The King of Jersey

By Steve Roberts

Chris was no longer the same loser from Jersey High. Sitting alone on the edge of his throne overlooking the scandalous city, he was struggling with the memories of a haunting past that included an abusive father, beatings and a distrust of even the closest people surrounding him. But it took one humiliating graduation party to lead him into an underground world of drugs, gang wars, and political corruption.

Set in the late 80s, when the war against drugs was beginning to collapse, The King of Jersey follows Chris as he becomes a small-time dealer. He encounters the accidental death of a friend’s girlfriend, a revenge killing and a murder that he himself can’t avoid participating in. He soon learns that death, the sacrifice of friendships, and even backstabbing by those once loyal to each other are the casualties along the path he has chosen.

Entering the high-life of the international drug trade, Chris finds a way to sell “gold seal hash,” the sexiest drug on the streets of Jersey, to become a kingpin in a flashy underworld of clubs, thousand-dollar-a-night hookers, wealth, and power that deteriorates everyone that touches it. He never really wanted any of this, even though it made him grow into a man — the man he never wanted to be.

Chris himself becomes a potential casualty in his new life when he uncovers the truth about a failed hit. Now he must run from the game and leave this dangerous life forever before vengeful rivals and powerful political thugs find him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Roberts
• Release date: Nov 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994899507

Steve Roberts

The Mud and Slime Mysteries is Joel Stewart and Steve Roberts' first book collaboration. Previously to this they have collaborated on TV animation including Abney & Teal and BOT and the Beasties. Steve created DipDap and Twirlywoos for Ragdoll, which both won Children's BAFTAs. Before his work in television Steve was a freelance illustrator in comics.

Book preview

The King of Jersey

Steve Roberts

Copyright © 2012 Steve Roberts

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

9798839115903

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my brother, Samer Ata.

You are with me every step of the way.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1    The Party

Chapter 2    The Plan

Chapter 3    Greed is a crazy thing

Chapter 4    Catch me if you can

Chapter 5    The Man with the gun is the man with the power

Chapter 6    The meeting

Chapter 7    Being a drug dealer is hard

Chapter 8    Deception is only a word

Chapter 9    Let’s make a deal

Chapter 10  Let the war begin

Chapter 11  There is always a twist

Chapter 12  A New Plan

Chapter 13  Things are never the same

Chapter 14  Politics is a dirty business

Chapter 15  Times are changing

Chapter 16  Another plan another day

Chapter 17  Always remember rule number# 2

Chapter 18  Killing is never easy

Chapter 19  Paranoia or reality

Chapter 20  Media never lies

Chapter 21  The last party

Chapter 22  The beginning of the end

Chapter 23  Confession

Chapter 24  The Set-Up

EPILOGUE

Chapter 1

The Party

They sent out invitations in the sixties. The private party started in the seventies; the rest of the world found out and came to the after party, the eighties.

Best friends since grade one, the Irish sons from Trenton, New Jersey, had never been invited to any of the parties growing up.

Give me a twenty-piece of hash for free, and you two losers can come to the party tomorrow night at Miller’s house, the Polo prep promised. Five minutes later, the tall prep left with his top-siders dangling from his feet and free hash in hand. The inseparable friends were smiling from ear to ear.

For the first time in their high school lives, the Irish sons from Trenton, NJ, had been invited to something, and it was not just any something, it was the after-graduation party. The biggest party of the year, every popular student would be there.

At the house party, Chris and Paul sat across from each other on plastic-covered couches. The same plastic furniture covers every parent in Jersey owned. Nodding their heads up and down to the music, Paul yelled out, This house party is packed, everyone from school is here, he was smirking behind his words, as he rolled his Irish Greens towards the ceiling.

A bunch of snobs... Fuck’ em all Paul was laughing at his own remark. He looked up and noticed two girls had overheard him and were staring directly at him. The girl on the left stuck her middle finger in the air towards him, while her friend mouthed the words Fucking loser.

Paul immediately blushed and tried to slide deeper into the plastic couch. He tried to hide his crimson face and Irish Greens away from the girls.

You’re an idiot Chris laughed. But he knew Paul was right. For the past four years, the crowd here had made their lives a living hell.

The house DJ is spinning the freshest music, underground Rap music from NY.

