Once a King, Always a King: The Unmaking of a Latin King

by Reymundo Sanchez

  Unlike me, Lilly didn’t feel her mother was responsible for the way her life turned out. My mother beat me and allowed me to be beaten by the men in her life. I held her responsible for planting the root of what became my evil nature. Lilly believed that she did the drugs at fourteen because she wanted to. She hung out at the bar where her mother worked because she liked it. And she had sex with men much older than she was because she loved it. Lilly did have an incredible hunger for sex. In that way, Lilly and I were the same. Always waiting, always willing. We were great together, and soon began to develop feelings for each other that were deeper than just sexual feelings.

  My relationship with Lilly also rekindled my loyal relationship to cocaine. It felt so natural to just spend days and nights smoking cocaine-laced joints and snorting cocaine. Cocaine became a significant part of our sex life. We got high before, after, and sometimes during our sexual intimacy. Often we snorted cocaine off each other’s bodies. This practice often resulted in the numbing of our sex organs, which allowed us to have sex for hours on end without once feeling the growing sensation of an orgasm. Our groin areas would be sore from the activity, which we thought was the coolest of all things.

  Lilly and I were pretty happy in our big lie of a life. We denied our addictions by pointing out those in others. We certainly confused the difference between addiction and homelessness. We didn’t think we were addicted because we weren’t homeless. We were our own suppliers, had money, food, and a place to live, therefore we couldn’t be junkies. In our minds we were much better off than those who lived on the street and begged, robbed, or stole for drug money even though we probably had a worse habit than most of them.

  In the year I had been away from the ’hood, from drugs, and from the Latin Kings, I had gained weight and looked rather healthy. My new lifestyle, however, had me losing weight quickly without realizing it. Cocaine again became my food, my drink, and my life.

  IN MY FIRST month as Lilly’s live-in boyfriend, I rarely saw Loca. She had yet to introduce me to her boyfriend, and she hardly ever came into our apartment even though her transactions with Lilly were frequent. Lilly and I thought that it had something to do with my being Loca’s ex-lover and her boyfriend not being comfortable with that. Whatever the cause, that situation began to change.

  On a late Saturday night, while Lilly and I were into our usual cocaine-induced sex frenzy, there was a knock on the door. We were in the living room and decided to ignore the knocks. Then we heard Loca’s voice. “Lilly! Lilly!” Loca shouted. We quickly scrambled for our clothes. Within seconds we were dressed, very haphazardly, yet dressed. Lilly let Loca in. Loca’s boyfriend came in right behind her. “Rey, this is Cheo,” Loca said. “What’s up, bro?” I said as I reached out to shake his hand. Cheo shook my hand without saying a word and handed me a case of Lowenbrau beer. Loca asked Lilly to get the domino set so we could play and hang out for a while. I headed to the kitchen with the beer; Lilly went into the bedroom for the dominos. I opened the case of beer, put the bottles in the refrigerator, took four bottles with me, and headed back.

  Lilly, Loca, and Cheo waited for me in the living room. Lilly sat at the far end of the table, mixing up the dominos. Cheo sat silently, watching Loca as she cut into a small mound of cocaine with a razor blade on a mirror. Loca divided the mound into eight thick lines of cocaine. Lilly finished mixing the dominos and pushed them toward the center of the table. We all grabbed seven domino pieces each and arranged them in front of us as we patiently waited for Loca to snort two lines of cocaine and pass the mirror on. She handed the mirror to Cheo, who then handed it to me, and I in turn handed it to Loca so she could hand it to Lilly. As Lilly snorted her lines, I went into the bedroom and retrieved five joints, a pack of cigarettes, a cigarette lighter, and an ashtray.

  Cheo seemed quiet. He was a black Puerto Rican with a thick accent. He spoke broken English and therefore spoke mostly Spanish. Cheo was tall, around six-three or six-four, with a very thin build. Cheo wore a small afro and a goatee. He also had an ugly scar that started just below his neck and disappeared to the right side of his chest. Cheo had become an honorary Latin King in prison and carried his respect and loyalty out to the streets of Chicago. His cocaine connections in Miami made him a valuable commodity to the Latin Kings.

