THE HARD IS HARD: EMBRYO

By Payback

A nifty cast of characters that you'll soon root for or despise. A hard-body story of love, chance and betrayal. The shedding of innocence while dodging the urban pendulum of violence. The first hood book with the " Ill " Ill-ustrations: All the figment of the author's imagination. Beautifully woven to engross you. A masterfully spun ending that challenges the well read and practiced eye to foresee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781524571122

Book preview

THE HARD IS HARD

EMBRYO

Deceit, betrayal, love and the shedding of innocence

while dodging the urban pendulum of violence.

Payback

Wilfredo Guay Ruiz

Author

For my loving parents:

Carmen Gonzalez

Wilfredo Guay

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to:

Dave and Tric McCALLUM: For literally salvaging the final draft of this book from the trash, and along the way remaining humble about it.

To Ms. Elizabeth Martis: For your unrelenting push, and for helping me navigate through research and the electronic age we live in. For being my rock.

To The Brothers and Sisters Store in Yonkers.

Kool-T-Terry, Nell and the rest of the fam.

To my "Haters"

You are my kindle, the motivation that catapults and propels me. You ignite the fire of my pen.

 . . . That glimmer of doubt that flashed across your eyes as you sized up my potential: I saw it! I thank you.

To my siblings

Santos Ramos, Santos Ruiz-Gonzalez and Sara Garrabrant. You guys always knew I had an imagination. Isn’t it great I found a forum.

To Jeff and Jerrell White, all in the family don’t stop your strive.

Re: Open letter:

Honorable mention

Mr. FernandoMateo

Once upon a time you made a well documented

promise…

You believed in me, you gave me opportunity and

although life got in the way and almost led me astray, I finally came to believe in myself, as you once did.

Thank you for planting the seed.

Chalk this one up to the promise . . .

la promesa

Now I too have one to fulfill.

Wilfredo Guay Ruiz

Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die, life is like a broken- winged bird that can not fly…

Langston Hughes

Rest In Peace

Jenny Martis             Mom

Juan Garcia               Yah-Yah

Juan Garcia               B.C

Jose Ruiz Rivera       T-Bone

Emily Pinella            Baby

In your loving memory:

There is no talk of back in the day without mention of you all.

IN DA BELLY OF THE BEAST:

KEEP IT GULLY, KEEP YOUR HEAD UP. AT THIS

STAGE OF OUR LIVES WE GOTTA CREATE OUR

OWN OPPORTUNITIES. NO EXCUSES!

TO MY ADOPTIVE STATE OF NEW JERSEY

BRICK CITY: CAMDEN: JERSEY CITY AND

EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN.

RAHWAY, TRENTON.

CARMELO ORTIZ-MELO

WALIF SMITH

SEAN JONES-SU

SWAAZII

MARVIN 0 KHAN-SWURVE

PEDRO NUNEZ-TRAUMA

BENJAMIN SANCHEZ-BENJI

STEVEN VITIELLO

WILFREDO DEJESUS-ISO

JAMES COLLINS-DUTCH

GEORGE DATIL-HARD HEAD

ALEJANDRO WALKER-A ROCK

LATIN FLAVA- RAHWAY

MICHAEL RICO-CUZ’O

TIMOTHY-LOVELACE

CLINTON, COMSTOCK, ATTICA, AUBURN:

KEEP YOUR CHIN UP

BEHIND THE WALL PRODUCTIONS ®

Copyright © 2011 by PAYBACK. 85841-RUIZ

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011902434

ISBN:   Softcover    978-1-4568-6992-2

             Hardcover   978-1-4568-6993-9

            Ebook          978-1-5245-7112-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

Contents

Chapter One - Carmen

Chapter Two - Bless and T-Bone

Chapter Three - Yah-YahMeetsCarmen

Chapter Four - Put It in the air

Chapter Five - Flashback from Yah-Yah’s point of view (One)

Chapter Six6

Chapter Seven - Flashbackfrom Yah-Yah’s point of view (Two)

Chapter Eight - The Induction

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve - Killing Time108

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen - The S.H.U. Yard (Special Housing Unit)134

Chapter Fifteen - El Coqui

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen - Hospital

"THE

HARD

IS

HARD"

EMBRYO

Chapter

One.

