“Hey, Rey, come up here,” Spanky shouted from the top of the stairs leading down to my basement apartment. “Bring Lady J with you.” Lady J and I looked at each other as if to say, “Oh, shit!” We worked our way slowly up the stairs and into Spanky’s place.
The top of the stairs ended in a hallway that led to the kitchen on the right, and the dining room and living room on the left. I glanced toward the kitchen and saw Imelda sitting at the kitchen table with her face in her hands. In the living room, Spanky and three of his Latin Kings sat facing the television. Spanky’s house was nicely furnished with expensive and beautiful objects. He wanted his place to serve as an example to younger Kings as to what they could accomplish by investing in the drug trade. He had a projection television, various stereo components, VCRs, a soft Italian leather sofa, loveseat, and recliner, and a big portrait of himself sitting on a throne, with Imelda sitting at his feet holding his hand.
I held Lady J by the hand and led her past the dining room into the living room. I was scared out of my mind, and I could feel Lady J’s nervousness, too. “Estás caliente (You’re hot),” one of the Kings said as we walked into the room. “You fucked up, fruitcake,” Spanky said. “Why don’t you lock that door from your side when you got bitches down there?” I didn’t know how to respond. I just sat there staring at Spanky, waiting to be sentenced to death.
“I don’t want my wife walking in on you while you’re fucking some bitch,” Spanky commanded. “We weren’t fucking,” I told Spanky. “But you were getting ready to. Why else would you be half naked, punk?” Spanky responded. Lady J looked as if she had seen a ghost. She was perspiring and didn’t even know where to look.
Imelda had told Spanky that she’d walked down the stairs and saw me, in my underwear, coming out of the bedroom with Lady J. She’d told him that Lady J had been startled by her angry reaction, and that’s why she had screamed the way she did. Lady J and I just stood there, not believing what we were hearing. We had been convinced that Spanky was going to have me shot for having sex with Imelda. Instead, Imelda had protected me with her lie. Spanky ordered me to take a three-minute violation (beating), to be administered by two of the Kings present while the other kept time. He also ordered that I take part in a hit on the YLO (Young Latino Organization) Cobras with the Kings later on that night. I agreed to his decision—I had to. I felt I had no choice. I felt relieved. “If my wife ever walks in on you again, I’ll kill you,” Spanky said as I walked toward the basement door with Lady J and the three Kings in tow. “Amor, brother, amor (Love, brother, love),” I responded.
I glanced toward the kitchen just before I entered the basement and made eye contact with Imelda. She looked worried for me. I was thankful for her quick thinking. We both knew that our affair would now have to stop. Imelda called Lady J into the kitchen; I headed down the stairs with the Kings.
In the basement we cleared an area where the beating ceremony would take place. Surprisingly, I felt no fear. I just wanted to get it over with. The two Kings who were there to do the honor were about my size or smaller. They didn’t look like they would pack a big punch, and they didn’t. The beating was the typical Latin King three-minute violation, in which no punches could be thrown to my face or groin. Knowing this, I wasn’t worried. It was over rather quickly. I was hurt, but not to the extent I’d been hurt in previous beatings. While I was an active member of the Latin Kings, I had been beaten for disciplinary purposes twice. The first time, I was in so much pain from all the bruises on my body that I was bedridden for several days. The second time, I had to be hospitalized for broken and bruised ribs. I compared the current beating to the one I got when I was initiated out of the Kings, when the King brother in charge had shown me pity.
The Kings went back upstairs to Spanky’s house. I put all the furniture we had moved back in its place and went upstairs too. I walked up to Spanky and shook his hand Latin King style. “Amor, my brother,” I said. “Amor,” Spanky responded. “I’m sorry, Imelda. It won’t happen again,” I shouted toward the kitchen. “I hope not. My eyes still hurt,” Imelda replied. Everybody laughed. It was all over.
