Paper Chasers (24 page)

“So then leave, man! I'll take over the money from now on! I'm sayin'! Man, where the heck are you gonna go anyway?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you need me to send you your loot or what?”

“Nah, Holz, I'll be a'ight. With the changes that I plan to make, I won't even be worrying about loot and women and stuff like that.”

“Yeah, a'ight, man. Whateva. But wherever you go, just remember, Fourth Crew for life. Even though you are wrong, you still my man for life! And yo, I'm gonna still keep my mouth shut about our part in the killings.”

“Yeah, yeah, Holz, do that,” Latiefe said as he grasped my hand and pulled me close for a quick ghetto hug. “And, Holz, do me a favor, kid, don't ever let anybody know that I ratted on Randy. But if it happens to come up when you speak to Big Randy, tell him that I'm sorry . . .”

Many days had passed since Randy had been arrested. I hadn't spoken to him since he'd been locked up, and neither had anyone else in the crew. I just wished he would call me. I prayed regularly that he'd maintain his sanity throughout his ordeal.

With Latiefe out of sight, it was now my responsibility to collect the loot. No one had seen or heard from Latiefe. I guess he was making good on his promise to bounce and start life over somewhere else. With all that we had gone through in order to get where we were, I couldn't believe that Latiefe would just walk away from it all just like that.

The crew was shrinking with each passing day. Our drug business was hurting due to the increased police presence, which hadn't died down even though Randy, the murderer, had been arrested.

I had been trying to save the money I was making for Randy's bail. I didn't even know if they had given him a bail, but I knew that if he was fortunate enough to have bail, it was bound to be a tremendous amount. Regardless of the amount, with the other crew members chipping in, I was sure that we'd raise whatever amount was necessary.

But even just trying to pull the crew together for a cause like raising Randy's bail would prove to be hard work. It was like Dwight, Wiggie, J.P., and all of them didn't even really care that Randy was locked up. Then again, caring was not in our repertoire of feelings. We were B-boys.

But for real, it was like the rest of the crew was going on with life as if everything was normal. I guess, though, considering everything, things were pretty much status quo. But I mean the crew wasn't even questioning Latiefe's whereabouts.

At times, man, I would just be sitting and thinking about my life, and more specifically, thinking about how screwed up it was. I just wanted the drama to end. Word.

More days went by without any word from Randy. I didn't hear from him until I answered the phone one day and an operator said, “You have a collect call from Randy. He's calling from the Rikers Island correctional facilities. Will you accept the charges?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll accept the charges,” I eagerly replied.

“Thank you. One moment please.”

After a clicking sound I heard Randy say hello.

Man, that was the best sound that I'd heard in weeks. It was like I'd been hit with a shot of caffeine.

“Big Ran! Is that you, kid? What's up, dog? What the hell took you so long to call a nigga?”

Randy replied in a low, monotone voice that wasn't nearly as excited as mine.

“Yo, I'm sayin', I'm on Rikers Island just tryin' to hold it down. Yo, Holz, I'm on Rikers, man! It ain't no joke in this piece. It's mad hectic up in here, word! I'm sorry that it took me so long to call y'all, but whenever I did get to a phone I would have to call my mother or my pops.”

“Yo, Randy, you ain't gotta apologize or nothing like that. I mean I understand where you resting and all that. I was just crazy worried. Word! Yo, where exactly are you at?”

“I'm in C-74. Some people call it ‘The Bing.' But you can't come check me until Monday. Don't ask me why. There's just some bull going on in here. You know?”

“Yeah, I'm digging you.”

“Holz, this jail is way overcrowded, so I'm only allowed visitors on Mondays and Tuesdays.”

“Yeah, that's cool. But you a'ight, though, right?”

“Yeah, I'm chillin', man. But I ain't exactly smiling on Rikers Island, you know what I'm sayin'?”

“Yeah, I know. Yo, oh! Listen, Randy, did they give you bail?”

“Yeah,” Randy answered with a renewed spark of life to his voice. “And, yo, you won't believe it, kid. It's like God laced me lovely. They only set my bail at one hundred thousand dollars! That's what I've been talking to my moms about. Her and my pops are going to take out a second mortgage on the crib. But even with that, all they could come up with was about sixty thousand. The lawyer fees are hitting them lovely. But it's a'ight, though, 'cause I'm sayin', my lawyer is mad smart, so it's definitely worth paying him his loot. But yo, Holz, man, try to get me up outta this joint! I can't take it being in here.”

