by Chynna
‘Why the fuck ya’ll don’t mess with dudes your own age and size?’ JB barked.
I was surprised as shit. JB had stepped up like a man to the whole crew of them. Bert immediately turned his sights on JB.
‘Fuck you talkin’ too nigga?’ Bert had growled. I didn’t know it at the time, but JB hated when black kids called each other nigga. He never said the word even in jokes. When Bert moved in on him, JB pulled his arm from behind his back and WHAM! He clocked that dude Bert with a big ass brick. Bert’s fat ass dropped in less than 3 seconds.
‘Who else want some?’ JB asked. Nobody responded, of course. Bert’s crew scattered like roaches. They knew that they wasn’t shit without their leader. I watched in shock and admiration as JB walked over to me, gave me a hand getting up off the ground. Jesse had a lot of friends, but he was my only friend in elementary school.
Kids always teased me about my big flat nose and hazel eyes. The chicks like all these features now, but not back then. I was referred to evil eyes and devil eyes by the cruel kids at school. I had really low self-esteem back then, but Jesse always made me feel good about myself,” Mitch reflected. A small smile parted his lips as he went back in time. It had been a while since he thought of his childhood. If only his life were that simple right now.
“Yo, you would never know it now, but I was broke as shit growing up. Never had a hair cut. My clothes were all raggedy. Forget about sneakers and shoes. I wore my shits until the rubber soles were flapping my shits was talking. You know my childhood was the same hood damn story. JB had his mother. Me, I had nobody. No father. My mother was always running after dope. She ain’t give a shit about me. She had a high priced heroin habit that took her away from home more than she was there. I have four sisters, but back then with no mother to guide them, they were out in the projects like squirrels trying to get a nut if you get what I’m saying,” Mitch looked over at Summer knowingly. She nodded. She could only imagine what he meant.
“Ok, so you grew up with JB, but how did you end up in this business?” Summer egged him on.
“JB was my best friend, but there was certain aspects of our lives that I just couldn’t fuck with him on. Nobody could even hold a match to JB in certain areas. He was always smart—real book smart and street smart. Me, I had survival skills, but I had basically dropped out of school in eighth grade. I mean that’s when I stopped learning. It was right when my moms habit changed from heroin to crack and stopped giving a shit about me. I went to school everyday, but I could hardly read and write. Year after year the teachers just passed me to the next grade. I went to school to get the free breakfast and lunch until I was old enough to fend for myself on the streets. That wasn’t the case with JB. He was always explaining stuff to dudes on the street real analytical-like. JB read a lot of books, even them boring ass textbooks. As we got older, JB went to school, got his education and played the middle. He played the middle so well that he was able to have the best of both worlds. JB lived like a lame by day and then turned around by night and lived like the most on-it street motherfucker out. He worked on Wall Street with a suit and tie on, but would come home and hang on the block with us cats that wasn’t fuckin’ with the white man’s world.
When we started dabbling in the business, most of us was on the corner. Our customers were our own people—somebody’s mother or somebody’s deadbeat ass father. We sold to our own with no qualms about it. It was survival of the fittest out there. That’s how it was for me, but not for JB. JB started out from the gate as the dealer to the rich. I mean that dude would make a grip daily just off two or three of his Wall Street customers. I couldn’t believe it when he told me those suit and tie wearing motherfuckers was getting lit just as much as the fiends around the way. People see neighborhood fiends as the poster children for drug addicts. Let me tell you, that shit be hitting them rich white folks just as bad. It’s a little different, but really all the same. The only difference between us and them was they had way more money to spend, which also meant; JB had way more money to make. For us on the hood corners, our biggest paydays came on welfare and SSI check day. JB ain’t have to wait for the first and fifteenth of the month to make his paper. He was making it daily, round the clock, and those white motherfuckers ain’t even have to leave their desks. JB was hitting them off with that eighty-percent pure white at the time. He only cut it enough that those stupid motherfuckers wouldn’t OD right at their desks. It was the top of the line shit, and they were taking hits right at work. They had their dealer on hand all day, then they would get them a package to take home so they could deal with their annoying ass wives who sat home getting fat while they worked their asses off.
