Corrupt City

by Tra Verdejo

  “What do you mean by ‘a different set of rules’?”

  “We did as we pleased. We didn’t report to no one. Don’t get me wrong, we were good at our jobs. We just took the law into our own hands, even if that meant planting drugs, tampering with evidence, assault, or murder. Whatever it took to get the job done, we did it.”

  “Murder? Do you mean others besides Perry were innocently murdered as well?”

  “Yes.”

  You could hear the oohs and ahhs all across the courtroom.

  “The only reason why this case is getting national attention is because Perry didn’t have a criminal record and was a working parent. Had he had one felony, forget about it.”

  Matthew quickly stood up. “I object. The witness is using the stand as his personal platform to speak for his personal feelings. I move that the witness be removed, and I ask that his testimony be made inadmissible. It is obvious his intent is personal.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Your Honor, but this witness has a personal vendetta against my clients.”

  “I said overruled,” Judge Lewis shot back in a slow, loud voice. “Your objection was heard and denied.”

  “Okay, let’s get back to M&M. Donald, please continue,” Johnson said.

  “Since we couldn’t get close to M&M, we decided to set up one of their key members. M&M ran Patterson Projects, but they had beef with their neighbors, Mott Haven Projects. We did a sweep one night in Mott Haven Projects and locked up about ten members of the RSB, which stood for Red Slab Boys, a crack gang. That same night, we pulled over Money Mike’s black Mercedes Benz, and one of M&M’s key members happened to be driving his car.

  “We later learned he was the captain of the crew. His name was Derek Bailey, better known as Thirty-eight. He loved and used his .38 handgun so much, that became his nickname.

  “That night when we pulled him over, we didn’t care about the gun or drugs. Around that time, a gun charge against a high-profile criminal was like a misdemeanor charge. Money Mike would have spent good money on attorneys to get his captain out and charges dropped. All we wanted was for Thirty-eight to spend one night in jail, so we made up a story about an arrest warrant, took him to Central Booking, and we locked him up. I was undercover in the cell waiting for him, so were the ten RSB members we picked up. The plan was to drop Thirty-eight off in the cell, and when all hell broke loose, I’d jump in and help him out.

  “The plan was perfect because not a minute went by after the CO closed that cell before one of the Red Slab Boys approached Thirty-eight and started swinging. Ten against one is no match for any one, so within seconds, Thirty-eight was on the floor getting stomped. Since they all had their back toward me, I jumped toward them and pushed the whole pile toward the metal bars, and Thirty-eight was able to get back on his feet. We were both swinging to save our lives. After the correction officers saved our butts, the RSB boys were moved to a different cell, and Thirty-eight thanked me. He wanted to know why I helped. I told him because that’s how I get down, and by his reaction, I knew I had him in my pocket.

  “The following morning right before Thirty-eight’s court hearing, we had a few COs from Rikers Island come in and scoop me up, making it seem like I got transferred to there. Before I left, Thirty-eight told me to look him up when I got out. I told him once I posted bail I would. I waited a week before I went to Patterson Projects, looking for him. When I got there, it was like they were expecting me. They were showing me a lot of love for helping Thirty-eight. That same day, I was introduced to Money Mike and the rest of the crew, and Thirty-eight spoke highly of me.

  “Within days, I knew their whole operation. Five months later, I had a wiretap on the whole organization. With my intel, we were able to identify all the top members and their ranks. We knew where the stash house was located, their connections, plus drop-off and pickup locations. I had so much information on them, we didn’t need a snitch for this case. It was a slam dunk.”

  “Impressive. So what happened next? Did all the members from M&M get convicted?”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean? I can’t believe you. Why not?” Johnson fired back with a puzzled face.

  “Deals below the table were cut. Information was leaked about how we illegally arrested Thirty-eight. A lot of charges were dropped, and my evidence was not admissible in the court of law.”

  “You mean to tell me the wiretaps were not accepted?”

  “I had Money Mike on tape ordering hits and talking about his operation. I recorded meetings between all the members and Money Mike. They were all incriminating themselves, talking about murder, kidnapping, and money laundering. You name it, they talked about it on my wiretap. We all heard the tapes together.”

  “Donald, can you please clarify for the court who you mean by ‘all of us’?”

  “I’m referring to my partners sitting over there. We all heard the tapes together. We played those wiretaps over and over, like a Marvin Gaye record.”

  “So everyone from M&M walked, how?” Johnson asked.

  “Not everyone. But Money Mike only did eighteen months, and four others were sentenced to only two to six bids. I don’t know how, especially with all the evidence we had, but you would have to ask my former employers sitting over there why.” Lucky pointed at his former partners.

  “So you are testifying today that there was foul play?”

  “I object, Your Honor. This testimony has nothing to do with the current case. This is an irrelevant testimony.”

  “I agree. Counsel, get to the point,” the judge stated.

  “I’m just trying to bring to light the criminal behavior of these police officers, including Donald Gibson himself. Donald, you may continue,” Mr. Johnson said.