  “Spanky’s boys are looking for you,” Loca said as we began playing dominos. “Tell me something I don’t know,” I responded. “I talked to Tino and he said he’s going to look into giving you back your crown so you can’t be touched,” Loca explained. Tino was the incarcerated leader of the Latin Kings, often called the Inca. He had been in jail since the age of seventeen for killing two Vice Lords, and his word was supposed to be law as far as the Latin Kings were concerned. Giving me back my crown meant that I would again be a Latin King without having to go through the process of initiation.

  Loca’s words surprised me. I don’t know what made her think that I wanted to be a Latin King again. I certainly couldn’t see Tino having any say in how personal street business was handled. I didn’t comment, but the expression on my face told the story. “You don’t trust Tino?” Loca asked. “His word is not what it used to be,” I responded. “No disrespect to the brother, but it’s all about money now. The brothers in the street go along with his claim as Inca so they’ll be taken care of if they’re locked up.” “We’re going to need you to work for us, and so you’ll have to go to Humboldt Park once in a while,” Loca continued. “We’re going to make sure that you are not fucked with. Tino is going to put the word out that you’re a King under him, and anyone who fucks with you will face the consequences. Let someone fuck with you and you’ll see if Tino’s word doesn’t carry any power anymore.”

  I stared at Lilly across the table. I didn’t know what to say. I was again being forced into situations I wanted no part of, but didn’t have the courage to say so. It was clear to me that this was the only way I could save my life—reenter the life or die a coward’s death. I also knew that I had a bad cocaine habit I needed to support, so regardless of how I really felt, I knew I would become Cheo and Loca’s employee. In a way I has hoping and praying for Lilly to say that she didn’t like the idea so that I could back off. Lilly, however, was excited about the job I was being offered. “¿Qué vas a hacer? (What are you going to do?)” Lilly asked. “We just need you to make dropoffs and pickups,” Loca said. “Te vamos a confiar con dinero y mercansia (We’re gonna trust you with money and merchandise),” Cheo told me. “Te vas a ganar mucha lana chico (You’re going to make a lot of money, dude),” Cheo said. “Are you cool with that, Lil Loco?” Loca asked. It was the first time I had been called Lil Loco in over a year. Hearing the name made me mentally reminisce about the old days when I was King of the streets. Nobody messed with me, everybody loved me, and I was feared by friends and foes alike. I was popular and looked up to. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m cool with that.” “Amor de Rey (King Love),” I said. I was back.

  MY NEW JOB required me to take cocaine packaged in various sizes to street dealers who then sold it. Basically, I was a mule on the street. There were two locations in Humboldt Park where I made deliveries—an apartment on the Near North side of the city, and one in Cicero, Illinois, an adjacent suburb of Chicago. I was also supposed to collect money from previous sales at those locations. I would get seven hundred dollars a week, discount prices on quantities of cocaine if I found new buyers, and the honor to again call myself a Latin King.

  The trips to the apartments were uneventful. I was usually in and out within seconds. The Humboldt Park transactions, however, were always more dramatic. I feared the police would stop me and search the car. I usually met the dealers at a location away from the park, but sometimes I had to go there looking for them. One of the dealers was positioned on the Folks’ side of the park. The Folks, were a group of affiliated gangs who were rivals to the Latin Kings. But these divisions were being ignored when it came to the supply of large amounts of drugs. The dealer was a member of
a gang called the Latin Jivers. Although word was given through Cheo that I was not to be touched, I was still nervous every time I went into the park. My Latin Jivers contact, who dealt on the Folks’ side of the park, was named Manny, a tall, lanky Puerto Rican with light skin and cleancut black hair. Manny was all business when I went to see him. He understood the dangers I faced going there, and often agreed to meet elsewhere. Every so often, however, I had to go to him. I was spotted many times by Cobras and Disciples who had it in for me. I could see their angry expressions at not being able to do anything while I was there on business. Somehow it didn’t surprise me that the drugs being supplied to the Latin Kings and to their enemies came from the same source, but I was surprised about Cheo having power enough to make it safe for me on both sides of the line.

