with Alexis.
Alexis was as skinny as a toothpick, dark skinned, and never kept her hair done. She was the type of girl that had a flipped mouth, always talked back to all the teachers, and kept rumors floating in the air about other students.
“Aey lord, niggaz all around my crib be talking’ ‘bout'cho’ brotha ‘n’ shit, saying’ how he’s gettin’ money now and how slick his Chevy is,” Randy mentioned as they made their way to the outside parking lot to enjoy a pickup game of tag football at recess on a sunny, mid-seventy-degree fall Monday afternoon. It was the time of season where all the leaves turned brown and orange and started shedding to the ground.
“Who you heard say dat shit?” Chris asked curiously.
“Dem Mafias ova’ there on Central and North Avenue.”
“Yeah we gettin’ money,” Chris claimed as he threw a long pass to one of his classmates. “Dem hatin’-ass niggaz betta’ keep my brotha’ name out they mouth ‘fore we come ova’ there and fuck they ass up.”
“Man, them lame-ass niggaz don’t want no trouble. Dey know how crazy those Insanes off Twenty-first is!” Randy laughed out as he spoke.
“Heeeeyyyy, Chris!” a young girl out the seventh grade walked up, interrupting their conversation to speak to Chris.
“Whudd up,” Chris responded with a strange look on his face.
“Here, this for you,” The young girl said as she handed Chris a folded-up sheet of paper. “That’s from your secret admirer,” She said as she laughed and turned away.
“What the fuck!” Chris exclaimed with a frown as he opened to read the letter.
“‘I can’t wait ‘til the day I can taste your sexy body with your fine ass!” Chris read the letter out loud with Antwone and Randy standing beside him. They both burst out laughing while Chris stood there looking puzzled.
“Man, this shit ain’t funny. Who you think wrote this shit?” Chris asked his buddies standing next to him.
“Nigga don’t act like you don’t know,” Antwone joked as they continued to giggle.
“Don’t play wit’ me, Jo,” Chris said with a grin as he balled the note up. “That hoe knows better’.”
Through Chris’s actions, you could tell the street life was starting to fascinate his imagination. Every day in school he would boast and brag on how his brother was getting a lot of money and always mentioning all the nice cars he had. Chris even began claiming that he was affiliated with the IVL nation; a few of his seventh—and eighth-grade friends followed. Marcus wouldn’t have agreed with Chris’s actions if he’d known; all he wanted Chris to do was to complete high school and possibly go on to college—not only to pursue his hoop dreams but also to accomplish getting a degree in business administration. Marcus had big dreams for his younger brother, and he definitely didn’t want to lose him to the street life.
In the meanwhile, Sylvia was enjoying life by getting out in the world more and doing things that made her content and happy. Marcus would drop off ten thousand dollars a month to his mother for her to put up in case of any emergencies. Even though Sylvia knew where her son’s money was coming from, she still accepted it. Marcus allowed Sylvia to spend money on whatever her heart desired. Instead of Sylvia spending money on unnecessary things, she invested majority of his money into different savings accounts that drew interest quarterly. Sylvia never informed Marcus of her doings. Marcus wasn’t too concerned on how his mother handled his money because he had plenty of money put up in five other spots, not including all the money he had circulating through the streets.
A couple of months had passed since Marcus drove down on J-Rock. The word in the streets was that the New Breeds blamed the Black Souls (another street mob) for the murder of J-Rock. A couple of weeks prior to J-Rock getting shot to death, him and his crew got into an altercation with the Souls over a neutral block located in K-Town. J-Roc had even sent some of his soldiers to shoot at the souls on their own set and ended up killing a few of their people. When Marcus was informed by Smitty about the situation, he began moving around in the streets normally.
The couple weeks Marcus lay low after completing the mission for Smitty, business was still being handled by his crew, but not as smoothly. Three pack workers had gotten popped off (locked up) on Avers while posted in the alley hustling. Usually, when the ole-school addicts worked, they never held the work directly on them; but since Marcus hadn’t been around for about a month, everybody started slightly slipping. All three workers had long criminal backgrounds of drug offenses, so they were held at the Cook County Jail without bond, but one in particular was released for no apparent reason.
“Yeah, I jus’ made it on'a block, ‘bout to get shit situated,” Mikey spoke on the phone as he exited the Chevy, one of the crew’s work cars, to supply the block for the day shift. “I’mma call you back in’a minute.” Mikey ended the call as he proceeded to approach a particular house on Avers.
It was a typical fall Chicago day, about fifty-five degrees, cloudy, wind blowing fiercely, grass filled with different colored leaves. Days started getting shorter; something in the autumn weather always made the atmosphere feel gloomy.
As Mikey made his way out the house onto the front porch, he saw Dirty Red from afar. Dirty Red was one of the three pack workers that got popped off while working blow jabs in the alley of Avers.
