Cracked Dreams Read Free Page A

a small kitchen, a dining area and a medium-sized living room. Spits and his brother, Henry Banner, shared a room and his mother had the other. The meeting was scheduled for nine in the morning because with his mother atwork, and his brother at school, they could have some privacy to discuss their plans.
    The first to reach Michael’s place was Trigger. Only a few minutes later, came Cee accompanied by Pop. Once together, they went to the liquor store, then to the weed spot. They would need some of these necessities if they would be deliberating for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon.
    Once back at Michael’s, they all sat around the kitchen table, poured drinks for themselves, and toasted, “Moe’s, hoes and zeros,” and officially began the meeting.
    â€œI-ight, my niggas, let me paint this picture for ya’ll,” Spits began. “Now we all know the game. We’ve watched the older niggas do it throughout our entire lives. From Edenwald to Gun Hill, we’ve watched niggas get money. We’ve seen the real niggas get cake, and we’ve seen the other niggas get killed. We’ve grown up directly in the middle of all this shit, and now it’s our turn. I think I’ve found the perfect spot for us to start.” Everyone looked at Spits as if he was about to tell them the meaning of life when . . .he took a breath, looked around and said, “Yo, let’s roll up, and go up to the roof to blaze. You can see what I mean better from there.” They all began rolling up weed in Phillie Blunts and White Owls to go smoke on the roof.
    As he would soon explain, Michael’s whole visualization devised from Bronx Park. That’s where the customers were, so that’s where they would set up shop. Just on the other side of Gun Hill Road was a back block street on one side of the Bronx River, and a seating area on the other side with a little track for racing remote-controlled cars. From these two points, plus the overpass that crossed the river, they would have the street shut down. Gun Hill was already infamous for drug trading, but no one had ever thought to bring the product directly to the customer. White Plains Road was the intersecting street where hustlers from all over the Bronx could be found selling, but Gun Hill Project cats mostly ran it. They controlled the street, no doubt about it. What Spits had planned was to control the park, where the customers would actually go to smoke. The way he saw it, when you’re a nervous ass crack-fiend, you don’t want to walk all the way to abusy street to buy drugs where you don’t know who could be watching. Nah, if the opportunity presented itself, you would buy whatever you needed right there in the park where you smoked. Made sense when you thought about it. Besides, it was only supposed to be temporary anyway. In and out, right? Whatever!
    From the roof, Spits began pointing and describing the way things should be run. Trigger came up with the idea that they could make drop-offs to re-up the workers from the overpass. Cee and Pop went on to point out where the lookout points should be. They all agreed that if they controlled the traffic to the Avenue, they would have the whole shit sewn up. They all continued to pour drinks and light weed as they came up with more and more ideas for their new enterprise.

CHAPTER 2
    T he first week we made a little over four thousand dollars. We should’ve made more, but us being new and all, we had to establish clientele. With the two thousand we had for the buy, we were able to purchase a little over two ounces of coke. When we broke that down we were looking at about five grand gross, but we decided we should bag up a grand worth in samples. The only part that bothered me was that we were bagging up the same work as everyone else, so it basically only came down to convenience. The customers that came to us did because we were the closest to