Around the Way Girls 6

The day after Misty had been raped and we had been robbed, Misty sort of retreated into this emotional shell, complaining about being scared of possibly having contracted “the monster” from the nigga that raped her. She was also bitching about how emotionally and mentally debilitated she felt. She explained that she was now afraid to do anything, and that she was just gonna have to stay in her house and stay to herself until she felt she was over the terrorizing effects of what had happened, and could trust people again.

“Money, that bitch is bullshitting,” I said. “I don’t know, and I can’t put my finger on it just yet, but I smell a muthafuckin’ rat.”

Money didn’t one hundred percent agree with me, but she did understand where I was coming from.

“Money, the drugs hadn’t even been at her crib for a full twenty-four hours and shit, and then she just up and gets robbed at four o’clock in the morning? Get the fuck outta here! And then the nigga just happens to rape her, out of the three of us?”

“You complaining about that?”

“No, no, not that I’m complaining, but the thing is, what nigga in this day and age would rape a chick and run up in her raw-dog? Niggas ain’t doing that, are they?”

“Some niggas, yeah. They don’t give a fuck.”

“Well, all I’m saying is, I think it was a nigga that she been getting dick from, and the nigga just fucked her to make shit look convincing. She knows that nigga, Money, I’m telling you. Now I gots to sit here and figure shit the fuck out, while this bitch and her man go and get rich, and her ass is complaining about she needs to see a fucking psychotherapist and shit.”

I wound up spending that night at Money’s house. I tried my best to go to sleep in Money’s bed, but I had a pounding headache that just would not quit and was keeping me awake. I knew that the headache was a direct result of having been clocked so hard upside the head when the dude pistol-whipped me at Misty’s house. I think it was maybe, like, three or four o’clock in the morning when I managed to finally fall asleep, tossing and turning.

Suddenly I heard this loud noise. I didn’t know what the hell it was, but the noise was so loud, it woke me up.

“Money! Money! Wake up!” I started to shake her. The noise got even louder.

Money, in a daze, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I heard this loud noise. It sounded like someone was trying to break in,” I whispered in a nervous tone. I noticed that the clock radio said 4:30.

As Money and I sat up in her bed, I’ll never forget what I heard next.

“NYPD! Get on the ground! Put your hands out and get on the ground! I wanna see your hands!” NYPD cops in full riot gear ripped Money and me out of the bed and slammed us onto the floor.

With flashlights blinding me, I found myself sprawled out on Money’s bedroom floor with just my bra and panties on.

My hands were stretched out in front of me, but then they were quickly repositioned above my head and a cop had his knee on my back. Money was in a similar position on the other side of the room.

Money screamed, “What are y’all doing in my house?”

“Are there any weapons in here?” one of the cops asked in an aggressive tone.

“No, we ain’t got any weapons. And y’all still ain’t tell me what are y’all doing in my crib!”

The cops, who at that point had our hands handcuffed behind our backs, helped Money and I up to our feet. The lights were now on in the bedroom, and my half-naked body was fully exposed. Money had on long flannel pajamas, which did a good job of covering up her body.

I knew my time was up, and that my card had finally been pulled after my short stint of doing dirt and trying to be a queenpin. My career as head of Connie’s Cartel was coming to a definitive halt.

Money continued to ramble, as one of the cops began to read us our rights.

“You arresting us for what?”

The burly cop ignored her and continued to read us our rights.

Money looked at me. “Can you believe this?”

Two plainclothes cops in bulletproof vests took us into the living room, and the other cops continued to thoroughly search Money’s crib.

“Can I at least put on some clothes or something?” I asked.

The cops looked at me. I know those white boys just loved looking at my half-naked seventeen-year-old body. One of the cops got the attention of a female undercover cop, who came and escorted me back to Money’s bedroom, where she assisted me in covering up my body.

“My jeans are right over there. Can you help me put those on?”

The cop seemed reluctant and stated that she couldn’t take the handcuffs off me, but that she would help me.

“Okay. Whateva. I just don’t wanna be walking around Central Booking with my panties on.” I laughed. Yeah, I was nervous and scared as shit, but as the saying goes, it is what it is, and that was just what I was thinking. There was no sense in bitching up at that point and worrying and crying about shit.

Thankfully the jeans I had were not that tight, and I was able to wiggle my way into them with the assistance of the female cop, who also helped me put on one of Money’s throwback jerseys. Then she escorted me back to Money’s living room. I looked as if I had no arms, since my arms were behind my back and underneath the shirt, and not through the sleeves of the shirt.

Before long, Money and I were both escorted to cop cars and whisked away to Manhattan with about five other unmarked cop cars following us. I was surprised that we hadn’t gone to Central Booking on Queens Boulevard since we’d been arrested in Queens.

