The Adored (19 page)

“Butterfingers,” she said, turning with a smile. She got the loose end of the chain and handed it back to him.

Chapter 27

One particularly brutal thief, who had broken into a widow’s home, beaten her mercilessly while stealing her money, jewels and car was CJ Strong’s pride. The man, Jack Doherty, a mean, sinewy brawler from Queens had been on record as among the most difficult of prisoners. It was not unusual for Doherty to spend two months each year in solitary confinement for fighting with other prisoners or guards. At fifty-two years old, Doherty had been in Auburn for thirty-one years and was on track to spend the rest of his life there. Parole had been denied four times, and his sentence had been extended twice. He was viewed as one of the few prisoners who could become eligible for parole, but his behavior was so anti-social he was deemed a continuing and certain danger to society.

As fortune would have it, Jack Doherty was about to undergo involuntary surgery at the hands of the notorious knife fighter Jose Truillo when CJ Strong intervened. The incident that triggered the visit to Truillo’s operating room occurred in the prison yard on the basketball court after lunch. Doherty was all elbows as a rebounder, and this time Truillo took a particularly viscous shot to the temple. Jarring enough that the sound travelled across the yard to where Strong was talking with two other men.

Truillo was immediately on Doherty, and as they boxed and wrestled, Truillo became more incensed at his lack of progress in the fight. He pulled a knife from a strap on his calf, a knife fully seven inches long. The knife, a discarded piece of metal in the shop where Truillo worked, had been hidden away months earlier and daily honed with a sharp edge and thin point. At the moment that the death of Mr. Doherty was poised on the upraised arm of Mr. Truillo, who was now sitting on Doherty with his left hand on Doherty’s throat, CJ Strong stepped into the middle of the circle of prisoners around the combatants. He grabbed Truillo’s right hand, pulled it back and said, “Jose, you don’t want to do that.”

The pause was enough of a distraction for Doherty to squirm free as guards pushed through to break up the fight. After some questions Doherty and Truillo were led away; both got thirty days in solitary confinement. On the thirty-first day, Doherty was released from confinement. He saw CJ Strong on the basketball court after lunch.

“Strong,” Doherty bellowed.

“Look out, CJ, here comes the madman,” said one of the knowing prisoners CJ was talking with.

Strong turned around, expecting trouble but was greeted by Doherty’s smile. “I owe you.”

Strong knew what he meant but needed no thanks and simply replied, “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously, Bro, you saved my ass. That punk had me.”

“It’s OK, Doherty. I’m glad I helped.”

“If you ever need anything,” Doherty began.

Strong saw an opening, “There is something.”

And with that “something,” Jack Doherty made a promise to come and read with CJ Strong, twice weekly.

Doherty was not the only one who ended up learning. With two A’s in hand from his latest courses, CJ Strong looked forward to sharing them with his mother when she arrived this Saturday. He had finished his work changing oil in three of the power plant motors early in the morning. Now he had freedom to move about the prison that came with his status as an honor inmate. Five years into his prison sentence he had become a popular man. Among the brighter prisoners who met one night a week in a book discussion group, he was viewed as intelligent with insight into classic literature. Among the gym set, he was one of the more powerful inmates, able to bench press 350 pounds, and he frequently coached prisoners on lifting technique. His dedication to his power plant work drew praise from the civilian power plant manager. He made many suggestions for improvement in plant maintenance and on his own initiative drew up an improved maintenance schedule on the forty-year-old boilers. CJ was academically eligible for a degree with the completion of seven more courses, all the time carrying a straight A average.

Where CJ got satisfaction, where he knew he made the best contribution, was in literacy tutoring of other prisoners. He vowed if he ever did get out of prison he would continue to involve himself in teaching reading to the incarcerated. He saw the joy that came into the lives of hopeless men when they read their first book, usually a child’s first grade primer. For cruel men, where life had been equally cruel, he saw softening as they read stories; first Jack and Jill, then chapter books like the Lemony Snicket series, then
The Old Man and the Sea
. It never ceased to amaze him how quick the progression was and how many books the men devoured. He saw them as starving men coming to the table.

Then there was Doherty. “I know I promised you I’d come, but this isn’t gonna work, Strong,” Jack Doherty said to CJ Strong after his first lesson.

Jack Doherty learned to fight before he could read. What little reading he was capable of gradually slipped away as he slipped away from school, first as a truant, then as an unruly student unable to be taught. By the time he was twelve, his formal schooling ended. A single, working mother with three children could barely stay afloat, never mind track down a wayward child who stayed out late seven nights a week.

But here, in Auburn, in the fifty-second year of his life, Jack Doherty learned to read and understand what he was reading. After two months he devoured several first and second grade books a week from a prison library that resembled a children’s reading room. In four months CJ found Doherty voracious. A beast of a different sort was awakening in the man. He read everything CJ recommended and would discuss the stories with Strong. In the courtyard they would pace in deep discussion over why Raskolnikov needed to kill the pawnbroker in
Crime and Punishment
or how Santiago persisted in
The Old Man and the Sea
. As they talked about Raskolnikov’s justifications, Doherty began crying, thinking back to his own similar crime. When a brutal crime occurred in a book, Doherty looked inside himself. When he read
Les Miserables
, it was he, Doherty, who stole the Bishop’s silver. And when the Bishop told the Gendarmes who arrested Jean Val Jean that he had given the stolen silver to Val Jean, Doherty cried. Doherty cried again as he talked with CJ Strong about it and about his own crimes.

