Paper Chasers (25 page)

“Word! Yo, Randy, that's true. When you think about it, that's a good point.”

“I know. Damn right it's true, and I know it's a good point! But I would never get off with a weak defense like that. You know why? 'cause number one, I'm black, and number two, 'cause cops can do no wrong. A cop's life is no better than my life or your life. A cop is a human being just like you and me, only he's got a badge. Their lives aren't better than Richie's life, Xavier's life, or anyone's life. God creates all of us equal. So why, if you kill a cop, is it basically an automatic twenty-five years, no questions asked? Not to mention that they'll make sure that they catch you in about two weeks. When they caught that guy Cory who killed Richie, they let him out of jail, in what, six or seven days? It's ridiculous, Holz! It's pathetic and ridiculous! Remember when those drug dealers shot that cop over in South Jamaica, Queens?”

“Yeah, he was guarding somebody's house, right?”

“Yeah, that's the one. Remember how quick they caught the guys who killed that particular cop? And where are those niggas at now? Them niggas is upstate doing hard time. And I won't even mention the deal with Larry Davis. Holz, they go after cop killers because society thinks one of the worst things that a human being can do is murder a cop. The only reason society thinks like that is because they look at that dark blue uniform. When they see that uniform and that badge, they see the greatest human being that ever walked the face of the earth. They put cops right up there alongside Jesus. They see a good, clean, wholesome, apple pie, red, white, and blue, white picket fence, home-in-the-suburbs American who can do no wrong. You see, they never look into the lives of cops outside of their job. If they did, then chances are they wouldn't care if a cop got shot or not.”

“Randy, I think exactly like you think. Everything that you're saying, I've already thought about over and over.”

“Holz, society doesn't care if we get shot or killed, because they think that we are all subhuman. They think we are all thieves, murderers, and rapists. Yet if you look back on our people's true history, you'll be able to examine all of the greatness. See, everybody forgets about that and they focus on the grave conditions that exist now. That's why somebody could shoot me and kill me in cold blood and get away with it. That's why I'm in this joint right now. If society changed its mindset, if it started looking into our personal lives, finding out what we're capable of achieving in terms of bettering this world, it wouldn't allow us to kill ourselves the way we do. Society would ensure that our killers were vigorously sought after, tried, convicted, and crucified the same way cop killers are.”

“Come on, Randy, be for real! You're talking about the same society that praises soldiers for killing thousands of innocent people, then turns around and looks down on me or you for killing one or two corrupt cops.”

“I know, Holz, it's the same society that praises and looks up to John Gotti, then turns around and hates Al Sharpton. Go figure . . .” I started to laugh.

“Yeah, what's the deal with that, Randy?”

“Holz, I don't know, but you know what? It doesn't matter anyway, 'cause we can't change nothing. Matter of fact I'm tired of talking about this. Talking about society changing for us, man it's just a waste of our good energy. So, what else is up, Holz? What's been going on since I've been in here?”

“Everything, Randy. Everything! First off, I think the crew is finished. Everybody's out for themselves.”

“Yeah, how is the crew doing?” Randy asked with concern showing on his face. “What's up with Latiefe? Has anybody seen him?”

“Yeah, we saw him the day after you and him had that little scrape inside the Red Zone. We saw him maybe once or twice after that night. Then he told me that he wasn't gonna be around anymore. He said that he was leaving, but he wouldn't tell me where he was going. He just said something about starting his life over.”

“Holz, he probably moved in with his girl Esther in her apartment in Brooklyn.”

“Maybe, but I don't know. It's like he just disappeared. He don't even collect the dough for us anymore. Nor does he receive any money from us. It was all his choice to give everything up. Don't ask me why. But, yo, all I know is that the other day two girls came by the apartment looking for Latiefe.

“Both of them were like two months pregnant. I didn't know what to tell them. I think they needed some loot, but, yo, what was I gonna do for them? I guess that means that there will just be two more babies brought up in this world without a father.”

“Holz, that's crazy,” Randy said, sounding disgusted.

“Yo, you remember when Earl was alive and how he cared for his little daughter? People could say what they wanted to about Earl, but at least he took care of his responsibilities. He was always there for his daughter.”

Randy nodded in agreement.

“Oh! Randy, guess what, kid?”

“What?”