Cuz ain’t Nuthin’ but sweat inside my hand, so I dig into my pocket. All my money is spent, so I dig a little deeper, but still coming up with lint. -Eric B & Rakim

Chris was thinking of the ounce of cheap hash he brought to sell. He was hoping to sell it all at the party, to some of his regulars from school, and he noticed a few were here. Nodding his head up and down to the music beat, flashing his brown eyes around the familiar faces, staring at no one in particular. It seemed like everyone from the class of 87 was here, hanging out in their social circles, afraid of talking to each other. He looked at them with contempt and thought of how these circles of classmates are mediocre, unintelligent, and fake to the bones. They do what they want, and say whatever they want, with no repercussions.

A roar of Cheers exploded across the room. Chris glanced over at the cheering group. The rich kids, Polo boys, and the Lacoste girls are clinking beer bottles and toasting Cheers while laughing it up for everyone to hear. But they did not invite others into this money circle. This money group lived off their parent’s money and status, and are not afraid to show it off. Preps always drove the nicest cars and wore the popular name brands that most people could not afford. The prep girls have always been with the Polo boys, like super glue to paper. Money attracts money. Polo parents teach these kids that money groups stick to their kind, if you do not have the money-status; you are not invited into the group. Chris counted five prep girls, each one wearing the same Alligator emblem, stitched on their plaid shirts, or white running shoes. The girls all dressed the same, just like their boring mothers, bright, conservative, and bob hairstyles to match.

The clean-cut, all-American Polo boys lived up to their names, never leaving the home without wearing that emblem, a stitched little man swinging an oversized polo stick while riding a faceless horse. The Polo boys and Lacoste girls wore brand names for the world to acknowledge their status. Chris recognized one of the prep girls; her name is Alice, a regular customer that buys every other week from him. She was talking to the tall prep, the one that had invited him to this party for the free hash. Both men made eye contact before looking away in opposite directions. Chris knew better than to approach a customer. The silent rule must be respected; drug dealers do not converse with customers in public unless approached first by the customer. Together, this group is known as the preps, the money circle. He continued to scan the party for more of his regulars. At the opposite end of the house, another popular group from high school was spending time together in their own little circle. Like the preps, Guido’s and Guidette’s, never socialized with anyone outside their circle.

This group is slicker than the rest of them here. The Guidettes looked like mini clones of that young and fresh POP singer, Madonna. Each teenage girl wore the same large circus hoops for earrings, tight short skirts, and tight spandex pants. One of the dancing Guidette’s wore a black tee-shirt that claimed in big white letters, ITALIANS DO IT BEST. She also had on the shortest skirt in the house, and her teased hairstyle added about two feet to her height, being held up by the same Aqua net Hairspray the Guidos would use. An enormous silver cross without a Jesus in the middle was bouncing up and down in between her large breasts. Chris felt creepy staring at her breasts for so long, even though it was only a few seconds. He bashfully turned his eyes away from her and looked towards the DJ. The house DJ held one turntable to a full stop, while his other hand lets the record play on the other turntable until both beats were timed perfectly together. Then he released the mixed sound to the crowd.

I’ll be all you ever need, satisfaction guaranteed, if you give me half a chance, I’ll rock your world, - Trinere

This slick group paid attention to the new sound and jumped up to dance. Chris watched the long-haired Guidos and the Madonna clones start a disco line up, dancing together side to side. All together now, one step forward, one step back, two steps to the left, one step to the right, and clap, then repeat all steps. Chris stared at the two dancing Guidos, leading the rest of the pack, he couldn’t tell them apart from each other. These two could pass as identical twins there was no way of telling them apart. Identical hairstyles both have long blonde hair, hanging down their faces, past their chins, hair that reached the middle of their backs. The twins are wearing matching outfits, tight acid-washed jeans, and tight white t-shirts to match. The dancing Guidos behind the twins are draped from head to toe, red, white, and green. The labels Diadora or Kappa, printed on their sleeves and backs. Two of the dancing Guidos, are built like steroid-dimpled teenagers, huge and muscled, looked unnatural for their age. Each Guido had a proud Jesus chain hanging around their necks, swinging from side to side as they danced. Chris stared at the slick group, dancing in sync. He thought of the movie, Saturday Night Fever, only this was a live performance. When the song was nearly over, the house DJ mixed the music again.

"My name is Joseph little, but my middle name’s Lord and when I’m rocking on the mic, you should all applaud."-Run DMC

The slick group suddenly stopped dancing and went back to their circle. This fresh sound was not up to their tastes. It did not matter. The dark brothers jumped up and took over the dancing; the brothers created a small circle in the middle of the house, snapping their fingers in the air and cheering him on. One brother danced his way into the middle of the circle and started doing backflips, and hand spins on the spot. He was showing off the latest break-dancing moves to his Kangol hat-wearing friends. His friends were snapping their fingers high in the air, while cheering him on, Go, go, go. The backflips and outrageous hand spin were cool to watch, but Chris had to get rid of this hash. Then he heard a familiar voice arguing loudly behind him.

