From Dollars to Senses Down in New Orleans

By Jose L. Matamoros

The journey of Cuttie started early back in New Orleans, when he witnessed countless murders, drug deals, lots of money laundering, and corrupt police and politicians. Cuttie never expected the things that life threw at him while he was trying to get revenge on the kingpin of New Orleans but found bullets flying toward his life.

After the revenge was best served cold, Cuttie started to become the person he didn't want to become. He found himself caught up in the corrupt lifestyle of drugs, extortion, sex, money, and nonstop violence. He knew what was going to happen to him, and he knew he needed change, but life threw the last curveball his way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887934815

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From Dollars to Senses Down in New Orleans

Jose L. Matamoros

Copyright © 2023 Jose L. Matamoros

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88793-482-2 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88793-481-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Special Note

About the Author

Introduction

This is a fiction book with some real graphic incidents in one of the most beautiful and famous cities in the world, New Orleans. It's the lead city in the entire United States in homicide and police corruption.

The city is infected with all types of high crimes (drug dealing, armed robberies, homicides, aggravated assaults, police briberies, prostitution, racketeering, and police corruption. To say the least, the city is now run by high rollers, drug dealers, and corrupt police officials under the drug dealer's payroll.

Men without scrupulousness decide to make their dirty blood money at any cost and by any means necessary—even if they have to assassinate in cold blood their own family and best friends. It is a life of big lies and betrayals.

Bentley Cuttie Johnson, the biggest king pin in the whole state of Louisiana, was set up by his own cousin and indicted by the feds, facing seven life sentences for conspiracy, possession, manufactory, delivery of illicit drugs, three accounts of first-degree murders, and violation of the RICO laws. But while incarcerated, Cuttie found God/Jesus Christ, and he rededicated his life to Jesus and his life was miraculously transformed after a few day behind bars.

Mr. Bentley Johnson, AKA Cuttie, now called Reverend Johnson, was released from the New Orleans County Jail because God's intervention, and he dedicated his entire life to tell the world what Jesus Christ had done in his life.

Chapter 1

Reverend Fred Johnson, a native of New Orleans, Louisiana, was a tall light-skinned African American man. In his forties, Reverend Johnson had achieved many great things in his short life. He graduated from Tulane University with a PhD in ministry and married a very beautiful thirty-seven-year-old Linda Johnson, a high school teacher in the New Orleans public school. They had seven small kids, and the oldest was Bentley, a seventeen-year-old young man.

Bentley was tall like his father and very smart like both of his parents. He was very handsome, and his body was like a rock full of muscle for a seventeen-year-old young man. He was very well-mannered and well-dressed at all times. Bentley loved school and basketball and went to his father's church and praised the Lord Jesus Christ. He was very well-liked by everyone who knew him for his wonderful smile and respect for others. He was Reverend Johnson's pride and joy, and he adored his father. He also was very close to his sister Jackie, who was sixteen years old. She was very beautiful with the body of a twenty-year-old woman. She was light-skinned with an ample amount of behind and chest, fine lips, thick eyebrows, and long black hair like their mother.

Reverend Johnson was the head pastor of the Assembly of God Baptist Church and was very well-known in the whole community of New Orleans and the surrounding areas for his tremendous effort to clean the city streets of all types of horrible crimes. Reverend Johnson was the founder and leader of a citywide group called the Vigilantes. Reverend Johnson started this organization two years prior to his violent death, and he was very successful in his goal.

One Saturday evening, Reverend Johnson was coming back from a big party that the NOPD did for him for his wonderful help. Reverend Johnson and his Vigilantes followers were able to achieve in those two years what the NOPD wasn't able to do in their lifetime. Families were able to sit outside their homes and relax, and the kids were able to play outside in the streets in the ghetto for the first time in many years. Hardworking people loved the reverend and his followers. Finally, someone was standing up against the city scum and keeping them out of the neighborhood. Reverend Johnson was the talk of the entire city. Some people applauded him and congratulated him for the wonderful job, but many others hated him and would give anything to see him dead.

