CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
2000- The Take-Down
That night I decided to take advantage of the blessed silence, take it easy and go to bed early. I only had a little bit of dope left, so I did one line. I put the remaining dope, just enough for 2 lines, in one of those plastic eggs they put in kids’ easter baskets, then put the egg on top of the nightstand near my head.
I was hoping for sweet dreams.
Sometime before dawn I was jolted out of my sleep.
A S.W.A.T. team was positioned all around my bed, weapons drawn, flashlights blinding me.
They were screaming so many questions at me I couldn’t get my bearings.
“WAKE UP!”
“WHERE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND? THE ONE WITH THE COMPUTERS!”
“WHO LIVES HERE WITH YOU?”
“WHERE ARE THE CARDS, EULA?”
They called me by name. They knew exactly who I was.
I have to admit I was petrified. But the cops were yelling about cards, not guns. And I only had that miniscule amount of dope, so nothing to worry about there. That gave me hope.
The cops were still shouting at me, trying to keep me off balance. They weren’t giving me much time to gather my thoughts. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about. What cards were they talking about? And I let them know I lived here alone- no boyfriend, no roommates.
They hauled me out of bed and told me to get dressed before they cuffed me. I threw on an inside out tank top and a pair of hot pink sweat pants and thrust my feet into flip flops- both of them for the left foot. Then they hand-cuffed me with a quickness, all the while aggressively questioning me.
“WHO LIVES HERE WITH YOU?”
“WHO ELSE HAS KEYS TO THIS APARTMENT?”
“WHERE ARE THE DRUGS, EULA?”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY WEAPONS IN THIS APARTMENT?”
They then dragged me into the living room and sat my ass down on the couch.
As I was trying to figure out what was really going on and what my angle should be, one of the cops went directly to the front closet and pulled out the big North Face backpack.
He unzipped it and dumped its contents onto the floor. Around a dozen nylon camping bags fell out, each one a different color.
“Bingo!”
The cop put on a pair of latex gloves, picked up a yellow bag, unzipped it and showed me a stack of neatly rubber-banded EBT cards, a PIN number list and a handful of old school foodstamp books. He went back into the closet and pulled out all of Biz’s laptops and all of his paperwork.
Another cop came out of my bedroom carrying the Timberland box in the crook of his left arm and my little easter egg of dope in his right hand.
“Let’s go, sweet pea,” he told me.
I stood up before they could yank me up.