“Randy, we'll get up the rest of the money for you. Don't worry.”

“A'ight, Holz. And, yo, don't forget to come see me on Monday. I need you, kid. Word! When you come, I'll tell you the dirt that went down with me and my bail and all of that. A'ight?”

“Yeah, no doubt. I'll be there on Monday. The Bing, right?”

“Yeah, that's where I'm at. Holz, like I said, I need you man . . .”

“Randy, I'ma hold you down. I'll be there, kid. Peace out,” I said as I hesitantly hung up the phone.

It was time to get busy. I had to get on top of our workers to make sure that they were selling the work right and efficiently. We couldn't afford to let sales slip any further, not at this crucial time. No way. I had to convince myself to take care of business.

You're the CEO, Holz, so run this operation correctly
, I told myself.

Frantic was the best word to describe my life over the next few days. Trying to raise Randy's bail money had me hustling like a maniac. But after taking a step back and examining everything, I realized that things had worked out pretty cool. I mean with all my hard word and all, before I knew it, it was Monday. On Monday I was off to Rikers Island to see Randy. No one else in the crew was around to go with me to visit him, which I thought was a damn shame! But then again, they probably wouldn't have gone even if they were around. It just seemed like almost overnight, the crew was all about self—every man for himself, no more croneyism.

Unfortunately, there was not much that I could do about that. All I was sayin' was that it was just mad foul that Randy's so-called “boys” wouldn't even come peep him while he was in the joint.

I got in my car and was able to make it to Rikers Island in about thirty to forty-five minutes. After arriving, showing my identification, and being treated like a prisoner by the correction officers, not to mention passing through many metal detectors and waiting on this long line, I was finally able to see Randy.

The correction officers brought me to this big room that was filled with desks and with other visitors. The room was also filled with inmates who, of course, came to talk to their respective guests.

I sat down at a desk and waited for Randy to come out. After about a ten-minute or so wait, he emerged in a bright orange jumpsuit with some shoelace-less black Reebok sneakers. After recognizing me, he walked over to me, bopping like a true thug, and sat down right in front of me.

“What's up, big Holz?” Randy asked as he smiled and slapped my hand. “My mellow, my man!”

“I don't know? You tell me, Baby Pa.”

“I'm just reacting, that's all. I'm trying not to think. I'm just reacting, you know? Yo, Holz, let me tell you, kid, this place ain't no joke! This is just a holding jail for cats waiting to go to trial, but yo! Woo! This ain't no state or federal penitentiary, but it's still wild in this joint.”

“Have you been brawling?” I asked as I noticed all the bruises on Randy's grill.

“No. Why?”

“Because your face looks like it's kind of puffy and bruised.”

“Oh. Nah, that's not from in here. That's from the day that I got arrested. See, the cops took me back to the precinct and they beat me like a slave! Yo, Holz, I'm talking about a Kunta Kinte type butt whipping. First of all, they had me in this dimly lit room. They kept my hands handcuffed behind my back while I sat in a chair. I didn't want to talk because I didn't have a lawyer with me, and I'm sayin', I wasn't trying to incriminate myself, you knaaimean?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“So, yeah, like I said, they had me in this room and I was sitting in a chair with my hands handcuffed behind me and yo, Holz, they beat the crap out of me! I really thought that I was gonna die. It got to the point where I was just numb from all of the blows. Yo, I had to talk. They told me that if I didn't admit to killing the two DTs that they would murder me. And I believed them, so I just let it out. They wanted all kinds of details, but I couldn't even speak because I was in so much pain and my mouth was all bloody and swollen.

“Then when I admitted to them that I didn't do it alone, they really let me have it. They tried hard as hell to make me tell them who else was with me. But, Holz, as God is my witness, they would have had to kill me before I would've ever ratted on any of y'all. I was like, yo, I guess I'm a meet God tonight, 'cause I ain't a punk like that. I would never drop dime on y'all, you knaaimean?”

“Man, Randy, you should have ratted on us.”

“What?”

“You should've told,” I repeated while bowing my head.

“Holz, what the hell are you talking about? I got caught. Y'all didn't. I'm gonna do my time like a man. My name ain't Michael Jackson. I don't sing on niggas, word! You know I don't get down like that. I did the crime, now I gotta do the time.”

I repeated myself. This time with a little more emphasis.