JB told me how word of mouth about him spread down Wall Street like a fucking plague. Them white boys loved him. He charged top dollar and for the convenience of having their dealer deliver, they paid whatever JB asked. If they ain’t have the money, JB made deals. Big deals. I remember one time while we were all on the corner selling nicks and dimes, JB rolled around the way in a top of the line silver Jaguar convertible. That shit was sweet as pure sugar. A young dude driving a car like that around where we came from was like having Jesus Christ in the middle of the hood with a fist full of dollars. JB was like a celebrity, except he was still down to earth.
Later on, JB told me that he had traded some blow for the car. That’s how good his product was, those suits gave away their cars, Rolex watches, access to expense accounts and even platinum wedding bands, to get some of what JB was holding.
“So how did he get a hold of the blow to begin with? Who was his supplier?” Summer asked, intrigued by this other side of Jesse.
JB never talked about where he got his product from and I never asked. He would hit me off with enough of the pure to cook up my rocks. His product was so good that it only took a little to make what I was putting out there. Even with me breaking it all the way down and cutting it with anything I could find, people loved my shit. My customers couldn’t afford JB’s product. But for one small hit at a time, but they always came back. I was happy with JB’s prices and I was making money.
After a few years, JB told me those cats down there at some investment firm he serviced had taken ten thousand of his dirty money, invested it in some stocks and JB was holding three hundred thousand before he knew it. He asked me if I wanted in. JB called it the white boy flip. He said it was the same as somebody giving one of us a few bucks to flip for them on the street. Dumbass me, I said no. I was still on that stash my money in shoeboxes mentality. I didn’t know shit about no stock market, and I didn’t trust no white boy with my money and plus, I was happy living hood rich. I was making close to a stack a day and that was good enough for the child of a dope fiend who never had shit in his life. No longer was I the nappy headed, flat nosed kid. I had respect from dudes and chicks at the same damn time. Shit, I had more chicks than I knew what to do with.
Even as I saw JB making more money with that stock market flip, I still didn’t latch on. I wanted to build my own shit. I got a few little dudes to work for me and I was in charge of my own destiny. I was a boss in my own right. He told me it was a mistake to trust those young kids to work for me, but I told him to fuck off. ‘Stick to smiling in those white boy’s faces like sambo the drug dealing slave. Let me stick to this street shit you ain’t got a clue about,’ I said to JB during one of our arguments. He never asked me to invest with him after that.” Mitch’s voice was full of regret.
His mood swung like a pendulum from happy to sad to angry as he recalled the two very separate paths his and Jesse’s lives had taken.
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, or so they say.” Summer almost felt sorry for Mitch.
“Did I regret not fucking with JB on the white boy flip? Hell yeah, but it wasn’t until years later. I can admit, I was pig headed and didn’t follow his advice. When he was banking in that Wall Street money at twenty-two years old, I was just buying my first car—a gold Lexus, all kitted out. JB said I should inves
t and buy the car later, but I wanted my flashy car and clothes.”
Mitch was so engrossed in his story he almost ran a red light. Summer screeched just in time to get him to stop. Summer felt like a therapist listening to a patient. Mitch apparently had a lot to get off his chest.
“JB’s first business was a sports bar called Brooklyn Grill and Sports right there on Myrtle Avenue. The first night of business everybody ate and drank for free. I couldn’t believe how much money was going out the door. But that method in the hood worked like a fuckin’ charm. From that day forward, JB had loyal customers. The place was always packed even on the nights there were no big sports events. That same month things went to shit for me. I got caught up in a sweep on the street. Even though I had eased off the hand-to-hand sales, I had a few kids still working for me. I had customers all the way from the Bronx and upstate buying weight from me. JB was still giving me the good wholesale prices so I was making it work for me. I even had bitches riding dirty down I-95 on some transport shit. Down south, I could charge double for a few ounces. Money was coming in like rain.
