Snitch by Allison van Diepen
The only thing the girls admired more than the clothes was my new street cred. Days after leaving juvie, I was back on the streets as a full-fledged dealer. They probably thought that took balls.
They had no clue.
IT’S NOT JUST BUSINESS. IT’S SURVIVAL.
DON’T MISS ALLISON VAN DIEPEN’S
STREET PHARM
TYRONE JOHNSON, SELF-MADE MAN
What are you gonna be when you grow up?” That’s what most kids got asked.
Not me.
Mom always asked me what I wasn’t gonna be, and you know what she wanted me to say?
A dealer, stealer, free-wheeler, player, hater, a downright dog—that’s what my dad was.
When I came home from school, Mom was on the couch watching Dr. Phil. As usual.
“How was school, baby?”
“Good.” No way I was gonna tell her I got kicked out. Really ass-to-the-curb kicked out this time. Starting tomorrow, I was supposed to show up at some alternative school.
“You working hard?”
“Yeah.” Sweet, clueless Mom never noticed that I hadn’t carried a book bag since the ninth grade.
“There’s beef patties in the oven.”
I checked the clock: 3:37 p.m. She’d be getting up from the sofa in about three minutes, getting ready for fifteen, and out the door in twenty.
When the commercial came on, Mom went to her room. I attacked the patties, only stopping to add more ketchup. A few minutes later, she came back into the kitchen in her grocery store uniform, her name tag already pinned on like she was proud or something. “You working tonight?” she asked me.
“Yeah.” I gave up my cheek for a kiss while guzzling o.j., and she threw on her coat and hurried out the door.
Mom thought I worked at the Flatbush Sports Club on Atlantic Avenue. I ain’t worked there a day in my life—but the manager owed me. He was one of my customers.
Time to get down to this brother’s real bread-and-butter.
I took out my cell and speed-dialed Sonny.
“Ty! What the fuck’s going on? Why’d you turn off your cell?”
“Mind your business. What’s going on?”
“I need your help, son. Tonight we got us some deliveries.”
“Already got some.”
“Well, I got more for you.”
“Go on.”
I wrote the stuff in my phone.
“Hold up,” I said, “who’s this Schultz guy?”
“A new customer I met last week. Told him we was getting a shipment with the hottest shit this side of Bogotá. He gonna drop five Gs!”
“You ain’t kidding. How’d he find out about us?”
“In the fucking yellow pages.”
“Seriously, Sonny, who told him?”
“Who? Shit, like he was gonna tell me! What, you think his friend wants a finder’s fee or something?”
“Listen, if you so confident about him, you make the delivery.”
“Can’t, I promised Desarae we’d see a late movie. Schultz wants the stuff at ten.”
“I’m not making this delivery unless you gimme some reason to think he ain’t a cop.”
“Ty, this guy ain’t 5-0. Don’t you think I can sniff out a cop by now?”
“I ain’t risking my neck on your sense of smell, Sonny. Tell Michael Brown to make the delivery.”
Michael Brown.
That little brother’d win the award for the most eager young hustler in Flatbush.
Quick, reliable.
Fourteen years old.
“A’ight, I’ll tell Michael,” Sonny said. “He can drop some stuff off at the Wilkes place, too.”
That was what I liked about Sonny. He talked the shit, but when push came to shove, he always backed down. He knew the game was in my blood.
A SIMPLE BUSINESSMAN
Brrrrrinnngggg!!!
Cursing, I grabbed the phone beside my bed. “Yo.”
“Is this Tyrone Johnson?” A white woman’s voice.
“He ain’t here. Who’s this?”
“This is Ms. Bregman calling from the Les Chancellor Institute of Career Opportunities. Tyrone was expected here at nine o’clock this morning, but he hasn’t arrived.”
“He’s at a meeting of the YDDA.” Young Drug Dealers of America. Ha-ha.
“The what?”
“It’s a co-op placement. You know. Sheepshead Bay High School arranged it. Hasn’t your school been told that he ain’t transferring no more?”