Chapter 28

A man who is learned in his field, one who has spent years in apprenticeship gathering knowledge and applying it to real world tasks is powerful and respected. Chunk DeLuna is that man. Now twenty-nine, he has spent years building his Rei de Praia, his gang of beach kings. And while still a crime problem in the beach areas, the gang had spread north to Olinda and all the way south, from the state of Purnambuco to the state of Bahia and its capital of Salvador. The gang multiplied like fishes and loaves, whereas it began with five and one dog, it now numbered over two hundred. Chunk had changed the gang’s name from the youthful beach kings to the more reflective CDL Enterprisa. He liked having his imprimatur on his business: Chunk DeLuna Enterprisa.

CDL had many sources of income for this enterprise. The members began with petty larceny and occasional armed robbery. They moved up to dealing drugs for a Columbian. They expanded into prostitution, gambling, and loan sharking. The crown in the beach kings’ empire was a legitimate side of the business: a cement manufacturer. It was bought by Chunk DeLuna for several million dollars, most of which was obtained in fraudulent loans provided by a heavily drug dependent banker. Bribery of public officials became common as the gang gave them kickbacks on construction projects granted to the large cement producer.

DeLuna became increasingly obsessive about his “businesses” as he now called them. The cement producer being the opportunity to give the members of the gang a legitimate face, and while still nowhere near as profitable as drugs, it held promise for the future. However, Chunk found that no matter what business he operated there was always competition. It didn’t matter if it was a San Salvadoran drug dealer encroaching on his territories or a Mexican cement producer trying to undercut his prices. The problems were the same; the solutions were the same.

And these problems came up frequently. At one particular meeting concerning the drug operations, Chunk got a report from Paco who ran that portion of the business for the gang. It was an important meeting since the Columbian drug supplier was there with his complaints; in fact, he began the meeting.

“You guys have got to fix this. These blackies from San Salvador are stealing your business, and when they are stealing your business, they are stealing mine also. They don’t buy from my cartel but from one of the others. We’re losing out here,” Roberto Calo told the six men present.

Angel Pagan, a boyhood friend of DeLuna’s from San Blas, Puerto Rico, had joined the gang and along with the others, was one of its leaders. Pagan’s business was eliminating the competition. Chunk DeLuna was mean; Angel Pagan was frightening. In fact the only reason that the beach kings ever had competition was due to new entries into the marketplace. Experienced dealers left Chunk’s business alone; you just did not want to suffer the consequences.

“So Paco,” Pagan began, “do you know these guys Roberto is talking about.”

“Yes, we have talked about this before. It wasn’t a big deal till now,” Paco said. “But when they start threatening our street level guys and putting themselves in our buildings to deal, like we’re not even there, well, that’s enough. Yes, we do need to act.”

“You give me the locations, every location where this is happening, and I will take care of it.” Pagan said.

Over the next several days, Paco’s dealers in and around Recife and Olinda funneled into Paco six main locations where the selling was going on. Some of Paco’s men had followed their competitors, and there was also a seventh location where three of the six dealers had gone, most likely a drug factory, processing, cutting and packaging the product as it came in from Columbia.

A second meeting was called after this information was gathered to decide how to approach the competition. Chunk, Paco, Angel, and Roberto the Columbian attended, which was again held at Chunk’s home by the water.

“This is what we have so far,” Paco proceeded to explain the details of the comings and goings of the encroachers. “Do you need more?”

“You did good, Paco,” the Columbian said, “Now, Chunk, go kill them.”

This interjection was inappropriate; the Columbian knew it and Chunk got hot. But he decided to let the slight pass. It only mattered that Chunk knew this was his house and his gang and that he, Chunk, not some greasy Colom-ball, as Chunk derisively referred to the Columbian when he wasn’t there, would handle his own affairs without any interference.

“Good job, Paco, that’s enough for us to go on.” DeLuna began, “How do you want to handle it, Angel?”

“I like the idea of the one central place to take out everything at once. From what you have given us, Paco, my guess is your guys did not identify anyone as a leader?” Pagan asked.

“No, except on two of the three times they ended up at the seventh location, in Olinda, my boys said a tall African came outside with the dealers who had gone in.’”

“OK, sounds like it could be from Salvador or from the south side of Recife, where more Africans live,” Pagan said, continuing: “Paco, I want one of the guys who went to the seventh house to come with me. Give him all the locations, a description of the dealers, and have him pick me up at my place tomorrow night. We’ll drive through the whole thing and see how it looks,” and looking at Chunk, Pagan said, “Then I will make a plan Chunk and bring it to you.”

“I want to see this plan also,” the Columbian said.

““I assure you, you will Roberto,” Chunk replied, deciding in that moment that whatever plan was developed, Roberto Calo could go along for the ride and see first-hand what this gang could do when it applied itself.

Throughout history, Olinda was an early rival to Recife, just as the original Portuguese occupiers were rivals of the Dutch invaders who burned down Olinda, the strategic town on the hill. But unlike Recife, not much has changed in Olinda. It was rebuilt in the 1700s and retains much of its colonial heritage.

In Olinda, at 23 Predente de Morais Street, Angel found, by having his men do some close-in snooping, that the occupant was a San Salvadoran, by the name of Eduardo. He had lived in the colorful blue stucco home for about three months. Neighbors noticed men and women coming frequently to the home. The area was residential, the streets still cobblestoned. It was one of the main routes of the carnival procession just before lent—a rite, smaller by far than that of Rio, but no less spirited.

Angel considered the location. Some of Recife’s business leaders made their homes there in the large colonial plantation manors by the Santa Lucia Catholic Church. It would be a problem with noise if they were to swarm into the narrow street, three cars filled with his men, busting open the door, and blasting away the competition. There would be too many neighbors at least in the early evening when most of the visitors were there. Angel assumed the dealers came in the evening to drop off the day’s proceeds and to pick up a drug supply for the next day. It would be quiet later, but there would be fewer of Eduardo’s dealers there. He would have to involve more of his men—stake out all seven locations and strike at the same time to stop alerts.