Born Sinners

by Marlon McCaulsky

  Dwayne sat in the grimy bullpen with a bunch of other Blacks, Hispanics and a couple of white guys. Dwayne’s rep preceded him as some the other dudes in the game recognized him as Bishop’s right hand man. Dwayne sat quietly, thinking about how all the events in the last 48 hours that led him to this point. He knew first hand that Bishop’s influence could reach him in here, and he made sure his guard was up at all times.

  It seemed that the word of what happened hadn’t hit the streets yet. Every man here in the belly of the beast had his reasons for being in here with him, but none were as reckless as his. Soon Dwayne was arraigned and plead not guilty. The judge decided to hold him without bail until his trail a month later.

  Unlike most of the men here who would have to put their fate in the hands of a shitty ass public defender who could care less if a judge throw them in prison for the rest of their natural lives, Dwayne had a legal eagle in his corner. Victor owed Dwayne for all the times he would hook him up with cocaine, weed, or whatever party favor he would need for the extracurricular activities he would partake in after hours. Victor was there in the courthouse waiting for him when he finally got called in front of Judge Peterson. Judge Peterson was known for giving niggas double-digit sentences without hesitation or remorse.

  District Attorney Steve Brown offered Dwayne a plea deal and protection if he would turn state evidence against Bishop. Dwayne all but laughed in his face, which made the district attorney furious. Once in front of the judge, the district attorney painted the picture that Dwayne was a known associate of Bishop, a suspected drug lord, and that he was found with an unregistered gun in his car. Detective Anderson and Detective Lawrence both testified that Dwayne was a major drug dealer in Harlem, and had been one for years.

  Under normal circumstances, this would have been enough reason for any judge to put Dwayne under the jailhouse, but that was until Victor did his thing. Victor quickly pointed out that Dwayne had no criminal history as an adult, and that the district attorney. had no physical evidence that Dwayne was in fact a drug dealer. He pointed out the fact that Dwayne was a club owner at The Blue Angel, and that stated that Dwayne was a victim of a failed carjacking, and had gotten shot in the process. Although Judge Peterson probably knew that the district attorney was right in his arguments, he still had no real proof to back up his claims. The only thing the district attorney could offer into evidence was the weed found in Dwayne’s car, and as good as Victor was there was no getting around that. Judge Peterson knew that as his first offense, he couldn’t throw away the key, but he could convict him of possession and get him off the streets for a minute by sentencing Dwayne to ten months at Rikers Island.

  Victor assured him that this was the best that he could hope for, and Dwayne knew it was the truth. Even with that sentence, Detective Anderson and Detective Lawrence were pissed at the outcome. Dwayne gave them the middle finger as the bailiff led him out of the courtroom. Dwayne was content with the sentence because ten months was nothing to him. With any luck he would get out early with good behavior. Besides, it would give him time to plan out his next move. The only regret he had was that he didn’t act on Vanessa’s advice earlier.

  23

  New York State of Mind

  September 1995

  “Trips nigga!” Nard yelled as the dice landed 3-3-3. “All y’all niggas better pay up too! I don’t wanna hear any shit about you don’t got it,” Nard said to the group of fellas he was shooting dice with on the corner.

  “That was some fucking luck.” A dude named Ken said to him as he took out two G’s.

  “Yeah, well it’s my fucking luck, not yours. Pay up nigga.” Nard said as he took the cash.

  “Man, let’s roll again.” Ken said to him as he grabbed the dice.

  “I don’t know why you so anxious to give me all your money, but I’ll take it anyway.” Nard said as he counted his money.

  Nard had started running the corner in the Taft Projects about six months ago after Bishop gave Damien his promotion. Surprisingly enough, Nard was running things better then Damien suspected he could. Nard decided to break some niggas down for some paper at the corner store. Most of them were slanging all night so he knew they had some cash on them. The one thing Nard was a pro at was rolling dice. Pretty soon Nard had a crowd of niggas around him gambling. Nard knew most of them from the block and school. He used to go to school with Ken back in the day. Ken was the type of nigga that when he started losing he was quick to snatch up a few bucks and run, so Nard watched him carefully.

