Paper Chasers Page 3

  “I know what you mean. I’m only seventeen, and I definitely ain’t ready to go.”

  “Holz, it’s getting too wild, though. I probably will get killed or something. Man, I ain’t gonna even front, I’m scared of dying. Word is bond! I’m afraid of it. I mean it’s the fact that I have my whole life ahead me, and I’m sayin’, I want the kids, a house, and a car—all of that American Dream stuff. And POW, just like that, in a split second, it could be over. One bullet to the temple is all that it takes. I would hate for my family to see me in a coffin, or for them to be sobbing and losing sleep over me after I’m gone. Plus, where do you go when you die? Will anybody remember me? Holz, I’m scared of that. Word! I’m scared. But I tell you what, if I do die, I bet you it will be at the hands of a black man.”

  “Randy, listen man, that’s just the way it is for us. What can we do?”

  “Yeah, I know, but things have to change, Holz. Things have got to change.”

  I told Randy that I was the one who was going to change the mentality of everybody from black thugs to white conservatives and everyone else in between. All I needed to do was to tell the world about the elements.

  “What elements? Randy asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Randy, just watch. Soon everybody’s gonna know about the elements to a black man’s fist.”

  “Holz, man, you sound like one of those church folks that speak in tongues. What the hell are you talking about, man?”

  “Yo, kid, I’m outta here,” I replied, ignoring Randy’s question. “I’ll get with you tomorrow. I gotta get some sleep, kid.”

  “But, Holz, what was you talking about?” Randy asked again.

  Without answering him I walked out of his basement and went across the street to my house. I was exhausted from the day’s activities. I couldn’t wait to get some sleep.

  I’d finally managed to take off all of my clothes and I hopped into bed. I always prayed before I went to sleep, and that night was no different.

  “Dear Lord, although today was a sad day, I still want to thank you for life and for loving me. Please watch over me, my brother, Ronnie, my mother, my father, my sister, Paula, and my future wife, Sabine. Please protect us. I thank you for everything. Please let Richie’s soul be OK. Oh yeah, and please watch over everybody in the crew as well. Make sure that we’re all OK. Lord, I love you, and it’s in your Son’s name I pray. Amen.”

  After praying, I opened my eyes. I was staring into space trying to think of a way to tell the world about the elements. Then it hit me! All I had to do was print out on paper, in detail, exactly what each element was about. Then I could just simply get the phone book and mail out the elements to different addresses. Yeah, that was it. This killing had to end. I had to do my part somehow. And this was the only means that I had of reaching people.

  My plan was that each week I was going to write out one element and mail it out. Then I would wait and write out another element and mail that out, and so on until all of the elements were on paper and in people’s hands.

  Uptown—Harlem—125th Street

  June 19, 1991—a Wednesday night, and Fourth Crew had made plans to profile in Uptown, Harlem, 125th Street to be exact. We usually visited 125th Street in Harlem every Wednesday night. It was a tradition. Like any street in New York City, 125th Street was very large. In fact, it was long enough to allow ten or more avenues to cross through it at different intersections. The world famous Apollo Theater is located on 125th Street. Years ago 125th Street was the stomping grounds of greats such as Redd Foxx and Malcolm X. However, in 1991, 125th Street was the current stomping grounds for Fourth Crew.

  For someone who had never visited New York City, but planned to do so, they should definitely make plans to visit Harlem. Harlem, New York should be a separate state. Despite the look of poverty, Harlem was filled with zestful life. There was so much ethnocentricity, nostalgia, history, culture, and tradition related to Harlem.

  Wednesday night was always amateur night at the Apollo. However, on many Wednesdays, amateurs weren’t the only performers to perform. In fact, some Wednesdays at the Apollo featured big name performers—performers such as A Tribe Called Quest, Leaders Of The New School, Ice Cube, LL Cool J, and Queen Latifah.

  June 19 was one of those nights in which amateurs, as well as the mega rap/movie star Ice Cube, were performing. Just like any other Wednesday night, there were sure to be crowds of people coming to see the show.