After the big dinner and having received a medallion from the New Orleans mayor, Mr. Joseph Williams, as a leader of the year, Reverend Johnson departed for his precious house to share his happiness with his adorable family. But Reverend Johnson never expected that one of the most feared and wanted drug dealers of the city was waiting for his arrival at home.

A few days before the big dinner for Reverend Johnson, a few of the most cruel and feared drug dealers were discussing about how to kill the man who became their worst enemy.

Danny Trouble Williams made a few phone calls from an untraceable phone. He dialed the number of his best friend Mike (Fat Mike). Yo, dog, it's me, man. I need to talk to you and your man Shorty as soon as possible, man.

Fat Mike knew that when these calls were made by Trouble, they meant business. He knew something very important needed to be discussed in person and not over the phone. But he was busy at the present time with his gorgeous, dark-skinned, well-proportioned girlfriend. She was ready for him in bed totally naked right after a nice warm shower. He had been drinking champagne, Dom Perignon, with her and snorting a great quality of Colombia cocaine. So he asked Trouble, Yo, can it wait for later, man? I am kind of busy right now taking care of some unfinished business with Vickie. If you know what I mean. Besides, Shorty is taking care of some important business on the other side of the river.

Trouble was very silent on the other side of the line, thinking, I love this cat, but he always puts women before business. I'm getting tired of his bullshit. One of these days, he will betray me for a damn woman, but before that, I have to get rid of him.

So Trouble said to Fat Mike, Yo, bro. Lately you have been acting funny, dog. Every time that I call you, you are up to something, dog. I want you to page Shorty and meet me at Netta's home right away. And Trouble hung up the phone.

Fat Mike was cruel and very big with a big scar on his ugly face. He was over six-five tall and weighed 350 pounds. After Trouble hung up the phone, Fat Mike was deep in thought. Who the hell this nigger think he is? I am tired of him always treating me like his boy. One of these days, I will get rid of him. Before I get rid of him, I need to find the right opportunity and blow his brains off.

He was brought back to reality by the sweet voice of Vicky. Daddy, what are you doing? Who was on the phone now? Are you going to take care of business or what? Who was that, your boss Trouble, ah? Come on, yo, I'm ready and horny.

Fat Mike went off on her. Look, bitch, I never want you to repeat it again that I have any boss. I am my own damn boss! And he slapped her across her face so hard that she flipped over to the other side of the big king-size bed to the carpeted floor.

She was bleeding a lot from her mouth and was in much pain. Her face was swelling right away. He went after her in rage and grabbed her by her long black hair and started beating her like a mad dog and at the same time telling her that no one—absolutely no one—could even be his boss.

She was begging for her life. Daddy, Daddy, I love you! Please forgive me. I didn't mean it that way.

But he wasn't listening to her. He was very high on cocaine and had lost his mind. By the time he was finished with her, she had broken ribs and many other bones from all the great kicks from Fat Mike's boots, and she was bleeding from her mouth, nose, and eyebrows.

He took her to the shower and forced her to take a cold shower and clean up. Then he ordered her to get dressed and to go to the hospital and to be careful to say anything about him. He said, Look, bitch, you had it coming, and if you betray me, you know that it will be much worse than that. You must be out of your mind talking to me that way. Yo, you're lucky that you're alive.

At the same time, Vicky was thinking, One of these days, I will make you pay, mother fucker. Vicky could hardly move, but she knew that if she would complain or not get out of there and go to the hospital herself, she would be in bigger trouble. She knew how cruel Fat Mike could be. She had seen him in action with men in the past, and the memory was still vivid in her mind. He had killed a few big guys in her presence with his bare hands for stupid things, just to prove to Trouble and the guys that he was tough, but deep inside, he had great respect for Trouble. Trouble showed him more than twice that he was even crueler than each one of them. They all feared Trouble, even though they all had been cruel criminals with many deaths on their belt.

Vicky took off for the hospital, and Fat Mike called his right-hand man Shorty. He dialed the number, and immediately, Shorty answered the call. What's up, yo? I'm on my way back. Where are you now?

Fat Mike sounded very upset and worried when he told Shorty, Yo, nigga, don't you worry where the hell I am. Meet me and Trouble over Netta's place right away. And don't you ask me any stupid questions, okay, yo? Listen, before I forget, do you got that bread that you were supposed to collect?

