Read Online Cracked Dreams by Michael Daniel Baptiste - Free Book Online Page B

torture for him to just sit there not knowing what they were going to do to him, and to know that he would have to bear with whatever they had planned. As his thoughts started getting more and more rapid in his mind, his entire body grew tense and he began to cry uncontrollably. When he looked up at Don P., ashamed of his appearance, they’d begun making their way to the exit. He suddenly became calm, let out a sigh of relief, and then thought to himself, Thank you, God. They’re going to let me live.
    Just as Roscoe’s hysterical cries came to an end Don P. stopped at the doorway. They stood there for a second before El turned around and looked into Roscoe’s eyes with a grin on his face.
    â€œOops,” he said, snapping his finger as if he’d forgotten something. “It almost slipped my mind. Catch this, you rat mu’fucka.”
    He flicked the cigarette at him as they both laughed wildly. They watched closely as Roscoe yelled and fought to get free, just to make an attempt atputting out his flaming carcass. He pulled at the pipe he’d been tied to as pieces of his skin burned to the wall and peeled off his body. The smell of burning flesh and the screams he let out didn’t break Don’s and P.’s concentration once, as they left conversing of their findings. They left him on the floor ablaze with no regard, and with only one thing in mind: contacting Spits as soon as possible.

    My cell phone rang around 4:40 a.m. as Ginger and I were about to roll over to go back to sleep. It was Poncho. He sounded a bit distracted and confused as he spoke, but I knew it had to be serious. He said that he had something important to tell me, and that it couldn’t even wait until later in the morning. Disregarding the numerous requests by Ginger for me to stay in bed, I got dressed and ready to leave. I had business to handle. I reassured her that I wouldn’t have kept it from her if something were wrong and that there was no reason to worry. I told her to go back to sleep, and then yelled a promise to speak to her later as I shut the front door.
    Roscoe had made some serious accusations after the beating he’d taken that night. He’d said a lot of shit that Don P. didn’t want to sit on—not even for the rest of the night. When I finally met up with them, it was 6:00 a.m. We met at Baychester Diner on Baychester Avenue and Boston Road.
    â€œWhat’s good, son?” I asked as I walked toward the entrance from the parking lot.
    â€œGood?” asked Poncho. “Ain’t nothin’ good, dog. Your boy Roscoe made sure of that shit.”
    â€œWhere that nigga Roscoe at, anyway?”
    â€œOh, you don’t have to worry about him, dog,” answered El. “You won’t ever hear any more negativity from that hot boy, feel me?”
    Don P. chuckled a bit, and then we all went inside the diner for breakfast. After we’d been seated and placed our orders, Don P. began to run down the specifics of the get-together from earlier in the morning.
    It seemed as though Little Jay had noticed that the profit from the spot he worked on 227th Street had been coming up short the last couple ofweeks. What stood out was that the amount was always the same, five percent. If they estimated thirty grand, at the end of the night they would only have $28,500. The rest of the Family never noticed this because Little Jay would always make up the difference out of his own pocket. He wanted to find out who was the thief before he raised any eyebrows, and then he’d report them. He figured out that whenever he sent Roscoe to drop off, that’s when their profits took a loss. The night he was arrested was the first night he’d decided not to send Roscoe on the drop-off, but he never got a chance to report because he was taken through the system that night. When Don P. were done explaining the story up until this point, I was surprised but didn’t feel that