Yeah the streets are definitely safer with me here. I thought about bitch ass drug dealers like Whop, Smurf, Trey and Scooby. Now they
don’t have to watch out for me nor hide their stashes of drugs or their money anymore. They can walk the streets acting tough again and
not worry about a thing. They no longer have to make a daily plan of how to avoid me or their workers from being robbed by me. I was good
for walking’ up on motherfuckers’ sitting’ in their cars and robbing’ their asses like it won’t nothing.
Then it was those other times I didn’t feel like walking so I drove right up to them chilling in their cars or just standing on the street. It was
easy. I would call them over to me like the police do from their cars and I would search them out of my driver side window to make sure they
wasn’t holding out on me. I dared them to do a damn thing about it too. It wasn’t like they didn’t know it was me because I never wore a
mask or anything to hide my identity. If they were new to the streets or the area and they didn’t know who I was, I made sure that the
streets knew that I had done it. I would send out little messages about the incident.
It got so bad that a lot of drug dealers were calling the cops when they wanted to move large amounts of money or their stashes. They
would tell the cops that there was another officer walking his beat that needed help. They knew the cops would come because they wanted
to make sure their own were alright. The cops could never ignore the call because it could be true. They had to check it out no matter how
many times the bogus calls came in. This helped the drug dealers because they knew I wouldn’t rob them with the cops already in plain sight.
Or so they thought.
The cops got hip to the bogus calls and although they couldn’t stop responding, they began to respond slower and slower. I guess they had
come up with a system to know where each other was in order to weed out the bogus calls.
The drug dealers had to figure out another plan since the cops had gotten hip to the calls so they started calling the fire department and
telling them that there was either a fire or a person not breathing and in need of EMS services. They knew that the cops had to escort the
fire department and EMS because of the crime rate in the neighborhood. So, when the police arrived, the dealers would move their stashes
right in front of the cops and the cops never had an idea of what was going on.
I on the other hand knew exactly what was happening. I would stand right across the street from them and watch the dealers. They would
look over at me and smile like shit was fucking funny. They would get in their rides and peel off like they had the upper hand on me. So, I
came up with a killer idea. I began hiding from the dealers’ workers. I would be up on the building roof tops watching them below. They
never thought to look up in the air. They looked up and down the streets and since they didn’t see me, they assumed that I had left them
alone.
I had robbed them so much in the past that I already knew who was picking up what, where, and who had what. I knew what every drug
dealer and all of their workers looked like. Since I was no longer getting the money, I didn’t give a fuck if the cops showed up anymore. I
would even call 9-1-1 and report a man with a gun and give them the description of the pick up guy because I knew that soon the dealers
would be calling to report their usual ‘cop in need of help’. I figured if two separate calls from separate sources came in that they would
respond quicker.
Sure enough, my plan worked because every time the cops showed up I would dial the 9-1-1 operator again. I knew that the cops wanted to
speak with the eye witness. This time I would give the operator the cop car number and tell them to tell the cop in that car that the guys
exiting the building at that exact moment were the guys with the guns. Sometimes I would point out the actual drug dealer to them.
Of course, the dealer, not having a clue; would exit the building not thinking about the cops sitting outside since they had called in a cop
distress report. The cops would let the dealer get to their vehicles before pouncing on them so that they would have reason to search their
vehicles. This would illuminate their search being thrown out during the court trial. The cops would surprise the dealer, throw them face down
to the ground and arrest them.
My charade was a success. It began to happen so often that I wanted to let the dealers know that I was behind their shakedowns. So, I
began to walk by each time a suspect was apprehended. I would look them in their eyes and smile. I would then place one hand up and lick
its thumb, then use my other hand to count invisible money.
This went on for a while. The drug dealers began to do the math and realized that was cheaper to have a sit down with me and offer me
some money, than for them to keep losing their money to the cops. The cops were either taking it for themselves or vouchering it. If they
vouchered it, it meant that the dealers were going to go to jail and get bailed out behind it so they couldn’t use the money to re-up. They
also began to think about the amount of drugs they were losing and the number of workers that were being locked up which meant they
weren’t out to do business, or worse; they were in a predicament to snitch. This also meant that everyone had to take time out of their work
days to attend court appearances. This was like being in debt to the cops for however long the charges were pending because they knew
that they had to walk on egg shells around the cops.
The drug dealers arranged for a meeting with me. I gave them my demands and they agreed to my requests. Before I walked out of there I
informed them that I was about to start selling weight and they need to see me on their packages. They went for that too. Dummies! If the
shoe were on the other foot, I would have just murdered me and returned order to the streets. Instead, these punks agreed with all of my
demands. A lot of these guys just aren’t built for this game. They have no clue about organized crime. There are rules street rules in place to
avoid having people like me on the streets but they weren’t abiding by the rules, if they even knew the rules. These rules are put in place to
illuminate nuisances like me. If any other neighborhood dealers had caught wind of what was going down in my neighborhood, they could
have moved in on our dealers like it was nothing.
You know what; even the damn cops can sleep easy with me being gone. Especially two mother fuckers named Jump and Shadow. Their real
names are Terrance Heywood aka Jump and Michael Welch, good ole’ Shadow. They did nothing but ride me from the first day that I hit the
block doing my thing. Well, now I won’t be a factor in Jump’s daily life. He’ll have some extra time on his hands to drink coffee and eat fucking
glazed doughnuts since he had spent the majority of his days trying to get me. It was like he had no other criminals to catch. Hell, I don’t
even think he had a private life.
don’t have to watch out for me nor hide their stashes of drugs or their money anymore. They can walk the streets acting tough again and
not worry about a thing. They no longer have to make a daily plan of how to avoid me or their workers from being robbed by me. I was good
for walking’ up on motherfuckers’ sitting’ in their cars and robbing’ their asses like it won’t nothing.