Carmen

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THE HARD IS HARD

EMBRYO

The small wooden crucifix tacked on the bathroom door swung to and fro with every pound of Jenny’s fist against the faux wood door. It reflected the emotional roller coaster surging through Jenny’s veins.

For the love of God open this door, she shouted.

"How could you do this to us? You bring shame to our house, and you embarrass us. After everything that your father and I have sacrificed for you, to give you a better life. Abre la puerta, open this door!"

Carmen ignored her mother as exhaustion held her fast to the cold bathroom floor. The bathroom was small, and now it felt as though it cocooned her. Hugging the toilet, her face hovered above the toilet rim, like a picture in an oval porcelain frame. Her hair cascaded over the sides, casting an eerie appearance in contrast to the otherwise tidy powder blue and white bathroom decor. Amid the emanating stench of vomit, her bloodshot eyes, the occasional salt from her sweat, and tears that danced on her lips, she defied the din to make sense of her mother’s wrath.

Snapping out of her exhaustive stupor, with labored effort she rose to open the door. All the while she thought to herself how her mother could take any situation, apply her religious fervor, and make herself the victim. Carmen unlocked the door and avoided her mother’s piercing eyes, looked downward, and clumsily scooted past her. She made her way into the living room and hastily plopped herself onto the sofa. The room and its furnishings were contemporary but with only a single table lamp on; the shadows were deep in the corners, uninviting compared to fond memories of even days ago. Her father, a tall lanky man of skin of light dun hue, stood silent with his hands buried deep into his pants pockets. He was framed by a large window behind him. Jenny, his wife of nineteen years, positioned herself beside him, both facing Carmen. They had a pinched look about them; their obvious anger distorting an otherwise handsome couple. Four years his junior, Jenny was a petite woman whose long black hair, milky white complexion, and conservative dress complemented her husband Luis. Carmen finally looked up at her parents but words failed her.

The remaining daylight made a silhouette outlining her parents. The translucent white curtains billowed with the breeze and made for a scene, like two thespian characters standing before a London fog. The benefits of having been a couple for so long provided for nonverbal communication. As though by mental telepathy, Jenny glanced at her husband Luis and spoke his sentiments exactly, with conviction and authority.

You’re pregnant at seventeen; you are a child yourself and certainly don’t govern yourself. We raised you to be a devout Christian, but obviously that means nothing to you. We are not going to terminate your pregnancy, but tomorrow we’re going to St. Peter’s on Riverdale, and Father Anthony will advise us on adoption options. The only alternative that you have, she continued, inching closer, is to complete your education through college and become someone of moral and social standing. We expect nothing less from you.

But Ma, Carmen ventured.

But Ma, nothing. Jenny scolded. Your father will deal with the boy and his parents.

Carmen peeked at her father and although through her tears his face was out of focus, she knew that his eyes were kinder toward her, but to no avail. He didn’t interject. The decision was made and obviously he concurred. The entire ordeal since being sent home by the school nurse had taken its toll on Carmen. Her energy was zapped, and all that she could muster was slumped shoulders. She raised slowly, half expecting an objection but none came, so she continued toward her bedroom. Like an outer body experience, she couldn’t feel her own movement and somehow had a bird’s-eye view of herself negotiating her way toward her bedroom. She was numb, her shoulders heavy with shame.

From her closed bedroom door, Carmen could hear faint pitter-patter of hurried movement about the apartment. The phone rang constantly that evening. Spanish was spoken in short bursts of energy; undoubtedly, Father Anthony giving confirmation and words of wisdom over the phone to her mother. Assuring her that, You’re doing the right thing. Her mother, always dramatic, would probably be crying.

Carmen’s room was completely dark except for the green glow of her clock radio. The light magnified as it reflected off of the three angled mirrors of her vanity. Although it was October, she felt humidity and smelled the dank cement sidewalk below, carried by the unusual Indian summer air wafting through her partially opened window. It seemed like only yesterday that she had celebrated her Quinceañera—sweet fifteen birthday party. All was promising and possible then but now seemed like phantom clouds above her, aloof, fleeting beyond her grasp.

