White Lines (31 page)

Born considered reaching for his gun once more, but thought better of it. Wizz had the upper hand this time. But even though he hadn’t expected the situation to unfold like it had, Born had known that this moment would come eventually. It took a lot of attitude, and a lot of character, to go to a neighborhood and set up shop, with no crew behind you. Born had known it was just a matter of time before somebody got up the courage to challenge him face-to-face. With Wizz laughing at him as he turned his back, Born walked cautiously from the apartment and got back inside his car. Tommy was nowhere in sight by then.

Born went home that night, and he was visibly distracted. Jada could tell that he was stressed-out about something, but she had no idea what it was. He didn’t talk about it, but inside he was furious that Wizz had confronted him like he had. Born wondered if the hood had forgotten who he was—whose son he was, and what that meant.

As angry as he was, Born knew that he couldn’t single-handedly go to war with a whole neighborhood. He called Dorian and explained the situation, telling him that he wasn’t going to just roll over and play dead while Wizz got all the Park Hill clientele. Dorian listened closely as Born explained what had happened, and his outrage about it. Dorian advised his friend to lay low, and to stay out of Park Hill for the time being. He
had a plan that would take care of Wizz and his crew, and get Born the turf he wanted so badly.

The summer passed, with Wizz continuing to lock down the hill, and being the neighborhood bully. The whole time Born was putting a plan in motion with Dorian’s help, planting seeds that would bloom sooner than Wizz ever expected. All season long, Born put in double the hours, double the work to build himself up with Dorian’s guidance. It took a lot of work, a lot of grinding to get what he wanted, and he found himself spending less time with Jada and more time in the streets. While they had once been inseparable, Born was now busily setting up his empire and leaving Jada to find her own stimulation. Dorian was becoming his mentor. Born was a young twenty-four-year-old, and Dorian a more mature thirty-year-old who had been there and done that. He took Born under his wing, and showed him how to shut shit down.

It was the last day in July when Born rode slowly through the streets of Park Hill, with Dorian riding shotgun. They found Wizz in front of 141 Park Hill Avenue, standing with his man Roy, Tommy, and another, unidentified, goon. Born rolled down his window and summoned Wizz over to the car with a smile.

Wizz sidled over, looking menacing as usual, and said, “What up? How can I help you today?”

Born grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Yo, Wizz, it’s good to see you, man. Listen.” Wizz looked at Dorian and then back, as Born continued speaking. “We let you have a nice little run out here, son. You’ve had months to get money. We stepped back and let you have your time. After all, this is your hood, knawmean?” Born watched the expression on Wizz’s face change to one of utter bewilderment. “Anyway, your run is over. I’m setting up shop again, effective immediately. And whoever want it can get it. You feel me? This time I got my own niggas out here. You can keep your workers and your crew. We shutting shit down, so you can either get on board or step aside.”

“You must be fuckin’ crazy,” Wizz hissed. He looked at Born, then at Dorian, his hand resting threateningly on the gun in his waistband. But Wizz didn’t pull his gun. He knew who Dorian was, and his reputation
preceded him. Wizz knew that to pull his gun would be a death sentence.

Dorian looked Wizz in his evil eyes. Dorian’s demeanor was intimidating. He exuded power. As he spoke, he knew that Wizz could tell that he wasn’t one to be fucked with. “Call it crazy if you want, but check it. We here, and we ain’t leaving. You came at my nigga Born with shotguns on the table and shit. I heard all about it. Now I’m sure you know who
I
am. If not, you can learn the hard way. However you want it. But it’s a wrap for y’all. You gave him a warning. That’s cool. We’re giving you the same courtesy. You’ve been warned.” Dorian turned away from Wizz, signaling that the conversation was over.

