Javier was short with salt-and-pepper hair, deep-set eyes, and a square cleft chin. He was well put-together in his expensive suit and nice watch. He didn’t drink or smoke or put any pollution into his body. In fact, he was a vegan who worked out daily and was a healthy man with smooth skin for his age. He was an avid reader, fluent in Spanish, English, and Russian, which was good for business, since he was a supplier for the Russian mafia. He was permanently sharp and focused, and he rarely made appearances. He only met with his top buyers once or twice a year, so they could feel his presence and his power.
A few months earlier, Javier’s biggest competitor, El Chapo, had been apprehended by the authorities, leaving the market wide open for more lucrative accounts. Javier Jesus Garcia felt he was more powerful and influential than the president of the United States.
“Come. We talk in the pastor’s office,” Javier said to Scott.
Scott followed behind Javier into the pastor’s office, while Meyer, Bugsy, and the goons on both sides waited in another room.
Scott needed to first make sure Javier had no ties to Delaware or DMC before he infiltrated the area, and second, he wanted to rework a delivery route should Javier green-light the situation.
Out of respect for Javier, Scott chose not to burn one of his cigars, knowing how much Javier hated the smoke around him. The two men sat across from each other in gray Bentwood armchairs.
Javier leaned back and crossed his legs. His deep-set eyes stared at Scott. His look could be intimidating. Though he appeared to be a humble man, Javier was one of the most dangerous, wealthy, and powerful men on earth.
“I’m looking into making a move into Delaware, and I wanted to run it by you first. I wanted to ensure my peoples weren’t stepping on any toes belonging to your organization,” Scott said.
“Delaware? I have no ties down there,” Javier informed him. “You’re free to do whatever.”
“Good.”
With that out the way, Scott went on to his next order of business. Javier guaranteed his product to New York, where his organization had a lot of buyers, and the return on investment was worth the risk.
“It’s about the route,” Scott said. He wanted Javier’s delivery crew to go south from New Jersey to Delaware instead of north to New York.
“And why would I want to change my route?” Javier asked.
“It will be an added risk of moving kilos from New York to Delaware. I figured since you’re so close—”
“And I should take on the risk?”
“We should come to a mutual agreement,” Scott said.
“If mutual is beneficial to me and my business.”
The Turnpike and alternate routes were always dangerous to their organization. State troopers were trying to crack down on drug mules with state-of-the-art surveillance equipment and drug sniffing dogs. It cost money, men, and time to continuously try and outsmart the police and remain covert, and that was why drug organizations could charge more per kilo to drug dealers.
“What is the return on this Delaware move?” Javier asked him.
“From the numbers I’ve run, roughly a five hundred percent return.”
“Impressive. Who would think that such a small state can carry such a high reward?”
Scott smiled.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to decline your request,” Javier said civilly. “The routes will stay the same. This Delaware situation is too new for me, and their infrastructure is thin at best, nonexistent at worst. My men will continue shipment to New York, and the pickups at the New York City docks will remain. And you will ship the package to Delaware through your men.”
Javier was sure about the docks in the city and trusted nowhere else. He had paid protection there with the NYPD and Coast Guard.
Scott was sad to hear the decline. It meant heavier loads traveling via the Turnpike, and more headache for him and his organization. He wanted to share the risk, since he was Javier’s New York connection. It would have been easier for the kilos to come to Delaware straight from neighboring New Jersey.
With the expansion into another state, Scott and Javier discussed a new cost per kilo of cocaine and heroin, since Javier supplied both demons. It was the one thing Scott felt they were in agreement on.
Javier stood up from his seat. “I have another affair to attend to, Scott. It’s been a pleasure to meet with you, and congratulations on your expansion.” Javier extended his right hand, and they shook on their mutual understanding.
Javier left the room while Scott remained standing there. He was still irritated, but he knew not to cross a man like Javier Garcia. He was feared everywhere.
Finally, Scott left the office and reconnected with his sons and goons. He didn’t look too happy, and Bugsy picked up on his father’s mood. They left the church and headed back to New York.
The ride back to the city was quiet once more, until Bugsy asked, “How’d the meeting with Javier go?”
“I don’t need to discuss that with you.”
Bugsy didn’t push it.
Scott was worth over two hundred million dollars. He came from the rough streets of Brooklyn and made himself into a dominant figure in the underworld by building a powerful empire. Not many men from his era could say they’d done the same. But his accomplishment was only a drop in the bucket compared to what Javier had built for himself. Javier was worth billions. He was international. Scott was somewhat envious, and it irked him that he had to ask permission to move on territory. He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t leave the game alone until he made a billion dollars, or he would die trying. He had always been competitive. He always wanted more. And taking over Delaware was another step toward his billion.
Going through the Holland Tunnel, Scott said to his sons, “I ran the numbers for Delaware, and they’re respectable.”