  On the Latin Kings’ side of the park, my connection was a Beach and Spaulding King called Gato (cat). Gato was a muscular Puerto Rican with a medium build, green eyes, and light brown hair. Gato’s dealing spot was near Spanky’s. I tried to avoid going there, but sometimes it was inevitable.

  After the last incident I had had with Spanky and his Kings, some new events had taken place that made me a sure target. Because she had gotten caught with a gun, Josie had been sent to the penitentiary for violating her parole. She would have to do the two years remaining on her parole plus two more for the gun charge. Spanky was cleared of all charges, but he found out about Imelda and me. Once I had moved out of the neighborhood, Lady J, in an attempt to show her loyalty to the Latin Kings, told Spanky that she had walked in while Imelda was performing oral sex on me. Spanky became enraged that Lady J had lied the day we were confronted, so he ordered the Latin Queens to beat her. Lady J was badly hurt and had not been heard from since. Imelda’s punishment was a lot worse. Because Spanky was in a wheelchair, he couldn’t just grab Imelda and beat her. He had a couple of Kings hold her while he beat her mercilessly with a leather belt. Imelda had no choice but to stay in the house until she recovered from the beating. There I was, screwing my brains out day and night with Lilly and getting rich, while others were being punished because of my actions. I felt no remorse. I felt damned lucky.

  After all that had taken place, it seemed as if there would be no more repercussions. Spanky went back to treating Imelda as his wife. He swore that I would die for betraying his trust, and he put a price on my head. Spanky made several pleas to Tino to lift the order of protection Tino had put out on me, and Tino had told him that our problem was personal and had nothing to do with the business dealings of the Kings. As far as I was concerned, that gave Spanky the go-ahead to take me out at any opportunity as long as I was not where the Kings sold their drugs. I took precautions not to be seen, and I also carried a gun.

  Being a Latin King felt nothing like it had before. I was a King again for the purpose of making drug deals and nothing more. In a way, I was better off, because I wasn’t as expendable as the Kings who just hung out on the corner. My value to the Latin Kings was much more than that of a foot soldier who killed and took chances on getting killed for the colors. I wasn’t just a body deflecting the law from the ones who profited from the existence of the Latin Kings. I was indeed one of the profiteers.

  I had been the best gangbanger, the best source of pain and suffering, and I was now the best drug dealer and the best addict. Whatever role I had to play to get what I wanted, that was the role I was best at. Through it all, I knew that getting out was just a step away. But I didn’t want to be alone. Of all the things I was, and all the roles I perfected to suit my cause, being man enough to be true to myself and survive on my own was not one of them.

  6 The First Blessing

  THE RELATIONSHIP I had with Lilly really blossomed, but that wasn’t exactly a good thing. We were very much alike and complemented each other well. We went out dancing often and became almost inseparable. As our relationship grew, so did our addiction to various vices. We both chain-smoked cigarettes, snorted cocaine constantly, drank heavily, and smoked cocaine-laced marijuana religiously. But we never argued. Many considered us to be the perfect couple. Lilly was the first woman that I could truly say was loyal to me in every way. And I was the same with her.

  The drug business was going well. Lilly and I wore designer clothes and lavish jewelry. I had three gold necklaces that I wore all the time, each one thicker than the next. One chain had a pendant shaped like the island of Puerto Rico with Lilly’s name engraved in the middle. On another was the same kind of pendant but with my name. The last had a pendant of Jesus on the cross and was the most prominent. Lilly already owned a pretty good collection of gold jewelry when I came along. She now upgraded to diamonds and rubies. We were living well, but we were also very addicted to cocaine.