I was also shocked and surprised that Money was actually in the car with me. I was sure they had only come for me, so as we drove in the car, I tried to calm Money and reassure her that everything would be okay. “Money, don’t worry about nothing. As soon as I get a chance, I’m calling that lawyer you had got for me, Mr. Rubenstein, and he’ll take care of us.”

Money said, “All I know is, they better have a warrant, just coming up in my crib the way they did.”

The sun was starting to come up, and the traffic was beginning to build on the streets when we arrived at One Police Plaza, NYPD headquarters in downtown Manhattan. There they separated us for interrogation. They had yet to tell me what they were formally charging me with, but they still asked me numerous questions, which I refused to answer. I was no dummy. I needed my lawyer to speak for me.

The first chance I got, I called Mr. Rubenstein, who had helped me when the cops arrested me in the hospital the day after I was shot. My lawyer knew I was into illegal activity, and that’s because I was always straight up with him. But the last time we spoke, he told me I could continue to do whatever it is that I do, so long as I knew the risks and the potential downfalls. He had also told me that his job as my lawyer was to make the authorities prove my guilt and that if they couldn’t, this great country that we live in gives us a get-out-of-jail-free card, and his job was to make them always cough up that card.

I got Mr. Rubenstein on the phone. He told me not to worry about a thing and that he would be there by my side as soon as he could.

As I sat detained for a few hours, I decided to just sit with my eyes closed, and as I sat, many thoughts ran through my head. I wondered what Misty was doing at that moment. Was she planning a trip to the Caribbean with my money?

I wondered what Saleeta, Xtasy, and Jenny were doing at that moment. Like, were their souls with God or with the devil?

How did the cops know I was at Money’s crib? Would I actually do jail time, and if so, how much time would I get?

I thought about the first time I’d spoken to Pete. About that phone call I’d made to Minnesota to get reunited with him. About the time Saleeta’s man had whupped her ass in our basement apartment. The fight I had with Money. The numerous tricks I had turned back in the day when I was letting this nigga pimp me. The night of The Source magazine party.

I thought about the time I cleaned up blood in my truck after Pete’s murder. I thought about the cocaine and the weed that was illegally smuggled into and sold at the prisons. I thought about Saleeta and Money making that great connect with the Colombians. I thought about Chino. I thought about how my moms had done me so wrong over the years.

I thought about everything that I had ever been through. And while I thought about all of those things, I came to one resounding conclusion—I was well on my way to becoming a millionaire, had I not run into a few roadblocks. I was going to learn from these few roadblocks, get back on my grind, and hustle ten times smarter, if my lawyer was able to get me out of this jam.

If I could turn back the hands of time, I wouldn’t, because everything happens for a reason, and if something didn’t kill me, then it was only going to make me stronger. I couldn’t undo the past, and I had to be held accountable for any wrong that I had done. But before I could be held accountable, I knew, like my lawyer had said, that the powers that be first had to prove me guilty.

My lawyer showed up at about 11:00 A.M., accompanied by his partner, David Upstein, another high-profile criminal lawyer. After breaking the ice and going through the introduction of his partner, the three of us sat in a room for a couple of hours, and we spoke at length.

“Did you guys get stuck in traffic?” I asked.

“No, nothing like that. Sorry it took us so long, but we were speaking to the Manhattan D.A., so we could sort everything out and get a handle on what was going on,” David Upstein explained.

“So, what am I looking at?” I eagerly asked. “Be completely honest with me, and don’t hold any punches.”

David responded, “Well, first off, GG, let me explain something. I’m a straight shooter, and I never hold any punches. I tell you how it is, so you won’t have any surprises.”

“Now, what is going on is this: There is a law called the RICO Act. RICO is an acronym, which stands for Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations.”

I nodded my head to show that I understood.

David went on. “The RICO law gives prosecutors wide-ranging and sweeping authority, and one of the favorite uses of the RICO law is to go after and take down what they called organized crime syndicates such as the Mafia and things of that nature. The law defines racketeering activity as any act or threat involving murder, kidnapping, gambling, arson, bribery, extortion, dealing in obscene matter, or dealing in a controlled substance or listed chemical. You follow?”

I was soaking up everything like a sponge. “Yeah, I follow you.”

“Now, the indictment is a multiple-count indictment and it is charging that you are the head of a newly formed criminal enterprise called Connie’s Cartel, which has engaged in murder, narcotics distribution, and conspiracy. It’s also stating that your street name is GG, and that you are right at the top of the organization.”

“Well, am I the only one being charged?”