“What time we taking out those YLOs?” I asked Spanky, referring to the hit. “Around nine tonight,” he responded. “I need you to fix up an ounce of girl for me,” Spanky said, referring to heroin. “Get it from Imelda.” “Cool, bro,” I said as I started toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you get one of these brothers to go on a beer run? You know I do my best work with a Lowie (Lowenbrau),” I told Spanky. “Alright,” he said as I walked away.
I walked into the kitchen where Imelda still sat in the same chair, with Lady J sitting to her left. “I need the H,” I told Imelda. “It’s already cooked and cut; all you have to do is bag it,” she said as she got up from the table. Imelda walked toward the front of the house. I sat at the table with Lady J and reached for her under the table. “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Lady J said to me when I grabbed her leg and pulled her toward me. “That’s OK,” I said. “You like me like that.” I leaned toward Lady J and kissed her. Lady J tried to kiss me deeply, but I didn’t want Imelda to see us. I didn’t want Imelda to get upset with me. I respected her.
Imelda came back into the kitchen with a box and handed it to me. “Let’s go downstairs,” I told Lady J as I took the box from Imelda. Imelda looked into my eyes but didn’t say a word. I knew what she was feeling. I was feeling the same thing—a strong desire to be together. “Spanky, send me some brew when it gets here,” I shouted as I headed toward the basement with Lady J behind me. “Be careful with that shit,” Spanky responded.
THE HIT ON the YLO Cobras did not take place. Apparently there was an unusually high amount of police activity that night, which wouldn’t have allowed us to make the hit and a clean getaway. That was a relief. I was scared to death of the prospect of pulling the trigger with the intension of killing someone. I wasn’t as gung-ho about shooting a rival gang member as I had been in the past. In my present state of mind I was totally against gang violence, but I certainly would have not been accepted at all by Spanky and his boys if I said so. I bagged the heroin, gave it to Spanky, and secluded myself in the safety of my drugged-up little world with Lady J for the rest of the night.
I hated Spanky passionately, but it was convenient for me to act otherwise. I’m certain that, deep down, Spanky hated me with the same passion, but it was convenient for him to have me around. I managed my hatred for Spanky by knowing that I was fucking his wife. That made it all better. I knew, however, that my peace of mind, based on this betrayal, would one day come to an end. I began to worry about how Spanky would satisfy his hatred for me. But I wasn’t worried enough to get the hell out.
4 Fear
EVEN WITH JOSIE’S constant attention, Imelda and I never stopped being lovers. Our encounters occurred less frequently, but we both looked forward to them. Imelda’s desire to be with me made her bolder. I was scared Spanky would catch us. I’d been hanging out with Spanky for almost six months, and for four of those months Imelda and I had been lovers. If Spanky ever found out I was screwing his wife, the consequences would be disastrous. I knew how non-Kings were treated if they had no protection. What we were doing meant a certain death sentence if we were caught, even for a member of the Latin Kings; nevertheless, I couldn’t say no. I was also afraid that if I rejected Imelda, she would certainly turn against me, and turn Spanky against me, too.
Imelda acted as if she wanted to get caught. She would come down to my apartment and have sex with me while Spanky sat upstairs in the company of other Latin Kings. I don’t even know what excuses she gave Spanky to explain her visits. She always wore dresses, but now she would go without panties so that she could be ready at every opportunity. She even went so far as having sex with me in her kitchen while Spanky ate dinner and watched television in the living room. She just called me into the kitchen to help her clean up. “It’s the least you can do for the delicious meals I cook,” Imelda said. Spanky was no foo
l; he suspected something was going on. He just didn’t have proof. On several occasions he questioned me about my friendship with Imelda. I assured him that our friendship revolved around my loyalty to him. “That’s your wife, bro,” I told Spanky. “I love her and respect her because of you.”
Spanky’s suspicions made it harder for Imelda and me to get together. He began to require that I hang with the King brothers more, to watch over them. He now also pressured me to take part in a hit so that I could earn my respect (prove my toughness) with the new generation. I became a target of verbal abuse from Spanky and his Kings. Spanky’s suspicions bred hostility, which in turn lessened my importance in his drug business. I no longer played such a big part of his business. He no longer trusted me to collect and handle the thousands upon thousands of dollars of profits, nor was I trusted to oversee the packaging and dealing of the drugs that brought in those profits.
