White Lines

by Tracy Brown

  Born pulled up at the gas station, and went inside the PLO store, an establishment nicknamed as such because it was run by Palestinian men. Born got a bottled water and came back outside. He noticed a young high-school-age kid standing nearby, and surmised that he was working for somebody. He came to this conclusion by sizing up the young man’s sneakers, his lack of jewelry, and the late hour at which he stood alone on the block. Born had done his homework about Park Hill’s drug scene, so he had an idea of who was getting money with whom. Born sipped his water and walked closer to the kid.

  “A, yo,” Born called out. The kid turned in his direction. “How much you getting standing out here for niggas?”

  “What?” The young stranger looked at Born like he was crazy. “Yo, I don’t know you.” Born shrugged. “I just asked you a question,” he said. “I already know you probably working for either Roy or Wizz. I know who’s getting money in the hill.” Born could tell by the look on the kid’s face that he was on the right track, so he continued. “Anyway, what they giving you? Thirty off a hundred?”

  Knowing this wasn’t a bad deal that he was getting, the kid confidently nodded his head. “Yup. You can’t beat that shit.”

  Born smirked. “Yes, I can. Fuck with me, instead, and I’ll give you forty off every hundred. Plus, I can make sure you get more custys dealing with me. It’s dead as a muthafucka out here tonight. And it’s too cold to be standing out here for nothing.”

  Born saw the look on the young man’s face, and he waited for his response. “What’s your name?” the kid asked.

  “Born.” He handed the light-skinned kid a piece of paper with his cell phone number on it. “Call me when you’re ready to start getting paid.”

  “Aiight.” The kid took the number, looking around to make sure that Wizz wasn’t lurking anywhere. He was definitely going to call this guy to see if he was serious. He’d seen Born before, at parties in the borough. Staten Island was so small that parties were like minireunions. You saw the same faces, the same people. And Born’s face was one that this kid had seen before. He tucked the number in his pocket, and watched Born turn to walk back to his Benz.

  “?ο,” the kid called after him, just as he got to his car door and opened it. Born turned around.

  “My name is Tommy.”

  Born nodded, and climbed inside his ride. Tommy called him a week later, and he was working for Born from then on. Things seemed to be going well, and Born was glad to be tapping into a whole new set of customers in the hill. Months went by, and he had a nice thing going with his small empire. He saw a familiar number on his pager one day, and he called it back. This call wasn’t at all what he expected.

  “Somebody paged me from this number,” Born said.

  “Yo, who this?” the caller asked.

  Born laughed. “Who did you page?” The nerve of this nigga, whoever he was, to be asking who he was.

  “Okay. I see you got your tough-guy stance right now. No problem, I’ll get right to the point. I don’t like niggas stealing food off my plate, Born. I wanna talk to you, next time you come to Park Hill.”

  “Who is this?” Born asked, intrigued that someone would be bold enough to call him like this.

  “This that nigga Wizz. You know who I am. I wanna holla at you about your hiring practices.”

  Born smirked. “Okay. So where you want me to come check you at?”

  The caller chuckled. “I’ll come to you. Don’t worry.”

  The line went dead, and Born found himself laughing at the audacity of Wizz to approach him like this. He wasn’t worried about it, though. Wizz was a mean-faced bully from Park Hill who felt like no one should be allowed to get money out there except him. Born wasn’t the type to let anyone tell him where he could get money. So he hung up the phone and didn’t change one thing that he was doing. He kept his operation running, kept Jada smiling, and he stayed on his job. But when he went to Park Hill on a Friday night to see Tommy, things took a dramatic turn. As soon as he arrived, he saw Tommy. He pulled up alongside him, and Tommy looked at Born, blankly.

  “Yo, Born, Wizz wanna talk to you.” He stood with his hands in his pockets, and Born could tell that Tommy was shaken.

  Born smirked, slightly, and scanned the block with his eyes. This character Wizz had the nerve to send for him. Who did this guy think he was? “Where he at?”

  Tommy nodded toward the building he was standing in front of. “Upstairs at Nicole’s house.”