  One evening we took a trip into the park in Humboldt Park to buy some of the ethnic Puerto Rican food sold in portable food shacks. These shacks provided visitors to the park with a variety of Puerto Rican delicacies at very reasonable prices. They truly represented Puerto Rican culture—hardworking people who were proud of their culture, and willing to share it with others by offering the popular foods of Puerto Rico. This contrasted with the drug dealing, gang violence, vandalism, and cultural destruction that surrounded them.

  Our favorite shack was on the inner park drive, near Humboldt Boulevard, on the same side of the park where Spanky dealt his drugs but a little distance away. We bought our food and sat down on a bench to eat and talk. At that moment, a carload of Spanky’s boys drove by, headed toward their dealing spot. When they saw us sitting there, they slowed down to a crawl and looked at us maniacally. “Fuckin’ punk, you ain’t no King,” the driver yelled. “It’s just a matter of time, faggot,” yelled one of the Kings sitting in the back seat. I clearly knew that I was fair game for Spanky, if I wasn’t in the park doing business. We watched the car drive away slowly, ate our food quickly, and headed toward our car.

  As we pulled out of the parking spot, I saw through the rearview mirror the same car headed back our way. I turned north on Humboldt Boulevard and stopped at the red light. From the rearview mirror I saw the Kings turn in the same direction we did and noticed that the guy behind the driver had a gun in his hand. “Oh, shit, they’re coming after us,” I said to Lilly, and sped into the intersection of Humboldt Boulevard and North Avenue while the light was still red. Several cars came screeching to a halt to avoid slamming into us. Luckily, we made it across the intersection without causing an accident. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the Kings were not pursuing us. Then I saw an unmarked police car turn toward us from North Avenue with its headlights flashing. “Oh, fuck, la hada (the cops),” I told Lilly as the police approached us and turned on the siren. They pulled up right next to us, and the detective on the passenger side yelled and motioned for us to pull over. “Tengo un paquete ensima (I have a package on me),” Lilly said. “Escondelo (hide it),” I told her.

  We pulled over and waited for the police to approach the car. Lilly pulled a package out of her purse that contained half an ounce of cocaine bagged in quantities of an eighth of an ounce each. But there wasn’t time to do anything with it. The two detectives quickly approached the car, one on either side, with their guns drawn. “Both of you put your fuckin’ hands where we can see them!” one of the detectives yelled. We saw their guns pointed right at us and did as we were told. “Driver, turn off the car slowly,” the detective instructed. I did as he asked.

  The detective on my side opened the door and held his gun inches from my head. “Get out slowly and lie on the ground facing away from me,” he instructed. “You make a wrong move, you’re dead.” I got out of the car slowly and lay facedown on the concrete. The detective put his knee on my back, near my neck facing toward my feet, then he grabbed my arms, one at a time, and handcuffed me. He stood up, put his foot on my back, and began giving Lilly the same instructions.

  By the time Lilly was handcuffed and we were picked off the ground and sat on the curb, there were dozens of police cars on
the scene and the road had been blocked off. Two uniformed police officers stood beside each of us as the detectives thoroughly searched the car. They found a nickel-plated nine-millimeter semiautomatic gun I had hidden under my seat for protection should I ever need it. It was a brand-new gun that had never been used, but it was loaded. I looked up at the sky, trying to ignore the detective who had found the gun as he walked toward me unloading it.

  “OK, Rey, what’s the story?” the detective asked. “Why are your own King brothers chasing you?” I didn’t say a word. “He fucked Spanky’s girl,” another detective answered. “Oh, shit, you fucked Imelda. Ha ha, she is a hot little number,” the detective said. “So much for Latin King loyalty.” His partner knelt before us and said, “Rey, we got you for a weapon and your girl for possession of cocaine. Both of you are going to jail anyway, so tell us if there is anything else in the car.” “There is nothing else in the car,” I said, “and the cocaine is mine also.” “So you want to save your girlfriend’s ass?” the detective asked. “That’s my shit,” I told him. “I didn’t get the chance to dump it, and it ended up on her lap.” “Hey, you won’t get an argument from us—if you want to take the rap for everything, we’re happy,” the detective said.