Yeah, dog, why you ask me that? You know that that was the reason I went to the other side of the river, Shorty replied.

Fat Mike said to Shorty, Listen, my nigga, do not mention anything about those papers over there, and carry them with you and keep your eyes open. Trouble just called a few minutes ago, and he wants us to meet him over there as soon as possible, and I don't have any idea why, so be ready, yo. You know that every time he makes those calls, there is trouble behind that. See you there, my nigga.

Fat Mike hung up the phone and once again went deep in thought. I have to kill Trouble and take over the organization. I have a great idea where he keeps the big stash, and I know the supply connection down in Miami. I just need to talk to Shorty and let him know that he'll be my right-hand man still, and later on, I'll get rid of him too.

His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Fat Mike knew who was on the other end of the line. I am on my way, dog. What's up?

Trouble was upset when he answered. I have been waiting for you, nigga. What takes so long, yo? How far are you?

I'll be there soon, nigga, Fat Mike said, and his phone went off. His mind went to work on how to take care of Trouble. I need to do this soon. I can't take no more shit from this nigga, he thinks that he owns the world because he has the Cuban cocaine connection down in Miami and a couple of million bucks. I'll make sure that I get everything he got.

*****

At that time, Vickie was being treated by a doctor. Dr. Robert Ballentine couldn't believe that the young lady survived the brutal beating. Ms. Vickie, who did this to you? Dr. Ballentine asked her. She had three broken ribs, seven stitches on her eyebrows, and three stitches on her lower lip and bruises all over her fine and sexy body. The doctor was concerned for her safety, and he thought that Vickie was involved in something heavy. He noticed signs of drug use from her nose.

He asked once again, Ms. Vickie Jackson, who did this to you and why? I want you to know that whoever did this to you should be behind bars for a long time. I haven't seen too many persons beaten up this brutal way. You're alive by a miracle!

Vickie waited until he stopped talking, and with difficulty, she said to him that a few people attacked her and that she didn't recognize any one of them. At the same time, she thought that she would take care of matters in her own hands. I just need to talk to my cousin Trouble and tell him everything I know and Fat Mike's real feelings toward him.

The doctor saw that he was not getting anywhere with this young and beautiful lady, so he dialed the NOPD number, and his call was transferred to one of the detectives.

Detective Steve Smith answered the call. NOPD, this is Detective Smith, how can I serve you today?

Detective Smith, this is Dr. Ballentine here in the New Orleans Memorial Hospital, and I'm calling to inform you that we have a patient here right now who doesn't want to tell me who beat her so bad that she has three broken ribs, seven stitches on her eyebrows, three stitches on her lower lip, and many purples bruises all over her fine and sexy body.

Detective Smith thought, What does this have to do with the drug unit? So when Dr. Ballentine was done talking, Detective Smith said, Sir, I don't know what the hell you want me to do. That is not related to my department. I will transfer you to the right department, sir."

Sir, Dr. Ballentine said, I am sure that you would be interested in this case. I noticed that Ms. Vickie Jackson had traces of cocaine in her nose, and the clothes and jewelry that she's wearing is very high quality and expensive. She said to me that she doesn't know who did that to her, that a bunch of people beat her up, and she didn't recognize any one of them. But I don't believe a bit of it, Detective Smith. Why didn't they take all that expensive jewelry? And she's paying cash for her treatment, and the bill is over $3,000 I feel for the safety of her life.

Detective Smith told Dr. Ballentine to keep the patient there until he got there. Dr. Ballentine, I am on my way right now. Don't release her, and don't allow her to make any calls. Would you tell me in which floor you're located?

We're on the seventh floor, sir, in room 727. I'll be waiting for you, Dr. Ballentine said and hung up the phone.

Detective Smith was thinking in that present moment that he could have a case or maybe something very big that would put him right back in good terms with his boss.