Born pulled off, leaving Wizz fuming in his wake. Their takeover of the hill was underway. Already they had secured five apartments in various buildings on Bowen Street, Vanderbilt Avenue, and Park Hill Avenue. Each apartment had tenants who had the appearance of normalcy. One was occupied by an older man in his fifties. No one ever suspected that this nice, quiet older man with no wife or kids was actually Dorian’s uncle Butch. His apartment was where Born’s crew packaged their work. Two of the apartments housed what appeared to be working couples who drove sensible cars. These couples were actually Dorian’s peoples, planted there to keep their ears to the street and store the crew’s arsenal. These couples’ real day job was hustling fish scale to the wealthy cokeheads in the surrounding areas of Rosebank and Grymes Hill, and anywhere else on the borough’s south shore that it called for. The last two apartments were drug spots occupied by workers. Out of these apartments they sold crack to local fiends, moving large quantities of product on a consistent basis. In addition to these, Born had young hustlers in training working the block, both on Targee Street and on Broad Street in Stapleton. Within a month, not only was Born successfully locking Park Hill down, but several of Wizz’s own workers—including Tommy—were now working for Born.

Setting up shop on this level had been very costly for Born. Everyone had to be paid, and the rents on all the apartments had to be paid, plus payments under the table for the housing assistants who had helped him
get the apartments. But it was money well spent, as Born’s operation began to thrive. To add insult to injury, Wizz’s right-hand man, Roy, was found shot in the head execution style, his body slumped over the steering wheel of his Camry. The police and the newspapers chalked it up as another career criminal and societal bully gunned down. Not only had Wizz lost a good friend, but he was being taken over by an outsider. Wizz was beyond devastated, as he watched his enemies rise to power before his very eyes.

Dorian and Born became neighborhood fixtures in Park Hill. On any given day you could see one or both of them at the area barbershops, stores, and street corners shooting the breeze with the locals. They became well-liked and embraced by many of the people in the area. They gained a valuable asset in the storeowners on the block. They used the PLO store as a front for their own shady dealings, and it brought them close to three thousand dollars a night. They kicked a small percentage of it back to the Palestinians, and all was well. Everybody made money.

Wizz was so disgusted by what was happening that he actually contemplated snitching on Born and his niggas. He hated seeing this son of a bitch get money in his hood. But Wizz couldn’t bring himself to drop a dime on anybody, no matter how hard it was to watch Born prosper. With Dorian’s help, Born was reigning supreme in Wizz’s own backyard, and he was sick about it. His pockets grew leaner by the day, as he refused to work with Born. Wizz was reduced to being the dealer all the fiends went to only when they couldn’t get a hold of any of Born’s workers. Wizz was their last resort, and he was bitter about his reduction in status in his own hood.

In October, Born’s friend Smitty threw a party at a club called Gutta on Bay Street in Staten Island. Born decided to bring Jada along with him to show support for his friend, and he invited Dorian and Sunny to come along as well. Lately, Jada had been nagging him about spending time with her, and he wanted to keep her content. Dorian brought Sunny along for that same reason. They got there and found a line outside the obviously jam-packed club. Smitty stood outside, and walked over to Born and Dorian as they stepped up on the scene with their ladies on their arms.

“What’s poppin’, my nigga?” Smitty greeted Born with a ghetto handshake and spoke to Dorian as well. Sunny and Jada walked ahead of their men, going into the club and passing the line at the door. They ignored the stares and glares they got from those with the misfortune of having to wait on the long line, and went inside to get their party on. Both ladies looked divine. Sunny wore painted-on Dolce and Gabbana jeans, a Dolce top, and Gucci wedge-heeled sandals. Jada was more modest in her DSquared jeans, fitted midriff-baring T-shirt, and some funky heels she found in the East Village. It wasn’t all about the clothes they wore: All the ice dripping from the fingers, wrists, and delicate necks of these two women was also hard to miss.

Born and Dorian leaned against the wall, talking to Smitty. Dorian complimented Smitty on what would obviously be a successful event, judging from the cars pulling up and the crowd partying noisily inside. As the men talked, an SUV pulled up curbside with Chance and one of his boys, named Sly. Born cracked up laughing, as Chance rolled down the power windows on his Pathfinder.

“Wow, ain’t this some shit? A shooter and an armed robber riding around together!”

Everybody laughed, including Chance and Sly, knowing that Born’s description of them was sadly accurate. They parked their truck, and all the men proceeded into the party.

