Dutch (12 page)

“Surprise.”

Before Mrs. Smith could thank him, Qwan and Craze came around the door as Craze stuck a gun in Mrs. Smith’s face and shoved
her against the wall. Dutch put on his gloves and proceeded into the living room, where Craze had Mrs. Smith in a chokehold
with the gun to her head and where her husband stood in the middle of the room.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Mr. Smith, all 235 pounds of him raging, his bull kept at bay by the gun to his wife’s head.

“I’m here for Simone, but since she’s not here, one of you will do.”

The large man didn’t understand what Dutch was talking about. He didn’t catch the true gravity behind the words. All he knew
was that three hoodlums had barged into his home and were holding his wife at gunpoint. Every muscle in his body flexed, the
vein that ran down from his forehead to his neck pulsated with rage, but he remained as still as a stone.

“Take what the hell you want and get the hell out of my house!” Mr. Smith bellowed.

“I intend to, but before I do, I want you to know about your daughter, Simone.”

“What about my daughter? What have you done to her?”

“It’s not what I did to Simone, it’s what I’m going to do to you,” Dutch said as he walked over to Mrs. Smith, as Craze pushed
her into the wall and took aim.

Mr. Smith never had a chance to react.

Craze squeezed the trigger three times, hitting the man in the chest. Mr. Smith fell to the floor.

“No! No! Harris, no!” screamed Mrs. Smith at the top of her lungs for her husband’s life. Tears fell as she screamed again,
“No! God no!”

Dutch approached her with a large hunting knife and put it to her throat.

“You hear me? Look at me!” Dutch ordered.

Mrs. Smith’s heart was pounding fast; she was scared. As she looked down on her husband’s bleeding body, she saw Craze fire
two more bullets into the man’s head, leaving him lifeless.

Dutch grabbed her by the arm and the back of the neck, forcing her to look first at him and then at her husband’s lifeless,
murdered body.

“You see that? You see it? You tell your daughter this is all her fault! He fuckin’ wit’ the right one now and you next if
we gotta come back! You hear me? Now you tell Kazami that!”

It was too much for the fragile woman of forty-eight to bear, and she fainted in Dutch’s arms. He let her drop to the floor.

The entire courtroom was silent as Qwan finished his story. He dropped his head, teary-eyed on the stand. “All he said was,
‘Let’s go,’ ” he mumbled almost in a whisper. Many of the jury members were in tears; the rest eyed Dutch with murder in their
eyes. Even Jacobs was amazed at the level of savage butchery of which Dutch was capable.

Jacobs wanted to milk Qwan’s testimony for all it was worth, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to continue. His own voice
cracked as he spoke.

“No, no more questions, Your Honor,” he said as he headed back to the prosecutors’ table.

“Your witness, defense,” ordered Judge Whitaker.

Michael Glass slowly began to rise from his chair when Dutch grabbed his hand. Glass looked at him and Dutch shook his head
no.

“What’s the problem?” Glass asked.

“Let him go,” Dutch answered, never taking his eyes off Qwan.

“Let him what?” Glass whispered back in shock, his face torn up. “Are you crazy? On his testimony alone the jury is ready
to fry you! Let him go? Look at that jury over there. They want your blood! Now!”

Dutch slowly turned to Glass and simply repeated, “Let… him… go,” keeping eye contact with Glass to let him know how serious
he was.

“Defense, it’s your witness,” the judge repeated.

“Just a minute, Your Honor,” Glass said, again looking at Dutch, who was looking at Qwan’s bowed head.

“The defense has no questions, Your Honor.”

The courtroom burst into astonished chitter-chatter, which ran wild through the room as the judge called for silence with
his gavel.

“Order, I say. Order in the court!”

Jacobs looked at Glass in amazement. Glass simply shrugged his shoulders. At that moment, Glass knew Dutch was crazy. He had
heard that he was insane, but not crazy enough to hang himself.
If he won’t let me do my job, no one can blame me in the end,
he thought to himself.

“Reverend Taylor, you may step down,” the judge informed Qwan.