Meyer asked, “So what you tellin’ us, Pop?”
“I want you, Bugsy, and Lucky to temporarily move down there, set up shop, and make it happen.”
Meyer frowned, entirely against the idea. “Are you serious? You want us to live in Delaware? What about what we got goin’ on here? You want us to just leave it unattended?”
“Your mother and I can handle things in New York. Y’all will be in Delaware.”
“Why you doin’ this to us, Pop? What the fuck we do?” Meyer continued to gripe. “I got a life here!”
Though Bugsy was reluctant about the move too, he allowed his brother to do all the complaining.
Scott swiftly placed his hand on the back of Meyer’s neck, pushing him forward with force. “What I say?” His grip on the back of Meyer’s neck was firm. “Until I tell you otherwise, Delaware will be your place of residence. Now shut the fuck up!” He released his clutch from around his son’s neck and sat back. He placed a cigar into his mouth and lit it, needing the smoke.
Meyer scowled, massaging the back of his neck. He was fuming, but he remained quiet.
Scott had a few more things to say to Meyer and Bugsy. “Whistler will travel back and forth between both locations. And I will send you some top enforcers for any trouble y’all might have. But I want that city under our organization. I don’t care how it gets done, I just want it done. You two understand me?”
“We do,” Bugsy answered.
Scott glared at his rebellious son. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I know, Pop,” Meyer replied.
12
September 1994
With her right eye blackened and swollen, her bottom lip cut and inflamed, and dried blood on her face, Maxine sobbed in the interrogation room. Sandy’s sisters had beaten her severely, and the cops’ arrival was all that had prevented the sisters from killing her.
The room was cold, windowless, and bleak. Handcuffed to the metal table, Maxine felt the urge to pee on herself. She had never been in t
his much trouble before. She had never even been arrested. Now she was in a heap of shit—held at the local precinct for 24 hours before they formally charged her.
The good news was that Sandy was still alive. The bad news was that she was brain-dead, and it was up to her family to pull the plug or not. The horrible news for Maxine was the baby Sandy was carrying had died, which added a murder charge to the indictment. The cops rained down on Maxine with threats of murder and jail time. They wanted her to talk.
“Who is your accomplice? Who was the girl running from the building? Tell us something, Maxine, or you’ll go down for this by your damn self,” the detective said.
“You’re looking at first-degree murder, Maxine. Talk! Tell us something to help yourself!”
“I don’t know anything,” Maxine cried out.
They drilled her for over two hours, and all they got from her was tears, regret, and apologies. Maxine was in a damaged state. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She felt alone and so damn scared. Her law education went out the window—she didn’t even ask for a lawyer. She wanted to see her parents, and she asked for them repeatedly. The detective told her that they’d been notified of her arrest and were on their way to see her.
“Why did you attack the girl?” another detective asked.
Maxine’s eyes were flooded with tears, and her face was stained with panic and regret. She trembled in the police presence, not knowing what to say. They would charge her with murder for the baby’s death, and if Sandy didn’t make it, it would be another count of murder with a list of other charges. The cops told her she could get the death penalty.
Maxine couldn’t envision herself on death row. She was hoping it was a nightmare she could wake up from. But no matter how often she pinched herself, she found herself seated in the hard metal chair and facing a life-changing moment.
“Your parents are here,” a detective said, entering the interrogation room.
There was a small bit of relief for Maxine. She couldn’t wait to see them. She wondered if her father could perform a miracle and free her from her predicament.
The moment her parents stepped foot into the room, her eyes burst open like a collapsed dam. The sight of her folks brought on complete solemn remorse and guilt. They’d spent their entire lives trying to bring her up right and educated. They would’ve done anything for her, and now she had let them down.
Her mother hurried to her baby girl and hugged her tightly. Her father too. Because of the handcuffs, Maxine couldn’t hug them back. She didn’t want them to let go, terrified she would never see them again.
Her father couldn’t hold his frustration and anger in. “It was that girl you like to hang around with. What’s her damn name?” He quickly belted out, “Layla got you into this mess, didn’t she?”
Maxine cried more and didn’t answer her daddy.
“Tell us something, Maxine,” her mother cried out.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” Maxine sobbed.
Her mother held her. “They’re going to charge you with murder, Maxine! Murder!”
“Tell them what you know, Maxine. Tell them it was Layla. I hated that girl since the day you brought her around,” her father shouted. “I knew she was trouble from day one. Just make things easier for yourself, Maxie—Tell the truth.”
The detectives watched the meeting from a separate room. The room was under surveillance. They were hoping Maxine’s parents could convince her to save herself.
Maxine’s father couldn’t hold back his tears either. He wanted his little girl to come home with them.
Maxine didn’t say the name everyone wanted to hear. Why didn’t she give up Layla? It was because of her Maxine was in this predicament. Layla had taken the situation with Sandy too far. She was still in shock. Maxine had watched Layla beat a woman to death with her bare hands.
