CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
2002 – The Breach
By May, we’d figured out the identity of the C.I. tied to the Brownsville breach. The P.I.’s report read like a hood novel.
There was a kid from the neighborhood who knew all of the nosy little dirtbike kids who’d been hanging around the garage. They must’ve tipped him off that we were selling off a big inventory of M80s and cherry bombs. He probably told someone older than him, and then that guy ran to one of the little area crew heads. They must’ve broke the C.I. off with a little bit of change for the tip-off and sent him on his way. From there, I’m guessing they outsourced to a mid-level B&E crew. That crew wasn’t thorough enough, and didn’t manage to catch onto the hidden safe, which is where I came in- had the safe been emptied there would’ve been nothing for the cops to hang on me, really.
Then, the original kid- the one who first ratted up the chain about the fireworks, got caught in possession of a loaded handgun while driving a stolen Honda Accord. This idiot had an extensive juvenile record and he’d just turned 19. So, in order to try and squirm out of his first adult arrest, this kid gave me up. Apparently, the kid started clocking me during that whole 4th of July period, when there was so much activity happening around the garage. He knew I drove a brand-new green Mercedes SUV. He told the cops I was from either Bed Stuy or Crown Heights. He knew my nickname was Cabrón.
How the P.I. got to this was sort of interesting to me. Hopeton worked his way down- from elders his age to mid-level crew chiefs. The P.I. chased leads starting from my comments about the little kids who'd been stalking the fireworks, and laddering up to Hopeton's list of people in power.
From there, my legal team found the right senior-level name to proffer- a person with organizational weight, someone who had a decent amount of dirt on them, but who couldn't be tied to me or Hopeton in any way, and wouldn’t be able to go through their own workback and figure out who got them busted.