Dude, are you fucking crazy? Zeppelin is way better than Floyd! When Chris turned around, he recognized the familiar voice, a regular buyer of his. Wearing his usual Led Zeppelin tee-shirt, (this regular has been wearing the same tee-shirt every day for the past four years). The once-a-week customer was arguing with another rocker who was wearing a Pink Floyd tee-shirt. The regular, and his Pink Floyd friend, would surely buy a gram or two on the spot. Chris also recognized six candy red apple jackets, with the oversized word GOON stitched in big white letters on the back of each jacket. They hovered around the party like six hungry vultures circling for prey. He hated those assholes and avoided them as much as possible, especially their crazy leader, Jay.

Before Chris could finish his thought, a Goth girl that always wore black from head to toe came out of nowhere and stood directly in front of him, interrupting his thoughts and blocking his view. She stood nervously, folding her small hands together by her small waist, before reconnecting them again behind her back. Chris noticed her nails, lips, and running shoes were painted midnight black. She looked over her shoulder, as though confirming something with her Goth-looking friends. They were anxiously watching over her, one of them was laughing and pointing at Chris.

Her childish eyes focused on Chris again, she was struggling to find enough courage to ask a question, without the initial greeting of hello, or excuse me, behind a timid smile, her soft voice asked, "Do you have a gram of hash" The question finally came out, like a cat after a meow, her thin lips stayed slightly parted, which made her thin lips disappear, and her face appeared younger. She returned her shy face to her black sneakers, avoiding his eyes again. Chris thought about it before answering. She never spoke a word to him for four years. Why would it change now? He asked himself, but he had to get rid of this hash. This was not the time to play favorites

Yeah, sure give me a ten! Bluntly asking this one time customer for the money, more annoyed at this girl every second she is standing in front of him, her judgmental, self-righteousness was oozing out of her pores. Her feline features and that sneaky shyness reminded him of that skinny black-and-white cat that would meow from time to time outside his bedroom window. It would not have been so bad, but the other neighborhood strays would join in, and the feline maestro would lead an orchestra of horrible meows until the early morning.

She lifted her eyes away from her sneakers and fished out a crumpled ten-dollar bill from her small hand. Besides the usual dealer and buyer chit-chat, there was nothing else to talk about. She quickly picked up her ten-dollar gram and left the crumpled ten-dollar bill in its place. Clutching her freshly sliced hash in her small hand, making a tight fist around it, she proudly turned around, and walked away without the traditional thanks or goodbye, as if to say, I told you I could do it.

Chris watched her zigzag through the crowd and back to her friends. They were trying to peek here and there to find her. The same cat-like friend that just left him, was now talking to the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life, an unfamiliar face in this familiar crowd.

I told you I could do it, she proudly told her beautiful friend. Both girls were giggling.

Chris stared at this beautiful girl; her genuine beauty would stick out in any of these circles. Any mother of a son would proudly say, She is so beautiful, you just have to marry her!

She caught him staring and gave him a friendly up and down look, an inviting smile behind her eyes, which dared him to say something. Chris felt embarrassed and quickly shifted his eyes and bashful face towards the ground. His usually pale face became instantly red. Paul had mumbled something about making lots of money and taking over Jersey. Chris glanced at him once and then returned his attention to the girl. He could not remove his eyes from her flawless complexion and almond-shaped brown eyes. She caught him staring again, and this time smiled directly at him. Chris did not look away, lost in her beauty, lost in his lust. He stared at her smiling lips, touching her high cheekbones, which made her face even more goddess-like. She was dancing a few feet away, playing peek-a-boo eyes with him.

Chris, are you listening? Paul shouted over the music, and leaned over the table, waving his enormous hands in the air, in front of Chris’s face, as if, he was trying to slap at an invisible bee, more determined to annoy him for not listening earlier.

Yeah, I’m listening, Chris replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes towards Paul, with a half-smile that wanted to say, Fuck off, mate, annoyed at being snapped back into this worthless conversation. His eyes had a mind of their own and kept going back to this girl.

The time is now for us to make some actual money, getting out of this shithole once and for all. Fuck Mark, we don’t need him. You and I can take over this city. Paul was shouting over the music. He rambled on and on about his plan.

Chris had heard this story a million times before. This was the same story; every petty drug dealer had dreamed about in every movie.

Have you seen that girl before? Chris changed the subject for good. He pointed at the beauty with a nod of his head.