Then it was those other times I didn’t feel like walking so I drove right up to them chilling in their cars or just standing on the street. It was
easy. I would call them over to me like the police do from their cars and I would search them out of my driver side window to make sure they
wasn’t holding out on me. I dared them to do a damn thing about it too. It wasn’t like they didn’t know it was me because I never wore a
mask or anything to hide my identity. If they were new to the streets or the area and they didn’t know who I was, I made sure that the
streets knew that I had done it. I would send out little messages about the incident.
It got so bad that a lot of drug dealers were calling the cops when they wanted to move large amounts of money or their stashes. They
would tell the cops that there was another officer walking his beat that needed help. They knew the cops would come because they wanted
to make sure their own were alright. The cops could never ignore the call because it could be true. They had to check it out no matter how
many times the bogus calls came in. This helped the drug dealers because they knew I wouldn’t rob them with the cops already in plain sight.
Or so they thought.
The cops got hip to the bogus calls and although they couldn’t stop responding, they began to respond slower and slower. I guess they had
come up with a system to know where each other was in order to weed out the bogus calls.
The drug dealers had to figure out another plan since the cops had gotten hip to the calls so they started calling the fire department and
telling them that there was either a fire or a person not breathing and in need of EMS services. They knew that the cops had to escort the
fire department and EMS because of the crime rate in the neighborhood. So, when the police arrived, the dealers would move their stashes
right in front of the cops and the cops never had an idea of what was going on.
I on the other hand knew exactly what was happening. I would stand right across the street from them and watch the dealers. They would
look over at me and smile like shit was fucking funny. They would get in their rides and peel off like they had the upper hand on me. So, I
came up with a killer idea. I began hiding from the dealers’ workers. I would be up on the building roof tops watching them below. They
never thought to look up in the air. They looked up and down the streets and since they didn’t see me, they assumed that I had left them
alone.
I had robbed them so much in the past that I already knew who was picking up what, where, and who had what. I knew what every drug
dealer and all of their workers looked like. Since I was no longer getting the money, I didn’t give a fuck if the cops showed up anymore. I
would even call 9-1-1 and report a man with a gun and give them the description of the pick up guy because I knew that soon the dealers
would be calling to report their usual ‘cop in need of help’. I figured if two separate calls from separate sources came in that they would
respond quicker.
Sure enough, my plan worked because every time the cops showed up I would dial the 9-1-1 operator again. I knew that the cops wanted to
speak with the eye witness. This time I would give the operator the cop car number and tell them to tell the cop in that car that the guys
exiting the building at that exact moment were the guys with the guns. Sometimes I would point out the actual drug dealer to them.
Of course, the dealer, not having a clue; would exit the building not thinking about the cops sitting outside since they had called in a cop
distress report. The cops would let the dealer get to their vehicles before pouncing on them so that they would have reason to search their
vehicles. This would illuminate their search being thrown out during the court trial. The cops would surprise the dealer, throw them face down
to the ground and arrest them.
My charade was a success. It began to happen so often that I wanted to let the dealers know that I was behind their shakedowns. So, I
began to walk by each time a suspect was apprehended. I would look them in their eyes and smile. I would then place one hand up and lick
its thumb, then use my other hand to count invisible money.
This went on for a while. The drug dealers began to do the math and realized that was cheaper to have a sit down with me and offer me
some money, than for them to keep losing their money to the cops. The cops were either taking it for themselves or vouchering it. If they
vouchered it, it meant that the dealers were going to go to jail and get bailed out behind it so they couldn’t use the money to re-up. They
also began to think about the amount of drugs they were losing and the number of workers that were being locked up which meant they
weren’t out to do business, or worse; they were in a predicament to snitch. This also meant that everyone had to take time out of their work
days to attend court appearances. This was like being in debt to the cops for however long the charges were pending because they knew
that they had to walk on egg shells around the cops.
The drug dealers arranged for a meeting with me. I gave them my demands and they agreed to my requests. Before I walked out of there I
informed them that I was about to start selling weight and they need to see me on their packages. They went for that too. Dummies! If the
shoe were on the other foot, I would have just murdered me and returned order to the streets. Instead, these punks agreed with all of my
demands. A lot of these guys just aren’t built for this game. They have no clue about organized crime. There are rules street rules in place to
avoid having people like me on the streets but they weren’t abiding by the rules, if they even knew the rules. These rules are put in place to
illuminate nuisances like me. If any other neighborhood dealers had caught wind of what was going down in my neighborhood, they could
have moved in on our dealers like it was nothing.
You know what; even the damn cops can sleep easy with me being gone. Especially two mother fuckers named Jump and Shadow. Their real
names are Terrance Heywood aka Jump and Michael Welch, good ole’ Shadow. They did nothing but ride me from the first day that I hit the
block doing my thing. Well, now I won’t be a factor in Jump’s daily life. He’ll have some extra time on his hands to drink coffee and eat fucking
glazed doughnuts since he had spent the majority of his days trying to get me. It was like he had no other criminals to catch. Hell, I don’t
even think he had a private life.
| Chapters 2 - The Streets Know |
The Author S. C. Dickens
The Cover Up
| The Cover Up |
 |  |  |  |
 |  |  |  |
 |  |  |  |