Josie also began to question me about sleeping with Imelda. Only she did it in a dramatic fashion, of course, for the whole world to see. That infuriated Spanky. It got the whole neighborhood talking about his wife getting screwed by me. I denied everything, blaming the rumors on Spanky’s jealousy. Josie believed me, but she insisted that I take part in a hit, which would put all rumors to rest. “Get your respect back and they (the new generation of Kings) will shut the fuck up,” Josie told me. I didn’t want to make a hit, but I knew she was right.
I tried to convince her that I had no reason to prove myself, hoping that she would convince the Kings as well. “You know how many crusaos (traitors) I took down for the nation? Mention the name Lil Loco to any of the elite brothers and they’ll tell you of a righteous brother who threw down for the nation,” I told Josie. “This is not about you being a down brother, Rey, and you know it,” Josie answered. “This is about you fucking my sister. Besides, you gave up the Lil Loco legacy when you decided you didn’t want to wear the crown anymore. It’s time you get it back.” Then she left.
I sat in my apartment and thought about what she said. I began to question my own manhood. I realized that the drunken, drug-crazed, violent legacy of Lil Loco had carried me throughout my years as a gang member and that I had no place within gang society without it. Reclaiming the identity of Lil Loco was the one and only way I could get myself out of having to prove myself to the new generation of Kings. The only problem was that Lil Loco had been all about reaching violent peaks on a daily basis, and he was all but dead within me. The circumstances, however, made me reach deep inside in an attempt to resuscitate my past glory.
Spanky had me join a meeting held in my apartment and announced that I would be taking part in a hit on the YLO Cobras. “This is a down brother, and he’ll prove it to you, won’t you, Rey Rey?” Spanky said as he looked at me with an evil grin. Where Lil Loco would have been elated to be included in a hit, Rey Rey sat there, expressionless. The nervousness, the desire not to be part of the inevitable, and the fear were clearly noticeable.
The YLO Cobras were the newest in a long line of new gangs popping up in opposition to the Kings. They hung out around California Avenue and Cortland Street, an area that had once been part of the Latin Kings’ ’hood. The YLO had started out as a non-gang-related group. They were more into the party scene, and preached nonviolence toward Latinos. As the structure of the neighborhood changed, the YLO fell under the influence of the Spanish Cobras, and the YLO Cobras were born.
Fearful of saying anything else, I agreed to take part in the hit. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to do something I had never done before. The hit was to take place that night. As soon as the meeting adjourned, I began drinking and smoking weed. Getting high had carried me through times of trial in the past. I was hoping it would still have the same effect. By nightfall, I was pretty damn high and anxious to make the hit. The Lil Loco of old was present, talking shit, looking for danger. Josie showed up and decided to go with us. She stashed her drugs and money in my apartment and gave me her gun to use in the hit. “If you’re gonna take out a crusao it will be with my piece (gun),” Josie said as she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.
Josie—who lived for this kind of violence—two Kings, and I got into a car, and another four Kings got into a different car. We headed toward the YLO Cobras’ ’hood. Josie drove; I sat in the back seat. As we neared our destination, I realized that I no longer had the old feeling of wanting to kill. I did not look forward to pulling the trigger. The influence of drugs and alcohol, which used to carry me in and out of battle successfully, were now putting thoughts of my own death in my mind. Drugs and alcohol had always made me think of death, but never of my own. I had headed into hits with visions of my rivals bleeding to death at my hands and at the hands of my comrades, but it felt different this time. I was nervous. My hands trembled. I wanted to jump out of the car and run fast and far. Nobody else in the car seemed to notice my fear. They stayed focused on the mission at hand. They were just as I used to be.
Josie dropped us off about half a block from where a group of YLO Cobras gathered. There were twelve to fourteen guys and girls hanging out on the front steps of a house on Cortland Street about a quarter block from California Avenue. Josie would circle around and pick us up on California after we made the hit. I thought a drive-by shooting would be more appropriate and safer for my own sake, but the Kings had a different idea. They wanted to show other gangs, especially the newer ones, the consequences of being rivals of the Latin Kings. That meant showing extreme bravado while making hits, so there would be no mistaking where the violence was coming from and who should be feared.