Her parents had enrolled her into Sacred Heart Private High School to avoid, they reasoned, the bad influence of those attending the local public Yonkers High School. They lived on the Yonkers and the Hastings on the Hudson borderline. Their modest tenement building faced the New Jersey Palisades along the picturesque Hudson River, but to Carmen, the view was now solemn. She predicted that soon it would be but a memory.

Her eyes were puffy from stress and heavy with sleep, but she fought it. Her mind was racing and preoccupied with the events that would unfold in the morning if she didn’t do something to circumvent it from happening. Father Anthony would not side with her or understand her plight. He would be more inclined to pacify her parents. Her parents could not understand or see her confusion and pain, Carmen thought. Her mother could not see beyond her religious belief. They were more concerned with the religious community and their reputation as righteous parents. Because of their narrow views, she found it difficult to confide in them

and confess.

Divulging how the child was conceived would cause havoc and further alienate the child’s chances of being accepted. Carmen regretted ever having sneaked out of the house to go to Skate Key with her friend, the night the child was conceived. Somehow she would save this child despite the consequences or who the child’s father was. Her mind in turmoil, she brainstormed for ideas and allowed her mind to drift in thought.

The Valentine taxicab cut through the night fog. The loose change in the cab’s ashtray rattled in sync with every pothole on the road. It came to a stop at a red light at the foot of a hill on Warburton Avenue. The hill lead to Pine Street where the infamous David Berkowitz, the Forty-four Caliber Killer, later known as the Son of Sam, lived quietly during the time when he reigned terror on New York City. From this point on, Warburton took a turn for the worse and was more dilapidated. Just one block before Warburton becomes Riverdale Avenue; the taxi made a right turn onto Larking Plaza and gunned the engine toward the Metro North train station that ran parallel to the Hudson River. Reaching the station, Carmen, all wide-eyed, fumbled through a fist of crumpled bills and paid her fare. Upon seeing her exit the cab, the few prostitutes who spied her made an about face when it became clear to them that Carmen was no John.

At two in the morning, Carmen was out of her element with approximately three hundred dollars to her name; she knew that she had reached the point of no return. The night was quiet except for the faint music drifting onto the train’s platform from the small Latin club on the plaza. She had been on this train before but those were happier times with her friend Lisa-Lee, on their way to shop at the predominant Dominican neighborhood of Washington Heights in Manhattan. Lisa’s parents were just as strict as Carmen’s parents, and they would certainly look for her at Lisa’s house first. Carmen was too embarrassed to go to Lisa for help. It was Lisa who had warned her not to go to Skate Key with their mutual friend because of her reputation outside of their school. It would turn out to be a fateful night.

Carmen exited the desolate train station and found herself on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard with no particular plan other than to find safe shelter for the night. She walked briskly past a group of young black teenagers who were blasting their boom box, and avoided eye contact. The vehicle traffic increased as she walked toward the intersection. Reaching the small Macomb’s Dam Bridge on the other side, she could see Yankee Stadium. She stood there pondering whether she should cross the bridge toward the stadium or cross the street and up the steep hill of 155th Street toward Amsterdam Avenue. She was undecided because the area seemed different at this time of night. She began mumbling and questioning herself as to which way she should go, when she got startled by the loud honk of a car horn. Her heart skipped a beat. She turned and glared at the driver of the approaching steel blue Lincoln Continental.

The car came to a stop as the passenger side window lowered and the driver offered, Taxi.

Without giving it much thought, Carmen jumped in and uttered, Hotel.

Unbeknownst to Carmen though, once the taxi crossed the Macomb’s Dam Bridge it had entered the borough of the Bronx from Manhattan.

The taxi stopped in front of a cheap hotel on Grand Concourse, between Field Place and 183rd.

The driver sensed her distress and eliminated the possibility that she was a prostitute and offered, There’s another hotel at the foot of Fordham Road, but this place is probably less expensive.