She thought about Scottie. She needed him right now.
13
September 1994
Shocked by the news of the attack on Sandy, Scottie raced back to Brooklyn and arrived home at nine that night. Maxine had been in jail for several hours. He was worried about her and Sandy, who was carrying his baby. How did things get this far? Scottie couldn’t see the situation coming. Maxine was too passive to beat Sandy down the way the streets were describing it. He knew Layla had to have a hand in the assault. It had her signature written all over it.
Once in Brooklyn, he went to Cypress Hills projects with his cousin and a spare key to Maxine’s car. He removed the BMW from the block. An expensive car like that stood out, and he didn’t want anything to happen to it. He parked the car in his cousin’s driveway. The last thing he needed was a gun charge, so he gave his cousin his gun to hold for him. Then he showered and changed clothes, readying himself to drive to the precinct to see his girl.
***
Dressed in his Boss jeans and Jordans, Scottie stepped into the precinct looking nonthreatening and law-abiding. He approached the front desk and said to the sergeant, “I’m lookin’ for my girl. Her name is Maxine Henderson. Is she here?”
“Your name?” the sergeant asked.
Scottie gave him his name. He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew he had to be there for Maxine. He felt guilty about the nasty messages he’d left her. He didn’t even know if she was still being detained in the precinct, or if they’d taken her down to Central Booking for processing.
He was met by a detective in the waiting area.
The police heard several theories from Sandy’s family about why she was attacked. Scottie’s name came up each time. They felt he was juggling two girlfriends at once, playing with their hearts. Sandy was carrying Scott’s baby, while Maxine was his main squeeze.
Before Scottie could see Maxine, a detective needed a few words with him. “If you want your girlfriend to ever see freedom again, she needs to say something and implicate the other assailant.”
The cops had already run Layla’s name, and it was messy. She had numerous arrests for grand larceny, petty larceny, assault, drug dealing, burglary, and being an accessory after the fact. They wanted her badly.
How did a girl like Maxine become friends with such a criminal? If she helped them, then they would help her. After all, she’d helped to kill an unborn baby and attempted to murder her man’s mistress. Maxine would still go to jail, but they would charge her with involuntary homicide and not first-degree murder, which meant she could get paroled sooner.
As the detectives were preparing to allow Scottie to speak to his girlfriend, they received a phone call from the hospital. More grim news. The family had taken Sandy off life support, and she’d passed away less than an hour earlier. Now it was a double homicide.
Scottie went into the room to speak to Maxine. The moment she saw him, she burst into more tears. She was hoping he could work his magic to get her out.
Scottie smiled her way. He took a seat across from her, and the first thing he said to her was, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna hire you the best defense lawyer that money can buy.”
“Defense lawyer?” Maxine didn’t want to defend anything. She just wanted to go home. She wanted out of this nightmare. She did nothing. She didn’t attack Sandy.
“It’s terrible, baby. You fucked up,” he said.
Maxine felt like she had no more tears to cry, because she had been crying since the nightmare started, but her eyes continued to leak. Scottie looked at her with hopelessness. Until this point, she thought he could turn water into wine. She loved him, and she always believed in him. He was smarter than the common thug. He had ambition, and he had money. But tonight Maxine saw him as a mere man. Perhaps he wasn’t grasping her situation.
She leaned in closer to him and whispered, “They want me to tell them about Layla.”
Scottie’s jaw tightened. “Not here, not now.” He motioned his head up toward the camera.
“What you mean? You already know what to do. I’ve schooled you on this numerous times. You get knocked, you don’t snitch. Period!”
Baffled, Maxine stared blankly at Scottie. Yes, that’s what he always said to his goons and street soldiers, but she was his girlfriend. She didn’t sell drugs or know anything incriminating about his drug empire. So, was “Don’t snitch” directed toward her? This was different. This was murder. Maxine felt that Scottie thought she had actually killed Sandy over him.
“This isn’t my fault. It wasn’t me, Scottie. And if I tell them who it was, then they will let me go, right?”
Maxine had always valued her boyfriend’s opinion. He wouldn’t leave her to rot in jail. He’d come immediately upon hearing the news, so it meant he cared about her well-being.
Smoothly, Scottie extended his arms across the table and placed both his hands on hers. He locked eyes with his beautiful, innocent, frightened girlfriend. He looked at her deadpan and squeezed her hand so tight, he almost cut off her blood circulation.
Maxine didn’t know what was going on or what to expect. She squirmed but didn’t yelp out.
Scottie leaned in closer to her and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. Eyes to eyes, and inches from her face, he repeated, “Baby girl, we don’t snitch—ever! You ride this out, and I promise you’ll be home with me sooner than you think. You’re innocent, I know it. Anyone can see that. Trust the system. I got you. Maybe we can get you off with a technicality on their end. Cops always fuck shit up.”
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