  “I recorded those wiretaps myself. I felt betrayed. Everyone in my department turned their heads. I risked my life, and it seemed like no one cared. A few days later, our captain called a meeting to discuss our new target. I tried to ask about the M&M case, and he snapped at me. They wanted me to turn my cheek like they did. At first I couldn’t, but after a while, it became old news, and I just went with the flow.”

  “So just like that, you were given a new target? Who was the new target?”

  “This delivery service company located in Manhattan, called Mr. G Express. We got a tip they were delivering cocaine all over New York.”

  “Who provided the tip?”

  “We used to pay all our informants lots of money if they provided good information.”

  “How much did it cost for this tip?”

  “Around twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Twenty thousand? Wow! Where did the money come from?”

  “Like I said, we were governed by a different set of rules. We never once turned in drug money we seized, not once.”

  “I object, Your Honor,” Matthew yelled. “This is all speculation.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Go ahead, Donald, finish what you were saying,” a cocky Johnson said.

  “We never turned in confiscated drug money. We created our own budget. For example, once we paid this informant on a tip about a Dominican crew smuggling drugs through fifty-four-foot trailers coming up from Miami. We infiltrated the buy. We confiscated 450 kilos of cocaine, over fifty brand-new guns, and 1.5 million dollars in cash. We only reported the 400 kilos and the guns. We never turned in the money.”

  “What happened to the money and the fifty kilos of cocaine?”

  “We split the money. Tango was no longer with us at the time. We each took $200,000 for our personal use. We put the other $500,000 in the budget along with the drugs. In our line of work and how deep undercover we worked, we needed to produce cash, drugs, and guns quickly, so I will say at times, it was necessary to have that amount of money and drugs. We abused the system, using and keeping a lot of money for our own personal use.”

  “No one ever questioned your team or made you guys follow guidelines?”

  “No. It w
as like we were given the green light to do whatever we wanted.”

  “Whatever happened to M&M?” a curious Johnson asked.

  “Karma. Money Mike was murdered, and his crew fell apart.”

  “What about the Mr. G delivery business? Who led that investigation?”

  “Loose Cannon—I mean Steve. I don’t know how or why, but I kept my mouth shut. We didn’t call him Loose Cannon for nothing. We spent about four months trying to find a lead, but we couldn’t. We really thought we were taken for a ride by the informant. We followed every delivery boy on foot, bike, and car. We had nothing, until we illegally got access to Mr. G’s computer and his network.”

  “What do you mean by illegal access?”

  “I object, Your Honor. Witness is testifying to a third-party conversation.”

  “Overruled. This is all credible testimony.”

  “I don’t know how Steve got the access. I just know he showed up with a disk full of information. Mr. G’s computer became our personal informant. His company seemed legal, at least to the naked eye. We couldn’t digest all the computer language, and he had a bunch of codes and passwords, so we hired an ex-con computer geek, and he was able to hack the files. We’d found the break we needed.

  “One of the first things we noticed was, Mr. G had another warehouse we didn’t know about. This warehouse was located in Long Island City, Queens. That same night, Jeffrey, Steve, and I watched the new warehouse all night. About four in the morning, the main gate opened up, and a white van with tinted windows drove out.

  “We followed the van all the way to East Harlem. The van stopped at 110th Street and Lexington Avenue. We parked on 111th Street. Five minutes later, we noticed a Hispanic man walk up to the van, and an exchange was made. We thought we were following the van because they were making a drop. Come to find out, the driver was a heroin addict just out buying a quick fix. We pulled the van over right before he jumped back on the FDR Drive on 116th Street and Pleasant Avenue. We arrested the driver, and if my memory serves me correctly, his name was Robert, yeah, Robert. We were hoping the van was dirty, but it wasn’t. All we had on Robert was the few bags of heroin. He was not cooperating either. We needed him to talk, so we started offering him all kinds of deals.”

  “What kind of deals?” Johnson asked.

  “Money. We started at a thousand and offered as much as five thousand, but he didn’t want the money. All he wanted was his heroin, so Steve went into the captain’s office. Ten minutes later, they are letting Robert shoot dope right in the interrogation room.”

  “Donald, you mean to tell me you guys let a heroin addict shoot up just to get information out of him?”

  “We did whatever it took to solve a case. I didn’t agree with it, but it worked. Robert gave up all the information we needed. Even though we had Mr. G’s files, we still couldn’t read them correctly. Mr. G had a very large clientele list, and Robert helped us figure out who were the cocaine customers and who weren’t. His VIP customers either owned or ran Fortune 500 companies. He was averaging about one million dollars a week, since he didn’t deal with small-time customers. To buy drugs from him, you also had to use his mailing services. That’s how he was able to stay under the radar and make his business look legit. We also learned he made out-of-state deliveries as far as California and Las Vegas. He was larger than what we’d originally thought. Robert agreed to wear a wire, but things got ugly quickly. Two days later after our meeting with him, he was found dead in an alley, and Mr. G disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, he disappeared?” Johnson asked.

  “He was gone. After Robert got murdered, Mr. G and his files disappeared.”

  “Wait a second, Donald. How can your main suspect, his operation, and all the evidence you had on him disappear?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “What do you think happened?” Johnson asked.