“The other day I beat the daylights out of Jamal. I'm talking about a major beat down!”

“Which Jamal?”

“You know, the one that sells for us. That nigga came up short on like two thousand dollars. Now how do you come up short by that much?”

“He kept the loot for self. He didn't come up short. You know he didn't.”

“Yeah, I know that! He probably figured that he could get over on me being that Latiefe had stopped collecting the loot. But, yo, I ain't stupid! I ain't no sucka! Randy, I beat that nigga down! I'm talking, I cut him on his face and he bled like a leaky faucet. He was straight leaking right in the middle of the street. I was gonna kill him, but I just beat him with a baseball bat instead. I figured that killing him would have been too easy, so I tried my hardest to break both of his knees. Man, I hope he slipped into a coma and is in ICU somewhere. Randy, I was already stressed. I mean here I am working my hardest to get up your bail money, then this nigga is gonna come up short? I was like, if that's not bringing a death wish on yourself, I don't know what is.

“Dwight told me that I should watch my back because he said that Montana was close to Jamal. Plus Montana doesn't like it when someone other than himself hurts one of his workers, especially if he didn't give the order to have the person hurt or killed. Hurt drug dealers in his crew basically equal lower sales for him, so that's why he dreads it with a passion.”

“Holz, you gotta chill. You can't just be doing niggas like that. Plus, you don't want Montana to find out that we had his boys working for us on the low!”

“Man, Randy, I don't even care! I mean, I think Montana is gonna find out anyway. Especially now, considering how everybody's cash is starting to get real thin. Montana is bound to find out because everything always comes out in the wash. You knaaimean? But whateva. I mean I can't worry about that.”

“Holz, just be careful, because niggas will snake you and cut your throat in a second. So just watch out for his hit man, that nigga Be-Bo. 'cause Montana ain't necessarily the type of cat that will kill you. He just hires ruthless cats to do it for him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. That nigga Be-Bo, he be doing all of Montana's hits. I know exactly who that nigga is. But Randy, I can't be walking on eggshells. I gots to do my thing, and believe me, we'll have you up outta this piece by next week.”

Randy reminded me that his birthday was on September third, and that he wanted more than anything to be home for his birthday. I promised him that he wouldn't be in the joint on his twenty-first birthday.

“Yo, Holz, I gotta tell you the story,” Randy said.

“What story?”

“Yo, after I got caught in the okey doke, I told you how Five-O took me back to the precinct and waxed my behin'. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well my face was so jacked up with bruises, that there was no way that the D.A. was gonna bring me into a courtroom and have me formally arraigned on charges. See, the D.A. knew that every TV camera in the city had me on tape when I got bagged. The D.A. also knew that there were no blemishes on my grill when I was being led into the police car. So after the cops had beat me down, my lawyer took pictures of my grill, and my body, and all that. My lawyer then took the pictures to the D.A. and he told the D.A. that if they didn't delay the arraignment, he was gonna bring the city up on police brutality charges, 'cause how else could my face and body have gotten so jacked up like that? Especially when the actual precinct mug shot pictures that they took of me showed no cuts, black eyes, or bruises.

“The D.A. was caught between a rock and a hard place, because although he knew that we had no defense going into this whole case, he didn't want this police brutality thing to cause the prosecution to have trouble getting a conviction. Like any elected official, the D.A wants to get re-elected, and that explains why they have full time publicists on their staff, and that is why they must get convictions in all of their high profile and high publicity cases, because come election time people always remember the high profile cases. Anyway, he wanted to make sure that he built an open and shut case. See, if I walk, the city and the entire state will go crazy, and the D.A. won't stand a chance of getting re-elected. Now with brutality in the picture, things changed. He knew that my lawyer could play that up in a million different ways.

“And like I said, the D.A. was stuck. See, taking certain mitigating circumstances into account, by law the system can't hold anyone longer than like five or six days, unless they've been formally charged. If the police do hold someone too long without formally charging them, then by law they technically have to let the person go, scot-free, no matter what the crime is. My lawyer kind of sparked a pretrial plea bargain behind that technicality.

