Dutch (21 page)

Kool G Rap must’ve played for an hour on various stations in New York. It was crazy. You would’ve thought the man had died.
Dutch probably couldn’t hear Cherry or any of the other radio stations, but Craze certainly did.

He turned up the volume as he headed toward Chancellor Avenue in his Porsche, a five-car convoy behind him. He had business
to handle.

Young street wolves were smelling blood…

Dutch’s.

And they were prepared to feast. While Dutch was in jail for two weeks, Craze handled the business and held it down. Everyone
knew what was at stake, but no one was really in position to make anything happen.

No one except Rock and Roll.

Rock and Roll were two aspiring rap artists who had just gotten a record deal with a major label. Basically, they were two
ex-stickup artists who got in the game around the same time the Zoo Crew was coming up. They had a strong team with enough
heart and enough money to become a formidable opponent to try to fill the void Dutch was about to leave.

But Dutch wasn’t gone yet, and Craze was that crazy nigga to dig all up in your ass. He had found out from one of the Charlies
who was tricking the nigga Roll that they were planning to kill him and some of the members of the Zoo Crew once Dutch was
safely behind bars. Once Craze got wind of that information, he went into action immediately.

He rounded up one of Dutch’s favorites from Prince Street, a young kid by the name of Young World. World was up and coming,
and Dutch was real big on that nigga. World’s murder game and his rep in the street was remarkable.

Within an hour of Craze’s call, he and his own street team pulled up to Roll’s candy store on Chancellor Avenue. When Craze
walked in, Roll had his back to the door and was talking on the pay phone. By the time he noticed Craze’s presence, Craze
had his gun drawn. Young World and his twelve-man army guarded the streets and the door. When Roll finally turned around,
he found a nine-millimeter pointed at his face.

“See how easy it is, muhfucka! How you gonna kill somebody if you already dead, huh?”

“Craze, wha—” His sentence was cut short by a hard backhand. Craze followed with a blow from the pistol handle to his head.
Roll fell up against the counter.

“Fuck you think, this shit’s a game? You think you gonna kill me, nigga? What you waitin’ for, pussy?” Craze shouted.

“Naw, Craze, please don’t kill me. It ain’t like that, I swear.” He was once again cut off by a blow from Craze. This time,
Craze pressed his foot into Roll’s midsection so hard it made Roll crumple into a fetal position on the floor and gasp for
air.

“Don’t lie to me, muhfucka! I got ears everywhere, nigga!”

While Craze continued stomping Roll, World and his team had been carrying all the candy and soda to the door, throwing it
in the street for the little kids. They came from everywhere, laughing and grabbing up the candy, then running off, knowing
they were wrong. Craze flipped open the cash register and counted.

“Nigga, this all you got? Fuckin’ chump-change-ass nigga, gonna kill me!”

Craze laughed as he dragged the badly beaten Roll out the door.

“Yo, give me the keys to that nigga shit,” said World with a devilish grin on his face, ready to see if he could still 360.

Craze dug the keys out of Roll’s pocket and threw them to World. He then pushed Roll onto the hood of the car and started
stripping him of his jewelry.

“Fuckin’ clown-ass nigga! Fuck is you stupid? You better stick to that rap shit, muhfucker!”

“Craze, man, it ain’t like that,” Roll slurred through swollen lips.

“You stupid, nigga, why you lyin’? Your own man, Rock, told me what was up,” Craze lied.

Roll looked at him silently.

“Oh, you think I’m lyin’? The nigga sold you out. He came and told me it was all your idea, tryin’ to get down with us.”

“I—I don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout,” Roll said innocently, but Craze knew he was lying.

“That’s on you, dog. I’m just pullin’ your coat to your man, ’cause yous’a clown-ass nigga and so is your man. But, yo, if
I’m lyin’ then who else knew?”

