Cracked Dreams (32 page)

“You bitch-ass niggas want it with the Time Bombs?!”

“What the fuck?” Ceelow asked himself as he approached El Don's building. “What's going on here?”

As Ceelow turned the corner of Pelham Parkway and Bronx Park East, he saw what looked like police lights illuminating the whole block. As he approached the building closer, he realized that not only were there police cars, but there were ambulances and fire trucks as well. He didn't know what exactly was going on so he decided to enter the building through the rear entrance. When he got around to the back, he noticed that the smoke was coming from El's window.

Unfortunately, the lock on the back door prevented him from entering the building as quickly as he would have wanted to. He would have to wait for someone to open it for him. Luckily for Cee, he didn't have to wait too long. He saw someone approaching the rear exit in haste and he impatiently waited. When the doors finally flung open, he was rudely shoved from the person's exit path. When he turned to address his blatant disrespect, a curl of his top lip formed as he drew his weapon.

“You?” Ceelow said aloud.

“It's you,” Dwight said before brandishing his own weapon.

They stared at each other in this position for what seemed like hours, when in fact only seconds had passed. Only one man would walk away from this unusual and exceptionally coincidental reunion, and neither thought that of the other individual.

BOOM!
With just a blink of the eye, Dwight had hesitated only a split-second longer than Cee. The last thing he saw was black, and the last feeling he felt was the blood trickling down his forehead. He went down like a ton of bricks, and that was the end of Dwight. Ceelow wrapped up four years of mischief in only four seconds. That was the only missing piece of the puzzle, but unfortunately for Cee, he was still puzzled.

Alone with his thoughts, Ceelow made his way through the back blocks until he got to Bronx River Parkway on Allerton Avenue, and he had only one thing on his mind . . .finding Spits. Once he saw Dwight exiting El's
building in such a hurry, he knew that he was the one responsible for all of the commotion. He also knew that in no way, shape, or form could he be allowed to continue breathing. When Dwight dropped, Cee just jumped in his car and flew. He went up and down the streets in search for clarity. His mind was racing again and he didn't know what to do. “How the fuck did all of this happen?” he asked himself. Of course, that was the million-dollar question that would take this story to start over from the beginning to answer. “This is fucked,” he concluded. “Everything's fucked!”

Just as Ceelow was about to give up all hope, another gathering of police officers drew his attention to the Gun Hill Road exit on the highway. When he witnessed what looked like his boy Spits engaged in a massive gunfight with NYPD, he was left with only one option in the matter. With a simple suck of his teeth, he exited the highway and pulled his car over on the overpass before popping the trunk. He picked his weapon of choice and proceeded to the nearby steps for a clean shot.

“You bitch-ass niggas want it with the Time Bombs?!” he yelled as the scenario was reminiscent of their past experiences.

Ceelow was only doing what came naturally to him, just like Spits had once done. The only difference is that he didn't have to point like he had a gun, when in fact he had a big boy Uzi with a full clip in his grasps. He took the time to smile and wink at Spits before engaging in the gunfight, thinking only of the preservation of his family, and Spits used the diversion to reload his twin cannons before continuing the rampage.

Beneath the uninterrupted storm of the many thunderous firearms being discharged all at once, Spits could hear the smallest hint of laughter coming from behind him. The sound was so chilling that his focus was taken from the countless bullets heading in his direction. He paused for a second to take a look over his shoulder and what he saw sent a rippling chill through his body.

There was Cee, with his entire body vibrating from the recoil given from the Uzi, laughing uncontrollably. Although he was laughing on the outside, all Spits could see was the pain he was shielding. The menacing look in his eyes reminded Spits once again of that night they'd first graduated from
small-timers, to career criminals. In a way, the events that had taken place on that one night basically wrote everyone's fate in stone. This was their destiny and they were living it out to their fullest ability. It was on them, and them alone to salvage what was left of their family.

Us two is all we need,
thought Cee as he embellished on all of the ruthlessness he had inside of him for this special occasion.

Then, suddenly the laughter came to an abrupt halt. Spits took a deep breath as he turned to check on his boy and what he saw spoiled what little confidence he had left. First, a single shot falling on Ceelow's right shoulder-blade spun him around 360 degrees, and left him with only one arm to continue the massive gunfight. As his body was twirled around from the force of the slug, Spits seemed to be witnessing this all in slow motion. When he'd come around completely, they'd caught each other's eyes one last time. Now was the time. They could say farewell to each other for the last time, the way that they were always meant to. Then, another shot falling directly on his chest made it impossible for him to carry his weapon. He was left with no more resources to be used for defense. He was completely vulnerable.

Spits realized then that Cee didn't have to commit himself the way he'd done. He could have simply seen what was going on and kept it moving. Instead, he'd laid it all out on the line for what he'd always done, and always would be considered his brother. Spits knew with the outcome of this event that Ceelow couldn't have done all the things that were suspected of him. Just earlier that morning, he was kicking himself for not taking care of Cee when the chance was presented. It's funny how much things can change in only a few hours, huh?

When Ceelow finally vanished, so did all of the composure that Spits had left. There was no more sanity left inside of him to hold him back, but he felt helpless without any help. He felt small. He felt like a kid again. He wasn't the big man that he'd grown to be in such a short period of time. There was nothing left of that man. All that was left was a small defenseless boy.

