Paper Chasers

by Mark Anthony

  “My lawyer knew that it would take longer than the five or six days for my face to heal, so he told the D.A. that I would be willing to waive my allotted time to be formally charged if the district attorney’s office would agree to give me a substantially reduced bail. And if the D.A. didn’t agree to our terms, my lawyer was gonna go public with my charges against the police department. Yo, the D.A. took the bait. He had no choice but to bite. But being that this case is so highly publicized, he couldn’t let anyone know that I was given a bail, especially a bail that was so low. So the deal is that if I come up with the loot, then I walk outta here mad quiet in some kind of disguise and nobody will know. Only thing is that I will be on house arrest until my trial starts.

  “Yo, Holz, I was like whateva. Just as long as I ain’t gotta sit up behind these bars. God looked out lovely because otherwise I wasn’t seeing no kind of bail. I just hope that my lawyer can work the same kind of magic for my trial when it comes. But somehow between now and then we’ll figure something out.”

  I felt real good after I’d heard that. But I couldn’t really respond because the correction officers informed us that Randy had used up his allotted visiting time.

  So as Randy and I both stood and prepared to venture on our separate paths, we embraced, hugged each other, and said good-bye. I felt something in that hug. It was as if that might be the last time I would see Randy.

  “Yo, Randy, I’ll have you outta here real soon. Just be cool and hold tight. A’ight?”

  “A’ight, Holz. I’m depending on you. Yo, check on my mother for me. Make sure that she’s a’ight.”

  “No problem, duke. See ya.”

  Randy strolled off and yelled, “Fourth Crew!” His voice literally echoed throughout the prison.

  Revelation

  September 3, 1991—Randy’s birthday and he was coming home. Even if it was just until his trial started, at least he’d be home for his birthday, and that’s all that counted.

  Over the last few days I’d split my time between gathering up the rest of the loot for Randy, and sitting with Randy’s father to discuss Randy’s future. We talked about everything. I knew that Mr. Allen wasn’t so naïve as not to know just exactly where the money that we’d come up with for Randy was coming from. Still, he never questioned me as to where I’d gotten the money.

  I accompanied Randy’s father to his lawyer’s office. I’d never learned more about the legal system than I learned in just two visits to this sharp, Philadelphia lawyer’s office. Randy’s lawyer was about six feet tall, medium build with dark hair and dark eyes. Of course he was white, but he was as sharp as a whip. He knew every legal loophole in the book.

  On my second visit to the law office, Randy’s father informed the lawyer that he had come up with the rest of the bail money. His lawyer immediately got on the phone and spoke to whomever, and then he spoke privately with Randy’s pops. I hadn’t a clue as to what was going on.

  Then in his thick Jamaican accent, Randy’s father, who seemed elated, told me that there was some legal stuff that had to go on in terms of posting Randy’s bail, but he asked me if I could meet Randy at 6:00 P.M. to take him home. I had no problem with picking him up. However, I just didn’t understand why he didn’t pick up Randy himself. I didn’t ask any questions. I simply went along with the plan.

  Later that evening when I got to Rikers Island I was instructed by correction officers as to where to wait for Randy. I waited in a huge parking lot. Randy was taking forever to come out. In fact, I had been waiting a few hours up until this point. I didn’t know if something had gone wrong or what. I started to think that maybe the media had gotten abreast to what was going on. All I knew was that I had been waiting for close to two hours for Randy to be released.

  Before I knew it, I’d dozed off in my car, only to be awakened by the sound of a bus, which had a very bad muffler system. The automatic gate that led to the parking lot began to open. The bus drove up to the gate and stopped. After about a minute or so, Randy stepped off the bus. The door to the bus closed and the bus drove off, leaving behind a thick cloud of black pollution. When the pollution cloud disappeared, Randy, who had on a hat and some shades, was still standing and looking around as if he were lost. I jumped out of my car and yelled to him.

  “Yo, Randy, over here, kid!”

  When Randy recognized me he quickly jogged over to where I was standing.