“My lawyer knew that it would take longer than the five or six days for my face to heal, so he told the D.A. that I would be willing to waive my allotted time to be formally charged if the district attorney's office would agree to give me a substantially reduced bail. And if the D.A. didn't agree to our terms, my lawyer was gonna go public with my charges against the police department. Yo, the D.A. took the bait. He had no choice but to bite. But being that this case is so highly publicized, he couldn't let anyone know that I was given a bail, especially a bail that was so low. So the deal is that if I come up with the loot, then I walk outta here mad quiet in some kind of disguise and nobody will know. Only thing is that I will be on house arrest until my trial starts.

“Yo, Holz, I was like whateva. Just as long as I ain't gotta sit up behind these bars. God looked out lovely because otherwise I wasn't seeing no kind of bail. I just hope that my lawyer can work the same kind of magic for my trial when it comes. But somehow between now and then we'll figure something out.”

I felt real good after I'd heard that. But I couldn't really respond because the correction officers informed us that Randy had used up his allotted visiting time.

So as Randy and I both stood and prepared to venture on our separate paths, we embraced, hugged each other, and said good-bye. I felt something in that hug. It was as if that might be the last time I would see Randy.

“Yo, Randy, I'll have you outta here real soon. Just be cool and hold tight. A'ight?”

“A'ight, Holz. I'm depending on you. Yo, check on my mother for me. Make sure that she's a'ight.”

“No problem, duke. See ya.”

Randy strolled off and yelled, “Fourth Crew!” His voice literally echoed throughout the prison.

September 3, 1991—Randy's birthday and he was coming home. Even if it was just until his trial started, at least he'd be home for his birthday, and that's all that counted.

Over the last few days I'd split my time between gathering up the rest of the loot for Randy, and sitting with Randy's father to discuss Randy's future. We talked about everything. I knew that Mr. Allen wasn't so naïve as not to know just exactly where the money that we'd come up with for Randy was coming from. Still, he never questioned me as to where I'd gotten the money.

I accompanied Randy's father to his lawyer's office. I'd never learned more about the legal system than I learned in just two visits to this sharp, Philadelphia lawyer's office. Randy's lawyer was about six feet tall, medium build with dark hair and dark eyes. Of course he was white, but he was as sharp as a whip. He knew every legal loophole in the book.

On my second visit to the law office, Randy's father informed the lawyer that he had come up with the rest of the bail money. His lawyer immediately got on the phone and spoke to whomever, and then he spoke privately with Randy's pops. I hadn't a clue as to what was going on.

Then in his thick Jamaican accent, Randy's father, who seemed elated, told me that there was some legal stuff that had to go on in terms of posting Randy's bail, but he asked me if I could meet Randy at 6:00
P.M.
to take him home. I had no problem with picking him up. However, I just didn't understand why he didn't pick up Randy himself. I didn't ask any questions. I simply went along with the plan.

Later that evening when I got to Rikers Island I was instructed by correction officers as to where to wait for Randy. I waited in a huge parking lot. Randy was taking forever to come out. In fact, I had been waiting a few hours up until this point. I didn't know if something had gone wrong or what. I started to think that maybe the media had gotten abreast to what was going on. All I knew was that I had been waiting for close to two hours for Randy to be released.

Before I knew it, I'd dozed off in my car, only to be awakened by the sound of a bus, which had a very bad muffler system. The automatic gate that led to the parking lot began to open. The bus drove up to the gate and stopped. After about a minute or so, Randy stepped off the bus. The door to the bus closed and the bus drove off, leaving behind a thick cloud of black pollution. When the pollution cloud disappeared, Randy, who had on a hat and some shades, was still standing and looking around as if he were lost. I jumped out of my car and yelled to him.

“Yo, Randy, over here, kid!”

When Randy recognized me he quickly jogged over to where I was standing.

“Big Holz, what's up, kid?”

“It's your birthday, that's what's up,” I said as Randy and I embraced. “You wanna drive?”

Without answering me, Randy took the keys and we were out. Randy told me that he wanted to get off of Rikers Island as quickly as possible. He feared that this was all some sort of a dream, and that he would soon awake only to find himself back behind bars. I could relate to his sense of urgency, so I helped him navigate his way home.

When we finally made it to the Grand Central Parkway, Randy realized that he, in fact, wasn't dreaming.

“Yo, Holz, I am a free man.”

I simply smiled and watched as Randy basked in his glory.

“I just want to get home and take a nice bath. And after that I'm gonna sit back, relax, and eat a nice home-cooked meal.”