  Dwight, Xavier, Randy, Latiefe, and I decided to drive to the Apollo Theater in Xavier’s little Toyota. Fourth Crew was considered a regular at the world famous theater. We rarely missed a Wednesday night. As funny as it may seem, we never went to amateur night with the intentions of going inside to see the show. We always timed ourselves so that we would arrive in Harlem just as the show was ending and everyone was being let out.

  Let me tell you, as foolish as this may sound, we definitely were not the only native New Yorkers that did this. As a matter of fact, people would come from as far away as New Jersey, Connecticut, and parts of Pennsylvania to do exactly what we did. Before, during, and after the show, 125th Street would always be jammed with cars and people. And just like us, the majority of the people were there for one reason, and that was to profile.

  Just as the saying went, New York was truly the city that never slept. It would be nearly 2:00 A.M., yet there would be more people on 125th Street at 2:00 A.M., than there were at 2:00 P.M. And always, after the crowds of people from 125th Street began to disperse, they would make their way further uptown to a spot called Willie Burgers. Willie Burgers was a little corner foodstand set-up that had no dining area. But let me tell you, the food from Willie Burgers, hands down, knocked McDonald’s, Roy Rogers, Wendy’s, Hardee’s, Denny’s, Burger King, White Castle, and any place else out of the box when it came to burgers, fries, shakes, or whatever.

  The scene in front of Willie Burgers would always be mobbed with people who wanted to grab something to eat before going home, people who wanted to get their last bit of “mac” on, or people who wanted to do both.

  The majority of our quests uptown were usually by way of Xavier’s Toyota. But no matter what kind of car we drove in, our routine was always the same. We would drive to any spot on 125th Street that was within at least two blocks of the Apollo and park the car. Usually we had to double park due to the large volume of cars. After we would park we would get out and stand in front of the car or alongside of it and parlay as we watched hundreds of cars drive by.

  The cars that drove by would be packed with girls or packed with niggas—it was either one or the other. Rarely did you see a mixture in the same ride. Every now and then we would spot a celebrity or two driving by in a car or a limo.

  Many other people also parked their cars in the middle of 125th Street just to lamp and clock everybody that passed by. And after profiling we would hop back into the car and drive up and down 125th Street just to see everything and everybody. We would pass vendors selling Muslim oils, T-shirts, snap shots, bootleg video and audio tapes, and the New York original street DJ tapes by DJs such as DJ Kid Capri.

  Whenever any guys went to Harlem they would expect to see some beautiful honeys. But on Wednesday night it was off the hook with women. I mean on a Wednesday night women would be everywhere. Not just “run of the mill” females either. I’m talking major beauty queens—the thick Janet Jackson types.

  To Fourth Crew this was tons of fun. We were always either drunk, high off weed, or both when we visited Harlem. The atmosphere of 125th Street on a Wednesday night was always slammin’. Just listening to the sounds of loud music blasting from the cars, talking to pretty young ladies, or just marinating was what I and just about all of Fourth Crew lived for.

  June 19 was a smooth night in terms of no clashes breaking out. Of course, that night, like any other Wednesday night, we heard gunshots going off here and there, but those random gun shots had become commonplace. In fact, it was to the point where even co
ps on foot patrol were used to the gunshots. When the gunshots would ring out, most of the cops would usually remain at their posts and not even investigate where the shots were coming from.

  Surprisingly, with as much as we visited 125th Street, we never got into any beef. Even Five-O would always be cool and just let us do our thing. Fourth Crew always came simply to chill and have a good time. Actually, we knew that we had better come to Harlem in peace—that’s if we wanted to make it back home in one piece. We knew that if we tested the wrong people uptown that we were liable to get killed at the blink of an eye. See, cats from uptown were ruthless. Uptown cats were the type that dealt with beef by literally cutting your head off and leaving it on your doorstep along with the daily newspaper. Your severed head would be a gift from them to your moms. So, needless to say, getting into any fights uptown was out of the question, unless of course we were getting totally played to the point where we’d have no other choice but to fight.