  “Big Holz, what’s up, kid?”

  “It’s your birthday, that’s what’s up,” I said as Randy and I embraced. “You wanna drive?”

  Without answering me, Randy took the keys and we were out. Randy told me that he wanted to get off of Rikers Island as quickly as possible. He feared that this was all some sort of a dream, and that he would soon awake only to find himself back behind bars. I could relate to his sense of urgency, so I helped him navigate his way home.

  When we finally made it to the Grand Central Parkway, Randy realized that he, in fact, wasn’t dreaming.

  “Yo, Holz, I am a free man.”

  I simply smiled and watched as Randy basked in his glory.

  “I just want to get home and take a nice bath. And after that I’m gonna sit back, relax, and eat a nice home-cooked meal.”

  So with Randy behind the steering wheel, we drove toward Lauerlton. It was now dark outside. Darkness had been appearing quicker and quicker with each passing day, a sign that the summer would soon be behind us. The hot, steamy, blistering weather of July and August was also behind us. Man, oh man, was this ever a buck wild summer or what? During the summer of 1991 I had experienced everything imaginable that a human being could experience. Thank God I was still alive.

  I lowered the music all the way down to speak to Randy.

  “Yo, remember back when Richie got killed? Remember how we cared so much at that time?”

  “Yeah, I remember. But now it’s like whateva. But, yo, didn’t I tell you back then that a lot of brothas were gonna die this summer? I knew it! But it’s a’ight, though, ’cause I don’t think that it can get no worse than it has been.”

  “Yes, it can get worse. Trust me,” I said pessimistically.

  “Nah, I know it can get worse, but I just try to believe that it can’t. Because humans shouldn’t have to live the way we do. I mean, look at us. It’s like our lives are made for the movies or something. I tell you one thing, and that’s that this life that we live definitely ain’t Hollywood. This life that we live is straight up as real as it gets! It’s like this paper chasing lifestyle is just one big, urban massacre.”

  “Randy, at the beginning of this year when all of Fourth Crew was driving to Times Square to watch the ball drop, what did we do?”

  “We all paused, bowed our heads, prayed to God, and asked him to watch over us this year.”

  “Yup, and you know what? That’s why me and you are still alive right now. We’re alive because of God, the creator of all things.”

  Randy looked at me and nodded in agreement.

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  Then Randy challenged me to end the lost lifestyle that we’d been living. He reminded me that we both had brains and that we were not using them. I told him that with the way everything had been going down, it looked as though it was just gonna be me and him anyway. No more Fourth Crew. Yeah, from now on it was going to be me and Randy doing something positive with our lives, like opening up a restaurant or what have you.

  “Holz, realistically though, I’m facing a double homicide rap. Who am I fooling? My life is over!” Randy said, sounding a bit paranoid.

  “Randy, stop thinking like that! We’re gonna deal with your whole trial and all of that. We have brains. All we have to do is use them. With our brains and with God, we can overcome anything, including a double homicide rap.” Randy remained silent.

  After reminding Randy to get off at the next exit, he looked at me in annoyance.

  “Holz, I remember where to get off. I wasn’t in jail that long. I get off h
ere, then I make a right at the light, then I make a left at the next light,” he said sarcastically.

  “Go to hell, nigga,” I said jokingly.

  “There it is, Holz, 234th Street!” Randy yelled after a minute or so had passed. “Thank you, Lord, for getting me home. I’m back on the block! Yesss!”

  “Randy, hold up, hold up,” I said as a tried to calm him down. “Stop at the corner. I’ma run in the store real quick and buy some brew.”

  “Yeah, a’ight,” Randy said as he pulled over to the curb.

  As I got out of the car, I felt rain starting to come down.

  “Damn!” I said. “It’s starting to rain.”

  “Randy, you didn’t want anything, right?” I asked as I came from out of the store and made my way back to the car.

  “Nah, I’m straight. It’s my first day home. I can’t be smelling like alcohol when I walk into my house. My moms will flip.”

