CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
2000 - Friends. How Many of Us Have Them?[1]
Here I was- stuck on Rikers. Truly clean and sober. And alone. Truly alone.
I tried to settle in, but there is no “settling in” to a place like Rikers. It was overcrowded, smelly and loud as fuck. Most of the girls knew each other from the outside and petty beefs popped off all day long. It was draining. I spent my days motionless, staring at the walls of whatever room they put me in. I refused to talk to anyone. Eventually, I was left to my silence.
My hearing came up quickly- within the first two months of my incarceration.
I refused to rat on anyone- not even any of the petty dealers Biz had brought around. But since I was a first-time felon and such an obvious dumb-ass, the public defender assigned to represent me was able to get the ridiculous drug possession charge dropped and I wound up with a sentence of four years in a minimum-security prison. My lawyer told me I’d have no problem getting out in three years if I behaved myself. I promised him I would.
Once my sentence was in, there was nothing for me to do but to wait to be transferred to prison. And before I got there, I needed to figure out how I was gonna keep myself afloat for the next several years. I’d been smart enough, at least, to keep a little savings account for myself. It’s where I stashed my domming income and any other little special gifts I’d been given, here and there. It amounted to a few thou. My goal was not to touch it while I was locked up. I planned to keep it as a nest egg to get me going once I’d done my time. But that did not answer my immediate needs. I’d have to find someone I could rely on to fund my commissary and take care of my apartment. And there was one realistic option for that.
I tried to call the HQ crew, but they were all so impossible to pin down. Biz and Lucci were hit or miss- for every six times I called either of them, they’d only pick up maybe once or twice.
And even though I knew better than to bother wasting my phone credits on trying Cabrón, I dialed his number every so often and left a message.
Eventually, Biz took time out of his busy day to come out to Rikers for a visit, and I used it as an opportunity to lay out my demands. There were certain things that absolutely had to be taken care of for me for the length of my incarceration, and Biz was the last man standing.
Such a scary thought.
“I need you, Biz,” I began. “They gave me four years and I’ll probably be out in three. While I’m in, all I need is for you and Lucci to make sure I have the maximum amount of money on my books each month. I don’t want to have to worry about that. Please.”
The “please” wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Biz nodded his big, stupid head and made comforting noises. Like, how could I ever doubt his or Lucci’s loyalty?
Of course, I could doubt their loyalty. Even though they didn’t have to worry about mine.
But I continued onward, hoping most of it would stick.
“I also need you to take care of my apartment for me. I want to make sure I have a place to come home to once I’m out. I don't even care if you put Luciano in there for the duration of my time and let him run wild with the girlies, but I need to make sure that all my stuff is taken care of and that my rent is paid.”
“I got you, Eula,” Biz assured me. “Don’t worry about anything.”
I told him I’d send him info for where to mail the rent check.
“And do NOT let me lose this place, Biz. I’m counting on you!”
“I got you, Eula. I got you,” Biz replied, then stood to leave.
“Oh, Biz- one last thing,” I said. ”Tell Brón I’m trying to get in touch with him. I want to make sure everything is good.”
Biz yeah, yeah, yeah’d me and exited the visiting room.
I may have been stupid, but I really wasn’t dumb- I knew it was a risky move to count on Biz to hold me down for three years. So, I dug deep down into my address book and wrote to my old friend from Hartford, June- the one who’d introduced me to Mundo. Back when I was an innocent, convinced I was a total bad-ass.
June was surprised to hear from me but wrote back and gave me permission to get him on my phone list. It felt like I’d been thrown an unexpected lifeline and I made myself promise to myself that I wouldn’t abuse June’s kindness. I’d certainly done enough of that in the past.
[1] Whodini, “Friends,” 1984