“How the hell he get out so quick?” Mikey asked himself while looking across the street at Dirty Red standing next to a couple of his neighborhood friends. As Mikey began to step down the steps on his way to drop off two g-bundles to one of the Shorty lords that distribute the packs to the workers, Dirty Red hollered from across the street, “Mikey lord!” attempting to get Mikey’s attention. Mikey initially ignored him as he assertively got into the Aluminum. “Lord, let me holla’ at'chu!” Dirty Red quickly marched his way excitedly to the car before Mikey could pull off.
“Wassup, man!” Mikey retorted irritably while shifting the car into drive. “You kno’ I’m dirty, I gotta go drop this shit off!”
“Lord, I’m ready to get back to work.”
“You ready to get back to work?” Mikey arguably asked with a disgusted expression. “How the fuck you get out so quick, anyway?”
“You know I’m too slick for them mothafuckas to find some shit on me! I was down to my last two rocks and I swallowed them bitches. Mitch and Hotrod had jus’ started on fresh packs, that’s how they got caught wit’ all that shit.” Dirty anxiously said while fidgeting with his nose and constantly rubbing his face. By his actions it was obvious that he was in desperate need for a fix.
“Yeah, I hear you, man, but let me get outta here so I can do what I gotta do,” Mikey responded, not giving any thought to what was just said.
“Lord, you know I’m jus’ getting’ out. I’m sick den'a muthafucka, let me get a blow and I’ll work the next pack for nothing’,” Dirty Red pleaded.
“I ain’t got no free blows and I damn sho’ don’t need you to work!” Mikey exclaimed aggressively, easing his way out the parking space while Dirty was still rested on the driver’s side window seal.
&nb
sp; “You think dem niggaz a take this seven dolla’s we got?” Dirty begged desperately. Mikey simply shrugged his shoulders and sped off.
Dirty Red stood in the middle of the street looking confused and sick. He had to find a way to not only get high but to also get back into the pack-working rotation.
One Friday morning, everything seemed normal. A typical day for Marcus was waking up every morning before sunrise to meet up with one of his crew members (usually JR or Lil G) at a location to give him all of the day’s work. The clientele on the block had built up over time, so at this point, Marcus was sending out twelve thousand worth of blows (heroin) and twelve thousand dollars worth of crack a day. Exactly ten thousand dollars from each drug, after the runners and pack workers pay, would come back to the table for Marcus. Majority of the time the money wouldn’t be short a dollar because everyone was getting paid well.
On this particular morning, Marcus met Lil G at a premier breakfast spot called Epples, located on the southeast side of Chicago, five minutes from downtown, ten minutes from the ‘hood. Epples was the go-to spot after a night of clubbin’ for big-timers; also a lot of business people conducted early morning business over the smells of fresh coffee and the aroma of delicious breakfasts being prepared.
“hey, sweethearts,” the older waitress greeted Marcus and Lil G as they seated themselves at a booth close to the window where they were able to see the main street.
“How you doing this morning, Ms. Gloria?” Marcus said, knowing the waitress’s name by hard. Most of the time he would demand to be seated at whatever section she served.
“Y’all need a minute, honey, or y’all just getting the usual?” Gloria spoke as she placed the menus in front of them both and poured coffee.
“The usual for me,” Marcus replied by handing her back the menu. The usual for Marcus meant two turkey sausage patties, three eggs scrambled lightly with cheese, three hotcakes with sliced cinnamon apples on top, potato hash browns with grilled onions cooked inside, and a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Mrs. Gloria, let me jus’ get a steak ‘n’ cheese omelet wit’ grilled onions cooked in my hash browns and a large apple juice wit’ no ice.”
“Everything in the omelet?”
“Everything except green peppers.”
“Pancakes or waffles?”
“Pancakes.
“All righty, shuga’, let me take these menus and put you all orders in. It shouldn’t take that long before y’all food be ready,” the waitress said as she walked toward the kitchen area with the menus and coffee kettle in hand. By the sounds of the orders being hollered in the kitchen to the cooks, the clanking of the pots and pans, the different conversations, and papers being shuffled, that was the normal busy atmosphere at Epples.
“Man, lord, I had a long night yesterday, boa!” Marcus said with a smirk as he sipped on his coffee.
“awe shit, whatchú don’ got into now, hot boy?” Lil G responded excitedly while rubbing his hands together in anticipation to what Marcus was about to tell him.
“Man, Jo, I’m on my way to crib in Forest Park to change clothes, right,”
“Right, right,” Lil G muttered out while preparing to give Marcus his undivided attention.
“Instead of jumpin’ on the e-way (expressway), I took Madison all the way to the suburbs. I was at the red light on Austin and I jus’ happen to glance out the passenger-side window and saw this fine ass red bone staring at me . . . ,” Marcus explained while performing different hand gestures to get his point across. “So I wave, she waved back; I instantly raised the window down and told her to pull ova’. To make a long story short, the bitch got out the car thick and fine as hell!” Marcus explained with excitement. “I asked her name and where she was headed. She tells me she was on the way to pick up her girl and they were looking for somewhere to relax and have some drinks!”