“Oh no!” David replied, “See, let me explain how this works. It wasn’t just the NYPD who came after you. It was a joint NYPD/FBI task force that came after you. But since you had recently had the previous arrest for impersonating a C.O. and you’ve now, according to them, gotten into trouble again within a six-month time period, the NYPD took jurisdiction over your arrest. They did that just for the lights and cameras and for media purposes. But these charges they are hitting you with are mainly federal charges, and in a matter of days or weeks, your case will be totally moved to a federal venue. And, see, the feds, they don’t go after just one fish. They try to go after a whole school of fish that swim together, and by doing so, they feel that they can totally eradicate whatever organization they are going after. In this case they did not just go after you, but they rounded up about ten other people. With the RICO law, you’re looking at anywhere from twenty years to life behind bars.”

At those words my heart sank, but I still had enough in me to ask another question. “So am I correct in assuming that someone like myself who they consider to be at the top of the organization would be looking at more time than those at the bottom of the organization?”

Marvin replied, “Well, in general terms, yes, but not always. Because, see, a guy at the bottom of the organization could be responsible for thirty murders. You understand?”

I nodded. Then I made sure to remind my lawyers that I wanted them to definitely see what they could do to find out why Money had been arrested and to also make sure that she was released and able to go back home. But, to my surprise, the attorneys told me some awful news.

“Well, GG, things don’t work that easy. Now while we will represent Money, she’s not going home anytime soon, and neither are you. She’s one of the ten people being charged under this indictment.”

“What?” I yelled in total shock and disbelief.

“Okay, GG, listen. We will get to Money, but let us work this one step at a time.”

I shut up and listened, but I felt absolutely horrible because Money, all her life, had followed behind me and followed my lead. She was perfectly contented with boosting and doing her petty shit to get bread. I was the one who had convinced her to do this Cartel shit with me, and now she was paying the price for having stuck by me.

The lawyers went on to explain that the RICO law gave the government the right, as we spoke, to seize all of my assets, like my cars and anything in my crib.

I also found out that Chino and some more of his boys and members of the Colombian connection that Saleeta had found had all been picked up during the pre-dawn raid. And my lawyer went on to give me some options. He explained the evidence that was stacked up against me—the wiretap evidence, the video surveillance, and a host of other evidence that went back from the night the cops had run up on me and Minnesota in the car that night in Hollis, and included everything up until the present. He also explained that there were a number of criminal informants prepared to testify against the Cartel. I knew right away that he had to be talking about Minnesota and his snitch ass.

I jumped in and asked, “Marvin, I don’t know for sure, but I think they may have told you about an undercover cop who goes by the name of Cynthia. But even if they didn’t tell you about her, I’m sure she was the one that helped get a lot of the evidence and videotapes and all of that. But my thing is this: Isn’t there a line that the police can’t cross while they are investigating? I mean, I went as far as smoking weed with the bitch and doing lines of coke with her ass. There has to be something illegal about that, or some kind of conflict of interest,” I said in a slightly bitter manner.

Marvin explained that the district attorney had told him that Cynthia was indeed an undercover cop and that she had compiled a lot of the evidence, and that after she’d been killed, their investigation went into overdrive, leading to my arrest and indictment so quickly. He explained that normally they wait years before wrapping up investigations like this one. And regardless of what anyone said, Cynthia isn’t here to be cross-examined or have her credibility brought into question, so all, if not most, of her evidence would stick, especially since now it carried a sentimental value with it.

“You see,” Marvin said, “you’re right about what you’re getting at, in that informants, cops, and undercovers cannot do anything illegal while they’re investigating. But in this case, like I said, Cynthia is dead, so any jury is gonna look at her as a martyr.”

“As a what?”

“As a martyr, or a hero. Like someone who sacrifices their life doing a good deed.”

I sank in my seat. I finally understood why the cops had set up Cynthia to be killed. I knew this was a dirty game, but I never had any idea just how dirty it was.

I sat back up in my seat and explained to Marvin that I was guilty of a whole lot and that I wasn’t gonna try to hold no punches and that I just wanted him to do the best he could. But I felt like I wanted to still tell the truth and rat on those cops, even if it meant jail time to me. I felt that way simply because criminals, we do what we do to people in our world and we know the risks, but it ain’t right when cops materially benefit from our criminal world with no real risks on their end.

Marvin cautioned me, “GG, I understand where you are coming from, and that is noble and the right thing to want to do. But, see, right now, while my job is to have you tell the truth, the bigger scope of my job is to get the government to prove their case against you. They have to prove to the jury beyond a shadow of a doubt that you should be held accountable, and if so, to what extent you should be held accountable for the charges that you face.”

As Marvin spoke, one of the assistant district attorneys came into the room and asked my lawyers if she could speak with them. The lawyers excused themselves for about ten minutes, and then all three of them came back to speak to me.

The assistant district attorney spoke first. She basically told me the same things about the RICO law that my lawyer had explained to me. She also went on to tell me how I could possibly be facing life in prison if I was convicted for what I had been charged. After she was done talking, she asked me if I would listen to a tape recording. I agreed, and she whipped out her tape recorder and pressed play on the tape.

