Bronx Requiem(21)
Demarco maneuvered along one-way streets to Lorena Leon’s address. As they moved farther north, the density decreased and there were fewer people on the streets.
The Mercury rolled past a boarded-up three-flat. Two gangbangers sat in front of the abandoned building on lawn chairs. One man stood at the top of the stoop, scanning the street.
They gave Beck and his men hard looks as they cruised by. Drug dealing still had its place in the Bronx.
They pulled up to Lorena’s housing complex. Seeing the low-rise buildings again from the outside reminded Beck that the inside was much more grim.
“D, hang out here while Manny and I go in and talk to her.”
“Take your time.”
“We’re not going to need much.”
8
At 11:45 A.M., not quite six hours after they’d found the body of Paco Johnson, Palmer and Ippolito parked on Harrod Avenue in front of Bronx River Houses, located in the Soundview section of the Bronx. The complex was bounded by East 174th Street, Harrod Avenue, and Bronx River Avenue, but further isolated by the Cross Bronx Expressway and the Bronx River Parkway—large multilane roads of fast-moving traffic that left Bronx River Houses cut off from the rest of the city, metastasizing out of sight and out of mind.
Smaller than most New York housing projects, Bronx River Houses had nine twelve-story utilitarian high-rises set around a central building that served as a community center and offices for the New York City Housing Authority.
When they were first built in the fifties, the apartments housed working poor. Through the seventies and eighties, drugs and urban decay turned the place into a locus of violence, crack cocaine, and misery. In the nineties, the NYPD took over from the Housing Police and began a campaign to crackdown on crime and lawlessness. The FBI Violent Gang Task Force also came in and prosecuted gang members and affiliates using RICO statutes, arresting large groups of young black and Hispanic men and prosecuting them in federal courts.
Raymond Ippolito knew the history of the Bronx River Houses much better than his partner, but he had no interest in giving John Palmer a history lesson. During the drive from Lorena Leon’s apartment, Palmer had immersed himself in nonstop phone calls, texts, e-mails, and research, oblivious to what was going on in the streets around him.
When Ippolito pulled in front of the Houses, Palmer announced the results of his research.
“Okay, Mr. Derrick Watkins is officially a piece of shit. My contact on the FBI Gangs Task Force checked his records. They have him connected to an offshoot affiliated with United Black Nation, called HAV.”
“What’s that stand for?”
“Harrod Avenue Villains.”
Ippolito sneered. “Same shit, different name.”
“I also talked to the Narcotics Task Force in the Five-O. Watkins and his older brother, Jerome, have been around a long time. He said Jerome Watkins does a lot of financial transactions for the UBN.”
“UBN. HAV. Fucking morons.”
“What does it mean that Watkins and his brother do financial transactions for them?”
“The way it works, the top *s use guys in their set they trust, like these Watkins pricks. Say the big boys make a deal for drugs, or guns, or whatever. Some skel shows up at an apartment rented to somebody with no connection to the top guys. Watkins is at that apartment. He collects the cash owed for the merchandise.
“In a second apartment nowhere near where the money changed hands, another * picks up the goods when Watkins calls and says he’s got the dough. The top guys are never near the goods or the money.”
“Who are the top guys in the UBN?”
“What’s your FBI org chart say?”
“I didn’t ask for that information.”
“Well, you don’t need it.” Ippolito tapped his head. “It’s all in here. The top two Mau Maus in this neck of the woods are Eric ‘Juju’ Jackson and Floyd ‘Whitey’ Bondurant. Jackson is the boss, the brains. Whitey Bondurant is Jackson’s muscle. He is one crazy, vicious motherf*cker. You do not want to run into that guy.”
“How’d he get the name Whitey?”
“He’s a goddam albino. Weirdest looking * you’ve ever seen. Big. Big bones. Big head. Got this reddish, white hair he wears in dirty-looking dreads. Always wears sunglasses because of his eyes. The shit I’ve heard about him.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, he definitely don’t give a f*ck. Guy’s a freak. An outcast. The albino thing made him into a mean son of a bitch.”
“I guess the good news is you’d know him if you saw him.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to see this guy. If you do, shoot him. Seriously. Just shoot him. Empty your f*cking gun.”
Ippolito stared out at the housing complex.
“Look, John, the gangs in these projects work just like every other organized crime group. The money flows from the bottom up. I know about these UBN *s. You can trace Juju Jackson all the way to the Black Spades. It got all mixed up with factions and wars and alliances, but it’s basically the same shit. The wannabees underneath run around doing crime, whatever they can pull off. They send money up the chain. The head guys use the money to do bigger crimes, cull out the best earners, and let them in on bigger deals. Everybody else mostly scuffles around until they get locked up, shot, or quit. And not many quit.”