*****

At that time, Fat Mike was a few miles from the hospital, driving his seven-months-old black Jaguar X7 with ultrablue tinted windows and loaded with everything. The Jaguar was super gorgeous. It was black with silver trim all around and fifteen-thousand-dollar chrome rims. And inside was all customized with soft black Italian leather and three TVs, one on the center of the dashboard and two on the head rests of each of the front seats. It also had a DVD player with a satellite system, remote start, sunroof, and all-power and heated seats. The value of the Jaguar was seventy-five thousand dollars, and it was one of the three vehicles that he possessed. He also owned a black Yukon Dinali all personalized and customized like the Jaguar with the soft black Italian leather, five TVs (one on the dashboard and four on the head rests of each of the front seats), a DVD player, and the best infinity stereo system. It also had a double sunroof, chrome trim all the way around and chrome side bars, towing package, heated seats, super Sony remote starter, and of course, an all-star system with satellite. The value of this toy was $150,000. He also owned a Chrysler 300M, also black and chrome with all the bells and whistles like the other two vehicles. The value of the Chrysler was sixty-seven thousand dollars.

Fat Mike just arrived at the place where he and the others were supposed to meet. Right away, he noted that he and Shorty weren't the only ones who were supposed to meet there. He noted the vehicles from the other four members of the organization beside his, Shorty's, and Trouble's. There was the most beautiful Cadillac Escalade you had ever seen. Trouble's $170,000 truck was burgundy with gold-plated trim and twenty-five-thousand-dollar gold-plated rims. Inside was all personalized and customized by the same person who did all the work for Fat Mike's vehicles. It was customized with soft burgundy Italian leather and eighteen solid-karat gold trims, including all the panels and bottoms, with the best TVs and stereo and DVD systems with satellite and all-star system, heated seats, sunroof, and remote starter connected to his cell phone, which enabled Trouble to start the truck from anywhere in the entire country.

Fat Mike also noted Shorty's beautiful blue Lincoln Navigator. He parked right behind his right-hand man's car and, deep in thought, started walking toward Netta's apartment in the center of one of the most dangerous projects in the whole nation. That was Magnolia Project, where even the police was afraid to walk in. Fat Mike never would know that there were guns pointing at him from all directions through the apartment's windows. Trouble was the Robin Hood of the projects in New Orleans. He bought clothes, shoes, and toys for all kids in the Magnolia and St. Thomas projects, and when anyone was in need to borrow money, they all came to Trouble, and everyone who borrowed from him always paid his money back. Trouble did this for his people and without an interest rate. Once his cousin Marvin borrowed seven hundred dollars from Trouble, and then he refused to pay back. Trouble made an example out of him. Trouble organized a picnic every last Saturday of the month for everyone in the projects in the center of the place, between all the buildings, with refreshments and burgers and hot dogs and weed. His cousin Marvin was there eating and laughing, not thinking that that day, he would pay forever for disrespecting the man who was loved by most of the people in the ghetto for his generosity to them, besides the respect and fear for his cruelty to his enemies.

Trouble was twenty-seven years old, six feet two inches tall, and a solid 230 pounds of just pure muscle. He was pitch-black and completely bald. Trouble saw Marvin and approached him and asked for his money. Hey yo, Marvin, what's up with my damn money, dog? I'm tired of you giving me the runaround, bro!

Marvin made the big mistake of telling Trouble in front of everyone that he wouldn't pay nothing. Marvin said, Hey, cuz, I don't got your money, and I will not pay you, yo.

Trouble went to one of the closest apartments and asked for a bat. It was given to him without problem. He came back to where Marvin was, and Marvin was still eating the hot dog. Without saying a word, Trouble hit him from behind with the bat, right on Marvin's neck, and that was just the beginning of a beating that everyone present would never forget. Trouble went crazy and broke most of Marvin's bones. No one did anything but just stood by and watched the brutal beating of the century. Everyone knew that they were cousins and that Marvin had it coming by disrespecting a generous man to everyone.

Marvin was taken to the hospital by one of Trouble's employees, and the festivities continued. After that day, no one tried to be delayed in their debts. And for Marvin, he was paralyzed in a wheelchair forever.

Trouble was by the door waiting for Fat Mike. Few people called him from different apartments to let him know of Fat Mike's arrival. Before Fat Mike had the chance to knock on the door, it swung wide open. Trouble said with a big fake smile, What's up, dog? You took a long time to get here, yo. We all have been waiting for you, nigga! Lately you have been acting funny, yo! What's in your mind, nigga?