Dutch watched the man he’d known and loved for so long slowly get down off the witness stand. He couldn’t help but think of
Craze and how he predicted this day would come.

“I told you that nigga not built for this shit, son,” Craze said after Dutch told him Qwan was leaving for California.

“He said he scared something is going to happen to his family,” Dutch said, shrugging his shoulders as if there was nothing
he could do.

“Man, that nigga Qwan know too much, way too much,” said Craze, his eyes telling Dutch what had to be done. “Let me take care
of it, Dutch. I know you a little personal with the nigga and shit, but fuck that. You can’t let that nigga walk no where.”

“What’s he going to do? Nothing but go out to California and what, become a preacher or some shit. Man, leave that nigga alone.
Let him go. If that’s what he wants to do,” said Dutch, never thinking that Qwan would really become a preacher. Not to mention
come back one day and testify against him. Craze meanwhile had it all figured out and was prepared to kill Qwan out in California,
but Dutch refused.

Now he had spilled his guts to the twelve people who held Dutch’s life in their hands, and again he refused, because he understood.

Dutch knew why Qwan had gone to California. He understood why he became a man of God. He pictured Qwan preaching to lost souls
and could imagine him doing a fine job working with the youths. He knew that, for Qwan, it wasn’t a witness stand, and he
also knew Qwan had no malicious intent toward him.

To Qwan, the stand was a confessional. After all these years, he finally had a chance to exonerate himself, in his own eyes,
and Dutch understood. When all was said and done, Dutch understood.

Qwan passed without looking in Dutch’s direction and Dutch didn’t look in his. And even though no words or glances were exchanged,
there was relief in Qwan’s passing…

Now, he would finally be free.

“Is the state ready to call its next witness?”

C
raze sat in his Porsche, almost falling asleep. The trial was coming to an end and the time was drawing near. So much had
been done, so much to do.
I can’t believe Qwan testified like that.
Craze had told Dutch he would chirp like a bird if ever under pressure, but Dutch never listened.
And there he was chirpin’, just like I said he would be,
Craze thought to himself as he thought back to where Qwan had left off.

While they carried Mr. Smith’s body out on a covered stretcher, they brought Mrs. Smith out in a straitjacket. She spent the
next seven months in Bellevue Hospital.

Sugar Ray was shocked to learn that his advice had been followed so precisely and scared to know these young wolves were definitely
serious. But when Dutch and Craze had driven Ray to Bellevue Hospital to show him Simone, he knew that the plan could actually
work. They sat across the street from Bellevue and watched as Simone came out of the hospital to where Kazami was waiting.
Simone’s mother had refused to see her, blaming the death of her father on her wild lifestyle. Simone came out in tears. When
Kazami and his two henchmen approached her to show her the waiting car, she pushed away from him, screaming in his face, then
ran for the subway. Kazami jogged after her, calling her name.

After that, Simone was putty in Ray’s expert hands. It took some time, but Craze remembered the day when Sugar Ray called
and said, “It’s done.”

Craze told Dutch and they headed over to Sugar Ray’s apartment. When they arrived, Sugar Ray opened the door wearing a red
silk robe and red silk slippers and smoking a Newport.

“Come on in, lil’ niggas, come on in. Don’t forget to take yo’ shoes off ’cause Sugar Ray got that precious shit up in here,”
he said as he stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

Craze and Dutch kicked their shoes off at the door and followed Ray down the hall and into the living room. The thick white
carpet felt like a cloud under their feet. A lengthy fish tank lined one wall of the living room and the other wall was covered
with a wall unit. Teddy Pendergrass was playing in the background as Sugar Ray sat down in a green leather recliner and reclined.
Craze and Dutch sat cattycorner to him.

“Yeah, lil’ nigga, the bitches keep Sugar Ray living real good,” he said as he saw them admiring his apartment.

“You called?” Dutch asked.

“Yeah, yeah, youngun, I called,” Sugar Ray drawled out in an extra-syrupy countrified voice.