  Nard loved to talk shit when he played dice. That often antagonized everybody else to bet more and more so they could win and shut him up. The only person that could really out roll Nard was Damien. They would often team up together, clean out the competition, and laugh about it later. Damien rolled up to the corner they were gambling on in his new 96 Bentley Coupe bumping, Broken glass everywhere / if it ain’t about the money/ Puff, I just don’t care (that’s right)

  Damien cut off the engine and stepped out of his spotless white coupe looking like money. Everybody knew Damien was the man now. Most stared at him with envy. Others wanted to be like him, but to Nard that was his nigga.

  “What up son?” Nard asked Damien, and gave him some dap.

  “Chillin’ my nigga. I see you up here breaking these niggas off.” Damien replied as he looked over at the others on the block.

  “Yeah, you know how I do. Yo, you wanna shake these niggas down for old time‘s sake?”

  “Yeah, I got some time to kill.” Damien said as he pulled out a fat roll of hundred dollar bills.

  “What y’all niggas holdin’?” Damien asked as he walked over to them.

  Ken figured Damien for a sucka with money, and that he could win some of his cash back so he decided to pull out the stash he took in from last night.

  “Oh yeah, we can get right! I got five grand right here playa.” Ken said.

  Damien smirked, peeled off a couple of hundreds, and threw them down.

  “A’ight then, let’s get right.” Damien said and picked up the dice.

  As they started to play, one dude stepped to the side, pulled out his cell phone and made a call to Papa Glock.

  “Yeah, who dis?” asked Papa Glock as he answered his phone.

  “It’s me Da’Shawn.”

  “Yo, what is it rude boy?”

  “Yo, you know that nigga Damien you said killed Razzor a few months back? You said you been wanting to catch up wit’ him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well dat nigga standing right in front of me rolling dice at the corner store on Lenox.”

  “Bum’ba clat…For sure?” Papa Glock asked him.

  “Yeah man, it’s him.”

  “Alright, I’ll be there in five minutes” Papa Glock hung up the phone, picked up his custom chrome-plated Glock 19s, and headed out the door.

  Meanwhile, Damien was rolling high and had already taken the five grand Ken had thrown down.

  “What’s wrong Ken? You thought this was something new for me.” Damien sarcastically said.

  “Fuck you man. I’ma take all your mutha’fuckin’ dough.” Ken affirmed as he shook the dice in his hand.

  “Really? Alrighty then, let’s stop playing with this chump change. I got 20G’s. Can you handle that?” Damien said.

  Ken only had a grand on him and he knew he couldn’t cover that kind of bet but a nigga’s pride will always be his downfall.

  “Yeah I got that nigga! How about you blow on my nuts for luck!” Ken yelled and grabs his balls.

  “Roll the dice nigga,” Damien said seeing the fear in his eyes.

  Damien knew Ken was talking out his ass about having the money. He just wanted him to lose so he could whoop his ass for not having it. Ken was nervous as hell as he threw the dice against the concrete and they landed 2-5-4.

  “Fuck! Yo run that shit back! It hit that niggas foot!” Ken yelled.

  “Hell naw, ain’t no do over’s nigga.” Nard said to him
.

  “Fuck that shit! That don’t count,” Ken protested.

  “Bitch ass nigga, you better have my money.” Damien growled.

  Ken knew he was in trouble and his heart was pounding in his chest. Niggas getting killed over dice was nothing new, and he knew that. So he did what he always does in a jam like this. He took off running down the block.

  “Come back here nigga!” Nard yelled as he took off after him.

  Damien ran behind Nard, chasing after Ken too. Now when it came to running, Ken was like a runaway slave in Georgia in 1850; wasn’t anybody going to catch his ass. Just as he reached the end of the block, a black Cadillac Deville rolled up. The black tinted windows rolled down, and two chrome-plated Glock 19’s pointed out the window and began to bust shots.

  BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM!!!