With all four of us closely listening to the tape, she asked me, “Do you recognize those voices on the tape?”

“Yeah,” I replied as I listened in disgust.

On the tape was Chino, Saleeta, Pete, some of the Colombian drug dealers, and even Misty, who had not been arrested, all talking greasy about me. The only person they didn’t have on tape talking greasy about me was my girl Money, who I loved to death. Especially after hearing that tape, I loved her because she had opportunities to talk greasy about me, and she always defended me instead, which to me was the ultimate sign of true loyalty, because she did it when no one was watching.

When the tape stopped, the assistant district attorney said, “GG, you heard for yourself how your so-called homies were talking about you. You should clearly be able to see for yourself that the people you associate with are only out for themselves and could care less about you and your well-being. Now, what I’m prepared to do is grant you and Money full immunity from all of these charges if you would agree to testify against Chino, the Colombians, and the rest of the members and associates of their crews.

“And Minnesota and Cheeks just skate and get a free ride in all of this shit, right?” I said under my breath.

The D.A. asked me, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “It was nothing.”

I closed my eyes and blew air out of my lungs. As I closed my eyes, I saw an image of me coming to Saleeta’s rescue when her man was whupping that ass. I also saw the time that Chino bumped into me at the Shark Bar and was talking so much shit and making like he was the fucking man and shit. Come to find out, the nigga was straight pussy, just like the rest of these so-called gangstas.

I was burning with anger after hearing Misty on the tape. I now knew for a fact that she’d set up that fucking rape and robbery to make her own damn come-up. I continued to just sit there with my eyes closed. I blew more air out of my lungs.

At that moment, I was holding all of the cards. All I had to do was play those cards, and in doing so, I would be able to spring myself and get off scot-free.

The assistant district attorney then reminded me that I was gonna be tried for murder, and she ran down all of the other charges, trying to reinforce what I was up against, to give me the notion that testifying against everyone else was a nobrainer.

Honestly as I sat there, the only thing that was making me lean toward turning against everybody was the fact that I could help spring Money. Personally, I was willing to do whatever time in the joint I was facing, but I would not have been able to live with myself if Money had to be sent to prison.

“Can you just give me some time alone with my lawyers?” I asked.

“Sure. No problem,” the lady replied as she prepared to leave the room.

With her gone, Marvin said, “GG, it’s a sweetheart deal.”

“I know,” I replied. I thought to myself that no matter how bad people had spoken about me, I couldn’t let any resentment or bitterness cloud my thinking. I couldn’t turn into a rat. It just wasn’t right. Not one of the other defendants had ever forced me to do anything, so I couldn’t now turn the tables on everybody. But I do definitely know one thing: If I could have spoken up and sent that bitch Misty to jail, then maybe I might have. But her bitch ass hadn’t gotten caught in the sling, which made me wonder if she was down with Minnesota and his corrupt undercover cop crew.

“Marvin, I just can’t do it,” I said. “I’m gonna have to roll the dice and go to trial.”

“GG, just think about what you’re doing. You’re risking jail time for yourself and for Money. And not only that, you can bet that if you don’t go through with this deal, well, you can bet that the same assistant district attorney will be talking to Chino in a minute and trying to get him to turn against you and the Cartel. The government is willing to sacrifice one, if they can guarantee themselves that they will get the majority,” Marvin explained.

“Marvin, look, no one knows this, not even Money, but I secretly stashed a whole lot of cash. I did that in the event of something like this happening. Now, the stash ain’t that crazy, and I’m gonna tell you where it is. I need you to take that cash and use it as your fee. I know the government doesn’t know about that money, so they can’t freeze it. It ain’t in no bank account, and it ain’t in my crib. I want you to take your fees out of that money and use it to represent both me and Money, and do the best job you can do, because I just can’t go through with testifying against nobody and forever being called a fucking rat. That’s just not me. I know I’m rolling the dice, but I gotta do what I gotta do. Find another way to help me ... please.”

Marvin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Okay.”

For myself, I had to believe that the government had a weak case against me in particular. Even with all of their bugs, wiretaps, videotapes, and witnesses, why were they offering me such a sweet deal so soon? Because they didn’t have a rock-solid case.

I would be lying, though, if I said I wasn’t nervous and thinking maybe I was cutting my own throat, placing all of my chips on the table and letting everything ride by going to trial.

Was I stupid? True street niggas would say no. Everyone else would have said that I was stupid as hell for not taking the government’s deal. Only time would tell if I’d played my cards right.

One thing I did know, and no one would ever be able to take from me, was, I had honor. True honor. And by going to trial at seventeen years old, unlike muthafuckas twice my age, I really knew what death before dishonor meant. I never wanted to be considered a snitch or a fucking rat. And I never would or could be.

Again, was I stupid? Only time would tell if I had played my cards right.

To be continued in
“Connie s Cartel, Part II.”