When I was fifteen, I got recruited as a lookout. That’s how it started.
I felt honored and bragged about it to my friends. I got paid, sure, but I’d have done it for free, just for the status of being a part of Diamond Tony’s operation.
I didn’t know back then what Diamond Tony was made of. All I knew was that he was the most notorious kingpin Toronto had ever seen.
It was all good for a few weeks. I had as much MPR—money, power, and respect—as a kid could hope for. Then one day, while a deal was going down, the cops descended on us from every direction. One of Tony’s guys shoved a package into my hand. “You know the code.” We ran off in different directions, but I didn’t get far before the police tackled me.
In the cruiser, I had this jittery feeling. I knew the code: Don’t snitch. If I named names, I’d pay the price. My family would too.
They put me in a white room that was as small as a prison cell. There was a table attached to the floor and three chairs. Two detectives, a skinny white guy and a short, Jennifer-Lopez-plus-thirty-pounds, came in to interrogate me.
Skinny paced around the table. “Why don’t you make this easy on yourself and tell us who those drugs belong to?”
“I’m waiting for my lawyer.” Everybody knew that Diamond Tony had a fancy-ass lawyer who represented his people. I hoped he’d send him soon.
Skinny flattened his palms on the table and leaned toward me. “Why would you need a lawyer?” I jerked my head back at his coffee breath. “The crack isn’t yours, is it?”
I didn’t answer.
That’s when J.Lo started in on me. “All you need to do is tell us who gave you the drugs and what they asked you to do.”
“No one and nothing, ma’am.”
Skinny raked a hand across his bad comb-over. “How would a kid like you get half a kilo of crack in the middle of Walker territory?”
Half a kilo? Shit. I glanced at the door, wishing Diamond Tony’s lawyer would hurry the hell up.
J.Lo pulled a chair up next to me and gave me a motherly look. “You can tell us the truth, Darren. That’s what’ll get you out of this.”
I forced a laugh. It wasn’t a mother I needed—it was Witness Protection.
She might’ve guessed my thoughts, because she said, “If you’re willing to talk, we can keep a close eye on you and your family.”
Yeah, like a cruiser driving by a couple of times a day would protect us if I snitched.
“Half a kilo is serious, Darren,” she said. “You could spend several years in juvie, and then you could serve the remainder of your time in an adult prison. Is that worth it to you?”
I didn’t answer. My stomach clenched, and it was all I could do not to throw up. I wanted to run away. Pretend none of this was happening.
But it was.
The Mission
Before I left juvie
I told the cops I had a plan
Number-one wanted man
They gave me some green, an ID number, and a phone
It was better than nothing
I would’ve done it on my own.