But, you know Murphy’s Law—what can go wrong, will go wrong. My reign at the top of the street game didn’t last long. One of my workers got knocked and started singing to the narcos like his fucking name was Billie Holiday. He told them all about me pushing weight, about the re-up spots, and about the blocks I was holding down. A few days after he disappeared, I ended up walking right into a narco trap. I got snatched up like a fucking insect in a spider web. JB was the only person I reached out to at the time. I was up shits creek with no ass paddle. JB never visited me but he sent a top-notch team of lawyers to work on my case. I was on the inside going crazy thinking that JB had turned his back on me until them fucking lawyers showed up, sharp as shit ready to get me out of there.
See, that’s how smart JB was. He wouldn’t dare bring heat to himself by visiting me in the can. Too many eyes on him. Since we were kids, JB always thought his actions all the way through. He was never a fly-by-the-seat-of-ya-pants type of dude,” Mitch said, his head rocking in earnest. Summer shook her head in agreement. She knew Jesse was good people. She also knew he was highly intelligent. But if Jesse was that smart, how did he get caught?
“Did you stay behind bars for long?” Summer asked. She wanted Mitch to tell her everything so she knew what she was up against with him.
“Nah, I got off. My dream team of lawyers fried that fucking snitch on the stand. By the time they finished, his credibility was like a pile of soft baby shit,” Mitch chuckled.
“Then what?” she asked.
“Then I came home. I wanted to party and get some pussy. I ain’t even gonna lie, that was first and foremost on my mind. I didn’t realize until I was locked up like an animal how much I had taken all that shit for granted. JB was different, though. He wasn’t with none of the ripping and running during that time. JB was stressed because his moms was literally dying right in front of his eyes. He was real close to his moms. I’m talkin’ like he was a gangster dude, but still called his mother “mommy” type of close. That cancer was eating her away from the inside out. It was to the point that the chemo wasn’t doing shit but making her weaker. For a dude like JB who could buy his way out of every situation, it was real hard to stand by totally powerless. I tried to cheer him up, be a good brother and shit, but nothing worked.
JB ain’t want nobody to show him no sympathy. He wanted to roll solo. He hardly ever left the hospice she was in. His businesses suffered, but he didn’t care. I wasn’t close to my moms, so I never understood love like that. All the years growing up, I never seen him show no real emotions, but he cried like a baby the day his moms passed. Still, JB wouldn’t accept no hugs, no condolences, nothing like it. He just wanted to be left alone. JB disappeared for about a month after his moms closed her eyes. But before he left, he made sure I had a place to stay and some cash in my pockets. He gave me the keys to a small condo he had copped in Canarsie. Far enough away from the hood but close enough for me to feel comfortable. I was going stir crazy. As bad as I wanted to stay away from the game, the streets were calling me.
In the one year that I was locked up while awaiting trial, shit had changed. There was a whole new system out on the blocks that used to be mine. It was like some underground sales shit—no more standing outside, hoodies on, stashing your shit in a brown paper bag, hand-to-hand transactions. Nah, there was an elaborate code of cash exchange and transfer system.
There was only one trap house in the hood—no more project elevator stashes or risky re-ups. When the trap ran out, everybody scattered until the next re-up came through. It was one delivery by one dude. He changed up his times and methods to avoid the stick up boys and the narcos. Nobody was allowed to speak on the phone about anything at all. It was all official. That’s when I met, Billy, Doon, Scrap and Marco. They were working the new system like pros. It had all been set up by JB. They respected him like he was the next messiah. Yeah, JB the fuckin’ smartest businessman in town had turned corner sales into a well-oiled business machine. Even the fiends knew how shit worked and they respected it,” Mitch recalled, his tone changing again.
“So where did that leave you?” Summer asked the obvious question. Jesse taking over Mitch’s business seemed kind of foul. Even if Mitch was locked up, he should’ve been able to grab the reigns back on his release. At least, for someone like Summer, on the outside looking in, that’s how it should have gone down.