  Damien dove inside of an open grocery store shop as the bullets littered the block. Damien recognized the shooter as Papa Glock by the twin Glocks and the dreads that swung from his head. The Cadillac Deville bent the corner and took off down the street. Damien was lying on the ground. He got up slowly and made sure it was clear before he came out. As he walked out the shop, Damien saw both Nard and Ken sprayed with bullet holes and dead on the pavement.

  “No, mutha’fucka you dead!” Damien yelled.

  This was the second time Papa Glock had tried to kill him and Damien swore this would be the last.

  Five days later Leonard Nard Goodwin was buried. Damien paid for everything. It was the least he could do for his mother. This was the second close person in his life he had to bury. Nard was one of his closes childhood friends. Damien was filled with grief and anger toward Papa Glock for taking Nard’s life. Damien hadn’t spoken to Dwayne since he had been locked up in Rikers. Damien had cut Dwayne off without getting his side of what had happened between him and Bishop. Dwayne never tried to reach out to him so Damien decided to ride with Bishop. Even though Bishop had beef with Dwayne, Damien knew he had to tell him what had happen to his cousin out of respect. He found out through Nard’s family where Dwayne was doing his time.

  Damien went to Rikers to visit Dwayne, and waited for him in the visiting area behind the thick glass. Dwayne walked out dressed in an orange prison uniform, and was escorted by an officer. Dwayne sat in the chair in front of Damien. They stared at each other for a second thinking of what should they say. Then Dwayne picked up his phone and so did Damien.

  “Wus up?” Dwayne asked Damien.

  “What’s good with you?” Damien asked.

  “Nothing in here my nigga.” Dwayne answered him.

  “So what brings you up here?”

  “Nard got smoked.”

  “I know. I called home and my mom’s told me what happened. Who did it?”

  “That faggot Papa Glock came through on the block busting shots, while we were rolling cee-lo. He was gunning for me and Nard got hit.” Damien said regretfully.

  “I knew he shouldn’t have been out there. I shouldn’t have ever let him get down like that.” Dwayne said to him.

  “Nard was a grown man my nigga. He was gonna do what he wanted to do anyway.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I heard you took care of the funeral and shit. I appreciate that.”

  “Nard was like family son. I took care of it just like I’m a take care of Papa. Word is bond.” Damien confirmed to him.

  “I know you will my nigga.”

  “So what happened Dwayne?”

  Dwayne laughed to himself and shook his head.

  “It had been coming for a while now. What did Bishop tell you?”

  “He said you crossed a line you shouldn’t have crossed and said you were out.”

  “Something like that. Yeah.”

  Damien sighed, “What did you do?”

  “Vanessa,” Dwayne replied.

  Damien shook his head in disbelief. “You ran up in his woman?”

  He nodded. “That was the line I crossed.”

  “Damn, my nigga…No wonder.”

  “You know even though I knew what could happen I still couldn’t stay away from her. A woman will always cause a nigga to be foolish Dame. Don’t forget that.” Dwayne said to him.

  “Yeah, I know that first hand.”

  “Anyway, Bishop called a nigga down to the club that night. He said somebody broke in. When I got there I got a bad vibe, but I went in anyway. Bishop started talking real slick so I decided to pull out first and ask questions later. Bishop caught me with a slug in my shoulder. I made it to the whip and got out of there. I must have passed out and crashed. The next thing I know I’m waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed.” Dwayne explained to him.

  “Damn, my nigga. So how much time you got left in here?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “About seven more months.”

  “What you gonna do then?” Damien asked, already knowing the answer.

  “What I gotta do my nigga. Bishop ain’t gonna just let a nigga live. Dame, you my nigga, but don’t get in my way.”

  “Yo, my nigga, do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I’ll have to do.” Damien said and stared at Dwayne.

  Both of them knew what would happen next without saying a word.

  24

  Big Poppa

  October 1995

  “Ya know, I still can’t believe my nigga Nard is really gone,” Irv said to Damien.

  “I know my nigga. The shit still feels surreal.” Damien replied.

  They were both chilling in front of Nard’s momma’s brownstone.

  “I swear I’m a kill every last one of them fucking Haitian niggas.” Irv said to him.