The place was packed, and Born and Dorian spotted Sunny and Jada at the bar. They were toasting something, and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Born tapped Dorian and pointed toward a table near the back exit, and they made their way toward it. Sitting down, they ordered a bottle of Moet and sat back, taking in the scene. The deejay played Method Man’s “Bring the Pain,” and Sunny and Jada made their way to the dance floor. Despite the fact that the crowd was large, very few people were dancing. As Sunny and Jada danced, they noticed several girls giving them the evil eye, as if dancing was against the law in Staten Island. Noticing this, Dorian questioned Born.

“Is this what it’s like all the time at parties out here? Everybody just stands around and looks at each other?”

Born looked around the room at all the brothers standing against the wall with drinks in their hands. Few of the men were dancing at all, and there were only a handful of women on the dance floor. The rest of the women stood around looking each other up and down and scowling at the few chicks who had the audacity to dance at a party! Dorian had never seen anything like it. He noticed that Sunny and Jada got the majority of the evil stares, since the two of them were relatively unknown throughout the borough, and both were pretty women. It seemed that the other women at the party spent most of their time staring at them with contempt, rather than enjoying themselves.

Born nodded his head. “Yup. It’s like they get dressed up and come out to stare at each other.” Born shook his head. “The only reason I came to this shit is because it’s Smitty’s party.”

Dorian sipped his drink as he watched Sunny and Jada disappear into the crowd, obviously tired of being ogled by all the females surrounding the dance floor. He saw that Born was staring intently at someone or something across the room. Dorian followed Born’s gaze and saw Wizz standing close to the deejay booth. He was talking to someone who Dorian didn’t recognize. “There go your man, Wizz,” Dorian said.

But Born didn’t hear him. He was enraged. He saw Wizz standing and talking to Jamari, of all people, and he shook his head in disgust. Born was livid. He had known that he was supposed to kill Jamari for stealing from him so many years ago. He knew that Jamari had stolen the money that he said the cops had taken from him. But Born hadn’t bodied him. Instead, he had let Jamari live, figuring that he would fall apart without Born to hold him together. But now, there was Jamari shooting the breeze with the competition. Born felt absolutely betrayed. Dorian brought Born out of his trance.

“Yo, Born!” Dorian laughed. “You really don’t like that muthafucka, huh?”

Born looked at Dorian. “Nah, I don’t like neither one of them nig-gas.” Born explained his history with Jamari, from how Born had welcomed him into his crew and given him the tools of the trade, to Jamari’s
betrayal and the five-thousand-dollar loss Born was forced to take. Dorian frowned as Born finished the story.

“If you let that nigga get away with it, he’s gonna cross you again,” Dorian warned Born.

“I ain’t gonna give that nigga a chance to get close enough to cross me. Fuck that muthafucka!” Born’s face looked so serious. “That shit is just too perfect. Two fuckin’ rat bastards making friends.” Born shook his head at the irony of his two archenemies crossing paths.

He had no idea what a powerful alliance was being formed before his very eyes.

Meanwhile, Sunny looked around the club, feeling like she was on display. Every female in the room was shooting daggers at her, and the men undressed her with their eyes. Even the men who had women by their sides were staring lustfully at her and Jada. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Jada, this shit is whack!” Sunny shook her head. “These bitches are tryin’ to make me beat somebody’s ass. If one more ho looks at me like she wants it, I’m gonna fuck her up.” Sunny said this loud enough for all in close proximity to hear her. “Let’s take a break from this shit.” Sunny pulled Jada toward the ladies’ room, and they waited patiently on the long line. After several minutes of waiting on the unmoving line, Sunny glanced around, subtly checking out the scene. Suddenly she took Jada by the hand, and pulled her into the men’s room, which had no line and was completely unoccupied.

“See, this is where I come when I gotta piss and I can’t wait for the women’s bathroom to empty out. The men’s bathroom is always empty.”

Jada nodded, looking around. “And their shit is cleaner, too!” The two of them went into separate stalls and handled their business. Sunny emerged first, and when Jada came out two minutes later, her chin hit the floor.

Sunny stood at the sink, having just washed her hands. She had a small pocket-sized mirror on the counter, with a long white line of cocaine lying across it. Sunny held one nostril and snorted the line of coke through the other, looking up at Jada’s reflection in the mirror when she
was done. Sunny smiled at the look on Jada’s face as she stared longingly at the cocaine, and then looked at Sunny in shock.