Upon entering the hotel, Carmen noticed the security camera pointing directly at the entrance and at her. The hotel clerk greeted Carmen with the hospitality of a Rikers Island intake officer. The clerk, a black woman in her forties, seemed crammed into a large broom closet. The Plexiglas she spoke through was as thick as those one would find at any city check cashing place.

One room left, she began. "No traffic, no visitors, twenty-five dollars for one hour and sixty-five dollars for overnight. Got it—understand—comprende? What’ll it be?"

Overnight, Carmen responded at a whisper.

What! Speak up, child, I can’t hear you, the clerk retorted impatiently.

Carmen, too exhausted, didn’t want to repeat herself and instead opted to simply shove sixty-five dollars through the open slot.

Oh, we ain’t gotta talk, honey, the clerk said sarcastically.

I understand the ka-ching language too. Sign here, room 219, second floor, and dropped the room’s key through the slot.

The room had one foot of space on each side of the bed and the walls. The television was crudely bolted down on a wall mount and was missing buttons. The rug was flat from the wear and tear of pacing crackheads and peppered with its share of cigarette burns, as did the night table at the foot of the bed. Carmen’s reality hit her hard. Coupled with the dingy green color of the room, it was all too saddening and too depressing to absorb for one night. Tears began to swell up in her eyes. She bolted the door, clicked off the light, and didn’t dare venture into the bathroom. The mattress had lost its spring long ago and had seen better days. Although lumpy, it would serve its purpose for the night. In the darkness huddled on the bed, she could hear people pacing relentlessly in the room above her and someone arguing in the room beside hers. In the distance, she heard the faint sound of fire trucks piercing the silence of the night. She let out an uncontrollable sob. With each heaving sob, she inhaled the stale smell of cigarettes and the cheap disinfectant that did poorly at masking the odors. Finally, she fell asleep.

Nausea woke her at 10:00 a.m.; she sat up abruptly collecting her thoughts and remembered where she was at. She looked around and thought how the room looked worse in the daylight. An empty feeling loomed over her again. Before depression took hold of her again, she quickly showered and made sure to avoid contact with the shower curtain or the walls. The morning sickness wasn’t too bad this morning and despite her woes she awoke with an appetite. She quickly dressed, mused with her hair a bit in the mirror, smoothed her blouse, and headed out of the room. In the hallway, she brushed by two scantily clad Hispanic women who were arguing over money.

At the desk there was a different, more hospitable clerk.

Carmen slid the key into the slot and was about to turn when the clerk asked, Don’t you want your money?

The clerk then slid Carmen five dollars and said, Key deposit.

Carmen smiled humbly as she took the money and left.

A huge security guard who was stationed outside of the booth spoke to no one in particular, while nodding in the direction that Carmen had exited from, said, A new ho, huh? and started laughing at his own attempt of a joke and prediction of Carmen’s fate.

*       *       *

Chapter Two.

Bless and

T-Bone

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Yo, Bless, let me holla at you, baby pop!

Bless looked up from the basketball courts to see his homeboy T-Bone standing by the bleachers. They grew up together in the same Bronx neighborhood and often, when one didn’t see the other for weeks at a time, it was usually because one or the other was locked up. They did a few skid bids together at Rikers Island and always had each other’s back. Their motto was, when you’re right you’re right, and when you’re wrong you’re right; however, they extended that love and credo to no one else. They first met at Spofford Juvenile Detention Center in the Bronx, but their friendship didn’t really develop there. Their individual strong personalities wouldn’t allow it—like two positive magnets facing each other in opposition. Ty Bonner, T-Bone, was fifteen years old. A year older than Angel Ruiz, but both were very mature for their age and certainly looked older than they actually were.

T-Bone was sent to Spofford for beating the piss out of some unfortunate kid and taking his sheepskin coat. The arresting officer, it turned out, was the kid’s dad and only T-Bone’s age saved him from a severe ass whipping. Bless was at Spofford for stabbing twice in the ass, a graffiti artist whose moniker tag was postman. Bless