“What!” Lil G retorted with a surprised expression.
“So I mentioned that I had my own spot and I told her they were more than welcome to join me. She looked surprised at first, and then she asked me did I have somebody for her friend. Of course I said yeah. I ended up exchanging numbers wit’ the broad and told her to call me when they was ready. Soon as I lef’ her, I tried callin’ yo’ muthafuckin’ ass and you ain’t even answer the phone!”
“‘Round what time you called the phone?”
“Nigga, I called yo’ ass from nine thirty ‘til the time I got up wit’ dem hoes,” Marcus claimed. “Then I started callin’ Mikey phone and that nigga didn’t wanna answer either. I shoal hate if it was an emergency. I would’ve jus’ been fucked up, huh?!” Marcus said with a slight seriousness in his tone.
“Naaahhh, lord, it ain’t like dat. I was ova’ there fuckin’ ‘round wit’ them niggaz on Twenty-first, out there drinking’ and smoking ‘n’ shit and forgot my damn phone in the car . . . ,” Lil G explained. “But yo, dat nigga Spoonie was out there talkin’ real slick at the mouth last night.”
“Yeah?” Marcus reacted in disbelief.
“All right, fellas,” the waitress said while placing orders on the table, interrupting their conversation temporarily. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
“Everything looks good right now, thank you,” Marcus said.
“All righty, gimme a holla if y’all need me.”
“Now what'chu was sayin’ about Spoonie?” Marcus stated while preparing his food with salt ‘n’ pepper.
“He was jus’ sayin’ shit like, how you ain’t been fuckin’ wit’em since we been doin’ our own thang and how you forgot who put'chu on . . . ,” Lil G explained while digging his knife and fork into his omelet. “Ion know how everybody else took what he was sayin’ but I sensed a little jealousy comin’ from him.”
“I wonder why he ain’t say none of that shit when he seen me ova’ ‘there hollin’ at Peaches the other day.”
“You kno’ how these niggaz be. But fuck all dat. What happened wit’ them hoes, nigga,” Lil G said.
“Awe yeah, them hoes came through. We smoked and took shots of tequila all night. Dem hoes got hot and started doing each other . . . !” Marcus spoke with excitement. “When I seen that, I knew it was on! I ended up fuckin’ both of dem bitches ‘til it was time for me to get up wit’chú.”
Lil G sat there stunned with his mouth wide open momentarily. While the night of Marcus’s orgy was still on Lil G’s mind, Marcus had other thoughts on his brains as they continued to eat. He felt that it was time to start keeping a close eye on his own brothers in the nation.
After they were done eating breakfast, Marcus gave Lil G the supplies he needed to take to Mikey.
Everything went according to plan—Mikey met up with Lil G and got what he needed. Mikey was en route to do his normal routine—go separate the work and drop it off to the pack runner. As he exited the car with a large shopping bag in hand, walking toward one of the stash houses two blocks over from Avers, two Chevy Caprice with no license plates came speeding from opposite directions filled with detectives, jumping out, pointing guns. “Get down! Get down!” the two lead detectives ordered as Mikey slowly kneeled down and put his hands behind his head. At that instant, Mikey knew there was little he could do, so he cooperated. Of course when the detectives searched Mikey and searched the car thoroughly, they found what they were looking for—drugs and a pistol.
“Uhh huh . . . !” Packman said as he discovered the hidden packs inside the bag full of groceries. Packman and KT were the most notorious detectives on the west side of Chicago at that time. They were known for extorting big-time drug dealers for money and planting drugs and pistols on young hustlers they wanted out the way. “Look what we got here!” Packman hollered out to his partner KT, who was busy searching the car.
Packman ordered one of the other detectives to put Mikey in handcuffs and made him lie facedown in the grass while he walked over to KT with the packs in his hands. After searching the Chevy Alum
inum thoroughly, KT ended up finding a chrome .40 caliber that was kept
under the driver’s side seat at all times.
“Pick his sorry ass up . . . !” KT said to one of the detectives.
“Step over here with us so we can holla at cha,” Packman said as he and KT grabbed Mikey by the arms and walked him off from the other standing detectives. “You know with this pistol and the rest of that shit we found; your black ass ain’t gon’ see these streets for a mighty long time,” Packman said with a smirk on his face while spinning the pistol on one finger.
Mikey gave the two detectives a stale expression while keeping silent while the Ds continued to harass him.
“Look, we know what the fuck is going on! You ain’t the muthafucka we want . . . ,” Packman said while intensely looking at Mikey’s face. “All you gotta do is tell us who our man is and you can get the fuck on, wit’ no strings attached.”
“Man, look, I ain’t got shit for y’all so go ‘head and do what you gon’ do,” Mikey said with a slight arrogance in his tone.
“Awe, okay, you wanna be a smart ass huh . . . !” KT angrily said as they both pushed Mikey around. “Let’s lock his ass up!”
Mikey kept silent the entire way. The detectives ended up taking him to the station to book him on a narcotic charge, but the pistol magically disappeared!