  Wednesday was also the night you could find out who had the best car in the Tri-State area. We stood and watched mad fly whips drive by. Top of the line BMWs, Mercedes, Ninja bikes, Lamborghinis, Lexuses—you name it, we saw it. There were so many chromed-out cars custom fitted with ragtops, spoilers, sunroofs, different color leather interiors which were made available by way of legendary Harlem entrepreneur Dapper Dan, neon-lights, and anything else you could imagine. Some cats had even bit the West Coast style and put hydraulics on their rides in order to make them bounce up and down.

  Fourth Crew’s biggest and only shortcoming as far as we were concerned was not having a phat ride. No one in the crew had a spanking car that they could claim as their own, and definitely not one that could match up with the expensive whips that we would see uptown every Wednesday night. In fact, it wasn’t just cars that we didn’t possess. It was gold chains and all of that other materialistic crap, too. And boy, did we wish we did own the gold chains and the phat cars just so that we would have been able to impress all of the females in the street.

  There were always a few ladies that who would give us some play and kick it to us for a little while, but they were never the Janet Jackson types. The Janet Jacksons wouldn’t dare talk to us because they were always on some, “What can you do for my image and can you help me to maintain the way I look?” shit. We didn’t have that Mercedes or those diamond studded medallions and rings. To put it in street lingo, our pockets weren’t fat.

  Something, however, was different about that Wednesday night. Due to the fact that we looked like we didn’t have much loot, we got dissed by females, which wasn’t so unusual. But usually we didn’t let the chickenheads that dissed us override the fun we would have. Personally, I could have cared less, ’cause see, my girl, Sabine, treated me real good and she wasn’t into all of that materialistic garbage. Besides, if those girls out there did ever talk to me or to anyone in the crew, all we would be after would be a piece of nah-nah. So getting dissed never hurt my ego too badly, because we were just kicking game to them anyway. After all, the whole player process is like one continuous game.

  But Latiefe and Randy, gigolos number one and two respectively, always let the disrespect bother them. I guess it was their egos playing insecure tricks on them. Latiefe’s hurt ego was probably what sparked off criminal minded conversation later that night. Rather, I should say early the next morning, because by the time we returned home from Harlem, it was technically a new day.

  Just like every Wednesday, that Wednesday also eventually came to an end. Unfortunately, that night we swayed from our normal routine and we didn’t visit Willie Burgers. We all just drove home. Xavier had driven us all back to the block. He went to his crib and the rest of us stood out in front of my house and talked until the sun rose.

  I was glad that Xavier had left us for his bed, because we started talking about conducting illegal ways to get paid, and I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to see Xavier getting caught up in anything illegal. Xavier only had one more year of college to complete, and I didn’t want things to end up for him the way they had for Richie. It made me damn proud to see Xavier going straight through college in the manner in which he was—that was with no interruptions at all.

  “Yo, we gots to get paid this summer!” Latiefe said as we talked on that early morning. “I’m talking about big time loot! No nickel and dime nonsense! Y’all see how every week those chickenheads be sweating those punk niggas just ’cause they got dough? Every week it’s the same thing. And if it’s not at the Apollo, then it’s somewhere else, but all I’m sayin’ is the only thing that them cats be having over us is the fact that they have more chips than we do, and that’s why they be flossin’ and we don’t.”

  “Word,” Randy replied, “and half those cars out there are from drug money. You know cats ain’t working nine to fives in order to pay for those rides. You can’t! How the hell is a twenty-year-old gonna be driving a 500SL? What job is paying dough like that?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Tee continued. “Yo, we’re gonna be out there soon. Real soon! This summer we ain’t gonna be poor, broke, and pitiful, nah, not like last summer. We ain’t gonna be sitting around looking at each other and pulling our penises. To hell with that! We’re getting paid this summer. Watch! Ninety-one is gonna be the summer we really have fun.”

