The Jersey Wars

By The Cunning Linguist

While strolling around Downtown Newark, NJ one Saturday afternoon, Jason Centerville is brutally attacked by a couple of stick-up kids. On the verge of dying, he reflects back to a time when life was VERY different for him. Can a notorious lifelong criminal find redemption while on the verge of death?

Follow him through the events which make him question everything he's ever known, all while in the midst of a bloody battle with The Mafia for control of New Jersey's streets. Follow him through family loyalty.... and family betrayal. Follow him through.... THE JERSEY WARS!

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Cunning Linguist
• Release date: Nov 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386541783

The Cunning Linguist

Born and raised in Newark, N.J., The Cunning Linguist grew up as an avid reader. Encyclopedia Brown, The Hardy Boys, and Nancy Drew were just some of the characters that expanded his childhood imagination. All of writings use his hometown and its surrounding municipalities as the setting. He uses actual locales and landmarks to convey a sense of familiarity with his city and looks to portray Newark as more than just a murder show for the media. The Cunning Linguist is the father of 2 (son & daughter), a die-hard NY Giants and LA Lakers fan, and is currently hard at work writing FIVE novels simultaneously.

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Also available from The Cunning Linguist:

30 Stories To Tell

The Hands Of Time

Drowning In The Darkness Of My Mind

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Copyright © 2017

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

Printed in the United States of America by

No Stems No Seeds Publishing

Newark, NJ 07108

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Jersey Wars

The Garden State Syndicate

Prologue – Walk Like A Boss: | April 2013

Chapter 1 – Back In The Day: | April 1988

Chapter 2 – An Offer You Can’t Refuse: | April 1988

Chapter 3 – Death From Above: | June 1988

Chapter 4 – The Ghost & Killa Crazy: | July 1988

Chapter 5 – The War Is On: | July 1988

Chapter 6 – Stepping Out: | August 1988

Chapter 7 – Blowing Up In The World: | October 1988

Chapter 8 – Fire & Brimstone: | November 1988

Chapter 9 – Down & Out: | November 1988

Chapter 10 – Burning Bridges: | November 1988

Chapter 11 – Going Solo: | January 1989

Chapter 12 – Answers: | April 1989

Chapter 13 – A Blast From The Past: | July 2013

Epilogue

About the Author

This book was written for my niggas. I’m not going to name you individually because you should already know who you are by your characters in this story. True love never dies if it’s genuine, and unlike the Dame ass niggas of this world, y’all have either fed me, drank with me, smoked with me, or have just been there when I’ve needed you and have never snaked me. In this day and age that’s not only a rarity, it’s a fucking miracle. I love y’all niggas, let’s eat off of this plate together. This book is also dedicated to the newest member of the E.P.I.C./Stone’s House Family, James W. Lewis Jr. A.K.A. Bash-Man. Get ready to represent young man! YUUUUUUMM!

This novel is also dedicated to my little brother Mubarak, B.K.A. Big Poob. I know that you were reading over my shoulder as I wrote this, hopefully the end result didn’t disappoint. I love you big homie, rest in paradise.

The Cunning Linguist

The Garden State Syndicate 

North Jersey - (Newark)

Central Jersey - (Trenton)

South Jersey - (Camden)

The Shore - (Seaside Heights)

North Jersey

Don Jason Dennis Centerville (JDC)

Consigliere Deantre Harris Stone (Tre)

Capo Dante Stone (Lil D)

Capo Wilson Hampton Stone (Dunna)

Capo Marcus Adams (Mark)

Hammer Jamison Wendell Levins

(KC -Killa Crazy-)

Hammer Darrien Christiansen (Ghost)

Central Jersey

Don Rajohn Bowens (Rah)

Consigliere Rick Taracho (Ray Squared)

Capo Juan Morales (Rico)

Capo Antoine Waters (Ant)

Capo Khalif Hamilton (Cal)

Hammer Kelly Jones (Kels)

Hammer Aaron Paco (A-Poc)

South Jersey

Don Earl McLinden (Big E)

Consigliere Lewis Randle (Regula Lew)

Capo Walter Eizel (Weez)

Capo Tristan Martin (T-Mart)

Capo Joseph Allen (JoJo)

Hammer Jamell McLinden (Mell)

Hammer Richard Ferris (Big Dick)

The Shore

Don Paul Costanzo (Paulie)

Consigliere Peter Costanzo (Petey)

Capo Salvatore Rossi (Sally)

Capo Domenico Rossi (Dom)

Capo Geovanni Rossi (Geo)

Hammer Carmine Costanzo (Cece)

Hammer Arturo Conti (Artey)

The Commission

Frank Morelli (Don of Southeastern and Southern U.S.A.)

Tony Andruzzi (Don of Southwestern and Pacific U.S.A.)

Angela B.K.A. Angie Fraschetti

(Don of Pacific-Northwest and Northern U.S.A.)

Tommy Marconi

(Don of New England and Central U.S.A.)