So with Randy behind the steering wheel, we drove toward Lauerlton. It was now dark outside. Darkness had been appearing quicker and quicker with each passing day, a sign that the summer would soon be behind us. The hot, steamy, blistering weather of July and August was also behind us. Man, oh man, was this ever a buck wild summer or what? During the summer of 1991 I had experienced everything imaginable that a human being could experience. Thank God I was still alive.

I lowered the music all the way down to speak to Randy.

“Yo, remember back when Richie got killed? Remember how we cared so much at that time?”

“Yeah, I remember. But now it's like whateva. But, yo, didn't I tell you back then that a lot of brothas were gonna die this summer? I knew it! But it's a'ight, though, 'cause I don't think that it can get no worse than it has been.”

“Yes, it can get worse. Trust me,” I said pessimistically.

“Nah, I know it can get worse, but I just try to believe that it can't. Because humans shouldn't have to live the way we do. I mean, look at us. It's like our lives are made for the movies or something. I tell you one thing, and that's that this life that we live definitely ain't Hollywood. This life that we live is straight up as real as it gets! It's like this paper chasing lifestyle is just one big, urban massacre.”

“Randy, at the beginning of this year when all of Fourth Crew was driving to Times Square to watch the ball drop, what did we do?”

“We all paused, bowed our heads, prayed to God, and asked him to watch over us this year.”

“Yup, and you know what? That's why me and you are still alive right now. We're alive because of God, the creator of all things.”

Randy looked at me and nodded in agreement.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

Then Randy challenged me to end the lost lifestyle that we'd been living. He reminded me that we both had brains and that we were not using them. I told him that with the way everything had been going down, it looked as though it was just gonna be me and him anyway. No more Fourth Crew. Yeah, from now on it was going to be me and Randy doing something positive with our lives, like opening up a restaurant or what have you.

“Holz, realistically though, I'm facing a double homicide rap. Who am I fooling? My life is over!” Randy said, sounding a bit paranoid.

“Randy, stop thinking like that! We're gonna deal with your whole trial and all of that. We have brains. All we have to do is use them. With our brains and with God, we can overcome anything, including a double homicide rap.” Randy remained silent.

After reminding Randy to get off at the next exit, he looked at me in annoyance.

“Holz, I remember where to get off. I wasn't in jail that long. I get off here, then I make a right at the light, then I make a left at the next light,” he said sarcastically.

“Go to hell, nigga,” I said jokingly.

“There it is, Holz, 234th Street!” Randy yelled after a minute or so had passed. “Thank you, Lord, for getting me home. I'm back on the block! Yesss!”

“Randy, hold up, hold up,” I said as a tried to calm him down. “Stop at the corner. I'ma run in the store real quick and buy some brew.”

“Yeah, a'ight,” Randy said as he pulled over to the curb.

As I got out of the car, I felt rain starting to come down.

“Damn!” I said. “It's starting to rain.”

“Randy, you didn't want anything, right?” I asked as I came from out of the store and made my way back to the car.

“Nah, I'm straight. It's my first day home. I can't be smelling like alcohol when I walk into my house. My moms will flip.”

It was pretty close to 10:00
P.M.
Randy and I decided to park the car and sit until I was finished drinking my beer. We were parked right in front of the spot where Richie had been killed. We sat a block and a half away from Randy's house. The rain started to come down a little harder.

“I'm glad it's raining. At least it can cool things off,” I commented.

“Man, forget that! It's my birthday. It can't be raining on my birthday!”

“So, Randy, are you still gonna take the test to become a cop?” I asked with humor lacing my voice. Randy laughed.

“Yeah, if they let me take it. The job pays all right.”

I knew that joke time was over and it was time to drop the bombshell. I braced myself.

“Yo, Randy, I got something to tell you that's gonna shock the hell out of you.”

“What? What is it?”

“Now, Randy, believe me when I tell you this, because I wouldn't play with you about something like this.”

“Holz, what is it?” Randy asked in a raised tone.

“You wanna know how you got bagged by the cops? Well, Latiefe dropped dime, that's how.”

“What!” Randy screamed.

“Word to Richie, he ratted on you,” I said as I looked Randy directly in his eyes.

“Holz, you ain't joking, are you?” Randy asked after a long pause.

“No, I'm dead serious.”

