This book will provide the reader with a brief look at the drug world from many perseptives, to including the law enforcement officer, the drug dealers, the drug users, and the family members of drug users and dealers. Out in the Woods will provide general knowledge to inform the drug dealers what cops look for, inform the cops where to look for the drugs, inform parents and family members of some signs of drug usage or selling. It will basically get to the bottom line. If you are associated with drugs in any way, you are going to end up dead, in prison, or most importantly, unsuccessful in anything that life has to offer. You will eventually be a loser with a capital "L".
Out in the Woods
Drug Cops IIBy Czar D. BekAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Czar D. Bek
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-2745-6Chapter One
Let's Get It
"Let me get two ... I just need two, and I'll be straight man!" I mumbled.
"Dude, do I know you, motherfucker?" yelled Desmond. "You look like the fucking police. You a cop, man?" he asked.
I looked down at the ground and spoke slightly louder "Hell, naw! Do I look like a cop to you?"
"Yeah ... I ain't never seen no hype as big as you," Desmond replied.
"I just got out the joint ... I was locked up in Pittsfield. I just need two for my lady, and I'll be up," I said. "Hey, Vick, tell him I'm good, cuz."
"Yeah, this is my cousin, man. He's good," said Vick.
"Okay, if you say so, but if I find out this is a cop, I'm going to kill your ass. Meet me down at the spot in fifteen minutes," said Desmond.
Victor and I walked towards the spot.
"Hey, Dorraz, why you tell that man I was your cousin?" asked Vick. "We ain't cousins.
I looked at Vick "Hell, I know that, and you know that. I just need these rocks so I can get some head."
Vick spoke with a sense of distinct fear. "Don't be doing that shit! That fucker will kill me if you're a cop," Vick said cowardly.
I looked Vick straight in his eyes and lied to him. "Don't worry man," I said. "I'm cool. I just got out the joint. Here's a ten for you for your big mouth staying little, okay? Let's go inside and wait for him."
Moments later, Desmond came into the vacant house with two of the biggest niggas I've ever seen. As we stood in the middle of the dingy, piss-soaked floor, I felt quite uncomfortable and wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as I could.
"What's up? Yo, I got the shit. What do you need?" asked Desmond.
"I just need two, and I'm good. I got twenty, and that's it!" I said. "But let's test this shit out and make sure it's good shit, okay?"
"First give me the twenty, aw-right?" said Desmond.
"Here you go, dog."
"Let me get one, too!" Vick said. "I need to see what's up with this shit for myself."
Vick gave Desmond the ten and got a rock in return. He bent down and pulled a small glass pipe from his sock, put the pipe in his mouth, opened the baggie with both hands, and then removed the pipe from his mouth, held it in his hand, and filled the pipe with the crack. He put the pipe back in his mouth and pulled out a lighter and lit the shit up. Vick eyes were wide as hell as he pulled on the glowing crack pipe. "Dammmmnnnnn. That shit is good as hell," he said and let out a sigh. "Shit, this is the shit, nigga."
Desmond looked over at me. "Now that Vick has tried it, it's your turn, trick." Desmond then showed me the large Desert Eagle shoved in his pants pointing at his dick. I didn't say a word, but I thought, damn it, if I smoke this shit, I'm done! But if I don't, I'm a dead man. "Man, I ain't smoking that shit" I told Desmond and his crew.
"What, so you are a fucking cop? That is your ass fool," Desmond said angrily.
"Naw, I just don't have my pipe with me, that's all," I explained.
"Motherfucker, you better use Victor's pipe then!" Desmond yelled as he paced rapidly around the concrete floor as if he were looking for a place to shoot me.
"I ain't using his fucking pipe," I told them again, this time with a little more bass in my voice.
"Oh yeah?" Desmond asked, and his boys walked closer and pulled out their pistols.
I had to think fast, so I said "Hey man, everybody knows that Victor sucks dick, he might have AIDS."
"Fuck you, bitch, what I do is my business. I just do it to get my high on," said Vick. "Don't be putting my shit out like that. That's fucked up, man. You're an asshole!"
The group put their guns back and starting laughing loud as hell. "I knew Vick was a gump," said the big-ass nigga on the right. "Faggot as motherfucker," he said as he chuckled and walked up the dark stairway, heading outside.
"Let's get out of here, fellows. I have to go sell some moe of this shit" said Desmond, still laughing and giggling. Desmond stopped and turned around and stared at me. "Hey, man, if you need any of this shit, hit me up. I always have shit, just not on me! Fucking police be watching me."
"I got it man. I will hit you up," I said. "Vick, let's get out of this shit hole."
"You go ahead, I'm about to get my high on some moe."
"Later, bro," I said as I left the basement. I could hear the crackling from the pipe as I walked outside. Once up the stairs and outside, I could see the three dudes walking down the street. I hit the pager button, and thirty seconds later, the detectives and a marked unit pulled up and grabbed the three dudes and put them on the car.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," said one of the white cops. "What's your fucking names?"
