Nina Shakes Harlem

Nina Shakes Harlem

LAWRENCE E. CROCKETT

Published by Lawrence E. Crockett at Smashwords

Copyright © 2015

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or on-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

For Fentressa D. Crockett-Stinyard

August 13, 1965—June 17, 2000

Our sister:

I often look toward Heaven hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Something was broken when you left, and it will never be fixed.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About The Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There’s a voice deep inside us that speaks to who we are. I’m neither a prophet nor a person with strong proclivities for the written word, meaning the Bible. Religion has become far too polarizing for my taste, losing the intended inspiration for peace and love among men and women throughout the world. This unrest has provoked people like me to search for another way after refusing to believe that God has favorites among his flock and creation. This belief seems unimaginable to me and I believe the cost of exclusion is far too costly. However, I do believe in God, because I’ve seen nothing greater than he in all humanity during my journey in this life. Like most, he has been an influence from my simple beginning in Dermott, Arkansas and will continue until the inevitable end, my eventual death. For me, there have been so many people I’ve met along the way and I feel an overwhelming desire to thank them for their kindness, understanding and patience they have so generously shared through the years and some continue to share with me even to this day. This list is so long and I fear the consequences of omission if I attempt to make such a list and leave out someone who is or was very special to me. But in many ways, my journey since birth has metaphorically been like a raindrop. A free fall from a passing cloud in the sky, racing to the surface of the earth with no control over where it will land or the impact it will make. Surely you must know, there are no preconditions or preferences given to that precious raindrop destined to fall searching for a safe, if not perfect, landing place. It could be the soil, a paved surface or a pond, a stream, a lake or even the oceans or our seas. In any case, once it lands, that tiny raindrop becomes a part of a new community, taking the shape of something different or greater than its own uniqueness. As a member of the human race, our community begins with our parents, extended family and friends. Just like that raindrop, after finding that landing spot, a baby will be shaped in the image of the family it lands in, sometimes at the expense of their uniqueness. This is how I see our world. It’s vast, different, complicated, and full of hope, promise, disappointment and tragedy. We don’t get to choose our beginning, but we do choose our journey and the friends we make along the way.

So if we all have a choice, influenced by this voice inside of us, some people might refer to this as our consciousness, how is it possible for some of us to hear this voice and realize its meaning and purpose? If greatness is the reward, why do so many people struggle with this basic concept and never make their connection as they wander aimlessly through life with considerably less focus or success? I wish I had one universal answer, one truth for everyone but I don’t. With help I received along the way, I managed to block out the clutter and locked in on my inner voice but not without sacrifice and struggle. So that being said, I must mention a few people with a risk of omission likely, but I must thank them for their friendship and help. Starting with my first classmates in kindergarten: Junetta Wallace, Denise Lee, Regina White, Gerald Benny Gardner, Leroy Martin, Joseph Carlock, Sally Ann Perry and her brother Jimmy; we are so lucky. All of us have Mrs. Hall to thank for that wonderful beginning. To think she only charged ten cents a week for a lifetime of memories. That was quite a bargain. At Chicot County Training School: Jackie Johnson, Norma Wright, Carolyn Adams, Shirley Danzy, Rose Marion, Washington and Berlin Humphrey, Lee Edward Plummer, Willie Ray Giles, Vernon Thompson, Debbie Stewart, Charles and Leon Spencer. They all became a part of our circle of friends. I often think of Mrs. Daisy Matthews, Mrs. Mays, Mrs. Dalton and Mr. Joe Page, for different reasons of course. Middle School and High School was quite traumatic, but I have fond memories of a couple teachers in particular Mrs. Sarah Courtney, Mr. Robert Miller, Mr. Bill Burchfield, Mrs. Beverly Burchfield and Mrs. Greason.