“Uh, no.” Papers shuffling. “I was under the impression—”
“I know, ma’am, you just doing your job. But my younger brother is being watched over by an excellent team at Sheepshead, like Mr. Otto, the school psychologist and Mr. Edelstone, in Guidance. I think he’s better off there. I worry about the sorta kids he’ll meet at Les Chancellor.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that was a concern. At any rate, I’ll be in touch with Sheepshead to confirm that he’s not transferring.”
“I’m sure they sent you a fax about it yesterday. Finding that might save you some phone tag. Have a good day.”
“You, too, Ty.”
Click.
I blinked. Did she just say Ty? Or did she say, You, too, bye?
Ah, I was just being paranoid. Women always bought the shit I sold them. She was going to spend five minutes looking for the fax, not find it, and then call the house of the next kid who didn’t show up, and not follow up on me until next month, if ever.
So much for all that no child left behind shit. I counted on being left behind, and left alone.
Seeing my cell blinking, I got out of bed, adjusted my balls, and reached for the phone.
Two messages.
Both from Sonny.
“Ty, have you seen Michael Brown? He was supposed to drop the money off an hour ago. This is making me real nervous. What the hell are you doing? You in bed or something?”
Next message. “Man, oh man, thank God you didn’t make the delivery! You won’t believe the shit that’s gone down! Michael got locked up. You were so damn right about Schultz! I stopped by Michael’s project to see if anybody’d peeped him, and they told me that the po-po was just there talking to his mom. Scary shit! Whatever, Michael ain’t got no record, so he’ll be in juvey a few months, it’s no biggie. He won’t talk. He knows our deal. Holla at you later.”
I put down my phone.
My instincts had come through.
Too bad about Michael Brown.
Well, Michael knew what he was getting into. I’d warned him myself. Anyway, we gave our runners a good deal: If you do time and keep your trap shut, we’ll pay you ten Gs when you get out. It was fair. And my conscience was clear.
I took a shower, then put on a UFC DVD as I was eating breakfast. I loved this shit. Ultimate Fighting was real, unlike most of the garbage on TV, and man, was it bloody. Anderson Silva was one of the best fighters, and it wasn’t because he was a big guy. No, he just had the right moves.
I got my height (all six feet two inches) from my dad, and I was getting more muscular every day. I took Creatine and ate protein bars all the time. Of course, you gotta work out, too. I go to the gym at least five times a week.
I looked at my genuine Rolex. I put it on every day after my shower, before I even put on my clothes. It reminded me that time is money.
Time management is everything. If a brother wanna get ahead, he gotta use every minute to better himself. Everything I did made me better—tougher, stronger, richer, smarter—or I didn’t do it.
Take high school. A waste of time. Nobody there taught me what I needed to survive on the streets.
I learned all the math I needed by the seventh grade, and a calculator helped me with the rest.
History class didn’t teach me nothing I couldn’t learn by watching movies like Glory or Malcolm X.
Gym class didn’t show me sports skills I couldn’t learn on the court or on TV.
My point? By the time I was fourtee
NETWORKING
Sheepshead Bay High.
Population: thirty-eight hundred students, two hundred staff, and eleven security guards.
Location: Avenue X, between Bedford and Batchelder. Big as Yankee Stadium, the school takes up a whole city block.
As I walked through the metal detectors, one of the guards stopped me. “What you doing here, Johnson? Heard you got transferred.”
“Yeah. I gotta clear out my locker.”
He waved me in.
I got there just before the bell rang to end sixth period. I went to a back stairway going from the basement to the gym. Lots of kids passed me, some actually trying not to be late for their next class. When I saw my employee, I grabbed her arm. “How you doing, Clarissa?”
“Hey!” She gave me a hug, squashing her big titties against my chest. The chick was dripping with perfume. “What’s popping, Ty?”
“Me, if you keep doing that.” I looked her up and down with a grin. She loved that. Clarissa Sanchez been trying to get with me for years.
With those pouty lips and that diamond stud in her nose, she was a hottie. But hooking up with an employee was too risky. Piss her off, and next thing you know she was snitching to the po-po.
“Did you hear about Michael Brown getting locked up for making a delivery to an undercover cop?” she said, like she was the shit because she knew what the whole neighborhood knew by now.