As the guys rattled off their names, the officers took photos and wrote the names down. My cell phone rang. "Yeah, it's the one with the black jacket and red hat that sold me the shit. All three of them have pistols on them. The officers started to ask the guys if they knew who had robbed an elderly couple and where they were about an hour ago. The guys mumbled something back, but it was not easily understood. Then the phone went silent. I heard the Spanish detective yell at the guys in a sly-like voice, "Listen up, niggas. You niggas better stay off my fucking corner, or next time your asses are going in for loitering, you got me, boys?"
They all nodded their heads and replied, "Yeah, we got it, man."
"Good, now get the fuck out of here, niggas," said the detective.
The police let them go without hesitation, as they knew these smaller dealers weren't their goal. There were bigger dealers out there that were priority.
The three dealers walked up the block to Charles Road. "Man, that was some close shit. They could have had us with these pistols and this shit. Let's just lay low for a li'l while and go to Haywood and make some cash," said Desmond.
Vick then walked past me down the street the other way, out of sight, heading to the west end. I went to Mickey's, got a hotdog combo meal with a suicide drink. "This shit is going to get me killed," I said.
After I downed the dogs, I walked down the street and on to the east end of town. I saw what appeared to be a large group of guys running toward me from about a block and a half away. They were getting closer and closer. "Damn, what's going on?" I said. A few of them had baseball bats. Wait a minute-there aren't any parks around here ... hmmmmmm. The group was getting closer and closer. They were about a half block away, so I crossed over to the other side of the street, and moments later, they did the same.
Fuck this shit. I turned the other way and started to run when I heard the sound of breaking glass behind me. As I ran and turned to see if they were gaining on me, a beer bottle just missed my fucking head. The guys were just a few houses behind me and gaining quickly. I put my feet in "scared as hell mode" and took off. Bats and bottles followed me, and after about a five-block sprint, they stopped the chase.
"Get the fuck off our turf! Go back to Chicago!" they yelled.
"Fuck this shit," I said. I hid out for the rest of the day on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive in the safe house. About four hours later, the detectives came in. They wore blue jeans, boots, and black vests with the word "POLICE" in big white letters.
"What the fuck happened to you, nigga?" one of them asked.
I looked at him in total disbelief and said, "First, the three stooges pulled guns on me and tried to get me to smoke crack. I went to Mickey's and choked on a fucking hotdog. Then a fucking gang chased me with bats and bottles. This undercover police shit is going to get me killed. I need a pistol to protect myself."
"Listen, nigga, you can't have no fucking pistol. It will blow your cover. Plus, we don't want nobody getting hurt if we can help it. Just use your fucking head and get out of the shit. You must have used it in the vacant house, right?" said the detective.
"Yeah, I did, but I still was scared as hell."
"You'll be okay. This is your first day. Just hang in there. We have a lot of work ahead of us," said the detective.
Chapter Two
Time to Get out the Nest
The phone rang. As I answered it, I heard Lest already starting to talk before I was able to say anything. "Meet me at the spot, nigga," he said with his Spanish voice. A black Ford four-door pulled up, and Lest and another Spanish guy got out the car. "This is Richa. He is going to be your partner. Richa is from over the bridge in Melrose, okay? He is hired to help you. Here is his story: he is on the same list as you are," said Lest. "Just like your identity-you both just got out of Pittsfield. He is on probation for possession of a stolen car and possession of crack. If you niggas do this shit right, you will end up with a good-ass job, making a lot of fucking money, okay?" Lest said. "Get, in, and let's go to the office. Put these cuffs on, niggas. Get in the back and keep your fucking mouths closed. Dellwood from 101 ... radio."
"Go ahead 101," the sexy radio voice replied.
"I will be coming in with two subjects for investigations."
"Ten four."
We drove a few minutes in cuffs to the station. Lest pulled along the back door, and we went inside unseen by other police officers. Lest opened the door. "Git in here. Sit down, niggas. You niggas thirsty?"
"Yeah, you got a HP?" I asked.
"What the fuck is a HP, nigga?" inquired Lest.
"Hawaiian Punch, and stop calling me nigga," I told him smartly.
"Yeah, okay, nigga. Shut the fuck up," he replied. "Whatever."
Lest opened a drawer and pulled out a large brown bag and poured the contents on the table. Out came an abundance of drugs, many that I had never seen before. It was crack, weed, pills, heroin, hash, and date rape shit of all shapes, sizes, and colors. "Listen, niggas, this is why you're here. We have to get this shit off the street. We are killing our communities, and we must stop this kind of shit, okay?" Lest said seriously. "For the past month or so, I've shown you the players and trained you on what to do. Dorraz, you did a good job on your first day out there. Richa, you didn't do shit. It's dangerous out there, so you have to work together and watch each other's back. I will get you a car in a few days. But for now, keep hitting the streets and stay safe out there, niggas. Remember, use your pagers to request help, or when you are ready for us to move in, identify these niggas. Always remember what the fucker is wearing and keep him in your sight at all times. If you don't give us the description of these idiots, the case will be tossed out. Today, we are going to work in the west zones. Here is the money. You each have two hundred bucks in tens and twenties. The money is already photocopied. Only buy two or three rocks, not five or shit like that. Any amount of crack is a felony. Spend some on food or beer-just don't fucking come back here without crack."