  It was pretty close to 10:00 P.M. Randy and I decided to park the car and sit until I was finished drinking my beer. We were parked right in front of the spot where Richie had been killed. We sat a block and a half away from Randy’s house. The rain started to come down a little harder.

  “I’m glad it’s raining. At least it can cool things off,” I commented.

  “Man, forget that! It’s my birthday. It can’t be raining on my birthday!”

  “So, Randy, are you still gonna take the test to become a cop?” I asked with humor lacing my voice. Randy laughed.

  “Yeah, if they let me take it. The job pays all right.”

  I knew that joke time was over and it was time to drop the bombshell. I braced myself.

  “Yo, Randy, I got something to tell you that’s gonna shock the hell out of you.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “Now, Randy, believe me when I tell you this, because I wouldn’t play with you about something like this.”

  “Holz, what is it?” Randy asked in a raised tone.

  “You wanna know how you got bagged by the cops? Well, Latiefe dropped dime, that’s how.”

  “What!” Randy screamed.

  “Word to Richie, he ratted on you,” I said as I looked Randy directly in his eyes.

  “Holz, you ain’t joking, are you?” Randy asked after a long pause.

  “No, I’m dead serious.”

  “My own man? Nah, Latiefe’s my man. He wouldn’t do something like that . . .”

  I remained quiet. After another long pause, Randy continued.

  “Then again, I don’t know. . . Yo, Holz, I know he didn’t do it over that little fight that we had in the Red Zone.”

  I was feeling like I had to do something. I wanted to tell Randy that I was lying, but I wasn’t lying.

  “Yup, that’s exactly why he told,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Nah, it’s more than that,” Randy said defensively. “Trust me, it’s more than that.” Randy was in deep thought.

  “Yo, whateva man!” he finally said. “I could get all worked up about it. I could try to hunt Latiefe down and kill him, but what good would that do? Like I was telling you before, I have to start living a step above that. I have to start loving myself. But it’s hard to love myself, Holz. It’s hard to love anything because it seems like love doesn’t last. You know what I mean? I say to hell with love and all of that other nonsense. Holz, if a person wants to be successful in life, all he or she has to do is expect and prepare for the worst, and fear the good. Holz, when things are going good in my life, I have to start fearing it. ’Cause when things are going good, something bad has to go along with it. It has to!

  “I just got released from jail, and that’s a good thing. But I’m afraid of that. I’m afraid simply because I know that before the night is over, something bad is going to happen to me. Like Five-O is probably gonna show up at my crib tonight and haul me back off to jail. But whatever bad thing that does happen, it won’t matter because I’ll actually be expecting it to happen. I’m telling you, kid, watch Five-O show up at the crib tonight with a new warrant, knaaimean?”

  “Yo, Randy, I moved to Queens when I was about three-years-old. In my head I can still see you walking across the street to play with me. That was only fifteen years ago, and it’s like where did all of that innocence go? Remember when we played little league together? G.I. Joe? Atari? All of that. But now it’s as if that was in another lifetime. But, yo, those were the good times.

  “Yo, I’m gonna give you a word and you give me the first word that comes into your mind, a’ight?” I told Randy.

  “A’ight,” Randy replied.

  “Money.”

  “Corrupting.”

  “Women.”

  “Whores.”

  “Education.”

  “Overrated.”

  “Guns.”

  “Power.”

  “People.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Drugs.”

  “Government.”

  “Trust.”

  “Nobody.”

  “Future.”

  “Bleak.”

  “Life.”

  “Hectic.”

  “God.”

  “Almighty.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Michaelangelo.”

  “Death.”

  “Inevitable.”

  “A’ight, game over,” I said. “You’re right about trust nobody. I know I don’t trust anybody. How can I when I don’t even trust myself. That’s like when people ask me do I love so and so? I used to say yes I love him or her. I used to even believe that I loved certain people, but now I realize that I don’t love anybody. How can I love someone else when I don’t even love myself? They say ‘to know me is to love me,’ and then I hear people saying that they want the black on black violence to stop ’cause they love us. But, Randy, how can they love us if they don’t even know who we really are? The biggest part of knowing us begins with being able to relate to us. You know?”