“What you say his name was?”
“Michael Brown.”
“Should I know him?”
“No, he just a kid, no one even knew he was dealing. Serves him right for tryna be big-time.”
Clarissa had no idea that Michael Brown was on my payroll. Hell, she didn’t even know that I had a partner named Sonny or that I had another hustler in this school.
“Listen, Clarissa, you got enough stuff to last the week?”
“Yeah, but I’m working on a couple new customers. If I need more, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll find you next Friday night at The Cellar for the cash.”
“Right. I’ll be there with my new man. He’s twenty-five.”
“Stop, you making me jealous.” I patted her ass. “Get to class, sexy lady.”
“See ya, Ty.”
I watched her swing her ass as she went upstairs. I walked away, shaking my head.
* * *
I found my next contact ten minutes later on the basketball court. I took off my shirt and joined the game, working up a good sweat. The hoops lost their nets years ago, but it didn’t matter. I liked the solid sound of the ball bouncing off the backboard and dropping through the basket without the catch of the net.
Rob Monfrey had a mouth full of metal and bad personal hygiene. His hair was so nappy, I didn’t even wanna think about what was lost in there. But he was a good employee because he stuck his snotty nose in everybody’s business. He knew who was doing what, where, when, and who their mother was screwing. No one kept their mouth shut around him because no one took him serious.
Big mistake.
Monfrey hustled rock and information. He was more important to my business than Clarissa could ever be.
For helping me out, I kept his cash flow going and his weed habit satisfied. He’d cut off his right arm before he’d lose this sweet deal.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here, Ty,” Monfrey said while he was trying to cover me. “Thought you was kicked out.”
Another thing about Monfrey: He spent most of his days hanging around the guidance offices, keeping his ears open.
“I was.”
“What you do this time?”
“Nothing. Edelstone thought that was a problem.” I caught a pass, dribbled twice, and sank a jump shot.
“Nice shot!” one of the guys said.
“Wow!” Monfrey clapped his hands, looking like a jackass.
After the game, Monfrey and me talked business, then I headed for the bus stop.
I had enough money to buy me a shiny, fast ride, but I took the bus. Why?
Because I was smart. Because buying those things would give the cops an invitation to go digging. They knew I was Orlando’s son, and they’d be fools not to suspect I was dealing. The second I slipped up, the second I got cocky, they’d be right there waiting. My dad’s biggest weakness was the way he flashed his money. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Eventually I’d open a legit business that would give me a cover for all my green.
In the meantime, I practiced one of man’s most important skills.
Patience.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Allison van Diepen is also the author of Takedown, Street Pharm, and Raven. She teaches at an alternative high school in Ottawa, Canada. Visit her at allisonvandiepen.com.
Also by Allison van Diepen
TAKEDOWN
STREET PHARM
RAVEN
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
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This Simon Pulse paperback edition September 2013
Copyright © 2007 by Allison van Diepen
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The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon Pro.
Library of Congress Control Number 2007927645
ISBN 978-1-4424-8165-7
ISBN 978-1-4424-9031-4 (eBook)
Contents
Note to Readers
The Dean’s Office
Q
Tony Divino, Aka My Dad
Geography of My Life: Astoria, Flatbush, and South Bay
The Dance
All Talk
The Truth About My Teachers
After School at the Shark Tank
Black Chuck
The Writers’ Club
Tonight
The Party
Kiss
Cloud Nine
First Date
Girlz Night
Spoken Word
Fever
Jumped In
Low
The Note
Choices
The Call
Redemption
Bitch
The Locker Room
Surface
Abandon
Life Changes Fast
Decision
Scrap
Prep
This is Only a Test
Joined
Membership Privileges
Innocent
Daddy Dearest
Being Blue
Survival of the Fittest
Fun, Crip-Style
Razor Blade
Living in the Gray
The Party, Part 2
Dad Tries
Jazz
Old Friends
Blow
The Game
&nb
Narc
Traitor
Payback
Lifeline
No Rewind
The Visitor
The Letter
Excerpt from ‘Takedown’
Excerpt from ‘Street Pharm’
About the Author
Allison van Diepen, Snitch