4th August, 1998.
11.05 pm
My hands were stripped of all its skin, blood trickled from my forehead, eyes burning, feet weighty. I could not move, I could not call out for help. Even if I could, there was no one..
My nescience overcame the pain that passed through my entire body. How did I get here? Who got me here?
As I lay there drugged in the middle of nowhere, bereft of all senses, forlorn, I tried to put together all that happened in the last 24 hours. I knew that drugs had been pumped into me, from the massiveness of my head and the needle marks. It wasn’t just a single drug, a much stronger cocktail, a much.. stronger.. cocktail..
My eyes were groggy, a sudden sense of exhaustion struck me, as I began to slump into a deep sleep of unconsciousness. ‘Wake up!’, a sudden jolt of ice-cold water slapped my face, as the voice demanding for my consciousness still rang in my ears. It wasn’t an adjuration but an imperious command. I could not obey him for my eyes were still searching for light. The tone was hefty, assertive and worst of all, loathsome.
I was now in a dark room, of what looked like a decrepit bottling factory, with my scaly hands bound to the chair I was seated on, stripped of all clothing, stark naked.
My eyes slowly regained vision as I caught a glimpse of a large man, his face masked, approaching me in a cumbersome gait. He stopped short of a few metres and spoke in a calm, tranquilizing tone.
‘Hello Jason, long time no see.’ His accent suggested that he may have been Italian, but I could not be sure, still reeling from the heaviness of the drugs in me. But that voice… It sounded so familiar and yet I felt disjointed from its owner. As he came closer, it felt like a dog approaching, sniffing for fear, something that he could find in me in plenty. As he switched on the light, I noticed his mangy clothes, his broken teeth through the skin coloured mask, his dangling feet.
‘Who are ya and what do ya wan’ me fer?’ I pleaded in a debilitating, exhausted tone.
‘I see that you have finally begun to negotiate, Jason. Praise the Lord for that! But I’m afraid there is no room for any parley now. You’ve had your window of opportunity and now you’ll pay for it, with flesh and blood.’ His response had such an authoritarian attitude associated, it left me startled and horrified.
‘What ever have I done to ya? Why do ya torture me ‘tis way?’ My anguished plea attracted no response from him. ‘At least show me y'er face ya fuckin’ rat.’
As he began to unveil himself ever so slowly, I had a gut wrenching feeling that it could be only one person, only one man who could go to such extremes, and leave me to languish in pain and suffering as I fade away.
‘Wake up SUNSHINE!’ My worst nightmare had come true!
8.30 pm
Fordham, one of the most sprawling neighbourhoods in west Bronx had been my home since I was born, 16 years back. Like many other Black men of this poverty stricken neighbourhood, I grew up amidst gang wars and the gory violence that chaperoned it.
At the age of 6, during a 4 hour long gun battle between the top 2 gangs of the neighbourhood , I found my first gun. It was a ravishing, black, .22 LR Derringer, laced with golden dust near the trigger and under the holster.
When I fired it for the first time, after a lot of thoughtful deliberation, the shrieking volumous sound got me addicted to my new find. The Derringer was my dope.
2 days before I turned 16, taking cognizance to my addiction for guns and violence, on 2nd of August, 1998, I was formally inducted into the Reds’ Crib, a gang known for its efficient and potent apportion of drugs and arms in the Tri-State area.
The Company as it was professionally called, had a very lucid yet covert system of operations. A regular hierarchical chain of organisation, but, at a given time one person was in contact with only 2 people from the gang, one below him and the other above him in the pecking order of the Company. Owing to the immaculate structure of the organisation, credit had to be attributed to someone. So legends were born of who had started the Company, but no one had indubitable proof. After all, organised crime had been in the area for as long as poverty had.
When Will came to me with my first assignment, I was athirst for action.
‘I’ve got ya first job’, he said with an air of lassitude that was unnerving. My excitement took a backseat with Will’s indifference. He’s above me in the Company and my only contact in the organisation, as of now.