  “The only nigga I wanna see got is that faggot Papa Glock. I wanna look in his eyes as a bust a cap in his head. Then I’ll be good.” Damien said with venom.

  “Yo, so have you been up to see Dwayne lately?”

  “Yeah, I just saw him the other day. He’s holding up real good.”

  “Man, it just seem like it was yesterday we were all out here talking shit to each other. Yo my nigga, let’s roll up to The Kandi Club for old time’s sake.” Irv suggested.

  “A’ight, that was Nard’s favorite spot too. Like his home away from home.”

  They drove out to The Kandi Club in Damien’s Coupe. It had been a while since Damien had been in there, and he wondered if Kem was still dancing there. She had given him the best head he ever had, and he knew he wouldn’t mind getting some more.

  Damien and Irv sat at a table in the back and ordered drinks as they watched a girl dance on stage. She was called Chyna. She was a thick, dark but smooth skinned sista with 36 double D titties. She had a round fat ass like two basketballs in a thong. She was dancing hard to LL Cool J’s, Doing It jam, as she dropped and popped her pussy on stage. Her movements enthralled Damien, but Irv couldn’t take his eyes off of the honey behind the bar.

  She was 5 foot 5 with a slim curvy build. She wore a red halter-top shirt that said The Kandi Club that was so tight you could see her nipples imprinted through it. Her hair was dark black and shoulder length, and her skin was golden-brown. Damien looked over at Irv and saw him staring hard at the sexy bartender.

  “Hey my nigga, the show is on the center stage over there.” Damien said to him.

  Irv glanced over at the stage, and then looked back at the bartender.

  “She a’ight,” Irv said nonchalantly.

  “A’ight? That bitch is banging nigga! I mean, shorty over there ain’t bad herself, but she ain’t popping it like that.” Damien pointed out to Irv.

  Unlike Damien, Irv was used to messing with thick chicks like Chyna all the time so he wasn’t that impressed. Damien stared at the bartender harder and noticed that she wasn’t just cute but beautiful. Irv had a big old smile on his face as he looked at her. That was even more unusual to Damien because Irv rarely smiled about anything, but here he was cheesing at this girl.

  “Naw, Tia don’t shake it for niggas on stage like that.” Irv informed him.

>   “Tia? You know shorty?”

  “I’ve been kickin’ it with Tia for a while now.”

  Damien looked at Irv, shocked at his revelation.

  “I’ll be right back my nigga,” Irv said. He got up from the table and walked over to Tia at the bar.

  She was pouring drinks, and her face lit up as soon as she saw him. Damien sat and watched as Irv talked to her, and was surprised he had never said anything about her until now. No wonder he wanted to come here tonight. Honey is a dime. As a matter of fact she’s sexy as fuck! How did Irv pull her ass anyway? Damien thought to himself. Irv chatted with her for a few more seconds. Then she gave him a nice wet kiss before he returned to the table.

  “Return of the Mack! How you pulled that playboy?” Damien asked him as he sat back at the table.

  “I told you a nigga got skills. I meet Tia in here three months ago, and ma got a good head on her shoulders.”

  “Does she dance in here too?”

  “No, she’s going to school for fashion design. She only tends bar in here on the weekends for some extra cash. She ain’t like ya girl up there shaking her shit for everybody.”

  “I see. So has she shake a little something for you yet?”

  “You damn right! Tia be making a nigga suck his thumb when she gets done with me! She’s the kinda of girl you can have real talk with, no bullshit. She can hold her own in a bar full of horny ass niggas, and then take a nigga home and fuck me until I’m dry.” Irv said to him.

  Damien smiled. “Damn, it’s like that?”

  “Yeah my nigga, she the one. You need to find you a chick like that too.”

  “I’m happy for ya my nigga, but it’s too many bitches out here to be stuck with one. Besides, I wanna see what’s up with that thick ass bitch on stage.” Damien said, and then took a sip of his drink.

  Deep down inside, hearing Irv talk about Tia like that made him think about what he could have had with Stacy. Then he remembered how she played him with Remo, and any warm feelings he once had for her he pushed out of his head. Now there was only an icebox where his heart used to be.