Paul leaned back against the plastic couch and gave an icy glare towards Chris, before looking at the girl. She caught his look but ignored his eyes.

I’ve never seen her before. She looks like a stuck-up snob, Paul answered, with a sarcastic tone behind his words. Taking the hint, Paul dropped the money plan. The girl was dancing further away, losing herself in the music, seductively moving her body to the rhythm, while her hips never stopped swaying, from side to side, to the beat. Paul had some fun ignoring him earlier. He knew Chris had always been shy around girls, let alone knew how to dance.

Go dance with her, Chris, Paul dared, with a wide grin that showed off his red freckles and broken front tooth. Chris considered dancing with her, but he had never danced in his life. Should he say some stupid line to get her attention? Should he just go up and try to dance with her? Maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe she has no interest in him at all. With each passing thought, he started becoming more nervous. His index fingers started fighting each other. His heart was beating faster against his chest, while his eyes searched around the room for nothing in particular.

A shiver of fear swept through his body as he looked towards the front door. Two seconds later, Jay, the star of this party, strutted through the front door, as if he owned the house. A bright spotlight shined on Jay when he was born and followed him around wherever he went. If there was a James Dean look-alike contest, Jay would win the prize and the girl handing it out. He was one of those rough boys, teenagers, and teachers talked about in every high school. A popular drug dealer with a conniving streak, he specialized in everything from cocaine to guns. Jay had it all. There was a heavy price to pay for his service. Most of the teachers were his customers, giving him nods and winks that meant, I need to see you later, or turning their blind eyes away whenever he was around. If you were lucky enough, you might get into the Goon clan or at least know one of them well enough to drop a name or two.

Chris felt paralyzed in his seat, keeping his eyes on Jay. He was eyeing the way Jay swaggered through the crowd, nodding hey to some and ignoring others, picking the greetings, thrown his way.

The Goons had waited for Jay, like the eleven disciples waiting for their Jesus to arrive. When he approached close enough, the gang of Goons toasted his name in the air with a cheer of excitement that exploded into, Jay! They cheered in sync. Jay pounded his chest with the Goon jackets and slammed high fives in the air with gorilla Mike. The two followed up with a brotherly hug. Once, the greetings had settled down, and the excitement was wearing off. Jay was nodding his head up and down to the music, scanning the room with his baby blues. He saw the new girl dancing with her friend, an unfamiliar girl he had never seen before in the area. He also spotted Chris, sitting directly across the room. Like all drug dealers, he hated other dealers, especially Chris. Jay would constantly rob him of drugs or money, and sometimes it was for no reason at all.

Their eyes met for a moment. Chris tried to play it off by looking the other way, hoping Jay did not see him.

Jay stared at him; a sly smirk crept across his long face. His long jaw widened, which made his chin look like a pointed elbow. He had Chris beaten from the moment he walked into this house party. He turned to gorilla Mike, second in charge of the Goon clan.

I scored some Columbian coke, pure white! he announced with excitement, behind the perfect dimples and the million-dollar Colgate smile.

Those two fucking losers, Chris and Paul, have been dealing hash all night to your customers. Mike answered back, over dramatically laughing louder than he had to, fully knowing Jay would start something with the two losers.

Jay let the dimples quickly disappear into an angry pout, his baby blue eyes squinting, ready to explode behind an icy stare. Let’s go deal with this shit. It’s been a while since that little fuck learned his place in life, Jay ordered, nodding his head towards Mike. Like a German soldier on a mission, Jay marched towards Chris. Two of the Goons rushed over and stood in front of Paul, folding their arms across their chests, staring down at him, as if they were daring him to make a move.

Yo... I hear you have black! Jay asked, his piercing blue eyes staring down at Chris. Chris slowly leaned back against the couch. The plastic underneath his thighs and behind his back made that annoying, plastic crumbling sound.

I-I-I have some h-hash, Chris stuttered his reply, secretly wishing there was a black hole behind him that would take him away from here. His mind started racing for a way to get out of this. His body felt like one big heartbeat after another, pounding against his chest, excitement and fear running around like two squirrels chasing each other in his empty stomach. Jay smiled at the obvious fear.

Give me whatever you have, you fucking punk! Jay demanded, staring down at him, not allowing Chris to look away.

Chris shifted his eyes from one smug face to the other. The Goons were glaring back at him, ready to pounce at any moment. Paul tried to have a better look and ducked his head in between the fat Goon and gorilla Mike standing over him.