‘Work y'er ass out nigga and ya’ll get all da ho’s ya like,’ he always asserted. For Will, who’d accompany me on my maiden mission, money and violence were not the aphrodisiacs as was for me. He was a Ladies’ man, or so he thought.
His more than normal testosterone levels got him in prison on 3 separate occasions, but never for too long. On all 3 occasions the victims were, luckily for him, young black women. No jury was bothered with that, and the women were’nt from Bronx either to attract any trouble from outside the law.
I had to be ready by 9.30 pm.
The job was simple. Guns and Hazel mist, a new hybrid of cocaine and brown sugar, were to be escorted to the Rassies’ nightclub in east Bronx and money returned to Fordham.
Not the kind I was hoping for, but I guessed if I did the simple things right, I’d soon get all the action I wanted. So, I decided to be sedulous on this first job.
The Rassies’ was the property of Italian mafia headman, Roberto Perugino. Roberto was a burly man in his mid fifties, who had controlled the Italian mafia kingdom in the Tri-State area for the last 20 years. He was always imbrued in gold jewellery and had an unshakable smug about the way he carried himself.
We were prepared for any eventuality when dealing with the Italians, but Will having carried out similar dealings with the chieftain, was more slack than I expected.
We pulled in to an alley behind the club, a perdurable parking lot for such exchanges. Roberto was waiting with his right-hand man Johnny Castaloni. I had seen Johnny a few times that I was at the Rassies’ in search for some weed. A tall and bulky man, with dangling feet, his face partially disfigured from a previous encounter he had had with the cops, and jewellery, I guess was from Roberto’s personal collection.
‘Sup ma bros from Italy.’ Will had a very feign way of addressing the flamboyant Italians. ‘You got the stuff?’, asked Johnny.
‘Yh man, chill. I’ve got y’er guns and y’er Hazel mist,’ retorted Will.
‘And is this your bitch you bring with you?!’ Johnny noticing me tried to rattle my already tingling nerves, with his vile remark..
‘I’m da one who’s fuckin’ y'er mama while y’er pantyhose wearing dad was taping us.’ I knew I had said too much, but could not help let go of a smirk .
‘I won’t kill you now, ‘cuz you're just a lost little black cunt. But, if I hear you say anything disrespectful to mio madre again, then I’ll bury your black ass with one full cartridge,’ exploded Johnny, while he rested the mouth of his gun on my chest.
I feared the worst at that moment, but it exhilarated me at the same time.
‘Enough Bitch talk,’ interfered Roberto, clearly exasperated with all the unwarranted exchanges. ‘Will, open the case and let’s get done with.’
Will was more than happy to comply with as he too was unnerved by my retaliations.
‘Looks good,’ said Johnny after getting a confirmation from Roberto.
In an instant, the alley lit up with flashes of gun shots. I could not tell who started the shooting, but Will was drenched in bullet wounds. I managed to jump behind our car to evade the onslaught. I was ready for this, I had dreamt of this since the age of 6, when I found my first gun. I started loading my Derringer, and as the shooting stopped I pounced onto the scene like a tiger waiting to scathe.
Dead bodies!! That was all that was left. Roberto and Will lay there soaked in their own blood, along with 3 other unidentifiable bodies. Who were they? How did they reach here?
Johnny was nowhere to be found! It suddenly struck me while I was still confounded from the entire fracas, that Johnny was not part of this pile of blood stained bodies. It probably was his idea of an ambush to keep the money and the drugs for himself.
What disconcerted me the most was not that I was facing the prospect of being snubbed from the surface of the Earth for not being able to collect the money or retain the drugs, but that I had missed all the action. I’d get my chance soon I knew, if I survive this night.
11.45 pm
My full name at birth was Jason Ellis, but my mother thought it prudent to call me Sunshine, because of the lambent shine on my perennially bald head.
Johnny had brought me to this ailing factory and had tortured me, because he was sure the Company was behind the guerilla attack at Rassies’ and that I could lead him to the stolen treasure. But how did he know I was called Sunshine?
‘So Sunshine, be a good little nigga boy and temme where the money and the consignment are.’ His constant racist slurs were the reason of my retaliation back at the club, now I remembered.