Roll looked up at Craze and he could tell that his last statement had struck a nerve. Craze looked at Young World’s crazy
ass speeding up and down the block on Roll’s Ninja bike. World was doughnuting and leaving tire tracks in the middle of the
street and Craze smiled to himself.
Dutch taught that nigga well.

“The weakest part of a motherfucker is his mind. Control that and ain’t no gun more powerful than that,” he remembered Dutch
once saying. As he looked in Roll’s face, he could tell Dutch had been right. A few weeks later, Rock and Roll had so much
beef the duo split and lost their recording contract.

Divide and conquer.

But the streets weren’t the only ones making plans in Dutch’s absence. Frank Sorbonno and the Nigerians had a few tricks left
up their sleeves.

Mr. Odouwo had contacted Frank and asked him to meet him at his hotel suite at the W in Times Square. Frank arrived accompanied
by one of his bodyguards. Mr. Odouwo appeared to be alone, but Frank knew he wasn’t. Nigerians had a peculiar way of dealing
that Frank had never quite gotten used to.

He walked over to the table laid out with fruit and Danish, shook Mr. Odouwo’s hand, and sat down. Mr. Odouwo finished pouring
them each a glass of wine, then he sat as well.

“I thank you, Mr. Sorbonno, for meeting with me, despite our past differences. I hope the fruits of this council will assuage
any ill feelings between us,” he said, raising his glass for a toast before sipping.

“For years, we have had Mr. James’s name written on our hearts… the part reserved for vengeance. Ojiugo Kazami was one of
our dearest countrymen. He served us well and to know he died in such a way to a man such as Mr. James, well… is a blow to
our pride, to say the very least. And we would have implemented swift justice had it not been for your people’s protection.
Yet we knew it would only be a matter of time before someone more sympathetic to our concerns would take over, for a house
divided cannot stand,” said Mr. Odouwo, knowing the hand Frank played in Tony’s death, but not yet revealing it.

“But it seems God has smiled on us, as I understand Mr. Cerone is no longer with us.”

“Yeah, the bastard finally caught it.”

“So, what do you intend to do?” Mr. Odouwo asked.

“I wanna kill the little black son of a bitch!” Frank blurted out before realizing who he was talking to. “No offense.”

“None taken.” The Nigerian smiled, then continued. “But, let me be honest, heroin is our biggest export—that is, after oil.
We use the proceeds to fund our freedom fighters back in my country. So, the trade here in New Jersey is important to us.
Therefore, I ask that you leave the streets and Mr. James to us. While your vendetta is personal, ours is, shall I say, spiritual.
In return, I invite you to Nigeria. It is a beautiful country, the most beautiful in the world. I invite you to partake of
its splendor. There are many opportunities for a man such as yourself in my country.” Mr. Odouwo smiled, knowing Frank had
no options.

Mr. Odouwo had Frank’s deck of cards in his hands, and if Frank didn’t agree, he would find out just how dangerous the Odouwo
crime family was. Besides, Mr. Odouwo was well aware that it was Frankie Bonno who had the two hits put out on his friend
and business partner, Ojiugo. Frank was lucky he was still breathing.

Frank just looked at him, and his thoughts went to Dutch. To him, an unlikely alliance was about to be struck based on the
hatred of one man. It was then Frank realized that both hemispheres of the globe had been affected by the cancer called Dutch.

Frank stuck out his hand and the bargain was sealed. Frank would send Dutch to prison, while the Nigerians would send him
to his grave.

T
he community and media were staked outside the courtroom in anticipation of the verdict.

Guilty.

The police controlled the streets with barriers as a mob formed outside the courthouse. Inside the courthouse, Frank Sorbonno
sat in the courtroom waiting patiently. His mind told him not to come, but his pride chided him to attend. He had to be there,
to see firsthand when the jurors took away Dutch’s life and his freedom. He wanted to see the look in Dutch’s eyes. He had
to; there was no way in the world he was going to miss it.