Fat Mike felt that Trouble's eyes showed menace, and he felt a cold chill run through his whole body, and his guilty thoughts betrayed him with a visible shake. Then Fat Mike said, Yo, nigga, I don't know what you're talking about. I've been faithful to you and the organization all this time. How can you say something like that, yo?

Trouble was listening to Fat Mike and at the same time thinking that he would have to get rid of Fat Mike soon, even though they were the best of friends since they were small kids. Everyone was listening, and they all were deep in thought. Finally, Trouble invited everyone to take a seat and announced why he wanted everyone of them there. Yo, niggas, we're losing a lot of money because of this Reverend Johnson or whatever they call him. He's number one in my list of worries. He has caused me and you millions of dollars since he started that damn Vigilantes group. Every time we open a new drug house, he and his followers shoot it down. We've lost a lot of men who are in jail and prison because of these people, and he is the founder and leader. This son of a bitch thinks that he's God. Many of our employees are afraid to work in the neighborhood, and that is where the money is. Our supplier from Miami wants to know what is going on. He and his people believe that we're getting some merchandise from the Mexicans since we're not getting half of the supply we used to. We can't afford to lose our main supplier. I've been getting the best quality and prices from my guy down there in Miami, not to mention I can get as many kilos as I want. I never had a problem with him, and I don't want to have any now. We all have been making big money thanks to my Cuban amigo, yo. So we need to act—and fast. I just spoke with Cuban, and that is why we're here now. I explained to him the best I could about the situation with our worse enemy at the present. He and I agreed to pay two hundred thousand dollars to whoever gets rid of Reverend Johnson. You, Fat Mike, promised over seven months ago that you would take care of him, and he's still destroying everything that we do! What's the excuse that you have, yo, nigga? I'm at the point to believe that you're quitting, afraid, or up to something.

Fat Mike wasn't able to stay focused, and fear and nerves took control of him. Finally, Fat Mike said, Yo, Trouble, I'll prove to you all that I am not afraid of nothing and that I can do what I had promised. I'll get rid of that damn preacher on whatever you call him. Yo, Trouble, I'll need the silencer for the .380 automatic. And I will go and take care of business.

Trouble asked to Smooth Joe, one of the other leaders present, to give the tool to Fat Mike. Yo, Smooth Joe, said Trouble. Make sure you get it back when the job is done. Now, talking about another pending matter, we need to locate Dirty Ricky and put a bullet or two between his eyes and one in the center of his heart. He is snitching on everyone to the feds. I was informed by my inside connection. He's afraid to go to trial, but they're pressing him, or he'll do twenty-four to life for conspiracy. He doesn't know that we know that he's working for the federals. Who is going after this nigga?

Trouble looked into the eyes of every one of his lieutenants, and again, Fat Mike offered himself to do the job. Fat Mike thought that by getting rid of these two guys, he'll get all his respect back, plus the two hundred thousand dollars. Then and only then would he take care of the matter with Trouble for all the humiliation through the years.

Trouble interrupted Fat Mike's deep thoughts when he said, Yo, Fat Mike, by the way, you still owe seventy thousand bucks, man. When you planning to pay it? That bread was supposed to be in my hands a week ago! Everyone else paid their dues except you, nigga.

Fat Mike pulled the stack of money out of his carry bag and paid Trouble his money right there on the spot. He said, Here is the money, Trouble, everything is in there. I counted it three times myself to make sure that everything is correct. You can count it if you want, dog. Now, I would like to get fifty kilos right away. My people are getting low in merchandise. I'll get you the money by tomorrow or Saturday the latest.

Trouble said, No problem, dog, you got it. I count on you on those jobs that you had promised that you would do. Now, besides the silencer for your .380, is there anything else that you need from me or anyone present to accomplish these jobs?

Fat Mike shook his head in negative motions, indicating that everything was fine.

So Trouble told him that he would get the cocaine in a few minutes. Yo, Mike, give your car keys to Netta, and she'll take care of matters for you.

Netta came to Fat Mike with her right hand standing, and Fat Mike gave the Jaguar's keys without a word.