‘Fuck ya bitch, ‘tis was y’er plan. Ya ripped ‘tat place up and took da stuff. Don’t ya try to put it on me now,’ I mustered enough energy to respond.
‘I’ll ask you once more you lil’ cunt. Where is the stuff? Who is your boss?’ He persisted to quiz me.
All of a sudden, there was a popping noise and Johnny fell flat on the charcoal coloured floor. He was shot dead! One shot straight through the heart.
I was relieved and yet petrified at the the sight of my assailant dropping dead with me still chained to this rickety, rustic chair.
It was Will! Followed by close to 20 men in arms. I could not hold back any longer my tears, at the sight of my saviours and burst into a lachrymose of astonishing proportions. I had always conditioned myself to act more than my age and to embrace violence with a thrill, but that was the first instance when the naievity of the teens got the better of me.
‘Even I didn’t see who started it, but seemed one helluva skirmish.’ Will told me. He was brought in safely and treated for injuries he had sustained earlier by the guys from the Company, before he came in pursuit of Johnny and liberated me from this dungeon.
I was so filled with gratitude by Will’s efforts to free me that I could not speak anymore, but I embraced him for long enough, till he became conscious and pushed me aside.
He told me that I need not worry about the money that was lost tonight and that the Company would track it down sooner than later.
8.45pm
I had only one sibling, an elder brother. James had been my only support since mom and dad died 12 years ago, I was just 4 then. He was more like a father to me than brother.
After Will had come to talk to me about my first assignment, I was back home in a hurry to get ready.
‘Hey Jason ma brother, how’re ya doin man?’ He obviously was smoking weed along with three of his friends for sometime. Something that was obvious because he laughed more than he spoke.
I wanted to talk to him about my first assignment, but I didn’t want him to know that I had pursued a dangerous career. Yet, I needed his approval. I had taken his consent on everything I had done so far and didn’t feel like keeping him in the dark on this one. I decided to confide in him, maybe he wouldn’t remember all this in the morning considering the state he is in now.
‘James, I need ta talk ta ya,’ I mustered enough grit to speak.
He did not respond, and I knew I needed to continue talking to elicit a reaction from his weed-infested brain.
‘I know ya prolly won’ approve of it, but ’ve joined da Reds’ Crib and am goin for ma first assignment tonite.’
‘Tat fuckin great James, I’m proud of ya,’ he said as he giggled all through. I could not comprehend his response. I figured the weed was speaking and decided to be as explicative as possible. But before I could continue any further, he took me to the kitchen and began to speak. ‘So what’s da job ya pullin tonite.’ Taken aback by his curious inquiry, I still managed to talk and decided to divulge the details.
‘So, how much do ya think it’ll be worth?’
Confused about what he was getting at, I asked, ‘What will?’
‘Da stuff and da money da Italians are payin fer it.’
Still unsure I could only manage to give him a turbid look.
He continued, ‘What’f we keep it all fer ourself.’
‘Y’er fuckin crazy, ‘tats what ya are. How could ya even think of pullin dat off without gettin killed ourself.’ I exploded to his dangerous suggestion.
‘I gotta plan…’
5th August, 1998
12.42 am
‘Jesus! Sunshine, what happened to ya? How did ‘tis happen?’
I tried to calm James as I told him what unraveled after he had left Rassies’.
Then I remembered the bodies of his 3 friends and began to seek his rational for killing them too. ‘They’re jus dead weight, and beside why’d we share our money with those twats.’
We both laughed as we pondered the conundrum that lay ahead. After a little bit of brain racking we decided to leave town, a lot richer though.
‘I’ve got da tickets bro, da train leaves in an hour.’ James confirmed, as soon as he came back from the train station.
‘Jason, Jason. Where are ya? Jason….’
I could’ve only imagined the last part, because by the time James had reached home, I was long gone.
‘James is dead weight.’ I thought.
What I learned from my brother that night was, ‘My real dope was neither guns nor was it violence. It was always…… Money!’
Anthony Palathingal
Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional and any resemblance to persons living/dead is purely coincidental.