Jacobs entered the courtroom like the king of France. He knew he had the case sewn up; he could smell the aroma of victory.
He had promised several reporters one-on-one interviews after the trial, and later, he had already arranged for a professional
call girl to call on him at a suite he’d rented under an assumed name in the Trump Plaza overlooking Central Park.

He thought of Old Man Ligotta.
I know you’re smilin’, old man.
He then began walking up the aisle, viewing all those present, and caught the eye of Frank Sorbonno and smirked. Frank returned
the gesture with a wink of his eye.
Lot of elderly here today,
thought Jacobs. They all seemed so motionless.

Then it hit him, as he looked one in the face he saw her hair was gray and her figure matronly, but she had none of the telltale
signs of aging. He shrugged her off, figuring she was the mother or grandmother of one of Dutch’s many victims.

Jacobs made his way over to the prosecutor’s table and looked over at Dutch and his law team. As Glass whispered to Dutch,
Jacobs and Dutch made eye contact for the first and last time that day.

I got you, you black bastard,
Jacobs’s sneer seemed to say.

Dutch responded silently with his eyes.
Oh, really.

Glass turned around to see Dutch was smiling at Jacobs. Glass nodded to Jacobs, who nodded back at him, then he turned to
Dutch.

In his heart of hearts, Glass knew they had lost the trial. They lost the trial with Reverend Taylor. Perhaps if Dutch had
let him cross-examine the reverend the outcome would have been different. But it started there and went quickly downhill for
Glass, who had planned on this moment being a joyous occasion and major career boost.

But he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

The judge walked in.

“All rise,” said the bailiff as the judge made his way to his bench.

“You may be seated,” said the judge after he sat. “Bring in the jury,” he commanded.

Within moments, the jury was reseated. The judge turned to Glass.

“Are you prepared to proceed with your closing statements, Counselor?”

“Yes, Your Honor, I am,” Glass replied with confidence.

He stood up and looked at the jury. No one could blame him for the outcome of the trial. His performance had been impeccable.
So he decided to remove himself from Dutch’s destiny and went on to deliver the most eloquent closing statement of his career.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You have just sat through three weeks of the biggest and baddest gangster movie ever performed.
It was better than
The Godfather
and better than
Casino.
It reminded me of
Scarface…
and just as fictitious. It was written, directed, and produced by your own district attorney, Anthony Jacobs. He deserves
an Oscar,” said Glass as he watched the jury and detected several amused expressions.

Jacobs knew he had overdone it just a little with his theatrics from time to time, but the end would justify the means. He
believed in killing a mosquito with an axe.

“But this isn’t Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. There is a man’s life at stake. These past few weeks, not a single fact has
been presented by Attorney Jacobs, not one. He has merely presented circumstantial evidence held together by the weak glue
of assumptions. Assumptions of crooked cops, gangsters turned ministers, five-and-dime hustlers… not one law-abiding citizen
in the bunch. He brings waywardness in the guise of truth and twists every word that comes out of his mouth to lure you away
from what’s real, what’s true. The witnesses he’s produced certainly aren’t credible enough to hang a man’s life on.”

He walked over to his table, looked at Dutch, sipped from a glass of water, then turned back to the jurors.

“The district attorney has not proven Mr. James committed any crimes. What crimes did he commit? I still don’t know. And it
is supposed to be your job to find out based on the evidence supplied by the state. I don’t think so. I don’t think this jury
should confuse the manuscript Attorney Jacobs has presented with the real facts of this case.” Glass paused, then walked back
over to the jurors’ box.

“If you do that, then you can only see my client’s innocent of these charges!” he said sternly, staring down the throats of
each and every one of the jurors as if they had better not find his client guilty.

“Thank you,” he added, readjusting his tie as he slowly walked back to the defense table. He knew it wasn’t looking good for
the home team, but for himself, it was of the utmost importance. Maybe Dutch’s career was about to be over, but his was not;
it was just beginning.