“Randy, all I'm sayin' is that you should've ratted us out! I would probably be better off in here. Matter of fact, all of us would be better off in the big house. This is where we belong.”

“I don't understand. 'cause, man, Holz, I haven't even been in here that long and already I've seen guys get raped until they bled. Yo, it's ill. Talk about fights, it's like the WWF up in here all day long—blacks versus blacks, Puerto Ricans versus blacks, whites versus Mexicans. The other day I saw a correction officer get slashed with a homemade weapon. The food sucks. It's overcrowded. Holz, I'm constantly watching my back. You can't tell me that you'd rather be in here, or that you're better off in here. That's bull! You think our crew acts like cavemen? Man, imagine being locked up in here for years. How do you think you would respond? I tell you one thing, your response would be much worse than the one that got you in here.

“Jail, the process needs to be revamped. This place doesn't rehabilitate, it makes you degenerate. It desecrates you, caging human beings up like wild animals. How can a person come out of here and fit back into society if his mind hasn't been exercised, exercised to rid the wrong that was in him? All this place does is help bring out the wrong that's in a person. Jail fosters evilness. It sets you up to walk through a revolving door. Since I've been in here, the only thing that I've allowed myself to think about is the harsh realities that go along with being locked up. Holz, ‘The Man' is making mad money off of us. But, yo, I can't even speak on this system anymore, 'cause I might get enraged and slaughter somebody in this prison!”

I finally got a chance to speak.

“Yo, Randy, look at all of these black people in here. What are we doing?”

“Yeah, I know. It's jacked up, ain't it? But, Holz, I'm in here, too. And I'm not even sure if I really feel remorseful. Because I know if I had more clips that night, I would have shot those cops some more. The only thing that stopped me is that I ran out of bullets. That's the only thing that stopped me!”

“Randy, I'm feeling you. You just an ill nooka! You caught mad wreck that night. You was like our man Larry Davis. You maimed those DTs like you was a homicidal juggernaut. Man, Randy, you're an American hero. Don't let nobody tell you different. A'ight?” Randy laughed.

“I don't know about being no American hero, but I know that I am definitely ghetto fabulous. You should see how much love and respect cats is giving me up in here because I killed those two pigs.”

“Ahh, ‘ghetto fabulous.' I like that, kid. But, yo, remember that night when I was pulling away from the curb and you yelled out the window and then you let the gun go off? Ha ha ha. Randy, I'm telling you, man, only an all-American, ghetto fabulous nigga hero could have done that! Nah, better yet, you're gonna be a ghetto celebrity.”

“I don't know if I'm a ghetto celebrity, but what you just said about me letting off those last few bullets, that's what I'm talking about. That's when I ran out of bullets. I wanted to make sure that those DTs were dead! Holz, man, after all of those times they had harassed us in the past, man, it was only right. It was like bang, bang, bang! Yo, I'm telling you, them bullets felt real good leaving my hand. Yo, Holz, one bullet hit Detective Gates right square in his head! Boom! It was mad funny. Did you see it? His straight, blond hair stood up on top of his head like he'd been electrocuted. He looked like Don King or somebody. Then his brains just spilled out. Oh, it was a beautiful thing. Ha, ha, ha. Holz, I saw his brains! Did you see that? Holz, I saw his brains!”

“Yeah, I saw it. Randy, listen.”

“No, wait a minute, Holz. Let me finish.”

Randy talked and talked. I'd never known him to be such a talker.

“Remember that Bernhard Goetz thing where he shot, I think, four or five black guys? He shot them because he ‘thought' he was gonna get robbed. What kinda crap is that? And yo, the cat got off! Holz, he beat all of the charges except for the gun charge! Now if he got off then I know that I better get off.”

“Yeah, Randy, I remember that.”

“Holz, he didn't kill any of those guys, but I think that he left one of them paralyzed. Still, it was coldblooded attempted murder, so how did he get off? No no, I'm wrong. He did maybe six months to a year for the illegal gun, or for weapons possession, something like that, I don't exactly remember. But if that's not bull, I don't know what is. I mean picture me trying to get off by telling a jury, ‘Oh, I thought that I was gonna get harassed by the cops, therefore I shot them.' Now doesn't that sound ridiculous? Yet if you scope it out, my case would be just as strong as Bernhard Goetz, for the simple reason that cops do harass us and brutalize us on a constant basis. So every time they pull us over, I feel like I might lose my life at their hands.”