At that time, Trouble's cell phone rang, and he answered on the spot. What, yo, what's going on?

Someone in the other end of the line informed him that Dirty Ricky was seven blocks away from where Trouble was now, on the corner on some street, smoking a blunt with two of his buddies outside a soul food restaurant.

Trouble thanked the caller for the info and hung up. Then he turned to the guys, who were very silently waiting, and said to Fat Mike, Yo, nigga, Dirty Ricky is outside of Grandma Restaurant smoking a blunt with a couple of his buddies. Take Shorty with you right now and get rid of him. Make sure you call if you need any help from us. Take the double-barrel shotgun with you and the black Chevy Camaro that is parked next to Netta's vehicle. The keys are in the glove compartment, and it is full of gas and ready. Any other questions from you, Mike, or anyone else?

No one said anything, so the meeting was dismissed, and they all went to their business.

Shorty was following Fat Mike to the Chevy Camaro and took the driver's seat since Fat Mike was supposed to be the shooter. Fat Mike took the chromed double-barrel shotgun in his big hands and carefully inspected it and nodded his head in a sign of approve. Then he pulled out of his carry bag a beautiful 18K gold container full of great quality of cocaine and made a roll of a hundred dollar bill and snorted one big shot in each nostril and then passed it to Shorty. Here, dog, he said, you will need this.

Shorty carefully grabbed the gold container with his right hand while holding the wheel with the left hand. Then Fat Mike stuck the roll in both of Shorty's big nostrils, and the white powder was consumed by the heavy snout. They both laughed, and two minutes later, they were near their target. Fat Mike told Shorty to stop right at front of the restaurant and to stay in the car, ready for action if it was necessary.

Shorty said, Yo, dog, look, they still there. We have to take the three of them. We can't afford to leave anyone alive, nigga.

Fat Mike got out of the car with the shotgun in hand. Fat Mike said, This is for you, bitch snitch. Say hello to your federal friends.

Dirty Ricky's eyes became very large by the unsuspected surprise. His two amigos were also caught off guard, and neither of them had the time to react.

Fat Mike squeezed the trigger seven times, and every one of them hit the target. Dirty Ricky received three shots—one straight in the face that left him faceless, another in the center of his chest that you could see through, and the other on his right shoulder that took it off completely. The other guys got two shots apiece on their bodies. They all died from the first shot, but Fat Mike was in a rage and out of control from the high of the great quality of the Colombian cocaine.

Many people were outside at that hour, and they all saw what happened; however, they knew better than call the police or say anything. There were body parts all over the street. It looked like a war zone.

Fat Mike got in the car, and Shorty drove off. A few minutes later, they were back in the projects. They left the car in there, and each drove off in their own vehicle.

Fat Mike dialed Trouble's cell phone, and Trouble answered right away. What's up, dog?

Fat Mike responded, Everything went well as should be. I'll get back to you tomorrow with the fresh bread, and I'll take care of the other important matter!

Great job, nigga, take great care of yourself.

Then the phone was disconnected. At the same time, the news was all over the radios and TVs. Three well-known drugs dealers were gunned down in broad daylight, and the scene was horrendous and too graphic to be shown on TV. The newspeople said that no one saw who did it, but that they hadn't seen anything that cruel for a while. The NOPD were not successful in getting any information from anyone in the neighborhood, even though they offered a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward.

*****

Vickie was in the hospital been investigated by Detective Smith.

Ms. Jackson, I would like to know who the hell did this horrible thing to you. I promise you that I would put him away for many years behind bars. You should know that your life is in danger. Help me to take this savage off the street before he hurts you again or someone else.

Vickie was just quietly listening and in a lot of pain. She knew better than to open her mouth.

Detective Smith was getting angry at Vickie's silence. He said, Listen to me, Ms. Jackson, I am very aware that you are involved in something not good, and I don't know why you are trying to cover up someone who wanted to kill you. I'm also aware that you're related to Danny Williams, aka Trouble. Did he have anything to do with this brutal beating? That's his trademark.

Vickie snapped, Look, you son of a bitch, you leave my cousin alone. He would never touch me or any woman, and now I am done with this. I don't have nothing else to talk with you. She