  “Aiight.” Born double-parked his car, and headed to the apartment inside of building number 185. Tommy stayed there on the third floor with his sister, Nicole. Born knocked on the apartment door, and waited for her to answer it. He was no stranger to this apartment, since he always went there to collect his dough after the cash rolled in around the first and fifteenth of every month. But when Tommy’s sister came to the door on this day, Born should have been able to tell by the look on her face that something was amiss. The young lady looked visibly nervous, and she didn’t look him directly in the eyes. She told Born that Wizz was in the kitchen, and Born went toward where she pointed.

  When he entered the kitchen, he saw Wizz seated at the table with Roy and three other goons. There was a shotgun placed precariously on the table, and Wizz sat, his eyes focused on Born with a deadly stare. His eyes were narrowed, and his expression was no-nonsense. Instinctively, Born reached for his gun on his hip.

  “Unh, unh, unh,” Wizz warned. “Don’t do that. I just wanna talk to you.” He put his hands up to show that they were empty, and he held Born’s gaze.

  Born stood there, knowing that he could get to his gun if he went for it. But he was outnumbered, and he stood his ground waiting to see what would happen. He appreciated the intimidation factors they tried to utilize, and laughed on the inside.

  “Come on, Born.” Wizz had a sinister smile on his face. “You know you can’t get no money out here. This is me and Roy out here. You can’t come stealing our workers and thinking everything is okay.” He shook his head. “You must really want war. You coming out here, snatching up our customers with cheaper prices than ours, stealing our employees with better percentages. That shit ain’t right. That’s not good for business. We don’t come out to where you live and set up shop, steal your workers. Show us the same respect.”

  Born stood with the slightest grin on his face. He was nervous, quiet as he kept it. Wizz had him cornered, and Born was alone. But he stood defiantly, saying nothing.

  “I hope you understand this shit ain’t personal. It’s not that we don’t like you, knawmean? Not that we don’t admire what you’re trying to do. We see you making big moves, locking shit down. But not out here. This here is ours. And I’m only gonna tell you this once.”

  The shotgun still lay menacingly in front of him, so Born bit his tongue. “Aiight.”

  Wizz nodded. “Good. I knew you seemed like a smart guy. Now get on outta here. Thanks for coming by.”

  Born considered reaching for his gun once more, but thought better of it. Wizz had the upper hand this time. But even though he hadn’t expected the situation to unfold like it had, Born had known that this moment would come eventually. It took a lot of attitude, and a lot of character, to go to a neighborhood and set up shop, with no crew behind you. Born had known it was just a matter of time before somebody got up the courage to challenge him face-to-face. With Wizz laughing at him as he turned his back, Born walked cautiously from the apartment and got back inside his car. Tommy was nowhere in sight by then.

  Born went home that night, and he was visibly distracted. Jada could tell that he was stressed-out about something, but she had no idea what it was. He didn’t talk about it, but inside he was furious that Wizz had confronted him like he had. Born wondered if the hood had forgotten who he was—whose son he was, and what that meant.

  As angry as he was, Born knew that he couldn’t single-handedly go to war with a whole neighborhood. He called Dorian and explained the situation, telling him that h
e wasn’t going to just roll over and play dead while Wizz got all the Park Hill clientele. Dorian listened closely as Born explained what had happened, and his outrage about it. Dorian advised his friend to lay low, and to stay out of Park Hill for the time being. He had a plan that would take care of Wizz and his crew, and get Born the turf he wanted so badly.

  The summer passed, with Wizz continuing to lock down the hill, and being the neighborhood bully. The whole time Born was putting a plan in motion with Dorian’s help, planting seeds that would bloom sooner than Wizz ever expected. All season long, Born put in double the hours, double the work to build himself up with Dorian’s guidance. It took a lot of work, a lot of grinding to get what he wanted, and he found himself spending less time with Jada and more time in the streets. While they had once been inseparable, Born was now busily setting up his empire and leaving Jada to find her own stimulation. Dorian was becoming his mentor. Born was a young twenty-four-year-old, and Dorian a more mature thirty-year-old who had been there and done that. He took Born under his wing, and showed him how to shut shit down.