We met up with the Kings from the other car in the alley just behind the house where the YLO Cobras hung out. The plan was for three of us to go around the front and three of us to come out through the gangway. I was one of the three who would go around the front. I was shitting bricks. I couldn’t for the life of me conjure up the Lil Loco mentality to go through with the crime without being noticeably terrified. My heart pounded. I was sweating profusely, and my legs felt weak. My fear was obvious. It went unnoticed only because I followed slowly behind the two Kings as we headed toward the front of the house. We got to the corner and prepared to charge the YLO Cobras. They were about fifty feet away around the corner. We could hear them talking and laughing. They were just like us, only in a different neighborhood.
We heard gunshots and footsteps racing in our direction. The two Kings with me jumped out and began firing in the direction of the YLOs. As soon as I heard the first shot, I got the hell out of there by running in the opposite direction. I didn’t think about the consequences of not taking part in the hit. It didn’t occur to me that what I was doing would be considered an act of cowardice and I would be dealt with as an enemy by the Latin Kings. Fear had taken control of my body. As I ran, I put the gun in my pocket, and I didn’t stop running until I was safely on the Latin King side of Humboldt Boulevard. I walked back to my apartment not once thinking about what the Kings would do to me.
“Where are the brothers at?” Spanky yelled from the top of the steps when he heard me come in. “I don’t know,” I responded. “I made it back on foot.” Nothing else was said for about an hour. I lay on my bed smoking a joint, oblivious to what had happened. I was startled by the sound of a herd of footsteps coming down the stairs into my apartment. “You fuckin’ pussy,” Josie shouted as I sat up on the edge of my bed. She charged at me, trying to hit me. I spun her around, held her in a bear hug, and pushed her back out of the room. I walked out to see Spanky and four other Kings looking my way. “I don’t have to prove anything to anybody,” I said as I tried to make my way toward the door. “Move out,” Spanky said.
I hesitated momentarily, thinking Spanky was asking me to move out of his house. I instantly realized that he was actually giving his boys the order to move out on me. Fists, feet, and all kinds of objects began flying. I defended myself the best I could, but they soon overpowered me and wrestled me to the ground. I knew the only way I would
be able to survive was to fight my way out the door and get into my car. Somehow I managed the strength to get back on my feet and fight my way outside. That turned out to be both a blessing and a curse.
The commotion caused a group of Kings and Queens to gather outside Spanky’s house. As soon as they realized what was going on, they also began to kick my ass. I had nowhere to run. I was taking the same type of beating I had witnessed Slim taking many years before. Slim was a small, puny member of the Latin Kings, whose addiction to cocaine caused him to burn the Kings out of the cocaine he had been entrusted with to sell. He was given a violation out of the Kings that left him critically injured, then was further beaten out on the street by Kings who once closely hung out with him.
Luckily, I was bigger and stronger than Slim had been and was therefore able to withstand more. I fought back enough to keep from being cornered and possibly killed. I didn’t really know where I was or what was happening around me. I just started swinging and kicking in every direction while trying to fend off all the fists and feet flying my way. Fortunately, so many blows were thrown at once that they obstructed each other and therefore did not land with enough force to knock me to the ground.
“Freeze! Put the gun down,” I heard a voice say over a loudspeaker. I knew it was the cops. I had never been so happy in my life to see police officers arrive on the scene. The violence suddenly stopped. I could hear people running away. After a few seconds I was finally able to make out where the cops were. There were three squad cars in the alley where I was being beaten. One had come in from one direction; the other two were at the mouth of the alley, blocking it. All but four Kings, two Queens, Spanky, and Josie had gotten away. Spanky was about four feet from me, staring at Josie, who slowly lowered her gun at the order of the police officers. Imelda watched me from the mouth of the alley near a police car.
Once a King, Always a King: The Unmaking of a Latin King Page 3