From: pez@manhattan.com (Gizmo) Subject: The Adventures Of Smacks Past (Part 23) "The Wanted" Date: 1996/10/02 newsgroups: alt.drugs.hard THE ADVENTURES OF SMACKS PAST (PART 23) "THE WANTED" Another lucky break took place in 1979 or 1980. Some of you old timers may remember a product that was being sold in Harlem, mostly on the corner of 143rd Street and Seventh Avenue called, "The Wanted." Like a lot of dope of that time period sold in Harlem, this heroin went up and down in quality like the stock market. Some days it was really good but most of the time it was just okay. That's how dope dealers plied their trade. They would put out a very good package for the first few days. Everyone would swoon over the shit. Then the rest of the week would go by with mediocre crap. Finding really good dope consistently back then was a tough nut to crack. For those who don't know about Harlem at this time period. Well, it was a virtual drug supermarket. On any of a couple of dozen streets throughout Harlem, there were three to four different drug crews peddling their wares. Of course most of the dope that these different gangs were selling originated from one of a few major distributors. Guys like Nicky Barnes were famous during the 70's. I forgot when he finally got busted, but his dope was everywhere under various "name brands." Also the problem with Harlem or most of the major drug neighborhoods in New York since the early 60's was that most of them tended to be Black or Hispanic. This presented a problem for anyone who was white. If you were white and you were anywhere near these drug spots, your risk factors for getting busted increased exponentially. I took this risk at least once a day for years. It was late afternoon that day, when I finally got enough money to score. I drove into the block and looked for signs of activity, also trying to see if there were any cops around. Things looked cool as I parked my car and headed for the abandoned building off the corner where "The Wanted" was sold. "Everything okay?" I asked to the touter on the stoop. (A touter was the guy who checked you out.) "Yea man. C'mon hurry up, it's been hot. How much you want," I'm asked. "Give me ten bags," I said. "See Jamie, he's inside" I'm told. I've done this routine a thousand times over. Usually it goes okay. You get your dope and your out of there in one minute. This time is almost no different then any other time. It starts off like a normal drug buy. I'm standing in this almost completely darkened abandoned hallway, getting my shit, when I hear the dreaded, "Five 0" from outside the building somewhere. "Five 0," a rip off from the old Hawaii 5.0 police show was a slang term and a call signal that told the dealers the police were coming! The crews had guys posted at either corner of the block to yell their warning if "The Man" was coming. And it wasn't going to be McGarrett and Dano either! No, this was probably your typical raid. And they could get real ugly. Here you're dealing with a bunch of gung ho super cops that were as scared shitless as we were. They didn't want to get shot, so they came on like gang busters. And that's exactly what happened. A moment later I see the front door being bashed in. The drug dealer I bought from heads up the stairs. I'm standing in the main hallway, as the cops start flashing lights in my direction. Instinctively, I drop the ten bags of dope on the floor. What else could I do? There wasn't enough time to run. And you certainly couldn't eat 10 bags of dope that fast! But it was the dealers that they wanted. So after telling me to freeze, some of the cops peel up the stairs hoping to get the pushers before they reach the roof and escape. After half the precinct arrives and heads up the stairs, this one cop motions me to empty my pockets. With his partner holding a gun to my head and calling me every kind of low life and mother fucker that they had in their vocabulary, I carefully empty my pockets and show them what I got. While they are frisking me, I'm stealing a glance down near my feet at the ten bags of dope I just dropped. Now they ask me, "where's the shit, mother fucker? How much did you buy?" I tell them, "Listen, I don't have anything. You guys got here and scared the dealer away before I could do anything. This line of reasoning does not seem to work as the cop frisking me slams me in the head. "Wrong answer junky. Where is the dope?" I'm tempted to get flippant with him. I think to myself, "Your mother shot it up before you got here." But I realize that's only gonna get me slammed in the head again. So as gently as possible I try to inform these nice minions of law and order that I really did not get a chance to buy anything. This seems to work and they motion for me to go upstairs to where the raid party is going on. Once we get to the third floor apartment, I notice that they did grab two members of the crew. They are ripping this totally abandoned burned out looking apartment to shreds. Hacking their way through the walls and closets, trying to find the "stash." Also, they are using manipulative persuasion on these two crew members. That is, they are beating them to a pulp, while asking them where the shit is. This goes on for a few minutes. "Thank god I'm the customer," I think to myself. But they are still fucking with me. They keep asking me real smart questions like, "what are you doing here?" Duhhhh. It's hard to win in these situations. You're either going down or your gonna be cut loose. But arguing with the cops never works. So I keep my mouth shut and hope for the best. Finally they are satisfied that the main dealer reached the roof and made a clean get away and that none of the rest of us have any drugs on us. After a few more minutes of checking our ID, the cop who brought me upstairs tells me to get the fuck out of there and "never come back!" Right. Okay, I'm on the way down the stairs, grateful that I'm not gonna be popped today. But of course I'm praying that the ten bags of dope I dropped are still where I dropped them! I'm also hoping that there are no cops in the main hallway when I get there, because if they are, I'm fucked. At the very least I'm not gonna be able to look down on the floor and grab my shit. But the gods were with me that day again. Reaching the main hallway, I see it's empty. "Should I chance picking the stuff up," I muse to myself. I wonder about what are the chances of getting searched again on the street? But all you folks reading this know what I'm going to do, right? Got it? I reach down to where I dropped the dope and thank god it's all still there. They never noticed it! Hell, all they had to do when they were searching me was shine that flashlight at my feet and it would have been a different "adventure story" I'd be writing about now. But this time, it's not to be. This time the bad guy gets away. Back into the car, around the corner, over the 145th Street Bridge. Onto the Major Deagen expressway and up to the Allerton Avenue section of the Bronx and home. The good news? The dope was good. Gee I wonder again, "maybe it's time to quit?" Copyright 1996 Gizmo