  “I object, Your Honor. He’s not an expert witness. He is asking him for his opinion.”

  “Overruled. Though he’s not an expert, he was part of the investigation and has firsthand knowledge on the matter. I think his opinion does count in this matter.”

  “When we started to carefully read the list and check out some of these VIP customers, too many important names were surfacing. We are talking CEOs, VPs, and politicians. My honest gut feeling, these people were able to pay their way out.”

  “I object, Your Honor. Witness is speculating, based on hearsay.”

  “Sustained.”

  “You didn’t make any money off these deals?” Johnson asked.

  “Not off the Mr. G case. I never received one dime. I was told to erase the whole operation from my mind.”

  “By who? Who said erase it from your mind?”

  “My captain.” Lucky pointed at William.

  “How much money you think they made?”

  “I object, Your Honor!” Matthew shouted.

  “Withdrawn, Your Honor,” Johnson shot back before the judge gave his ruling. He walked back to his desk and consulted with his assistants. He was getting ready to ask about the night in question.

  Lucky took advantage of the break and poured himself another glass of cold water. He knew the heat was coming.

  Johnson waited for Lucky to finish his glass of water before he proceeded with his case.

  “Mr. Gibson, tell us about the night Perry Coleman died. What really happened? Do you remember that night?”

  “How can I forget? It still haunts me at night. Anyway, we were all having drinks at this strip club called Tops Off. We normally hang there when nights are slow.”

  “Were you guys drinking while on duty?”

  “Yes, we arrived around seven p.m. It was Captain William “Tuna” Youngstown, Steve “Loose Cannon” Stanley, Jeffrey “Speedy” Winston, and me. We didn’t leave till we heard the call. We were drunk and high off cocaine. All of us were.”

  “While still on duty, you guys were high and drunk?” Johnson asked as he turned to the jury.

  “Yes, that was a regular routine for us. We got a call about a robbery on 103rd Street and First Avenue. By the time we arrived at the scene we didn’t see any perps. We had a description on the suspect, a young Hispanic male in his early twenties, wearing a red shirt with blue jeans.

  “We drove around the area for about fifteen minutes, but we came up empty. Steve was pretty upset about it. He was having a blast at the strip club and didn’t want to leave. He kept repeating to himself, ‘Someone is getting locked up, and I don’t care who.’ While we were sitting at the light, he yelled, ‘What’s that?’

  “We all looked toward our left and we saw this Black male wearing a white shirt with black jeans walking out the store. He was reaching for his cell phone, not a gun, and he clearly didn’t fit the description. I was driving, Captain was shotgun, and Steve was sitting behind me with Jeffrey to his right. Steve and Jeff were the first ones to jump out the car, with the captain right behind them. All three had their guns drawn, yelling for Perry to get down on the ground.”

  “Wait a second, Mr. Gibson. Are you saying that Perry never shot at the officers first?”

  “Correct. Perry never shot at us, because he never had a gun.”

  The courtroom erupted again. This time, it took about fifteen minutes to control the crowd. Everyone who supported the Colemans was on their feet, demanding and screaming for justice. The police officers in attendance were still sticking up for their brothers and began arguing with a few protesters.

  Through the ruckus, you could see Perry’s mother still in her seat, her head down. She was in tears and crying out for help under her breath.

  “Why, sweet Jesus, my Lord and Savior, why did you have to take my son away?”

  By the time the mayhem was over, the courtroom was half-empty. A few more protesters were arrested.

  During the disturbance, Lucky had looked over at his old partners and read the lips of his former captain.

  “You are dead.”r />
  Lucky just smiled and gave him the middle finger.

  Once order was restored in the courtroom, the judge banged his gavel and said, “This will be my last warning. One more, and I will empty the courtroom and postpone this case. Mr. Johnson, you may continue.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Lucky, please continue. What happened next?”

  “I parked the car right in the middle of the street. When I jumped out, I noticed Steve approaching Perry and he was discharging his weapon. The captain and Jeffrey followed like a domino effect. They were also firing their weapons. As I’m running toward them, I was able to stop both the captain and Jeffrey from shooting. Steve stopped only because he ran out of bullets. I was in complete disbelief because I knew we messed up pretty bad. As I’m yelling at the Cap and Jeff, Steve, who I thought had had enough, was trying to reload his weapon. The Cap tackled him to the ground and was able to calm him down for a few seconds.

  “Meanwhile, Jeff ran back toward our unmarked car to retrieve a .357 revolver we kept in the trunk for dirty work. The serial number was scratched off. He took about four to five steps back from the car and shot at the back driver-side window twice. He then ran back over to Perry and placed the .357 in his hand. As soon as I approached Jeff about his actions, other units showed up to the scene. It was too late.”

  Lucky stopped to wipe a tear coming down his cheek. He looked around and Perry’s family was also in tears. A few jurors had watery eyes as well.

  “Mr. Gibson, did you discharge your weapon?”

  “No.”

  Matthew shouted, “I object, Your Honor. Our forensic witness made it clear that there were other shells found on the scene. This witness is committing perjury.”

  “Your Honor, their witness also confirmed those shells did not come from Donald’s service nine-millimeter weapon.”