“For a while that left me nowhere. I mean, JB never left me hungry—that’s a fact. I can’t say he didn’t lace me with the finest clothes, jewelry, a spot to lay my head and shit. I would never take that away from him. But, when you grow up in the game, somebody taking your shit over, even when your dick was in the dust, is like taking away a baby’s milk and force feeding it steak. It was hard to chew on. When JB got over his mother, he came back on the scene and we had a big blow up about the blocks. I went at that dude, ready for war. Even though I knew in my heart I could’ve never went toe to toe with JB, I told him how fucked up I felt about him snatching up my business. But, you know his style; he was a smooth talking motherfucker that could sell salt to a fuckin’ slug. He told me he had bigger plans for me. Told me, I was better than that penny street corner business. JB convinced me that he wanted me to be his right hand, a position that would make me a lot more money. Fuck all the street sales and the petty shit he said to me.
I was hesitant at first. Whatever doubts I had faded when JB opened two metal cases full of cash in front of me and told me it was all mine. I could never forget his words, ‘This is just a start if you take my offer. A smart dude never leaves out those who were around from day one. If I do right by you, you’ll always do right by me.’ That’s what JB said and I believed him. We exchanged a brotherhood pound and chest bump that, for me, sealed the deal. From that day forward, I did whatever JB asked of me. I would’ve followed him into the pits of hell if he asked me. I was loyal. Loyal like a dog. Loyal like those guards outside of the palace in England. But you know, as with everything, all good things get fucked up when other shit come into the mix,” Mitch said, his emotions raw.
Summer sensed he was still holding something back. Some hurt between him and Jesse that was still too painful to talk about.
Summer’s eyebrows dipped low on her head. She couldn’t understand what the problem was. If Jesse had given Mitch a lot of money and made him his right hand man, why was he still complaining? In her eyes, every man would’ve loved to be in that position. It seemed like Mitch didn’t have to do shit but remain loyal.
“JB was generous, smart, and rich, but he was also egotistical, mean, and sometimes cruel,” Mitch clarified. Summer tilted her head, curious.
“How long was I supposed to stay his lap dog? It ain’t take me long to figure out that me and JB wasn’t partners. Let’s face it, we wasn’t making equal stacks off the business deals. That shit was real obvious too. He was becoming a millionaire right in front of my
eyes. Yeah, I had money, but none of us had the kind of cake JB was holding. To me, the more money JB made, the more secretive he became. I mean shit, I was delivering keys to bosses from up in Westchester all the way down to far ass places on Long Island, and I never knew exactly what cut JB was getting off that. I mean, he paid me, but four or five stacks out of a duffle bag full seemed like nothing to me when I thought about him taking the entire bag minus just the pennies he threw to me.
I always wanted more. I wanted in deeper. I wanted to walk by his side, not follow like some slave bitch behind him. I wanted to help make business decisions, not take instructions all the time. JB never even introduced me to Cardinale. I found out about Cardinale through a cat named Spanish Tony from up in Spanish Harlem. C’mon…how that motherfucker know who the connect was and I had no clue? After I confronted JB about being left out of the loop, he pacified me a little bit. He told me about Cardinale and the Rios cartel from Mexico, but never took me to the meetings he had with them. Spanish Tony disappeared after that too. JB always tried to make it seem like I was an equal partner, but I realized quickly that I was no better than Doon, Billy, Marco and Scrap. They were fuckin’ kids JB had working for him after picking them up from the streets. I should’ve been more than a worker by then, especially after we got our own legitimate businesses. Those businesses—the Bridge, the Gramercy Restaurant, Luxurious Ladies, the Sentinel car shop, the car wash―all those were set up so JB could launder his dirty money and make it clean. That shit was lost on them kids who were just happy to think that they owned their own businesses, but it wasn’t lost on me. We don’t own those shits. JB had his high priced lawyers make sure of that. Banks and Reid. Did you know Reid was my last name? Nah, you didn’t know. Do you think I own a real interest in that imports business? Nah, from day one the company name just sounded good on paper. I knew always the deal. I knew JB’s intentions when he fronted those legitimate businesses, it damn sure wasn’t for the reason he said—so we could all eventually walk away from the game with fat pockets. It’s like this…a hungry motherfucker who gets hungry enough gonna take food from anybody, even the bastard who starved him in the first place. JB starved us and then fed us when he was ready, like them terrorist do when they capture hostages. They can get them hostages to sell every secret they know just by offering them a crumb of bread.