He had the floor and intended to keep them on his time. “You know, youngun, you’sa treacherous muhfucka, you know that,” Ray
told Dutch as he rubbed his chin. “I’ma be honest wit’ you. I ain’t think y’all lil’ niggas would pull this shit off for real,
but when I read how you left that bitch father…” Ray shook his head in admiration. “I knew right then I was fuckin’ wit’ some
thoroughbred-type lil’ niggas.”

Ray paused to give Dutch a chance to respond, but Dutch sat quietly, so Ray continued.

“So, who did the ol’ man, huh? You?” Ray asked, referring to Dutch.

“Whut you writin’, a book?” Dutch responded, and Ray chuckled.

“Naw, youngun, nothin’ like that. I just think shouldn’t be no secrets, ’tween partnas, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Dutch knew exactly what he was implying:
partners.

Ray leaned forward in his chair and put his feet on the floor.

“That sound ’bout right, don’t it? ’Cause, you know, the way I see it is, no doubt, you did the heavy shit, ’cause you know,
Ray ain’t no killer, but ahhh… you did come to me, am I right?”

Dutch just looked at Ray with a curious little smile that Ray couldn’t figure out, but he was too smooth to show the ruffle
in his feathers.

“Of course you did, ’cause you had a bitch to crack and you knew Sugar Ray crack five bitches like five knuckles, then ball
my fist, right? So, it’s only right for a fifty-fifty job, we do a fifty-fifty split.”

Dutch nodded as he listened, then spoke.

“I see what you sayin’. Like you said, we did call you. So, fifty-fifty is cool, but on one condition.”

Ray wasn’t prepared for a proposition. He had figured on doing all the proposing. After all, he had the trump card, but he
asked anyway.

“Condition?”

“You come with us, ’cause I mean, we could lick then come back and tell you anything and if you feel like you been shitted
on we might ruin this beautiful partnership,” Dutch explained.

Sugar Ray dragged on his cigarette, then crushed it in the ashtray. He hadn’t thought about being there personally, but then
again, he had to ensure his own interest.

“I ain’t got no problem with that,” Ray answered and shook Dutch’s hand.

“So, can we get down to business now?”

“The bitch is done for. It took a minute ’cause Ray knew what was on the line, so I made sure the shit was laid real thick,
but ahhh,” he held out his jeweled hand and pointed to a large gold nugget ring that was covered in diamonds. “This used to
be Kazami’s… just like his bitch. Plus, I got two one-way tickets to Georgia in the bedroom. She think we gonna go together
after the shit go down. But Ray rolls alone. Besides, if Kazami can’t trust the ho, how I’m ’posed to? So, how ’bout makin’
sure Simone take the trip wit’ Kazami and not wit’ me?” Ray asked, hoping it wasn’t too much to ask for.

Dutch already intended on that, so he nodded in agreement.

“Good. Now, the nigga don’t keep no real paper in the crib, maybe a couple hundred thousand. But as for his real money, she
don’t know. Nigga sprung, but he damn sure ain’t a fool. As for the safehouses, there’s two, one in Newark and one in Elizabeth.”

“I already got that covered,” Dutch informed him. He had two teams ready to move in on the safehouses filled with heroin.

“Now, he rest his head in Roselle Park and he keep two muhfuckas wit’ ’em, since that beef wit’ them spaghetti heads. He done
lost a lot of his closest people. These two Africans is like the last of his original team. They big, black, and trail that
nigga like a shadow and they ready to die. So the only way we can get in on this cat is as satellite installers. She said
she been buggin’ the nigga for months to get one of them shits and now that this shit wit’ her parents done went down, he
feelin’ guilty, buyin’ the broad everything she want. Only problem,” Ray paused for a moment before he dropped his bomb, “ain’t
no way we can get in strapped, so she gonna have two guns waitin’ for us.”

Craze and Dutch looked at each other like Ray was joking, and he could tell they didn’t like what he had just said. Dutch
had all kinds of thoughts running through his head.
This nigga must be tryin’ something slick. I know he not trying to stick me.