  By now it was nearing five in the morning. The sun was rising. I was tired, as was everyone else. I was ready to put my head on my pillow and be out.

  “Yo, I’m outta here,” I informed the crew.

  “So, Holz, what’s up?” Latiefe asked before I departed. “You wit’ it, or what? You wanna get paid?”

  “No doubt,” I responded, “You know I’m wit’ it, kid.”

  “A’ight, bet, then we have to really discuss this. We have to sit down and map everything out. I know we gotta get some sleep, but before this week is over we have to talk and we gotta get started. Every year we talk all of this and all of that about how we should do this, that, and the third, and so on, and whatever, and it’s always just talk! But that’s over with. I’m dead up serious!”

  “All right, bet,” we all replied as we gave each other pounds and departed on our separate ways to our beds.

  As I lay in my bed that morning just staring into space, I thought about all of the cars and women that I’d seen uptown. It was just the beginning of the summer, so that’s probably why there was such an abundance of heads out that night.

  Man, nothing but fly cars, I thought.

  The drug game scared me a little. Honestly, I didn’t think I had the heart for it. I was intrigued by the profit potential, and I knew for a fact that it could bring me all of the material things that I wanted, but maybe it was a dead end. Most of the time it was either a cell or a grave. In the past, the crew discussed the idea of selling drugs, but fortunately all that it had ever amounted to was talk. Now, though, for some strange reason—maybe it was the fear that I was sensing—but I could sense that our desires for material things were about to lead us beyond just the conversations of illegal ways of getting paid.

  I couldn’t have a conscience. I just had to be down for whateva.

  I stared at the wall in my room for a little while longer. All sorts of crazy chaotic thoughts filled my head and raced back and forth in my mind. Thoughts of fear mixed with thoughts of wanting to be down. I knew that even if I was scared that I couldn’t front and still be considered a down ass nigga. And I knew that if I went through with everything that a big part of me wouldn’t really be staying true to who I was. I had told Latiefe that I was wit’ it but I knew that I really wasn’t. I got up out of my bed and I rammed my fist into my bedroom wall. I was feeling extremely frustrated. I could feel that I was about to get caught up in too much nonsense.

  What could I do? What should I do?

  I heard my father moving around the house as he prepared to go work. I thought about just going downstairs and speaking to him. Unlike many black males, I actually had a father, and he was a
daddy at that. Maybe he could add some direction and just help me see things clear and in their proper perspective.

  I was about to make my way downstairs to talk with my father but I changed my mind as I reminded myself once again, no conscience.

  I tried to relax and I slowly made my way back into the bed. Before I fell asleep, I prayed.

  “Dear Lord, please let me, my mother, my father, my brother, my sister, Sabine, and everyone else that I love, like, and respect be OK. Thank you, Lord, for letting me have such a wonderful day that just passed. Please, Lord, continue to let me have nice days. Thank you for life. I love you so much. Oh . . . P.S. Lord, please help us that are in the crew, watch over us, Lord, please. In your Son’s name, Jesus Christ, I pray. Amen.”

  Kingpins

  “Mark, the telephone. Mark! . . . Mark! The telephone!” my sister yelled.

  “Yeah, a’ight, a’ight,” I responded in a grouchy voice. “Paula, why couldn’t you just tell whoever it is that I was sleeping? Can’t you see that I’m tired!? Man!”

  “Mark, just pick up the damn phone and shut the hell up!” Paula said, sounding very disgusted.

  I went on to angrily explain that it was Saturday morning and that I never woke up until at least one in the afternoon on Saturdays.

  “Hello, who the hell is this!?” I rudely asked when I finally picked up the phone.

  “Yo, Holz, it’s me, man. It’s Latiefe.”

  “Latiefe? What do you want this early? It’s like eight o’clock in the morning!”

  “Holz I don’t care what time it is!” Latiefe responded authoritatively. “All I know is that you better get up, nigga, ’cause at ten o’clock we’re all meeting at my grandmother’s house.”

  “For what?” I asked as I finally began to wake up.