  It was the last day in July when Born rode slowly through the streets of Park Hill, with Dorian riding shotgun. They found Wizz in front of 141 Park Hill Avenue, standing with his man Roy, Tommy, and another, unidentified, goon. Born rolled down his window and summoned Wizz over to the car with a smile.

  Wizz sidled over, looking menacing as usual, and said, “What up? How can I help you today?”

  Born grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Yo, Wizz, it’s good to see you, man. Listen.” Wizz looked at Dorian and then back, as Born continued speaking. “We let you have a nice little run out here, son. You’ve had months to get money. We stepped back and let you have your time. After all, this is your hood, knawmean?” Born watched the expression on Wizz’s face change to one of utter bewilderment. “Anyway, your run is over. I’m setting up shop again, effective immediately. And whoever want it can get it. You feel me? This time I got my own niggas out here. You can keep your workers and your crew. We shutting shit down, so you can either get on board or step aside.”

  “You must be fuckin’ crazy,” Wizz hissed. He looked at Born, then at Dorian, his hand resting threateningly on the gun in his waistband. But Wizz didn’t pull his gun. He knew who Dorian was, and his reputation preceded him. Wizz knew that to pull his gun would be a death sentence.

  Dorian looked Wizz in his evil eyes. Dorian’s demeanor was intimidating. He exuded power. As he spoke, he knew that Wizz could tell that he wasn’t one to be fucked with. “Call it crazy if you want, but check it. We here, and we ain’t leaving. You came at my nigga Born with shotguns on the table and shit. I heard all about it. Now I’m sure you know who I am. If not, you can learn the hard way. However you want it. But it’s a wrap for y’all. You gave him a warning. That’s cool. We’re giving you the same courtesy. You’ve been warned.” Dorian turned away from Wizz, signaling that the conversation was over.

  Born pulled off, leaving Wizz fuming in his wake. Their takeover of the hill was underway. Already they had secured five apartments in various buildings on Bowen Street, Vanderbilt Avenue, and Park Hill Avenue. Each apartment had tenants who had the appearance of normalcy. One was occupied by an older man in his fifties. No one ever suspected that this nice, quiet older man with no wife or kids was actually Dorian’s uncle Butch. His apartment was where Born’s crew packaged their work. Two of the apartments housed what appeared to be working couples who drove sensible cars. These couples were actually Dorian’s peoples, planted there to keep their ears to the street and store the crew’s arsenal. These couples’ real day job was hustling fish scale to the wealthy cokeheads in the surrounding areas of Rosebank and Grymes Hill, and anywhere else on the borough’s south shore that it called for. The last two apartments were drug spots occupied by workers. Out of these apartments they sold crack to local fiends, moving large quantities of product on a consistent basis. In addition to these, Born had young hustlers in training working the block, both on Targee Street and on Broad Street in Stapleton. Within a month, not only was Born successfully locking Park Hill down, but several of Wizz’s own workers—including Tommy—were now working for Born.

  Setting up shop on this level had been very costly for Born. Everyone had to be paid, and the rents on all the apartments had to be paid, plus payments under the table for the housing assistants who had helped him get the apartments. But it was money well spent, as Born’s operation began to thrive. To add insult to injury, Wizz’s right-hand man, Roy, was found shot in the head execution style, his body slumped over the steering wheel of his Camry. The police and the newspapers chalked it up as another career criminal and societal bully gunned down. Not only had Wizz lost a good friend, but he was being taken over by an outsider. Wizz was beyond devastated, as he watched his enemies rise to power before his very eyes.

  Dorian and Born became neighborhood fixtures in Park Hill. On any given day you could see one or both of them at the area barbershops, stores, and street corners shooting the breeze with the locals. They became well-liked and embraced by many of the people in the area. They gained a valuable asset in the storeowners on the block. They used the PLO store as a front for their own shady dealings, and it brought them close to three thousand dollars a night. They kicked a small percentage of it back to the Palestinians, and all was well. Everybody made money.

