Cracked Dreams Read Free Page B

’em. That was the original plan, but now it wasn’t enough. So before the re-up, we decided that we needed a new connection.
    I got a call on my cell phone at about three o’clock in the afternoon. As the voice on the other end started, I realized that it was my girl, Ginger. She said she had some news that I might be interested in. But whenever I heard her voice, I seemed to lose focus and drift off. I didn’t even hear what she’d said at first. Ginger, or just Gin, wasn’t actually her real name, but that’s what I called her. I‘d given her that name because when I’d first seen her, she’d reminded me of a character in a movie that had come out in ’95. She stood about five-four, with an hourglass figure, caramel skin, and the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. But you couldn’t let the pretty face and the girly attitude fool you; she was still my little gangsta bitch. She didn’t like the fact that I was putting the street life before school, but I’d reassured her that it would only be temporary.
    â€œAre you listening to me?!” she asked in an annoyed tone of voice. She hated it when she didn’t get enough attention.
    â€œYeah, I’m listening, Gin,” I said, trying to make her feel appreciated.
    â€œI have something to tell you,” she said, starting from the beginning.
    Ginger lived in Cornwall, New York. And the news she had was exactly what I needed to hear. She told me that she’d heard crack heads in Newburgh, a town that neighbored hers, were just dropping dead out there from some new killer shit. I was like, “I WANT THAT SHIT!” The next day, I sent Vision to scout and ask around.
    After a few days, Vision reported that the coke came from some new Puerto Ricans dealing exclusively in weight. Two crazy ass mu’fuckas named Louie and Rob. When I say these motherfuckers were crazy, please believe it. They’d grown up in Carolina, Puerto Rico, just east of San Juan, with their father, Romero Ortiz. Romero, or Mr. Ortiz, was directly connected to Colombian kingpins, and controlled the drug trade in the Northeast part of Puerto Rico.
    What I liked the most about Louie and Rob was that everything was fifty/fifty, and both opinions held the same amount of respect. Louie, standing at about five feet five inches, was a pretty boy type, but it didn’t take from his integrity. If you let the mousse in his hair throw you off for a second, he could spit a razor out of his mouth and give you a buck-fifty (150 stitches) across your face. Rob stood about five feet eleven inches, and he was stocky. He was the complete opposite of Louie. You could see Rob’s gangsta from a block away. He had an intimidating persona, and he perpetuated it.
    The only problem was that they didn’t want anything to do with the city. They wanted to maintain the position they’d set up for themselves in the upstate part of New York. As their father had taught them, they were trying to keep their current situation under control until they were ready to expand. Plus, they didn’t trust New York City mu’fuckas one bit.
    The way I looked at it, that would be perfect for us if we could convince them to deal with us, ’cause then they wouldn’t deal with anyone else. That meant that we’d have the whole borough under pressure. I found that itdidn’t take much work to influence Louie and Rob to become our associates. When we finally met, it was like we’d known each other for years. We’d clicked right away, so Louie and Rob were considered another branch of the TB family.
    I sent Vision to get an eight ball (4 grams) for starters. With the proceeds from that, plus the four grand we’d already grossed, we could get a big eighth. A “big eighth” is an eighth of a kilo of coke (125 grams), and is considered the first step to being big time. So we cut up the eight ball and put it on the block. Once