Getting high was Shorty’s weakness just like hustling crack was Tone’s. Truthfully, Tone didn’t care about her addiction, as long as it didn’t interfere with them getting some money together. Shorty could do whatever, as far as he was concerned, she was grown.
For Shorty life wasn’t always like this. She once was a law abiding, tax-paying citizen who suffered a severe broken leg on her job as a mail carrier. At the hospital she was prescribed morphine to help her cope with the pain from her injury. From the first time she tried the drug, Shorty got hooked. A monster was created. Her life began to spiral downhill. Drugs got a hold of her and never let go. Essentially, Shorty sacrificed a good life with her close-knit family for a dark, lonely life of addiction.
“That’s some good shit there, yo,” she swore while exhaling a thick cloud of crack smoke in the opposite direction. “Time to rock and roll yo.”
Shorty put her makeshift crack pipe down and sprung into action. She went upstairs and retrieved a clear sandwich bag filled with black top vials. At the kitchen table the duo proceeded to bag up the entire batch they cooked up, placing the contents inside the vials. Whatever crumbs remained, Shorty convinced Tone to hand out as testers to a select group of drug addicts. Initially, it was those free testers that caused a buzz and sparked a cocaine feeding frenzy.
From his experience of hustling on the streets of New York, Tone knew people didn’t sell drugs. Drugs sold themselves. All one had to do was be there to exchange the product for the currency. It was commerce, albeit an illegal one, supply and demand. The same business principles applied.
Tone sold out quickly, with Shorty working the streets. The news about the good coke traveled fast. He had to return home to get more drugs and repeat the process all over again. This time Tone brought even more cocaine than he had before. He had the idea that he was going to make more money than he did last time. And he did.
All day long Tone stayed inside the dope house guarding the stash, while Shorty sold the drugs, hand-to-hand on the street and in the alleys along Homewood Avenue. He had no idea if Shorty was tapping the vials or shorting him on money. Nor did he care. Everything went smoothly; he seemed to make money hand over fist. At the end of the day, just before all of the vials were sold, Tone paid Shorty in product and cash, at her insistence.
“I told you we was goin’ to kill ‘em, yo,” Shorty bragged as they exited the house through the back door and walked through the alley toward the main street.
It was nighttime when Tone finally emerged from the stash house. The darkness that had descended over the city had suddenly made him realize the drastic shift in time. It was then that he came to the realization just how long he had been cooped up in the stash house. That didn’t amaze him, it was the couple thousand dollars he had in his pockets that really impressed him.
Today was a good day, he thought. Tomorrow gone be even better.
With Shorty escorting him, they matched each other step for step as they walked a few blocks in search of a hack. Then suddenly Tone’s search for a ride to take him home turned into looking for the first place they could find to get off the streets.
Tone heard it before he ever saw a thing.
“Yo, what the fuck is that?” Tone asked.
The loud chopping sound of a police helicopter’s rotating blades flooded the area as people began to scatter. A spotlight soon encircled Tone and Shorty, dousing them in a bright light. Suddenly, Tone had his answer.
Oh my fuckin’ God! he thought.
Never in his life had he experienced anything like this. This was something straight out of a movie. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. As hard as he focused on staying cool, a nervous energy began surging through his body. Tone had no idea of what was going to happen next.
Ain't no way in hell I'm goin' out like this. I'm not gettin' arrested on my first day on the block, he vowed.
Shorty saw the look of concern on his face and quickly addressed it.
“Don’t look up, New York,” Shorty warned. “It’s the police. Put ya head down and keep walkin’ yo. Just follow me.”
That was easier said than done. Tone found himself sneaking a peak upward through his peripheral vision. However, the spotlight was blinding and he couldn’t get a good look at the helicopter. So he had to settle for feeling its threatening presence instead.
Tone’s thoughts raced. Inwardly, he shook his head at his sudden reversal of fortune. One minute he was feeling like he was on top of the world, and the next he was feeling like he was going to jail. Tone abandoned his instinctive impulse of running. Instead he chose to take Shorty’s advice. Something told him she knew what she was talking about.
The police helicopter continued to follow them as it hovered above, barely atop of the power lines and the rooftops of the row houses, sending trash and dust swirling around them. Yet side by side they continued to walk, remaining cool.
As quickly as it had started, it ended. The police helicopter suddenly raised its altitude, turned off its spotlight and disappeared into the East Baltimore City night skies. At the very last minute, Tone was able to lift his head and catch a glimpse of it.
Instantly Tone was relieved that the heat was off of them. Slowly he was able to pull himself together. The weird reaction he experienced to his first encounter with a Baltimore City police helicopter was understandable. It was then that Tone came to the realization that the drug game in Baltimore was a different kind of beast and nothing