The ugly goons were staring down at Paul with a sour look on their faces like they just eaten something bitter and were disgusted by it. Chris lifted his chin high and took a deep breath. He felt hopeless and trapped. He reluctantly reached into his pocket and dragged out a clear plastic bag, which had been anchored down by a thick brick of black hash. Three of the Guido’s were closely watching nearby, one slicker than the next, they were mumbling something to each other, as if waiting for something to happen. The three had walked over and stood behind Jay, starting a circle that had grown. One of the Guido’s pointed a finger at Chris and shouted, That guy, the hash guy.

He laughed like a wild hyena behind his words, before turning around and shouting to his friends, Hey, guys, come over here, there’s a fight, fight!

Chris was sweating all over. He knew this would not turn out well. It never has with Jay. He looked up at the evil grin staring down at him. What he did not see was the hatred Jay felt towards him. Before he could look away, Jay swiftly snatched the bag with his left hand, while his right hand slapped Chris hard across the face, leaving the initials JM on the right side of his cheek.

Three of the Goons lunged at Paul, not giving him a chance to help. They wrestled him to the floor, pinning his face and body against the ground. One of the three was exceptionally obese and jumped on his back, while the other two were punching and kicking Paul.

Jay was grunting like a wild beast, fighting like a trapped demon from hell. First, it was a solid right hook, which landed under the chin, followed by a hard-left cross, smacking the right side of Chris’s face. One punch after the other, both punches landed with blinking speed.

Chris rolled his head one way, his jaw painfully going the other way. It felt, like someone had just smashed his face in with a steel pole. He stumbled backward and forwards like a beaten drunk. He tried to say something, but instead of words, a fountain of blood dripped from his mouth.

What the fuck is wrong with you Jay yelled, before taking a step back and unleashing a hard-front kick that landed just under the ribs. Chris dropped his arms and crumbled to the floor like a dead weight.

Jay smiled down at his fallen victim, Get the fuck up, he demanded, while winding up with a tight fist, and letting it go. Chris saw the punch flying towards his face, and flinched before closing his eyes, silently praying the punch would evaporate in mid-air. Instead, the knockout punch threw him high in the air backward; he bounced off the couch and landed on the floor. Chris was sprawled out like a dead starfish; the darkness and pain had taken over his mind and body. Jay did not give him a chance to breathe and quickly followed up with another hard kick to the stomach, making sure there was nothing left in the boy. He then turned his attention towards the cheering crowd and posed like a victorious gladiator after a slaughter. A mocking grin spread across his face, his long arms extended high in the air, beckoning for the crowd to give him more. He yelled towards the cheers, Look at this loser, is this it? Is this all he has Jay asked the laughing crowd. There was an explosion of adrenaline behind his words. Pointing his open arms towards Chris, Come on, get up… get up, we’re not done! Jay taunted, loud enough for everyone watching to hear.

He charmed the crowd, mockingly bobbing his head to the left and right, shuffling his feet, moving like Mohammed Ali in his prime, smiling to the cheering crowd for approval.

Is this it? No... No... No… No... I don’t think so, waving his index finger in the air, right to left, left to right, with every no, smiling in a picturesque pose for the crowd to take notice. With a wink towards the crowd, he turned his attention back to his prey.

Chris was trying to regain some consciousness from that last hit. He crawled on his hands and knees back onto the couch, his body felt lifeless and numb, involuntarily twitching here and there from throbbing pain.

Jay sardonically smiled at his beaten victim. He knelt to the ground on one knee, lifted Chris by the hair, away from the couch, making sure their faces were only inches apart.

You think a piece of shit like you can come into this party and sell your bullshit! he yelled, pressing his thumb against Chris’s temple, squeezing as hard as he could before letting go. Jay stood up straight, lifted his right knee high in the air, and snapped a front kick, followed by a karate scream for the cheering crowd to hear. The kick was fast and accurate, hitting Chris square in the middle of his chest, easily bouncing his body off the couch and onto the floor again. Chris landed on the ground with a loud thud, curled up in a fetal position. He could barely open his eyes through the pain and watered tears. He closed his eyes and folded his arms around his head to block anything else Jay was throwing at him. Chris tried to take a deep breath; a pain suddenly seared through his body. The Unbearable pain felt like someone was trying to drill a baseball bat into his stomach, which made him want to throw up. He was gasping for air, his eyes squeamishly closed for good.

Paul was having a rough go on his own: The fat Goon pinned Paul to the ground, encouraging the rest of the Goons. Kick his face in! Break his ribs! He would say while bouncing up and down on his back. Paul was shouting threats and cursing at every punch and kick, that was hitting him. This only fuelled the Goons to hurt him more. He felt like his back was about to snap at any moment, scared that he would never walk again. Paul was slowly losing his strength to