  “Holz, I’m feeling what you’re sayin’, but yo, it’s pouring out this piece. Let’s be out.” Randy prepared to put the car in drive so that we could make our way down the block.

  “Yo, Holz, who was that in that jeep that just drove by?” Randy asked.

  “Oh, that’s Tony from up the block. See that nigga is chillin’, and he ain’t do half the dirt that we did. He was telling me that he took two semesters off from school so that he could work and save for his college tuition, which is what he did, and he had enough dough left over so he bought that phat ride. Yo, I be regretting that I didn’t just do things like that instead of being so impatient and chasing the glitter. But then again, I tried to do things that way—you know, the straight and narrow—but no one would let me. Everybody had something negative to say. I know I shouldn’t care about other people’s opinions, but it’s hard to just block things out and focus.”

  “Holz, you can’t care what other people think about you. You just have to believe in yourself. Don’t even sweat what they think. They can’t judge you. Only God can judge you. Plus, they don’t really know you anyway, which means they don’t love you, so why listen to ‘em?”

  “Yeah, I hear you. But, yo, enough of this poli-tickin’. This beer is starting to mess my head up! You sure you don’t want any?”

  “Nah, I’m cool. Yo, let’s be out. It’s starting to fog up in this piece.”

  As Randy gently pressed on the gas pedal in an attempt to pull away from the curb, someone darted out in front of the car. He quickly had to jam on the brakes in order to avoid hitting the person.

  What happened next transpired in about five to ten seconds.

  “Yo, what the . . . Who the hell . . . Yo, Holz, what’s wrong with that nigga?”

  “Yo, that’s Montana’s car parked alongside of us. Oh yo! Randy, look out . . . NO!”

  As I closed my eyes, ducked, and braced for the worst to happen, I heard boom boom boom. Glass shattered. I braced myself my entire body and curled up near the floor mats, trying to squeeze
underneath the dashboard. I felt as if Mike Tyson had hit me with a body blow and knocked the wind out of me.

  There was a second or two of silence, then I heard the sound of screeching car tires peeling away. I opened my eyes and I saw Randy sitting slumped, bloody, and limp beside me.

  “Ah, man! Hahhh . . . Randy! Randy! You a’ight?”

  Randy didn’t say a word.

  “Randy, you a’ight, kid!?’

  Again I got no answer.

  “Oh, Lord. Oh no. Help me. Somebody help me! Please, Lord, help me! Somebody.”

  After the initial scare was over, I realized that Montana’s hit-man had pumped two shotgun blasts into Randy’s chest, and one into my back.

  Finally Randy tried to speak, which at least let me know that he was still alive.

  “Holz, why did he shoot me?” he struggled to ask. “What did I do? Help me, Holz.”

  I felt as if I was living the episode with Richie all over again. I was more worried about Randy’s wellbeing than my own. I could barely breathe, but I managed to frantically holler for someone to help my dying friend. I was in shock. I knew that I couldn’t waste too much time, because I saw how bad Randy looked as he coughed up huge globs of blood.

  He continually asked me to help him, so I quickly got a grip on myself. Clutching my ribs with my right hand, I reached across my body with my left hand and opened the passenger door to my Saab. In unbearable pain, I trekked out into the rain and quickly made it to the driver’s side of the car. I ripped the door open and shoved Randy’s blood drenched torso into the passenger’s seat.

  I was mad nervous, and I couldn’t think which way to go to get to the nearest hospital. I spun the car around and decided to go to Mary Immaculate Hospital, which was near Jamaica Avenue, about ten minutes away. I sped off in the rain, driving as fast as I could down Merrick Boulevard. The streets were slick and rain was hitting me in the face as a result of the driver’s side window being blasted away by the shells from Be-Bo’s double barrel pump shotty.