  Wizz was so disgusted by what was happening that he actually contemplated snitching on Born and his niggas. He hated seeing this son of a bitch get money in his hood. But Wizz couldn’t bring himself to drop a dime on anybody, no matter how hard it was to watch Born prosper. With Dorian’s help, Born was reigning supreme in Wizz’s own backyard, and he was sick about it. His pockets grew leaner by the day, as he refused to work with Born. Wizz was reduced to being the dealer all the fiends went to only when they couldn’t get a hold of any of Born’s workers. Wizz was their last resort, and he was bitter about his reduction in status in his own hood.

  In October, Born’s friend Smitty threw a party at a club called Gutta on Bay Street in Staten Island. Born decided to bring Jada along with him to show support for his friend, and he invited Dorian and Sunny to come along as well. Lately, Jada had been nagging him about spending time with her, and he wanted to keep her content. Dorian brought Sunny along for that same reason. They got there and found a line outside the obviously jam-packed club. Smitty stood outside, and walked over to Born and Dorian as they stepped up on the scene with their ladies on their arms.

  “What’s poppin’, my nigga?” Smitty greeted Born with a ghetto handshake and spoke to Dorian as well. Sunny and Jada walked ahead of their men, going into the club and passing the line at the door. They ignored the stares and glares they got from those with the misfortune of having to wait on the long line, and went inside to get their party on. Both ladies looked divine. Sunny wore painted-on Dolce and Gabbana jeans, a Dolce top, and Gucci wedge-heeled sandals. Jada was more modest in her DSquared jeans, fitted midriff-baring T-shirt, and some funky heels she found in the East Village. It wasn’t all about the clothes they wore: All the ice dripping from the fingers, wrists, and delicate necks of these two women was also hard to miss.

  Born and Dorian leaned against the wall, talking to Smitty. Dorian complimented Smitty on what would obviously be a successful event, judging from the cars pulling up and the crowd partying noisily inside. As the men talked, an SUV pulled up curbside with Chance and one of his boys, named Sly. Born cracked up laughing, as Chance rolled down the power windows on his Pathfinder.

  “Wow, ain’t this some shit? A shooter and an armed robber riding around together!”

  Everybody laughed, including Chance and Sly, knowing that Born’s description of them was sadly accurate. They parked their truck, and all the men proceeded into the party.

  The place was packed, and Born and Dorian spotted Sunny and Jada at the bar. They were toasting something, and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Born tapped Dorian and pointed toward a table n
ear the back exit, and they made their way toward it. Sitting down, they ordered a bottle of Moet and sat back, taking in the scene. The deejay played Method Man’s “Bring the Pain,” and Sunny and Jada made their way to the dance floor. Despite the fact that the crowd was large, very few people were dancing. As Sunny and Jada danced, they noticed several girls giving them the evil eye, as if dancing was against the law in Staten Island. Noticing this, Dorian questioned Born.

  “Is this what it’s like all the time at parties out here? Everybody just stands around and looks at each other?”

  Born looked around the room at all the brothers standing against the wall with drinks in their hands. Few of the men were dancing at all, and there were only a handful of women on the dance floor. The rest of the women stood around looking each other up and down and scowling at the few chicks who had the audacity to dance at a party! Dorian had never seen anything like it. He noticed that Sunny and Jada got the majority of the evil stares, since the two of them were relatively unknown throughout the borough, and both were pretty women. It seemed that the other women at the party spent most of their time staring at them with contempt, rather than enjoying themselves.

  Born nodded his head. “Yup. It’s like they get dressed up and come out to stare at each other.” Born shook his head. “The only reason I came to this shit is because it’s Smitty’s party.”

  Dorian sipped his drink as he watched Sunny and Jada disappear into the crowd, obviously tired of being ogled by all the females surrounding the dance floor. He saw that Born was staring intently at someone or something across the room. Dorian followed Born’s gaze and saw Wizz standing close to the deejay booth. He was talking to someone who Dorian didn’t recognize. “There go your man, Wizz,” Dorian said.