Vincenzo Ditta

(Don of Northeastern U.S.A.; The Boss Of All Bosses)

Prologue – Walk Like A Boss:

April 2013

For a big man, Jason Centerville walked with a graceful calm like he was strolling through a garden smelling roses. At 52 years old, 5'11", and 310lbs, Mr. Centerville possessed the vitality of a man half his age.

Not wanting to fall victim to some sort of cardiovascular dysfunction, Mr. Centerville had adopted a strict exercise regimen that few people would be able to follow: Monday, Wednesday & Friday he did a fifteen mile bike ride through the Central Ward, Tuesday & Thursday were the days for a three mile swim (two hundred sixteen laps) at the twenty-five yard long YMWCA swimming pool in downtown Newark, NJ, Saturday presented a leisurely stroll around Downtown Newark while shopping, and Sunday was rest.

Six months earlier and 70 lbs. heavier, Mr. Centerville had been told by his cardiologist that if he didn't lose some weight and modify his diet his heart would surely quit on him. Since then Mr. C., as the neighborhood kids affectionately called him, got his workout on and hadn't looked back.

As he walked around Downtown Newark on this particular Saturday, Mr. C. checked out the bootleggers hawking the latest theater releases. Had this have been the old days, he would've been controlling all of their action. He slightly wondered just how much these guys (and girls) were pulling in from selling all of the up to date musical efforts of Rick Ross, Lil Wayne and Mary J. Blige, as well as the new theatrical releases Pain & Gain, Scary Movie 5 and Oblivion at reasonable hood prices. Mr. C. imagined it to be a pretty sweet score being as though CDs and movie theaters were so fucking expensive nowadays.

Nonetheless he didn’t allow his mind to wander about such petty schemes. He had been retired from the life for twenty-four years and he intended to stay that way. He had amassed millions of illegal dollars by way of the hustle, and the fact that he was still alive after The Jersey Wars only enabled his belief that God Almighty Him/Herself was personally looking out for him.

Mr. C. didn't think about the life anymore because it slightly depressed him, so many friendships lost, so much money wasted, all in the name of war. He thought about Tre and Dunna and KC and Ghost, all of his comrades who were down to die with him, and for him.

So much senselessness that he wished he had the car from Back To The Future so that he could go back in time and try to talk some sense into the heads of his younger self and friends. With all of the money that he had, too bad he couldn't buy it.

As Mr. C. continued walking up West Market Street toward Essex County College, he stopped at another bootlegger's stand in front of the Modell’s Sporting Goods store since he saw that the guy (or girl, hard to tell these days) had bootleg DVDs for children. His cousin's granddaughter Sara was only 3 years old and he enjoyed spoiling her immensely. Since he had no children of his own, he took every opportunity to monetarily put a smile on the little girl's face.

As he was looking through the various kiddie movies, two masked men appeared from around the corner on Halsey Street. One of them was holding a sawed off 12-gauge pump action shotgun while the smaller one had a gigantic Rambo knife that looked as though it could peel potatoes from five miles away. Wow, Mr. C. thought, stickups in broad daylight. What is this world coming to? These kids have no fucking respect....

Come up off that gwap big man ‘fore I bust your fuckin’ head open ya heard?! Shotgun yelled at him while spraying a fine mist of spit in his face.

Alright young man, there’s no need to get crazy, Mr. C. calmly replied. You have the balls to rob someone in broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon in Downtown Newark?! You’ve earned this buck like a mu’fucka, I respect your hustle boy.

Mr. C. noticed that Shotgun handled himself smoothly as though he were a stickup vet, while Rambo Knife was a bit antsy and nervous.

Hurry the fuck up old man, Rambo Knife yelled at him. Don't make me stick your fat ass out here!

Mr. C. looked into Rambo Knife's eyes and saw the bitch in his soul. Fucking kids nowadays, he thought to himself. No fucking heart either.....

Fuck you nigga! Rambo Knife yelled as if he had heard the thought and proceeded to repeatedly bury the knife in Mr. C.'s neck and chest up to the hilt. Mr. C. didn't immediately feel any pain due to being in shock that the little nigga actually had the nerve to stab him. Once Rambo Knife finished, Mr. C. couldn't feel his legs anymore and collapsed onto the sidewalk.

The stickup kids ran back around the same corner from which they came without having gotten any money and the whole thing from beginning to end took about forty-five seconds.

As Mr. C. lay looking up at the sunny Newark, NJ sky, he couldn't help but to chuckle at the irony of life. During his criminal career he’d managed to survive a car bombing attempt, numerous mis-aimed bullets and other potentially fatal circumstances only to be stuck like glue on the same streets that he once controlled.

Aye Dios Mio! an elderly Puerto Rican woman screamed as she knelt down and took Mr. C.'s right hand in her own, not seeming too concerned about AIDS or any other blood -borne diseases.

Somebody call 911! the woman yelled out in English as she then closed her eyes and began to speak rapid fire Spanish in a way that Mr. C. assumed that the woman was praying for him. The way those Spanish words rolled off of the woman's tongue sounded like music to his ears.

He had done plenty of