He started shooting wild from behind the car. He couldn't even bring himself to take aim on his enemies anymore. He quickly reloaded once
more while still crouched down low to the ground, and continued firing blindly. He continued like this while screaming, “I ain't never goin' to no jail, mu'fuckas! You gonna have to kill me first!”

When the police fire didn't let up, he started yelling, “Take this!” as he shot. “Take this! Take this!” he cried. “Take this!” All he saw were the smoking shells hitting the ground beside him after being discharged from his pistol. Until he heard loud disturbing screams coming from over his shoulder, he had completely lost it. But with this unusual sound coming from out of the air, he didn't know what to do. He peeked over the hood of the car and saw the only thing that could've broken his heart at this point.

He never would have imagined in a million years that in his wild gun-firing, could a little innocent girl be caught in the crossfire. When Spits saw her laid out in her mother's arms, dressed all in white, Spits knelt there on the ground with no more purpose. As her pure white dress was slowly soaked in the dark red blood leaking from her chest, Spits simply lost all of his breath. He felt like he was choking. The more screams her mother let out, the more Spits was unable to breathe. He sat down on the ground with his back up against the car and the gunshots finally stopped. He held his chest tightly and he attempted to get his breath back, but he couldn't.

After a few seconds of choking, a frightening breeze came through and Spits could all of a sudden breathe again. That's when the little girl would no longer give response to her mother's numerous cries to fight. She was gone now and Spits could feel that reality deep in his stomach. He breathed deeply at first, and then slower and slower as the police moved in closer to him. All that went through his head was Pop, Vision, Trigger, Cee . . .he didn't even blink once as he put his gun in his mouth with one slug left in the chamber.

“NO!” the officers all screamed at once as they lowered their weapons, and then . . .
BOOM!

As one of the worst mornings of Ginger's life was nearing its end, the clouds that had rested over her were getting darker and thicker by the minute. She
sat by the window facing her aunt's back porch and stared out of the window helplessly. As the raindrops slid down the window in front of her, so did the tears that came trickling down her face. All of the attempts that Ginger had made to find out what had been happening from back home had fallen short of her satisfaction. No one knew what to tell her regarding Spits' whereabouts. If they were still on the street, they had no clue about everyone that wasn't. There was nothing but complete and utter confusion spread all over the streets of the Bronx on this New Year's Day.

When Tone was awakened from a peaceful nap now well into the afternoon, all he could hear was weeping coming from the other end of the telephone. He rubbed his eyes as he rose and asked, “Hello? Who is this?” After a few more seconds of helpless crying continued, the voice on the other end finally answered.

“It's me,” Ginger said. “Did I wake you? I'm sorry.”

“Yeah,” Tone answered. “It ain't nothin'. I was supposed to be up already anyway, so you did me a favor. What's wrong though, Ma? Why you cryin'?”

“Have you heard anything from Spits, Anthony?” Ginger asked feebly. “I've been trying to get in contact with him now for hours, and no one back home knows where he is.”

“Back home?” Tone asked, finally realizing that the number on his cell phone didn't have a New York area code. “Where you at?”

“I came to spend New Year's with my family out here in Orlando,” she said. “But something is goin' on back home and no one knows where he is. I need to get in contact with him as soon as possible. It's really important.”

“Wait, slow down,” Tone said. “What's goin' on up North?”

“I don't know exactly; that's what I need to find out,” Ginger stated powerlessly.

“Well, what can I do?”

“I don't know. What can you do?”

Silence fell on Tone and Ginger's conversation and neither one of them seemed to have grasped a possible solution to the problem at hand. They were both left with nothing to add to the quiet hiss of the connecting phone lines. This quiet was only ended when Tone took it upon himself to use a little sarcasm to lighten the mood.

“Well, I could always just fly you to New York,” he said with a chuckle. He had no clue that this idea would be taken so seriously when he'd said it, but at this point, anything sounded good to Ginger's hopeless ears.

“Okay,” she simply said. “Can you come and get me?”

“I guess,” Tone said before he even realized what he was committing himself to. “But–”

“I really need to see my baby, Anthony,” Ginger said, sounding even more pitiful. “I don't know what I would do if anything happened to my baby.”

After another long uncomfortable silence, Tone reluctantly agreed. He couldn't possibly say no to her, given the state she was in. He agreed to pick her up at her aunt's house, and in no more than two or three hours, they'd be in New York where they could find out everything that had been going on in the hood. Of course, Ginger's mother could know nothing about this. As difficult as it was for her to mislead her daughter just to get her out of New York, she wouldn't be too thrilled to find that Gin was planning on going right back into the belly of the beast headfirst.

Just as planned, Tone called Ginger from fifteen minutes away. They'd planned on meeting at the mall, which was a fifteen-minute walk from Ginger's aunt's house. Before any of her family members knew it, she was gone with only the clothes she was wearing and a small bag that contained some personal things. As she made her way through the storm, its brutality and persistence delayed her arrival at the mall, but she still made it in time to see Tone pulling up in his jet-black Lincoln Navigator. She jumped in and they were off.