I looked at Lest and said, "But, I don't drink."
"So fucking what, nigga! Fake it. You supposed to be shitheads, okay? Damn, what are you? Stupid?"
I thought, little bitch.
"Let's make my money. Get your shit, and get out of here," he told us.
We went back out the same way we came in and got in the unmarked car. Lest drove us to some side street and dropped us off. He said, "Wait. Listen, we are meeting the chief in the morning, so don't be fucking late. I will remind you later, but just in case I forget, okay? Now be gone, niggas!"
"Hey, Richa, if that punk motherfucker calls me a nigga one more time, I'm going to fuck him up," I said.
"Dorraz, he just talks like that. Don't trip. Do you want this job or not?" Richa asked.
I couldn't believe Richa was okay with this, so I said, "Let me tell you something. I can work in a more respectable place then being called a nigger."
Richa rebutted, "He didn't call you a nigger. He said nigga."
"Yeah, because his ass probably can't even spell nigger," I said.
"Man, let's just go on and try to get some dope off the street. That's all we really want to do, right?" Richa said.
We walked about a good three minutes when this little black kid came up to us. He was about nine, hell maybe ten. The kid mumbled in a rhythmic tone, "Rocks ... rocks ... I got rocks and blows. I got them rocks and blows, and my sister's a hoe." "What y'all need, huh? What y'all need?" he asked.
The kid was dirty and smelled bathless for several weeks. His teeth were brown and a large plaque buildup was evidence that he has not been raised properly. The eye boogers were present, and he had not appeared to remove them for days. The wax in his ears was visible. The dried white saliva crusted his lips. A small tattoo stuck out on his right arm: "RIP POPS" with a cross nearby.
Richa looked at him and said, "I need you to get the fuck out my face and stop playing. You're wasting our time, li'l man."
The little neglected looking boy said, "Hey, man, don't no Ricans be over here unless they need some. I got the good shit." This kid was still mumbling like he had some recent dental work. "C'mon, pimps, what y'all need?" the kid insisted.
Richa said, "Let me get a blow ..."
I don't got blows. I only got rocks," he said.
Richa looked at the kid and said, "Naw, li'l man. I want you to give me a blow job, stupid ass."
The kid started mumbling and stuttering and shit. "Man, fuck you. I don't get down like that ... unless you have some real cash. I need twenty dollars to suck your li'l-ass dick." He looked at me, and still stuttering, said, "Hell, no! I ain't sucking your dick, either. You just look like you have a big dick."
Richa gave the kid the twenty, and the kid said, "C'mon over in the alley. There is a vacant garage over there."
Richa said, "I'm just fucking kidding with you. I need two rocks."
The boy held out his hand in front of his mouth and spat in his hand. He cleared some of the spit away and left about five small plastic bags of white rock crack cocaine in his hand. He handed Richa two of the bags.
I was like that is nasty as shit. "What are you doing?" I asked.
"Making my money, pimps," he said with not a mumble or stutter to be heard.
"Well, let me get one of them. I just need one, li'l man." I handed him the marked ten dollar bill and hit the pager button. The detectives pulled up forty seconds later and asked us, "How you guys doing?"
I responded, "Fine, officers."
"Are you lost or something?" one of the cops asked.
We told him we were okay.
"No problem, guys. I'm just looking for a fight over here," said the officer. "You see a fight? Someone called and stated there were two guys ... a black ugly fucker and a short Spanish guy beating on a li'l kid over here."
The boy quickly put the last rock back in his mouth under his tongue. The dicks got out and asked him, "Are you okay, son?"
He looked at the officers awkwardly. "Yeah, I'm straight, they were just talking to me," he said with a slight mumble, not as bad as before.
"Where you live, son?" asked the officer while toying with his holster by opening and then closing the safety device.
"I live on Fiftieth and Charles."
The cops continued to ask questions, and I could see that the little guy was getting frustrated because that crack under his tongue was becoming uncomfortable.
"How old are you?" asked the officer, this time with a snotty voice.
"I'm eight years old," he mumbled.
Finally, the cop spoke with sense. "Okay, let us take you home, okay?"
"Yeah, thanks, officer," he replied. I wasn't sure what they were going to do with the little fellow. He got in the car with the dicks and was gone for the time being.
"Damn, that was fucked up," I told Richa. "This li'l man is eight years old and running game like that. I wonder if his sister is a hoe. Yeah, she probably is a hoe. Let's get someone else and leave these li'l kids alone. These kids need our help."
Richa looked at me and said, "Yeah, but it's too late for a lot of them. That's not our problem. Let's just do what we have to do and move on."
"Cool then. Let's do it," I told him.
Richa and I walked around for another three hours with not a dealer in sight. "Man, I'm hungry as hell," I told him.
"Let's go eat then. Want some tacos?" Richa said.
"Man, do I look Hispanic to you? Hell, no!" I said angrily.
My new little Spanish friend giggled. "My fault. You want some chicken and watermelons?" asked Richa.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Out in the Woodsby Czar D. Bek Copyright © 2010 by Czar D. Bek. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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