Corrupt City. Tra Verdejo

a soul in the area. That’s how cold it was. But it still felt strange because, usually, you would see at least a few crackheads roaming around. To the criminal-minded, it was one of those perfect opportunities to pull off a hit—no witnesses, and in the middle of nowhere.

      After another twenty minutes went by, they finally decided to leave. In all honesty, they both were nervous and thought it was a bad idea to meet there, anyway.

      “Fuck this! They’re not coming. Let’s go,” Cash said as he turned the car on.

      “Wait. Look. Here they come.”

      Cash looked to his right and saw headlights approaching. The lights blurred both their vision, and they couldn’t see the car. Both Cash and Toothpick placed their hands on their guns, just to be on the safe side. As the car got within twenty feet, they finally had vision on it but couldn’t see inside because of the dark-tinted windows.

      After the car pulled up parallel to theirs, the passenger lowered his tinted window and told Cash, “Follow us.”

      “First of all, who the fuck is you?” Cash shot back. “And where is Scratch?”

      The window from the back started to roll down, and that’s when Toothpick pulled his 9-millimeter. He cocked it back so quickly, the window only rolled halfway down and stopped.

      “Chill, Toothpick. It’s me, Scratch. I’m in the backseat. It’s all good. Put the gun away. Just follow us. We know a safer place. This shit here looks too creepy.”

      Toothpick lowered his gun and told Cash to follow the car. For a moment there, it almost got ugly. Toothpick was seconds away from pulling the trigger.

      While they were following the car, both of them were quiet, their minds were heavy with suspicion. Not knowing where they were going added to the suspense. They could be driving to a setup where more goons with guns could be waiting for them. This criminal life was full of surprises, and your reflexes had to be quick in order to survive. Second thoughts would get you killed in this game. Your first instinct was the first and only rule to live by.

      Toothpick and Cash both knew something was wrong, but they were both strapped with loaded guns, so they risked it anyway, knowing the odds were against them. They knew it was a big mistake, but once you’ve committed and you’ve passed a certain point, there is no turning back.

      They got off at the Castle Hill Avenue exit. They parked across the street from Castle Hill projects and both looked at each other.

      “Toothpick, how in the fuck is Castle Hill projects safer?”

      They both laughed.

      “I don’t know, but we about to find out. These cats are fuckin’ amateurs, but keep your eyes open. Don’t even blink.”

      As Cash was parking, Scratch jumped out and walked up to their car.

      “Toothpick, you come with me. We’re going in this building behind me.”

      “Scratch, what’s up with all these last-minute changes? You sure you have the bricks and the guns? Don’t fuck with us.”

      “Toothpick, just trust me on this one. Calm down. We’re going inside to my cousin’s apartment. That way, you get a chance to check everything out while I count the money.”

      “A’ight, cool. C’mon, Cash, grab the money.”

      “Just you, Toothpick. Your boy has to wait in the car.”

      “C’mon, Scratch, that’s my partner, we roll together. I’m not going upstairs alone.”

      “Listen, either you come alone, or the deal is dead. It’s your decision. My driver is also waiting in the car. Don’t worry, your partner will be okay.”

      Toothpick looked at Cash and waited for his approval. Once Cash nodded his head, he jumped out of the car with a bag of money. Toothpick kept looking back as he walked with Scratch, making sure no one was following.

      As soon as they got in the building and pressed for the elevator, two gunmen emerged from apartment 1B. It happened so fast, Toothpick didn’t have time to react or reach for his weapon. They pulled him inside the apartment, took his gun, and threw him on the floor.

      Scratch leaned over him as he pressed the cold barrel against his cheekbone and asked him, “How long have you known your boy outside?”

      “What the fuck is going on here, Scratch? Are you crazy? We are boys. What’s going on? Why are you asking about Cash?”

      Before he could answer, about five to six shots rang out. Toothpick knew those shots were intended for Cash. He wanted to break loose and reach for his other gun, but he had to play it cool and wait for the right moment. There were three people in that apartment with guns in their hands. He wasn’t stupid.

      “Were those shots? What the fuck is going on here?” Toothpick asked with a clueless expression, trying to work his way out.

      “Answer my question. How long have you known Cash?”

      “Not for long. My cousin set me up with him when I came home two years ago. Why?”

      “Cash is police. He’s undercover. Please tell me you are not a cop as well.”

      “A cop? Get the fuck outta here. Cash can’t be police, and if he is police, your boy just shot him. Why the fuck is you still here? That means police was either following us or on their way here. We need to bounce the fuck outta here. Let me go. You know I’m not a fuckin’ pig. Get off me, nigga. I’m not trying to get locked up today. Let’s bounce and handle business another day.”

      Scratch looked into Toothpick’s eyes for about four seconds and couldn’t read any lies. He believed him and decided to let him go. “My bad. I had to make sure,” he said, helping Toothpick up and giving him his gun back, but with the clip and the bullet in the chamber. “Nowadays, you never know who’s undercover. Wait about fifteen seconds after I leave before you bounce. We’ll make the deal another time. Keep your money. No, as a matter of fact, give me this fuckin’ money. Next time, pick a better partner,” Scratch said before running out.

      Toothpick waited for about five seconds before he reached for his second gun and ran out. He kicked open the front door of the building so hard, he got the attention of Scratch and his boys. By the time they realized where the noise came from, Toothpick was already approaching, shooting rounds from his 9mm Glock. Instantly, he dropped two of them with single shots to the head. Now it was just Scratch and his driver left.

      It was an all-out war at one o’clock in the morning in the middle of the streets in the Bronx. Half the neighborhood was up watching the action from their windows, some ducking bullets. These projects were known for their high crime rate, but neighbors never saw anything like this.

      Toothpick was in the battle of his life. He had to run for cover behind a parked car when Scratch’s driver pulled out a MAC-11 and emptied the entire clip at him. Bullets were flying all around Toothpick. All he could do was stay put and pray they didn’t go through the car and hit him.

      He caught a break when the MAC-11 went silent for a few seconds because it ran out of bullets. As soon as he heard a pause in between shots, Toothpick jumped up, quickly let off two shots, and ducked back down. He’d shot the driver in the neck and shoulder.

      Scratch realized he’d lost his crew. Now it was just him left. But he was still hanging, going out like a soldier, letting off rounds from his .40-caliber. When he noticed Toothpick reloading, he jumped in the car and tried to make a quick getaway.

      Before he was able to switch gears, Toothpick ran up on him and pressed the hot barrel on his temple and yelled, “Freeze, muthafucka! You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law—man, fuck that! And fuck you!”

      Toothpick, whose real name was Donald “Lucky” Gibson, shot Scratch twice in the head then quickly ran toward his partner, praying for a miracle.

      “Nine-one-three,