“My own man? Nah, Latiefe's my man. He wouldn't do something like that . . .”

I remained quiet. After another long pause, Randy continued.

“Then again, I don't know. . . Yo, Holz, I know he didn't do it over that little fight that we had in the Red Zone.”

I was feeling like I had to do something. I wanted to tell Randy that I was lying, but I wasn't lying.

“Yup, that's exactly why he told,” I said nonchalantly.

“Nah, it's more than that,” Randy said defensively. “Trust me, it's more than that.” Randy was in deep thought.

“Yo, whateva man!” he finally said. “I could get all worked up about it. I could try to hunt Latiefe down and kill him, but what good would that do? Like I was telling you before, I have to start living a step above that. I have to start loving myself. But it's hard to love myself, Holz. It's hard to love anything because it seems like love doesn't last. You know what I mean? I say to hell with love and all of that other nonsense. Holz, if a person wants to be successful in life, all he or she has to do is expect and prepare for the worst, and fear the good. Holz, when things are going good in my life, I have to start fearing it. 'Cause when things are going good, something bad has to go along with it. It has to!

“I just got released from jail, and that's a good thing. But I'm afraid of that. I'm afraid simply because I know that before the night is over, something bad is going to happen to me. Like Five-O is probably gonna show up at my crib tonight and haul me back off to jail. But whatever bad thing that does happen, it won't matter because I'll actually be expecting it to happen. I'm telling you, kid, watch Five-O show up at the crib tonight with a new warrant, knaaimean?”

“Yo, Randy, I moved to Queens when I was about three-years-old. In my head I can still see you walking across the street to play with me. That was only fifteen years ago, and it's like where did all of that innocence go? Remember when we played little league together? G.I. Joe? Atari? All of that. But now it's as if that was in another lifetime. But, yo, those were the good times.

“Yo, I'm gonna give you a word and you give me the first word that comes into your mind, a'ight?” I told Randy.

“A'ight,” Randy replied.

“Money.”

“Corrupting.”

“Women.”

“Whores.”

“Education.”

“Overrated.”

“Guns.”

“Power.”

“People.”

“Ha ha.”

“Drugs.”

“Government.”

“Trust.”

“Nobody.”

“Future.”

“Bleak.”

“Life.”

“Hectic.”

“God.”

“Almighty.”

“Jesus.”

“Michaelangelo.”

“Death.”

“Inevitable.”

“A'ight, game over,” I said. “You're right about trust nobody. I know I don't trust anybody. How can I when I don't even trust myself. That's like when people ask me do I love so and so? I used to say yes I love him or her. I used to even believe that I loved certain people, but now I realize that I don't love anybody. How can I love someone else when I don't even love myself? They say ‘to know me is to love me,' and then I hear people saying that they want the black on black violence to stop 'cause they love us. But, Randy, how can they love us if they don't even know who we really are? The biggest part of knowing us begins with being able to relate to us. You know?”

“Holz, I'm feeling what you're sayin', but yo, it's pouring out this piece. Let's be out.” Randy prepared to put the car in drive so that we could make our way down the block.

“Yo, Holz, who was that in that jeep that just drove by?” Randy asked.

“Oh, that's Tony from up the block. See that nigga is chillin', and he ain't do half the dirt that we did. He was telling me that he took two semesters off from school so that he could work and save for his college tuition, which is what he did, and he had enough dough left over so he bought that phat ride. Yo, I be regretting that I didn't just do things like that instead of being so impatient and chasing the glitter. But then again, I tried to do things that way—you know, the straight and narrow—but no one would let me. Everybody had something negative to say. I know I shouldn't care about other people's opinions, but it's hard to just block things out and focus.”

“Holz, you can't care what other people think about you. You just have to believe in yourself. Don't even sweat what they think. They can't judge you. Only God can judge you. Plus, they don't really know you anyway, which means they don't love you, so why listen to ‘em?”

“Yeah, I hear you. But, yo, enough of this poli-tickin'. This beer is starting to mess my head up! You sure you don't want any?”

“Nah, I'm cool. Yo, let's be out. It's starting to fog up in this piece.”

As Randy gently pressed on the gas pedal in an attempt to pull away from the curb, someone darted out in front of the car. He quickly had to jam on the brakes in order to avoid hitting the person.