Mrs. Evangeline Kate Brown, although deceased, her spirit lives through the lives of so many people she touched with her kindness and knowledge along the way, including me. I could not have written this book without the many days, weeks, months and years of her mentoring. She changed my life, giving it meaning, substance and purpose. I’ve never meet anyone else quite like her before or since. I pray she continues to rest in peace knowing that she made a difference in the world by touching our lives.

Finally, I have collected many memories and ideas along the way. Some found a place in this novel and perhaps even more in novels yet to be written. Be patient with me please, they’re coming. Thanks in large part to my father, John D. Crockett, and Uncles Charles Elord Turner, Clinton Binns, Cleon Crockett and some very colorful friendships I’ve meet along the way. Jim Hoskins, Barbara Jenkins and Sarah Robinson, I love you guys. I dream often and my dreams seem so real, intensely powerful. Sometimes when I awaken, they are still alive inside my head. If I’m lonely or sad, after wishing I had just one more day with them in my life, just the thought of them brings me joy. I fall asleep hoping and sometimes praying for a visit from them. So I say to my deceased father, mother, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, especially Benjamin Darnell Caruthers, and some very special friends, you are welcome to join me in my dreams as often as you’d like. Come anytime you choose, especially you Uncle Charles, there’s so much to talk about and share.

Michelle Burford, Kurtis Lee, Elaina Crockett, Deirdre Brennan, Joy Cain, Caroline Hutton, Cedric Patterson and James Bonaparte, what would I have done without your help and support, especially you Deirdre Brennan? Your broad experiences as an accomplished actress and writer were a tremendous help to me and I appreciate you dearly.

Larry D. Alexander and the entire Alexander Family, I know I don’t have to say it, but I just can’t help myself. Thank you. Our lives are so intertwined. I don’t know where our friendship ends and our families begin; because of you and your family, we are one. You are and always will be in my heart! Love you man, that’s a fact.

Tanya D. Hughes-Crockett, my wife, you made this novel a joy to write. Your critiques were priceless. Just seeing you read each new page along the way was such a thrill and your contribution was priceless. Love you so, so much.

The last thought I want to share is aimed at our daughter, Elaina, aka Krissy. You have the gift as a writer and I can’t wait to read your first novel. Don’t be afraid to share your gift with the world, they just might be waiting for you. Well, at least your mother and I are.

PROLOGUE

Friday afternoon, April 3rd, 2015

HARLEM

The Dana Discovery Center, crown jewel of the Harlem Meer, located at the north end of Central Park, is a cultural magnet for nature enthusiasts and wildlife historians. Throughout the year, the center offers programs on fishing, bird-watching, nature tours and arts and crafts, as well as Sunday jazz concerts. On this particular afternoon, the program focused on recruiting volunteers to help with the spring planting of the tulips and other flowers featured in the botanical garden just a few hundred yards away. This small group of 12 people didn’t hold back in showing their enthusiasm for the upcoming planting season. Eager to impress a new group of recruits, the center lavished wine, beer and hors d’oeuvres on them. Making full use of the building, the group spilled out onto the beautifully manicured lawn overlooking the pond while talking, laughing and squinting against the sharp rays of sunlight reflected off the water, casting a picturesque summer’s day.

Two of the recruits, both young professional women in their mid-20s from the Upper West Side, came out of the building and headed toward 110th Street and Lenox Avenue in search of a cab. One, a tall blonde with hazel eyes, wearing a stunning purple dress with stiletto-heels and complementing jewelry that accessorized her lovely look, left little doubt about her intentions of wanting every eye on her. She was determined to make a good first impression … and to be remembered.

Her friend, however, could best be described as a modest dresser who appeared to prefer to fit in rather than stand out. She wore black jeans, a white blouse with a black jacket and a very simple but beautiful necklace with a matching bracelet and earrings. Her shoes were fashionable but not overstated. She was no stranger to this neighborhood. For the past year, her morning runs had fully acquainted her with the environment, especially the dos and don’ts. Her friend, obviously, did not share her familiarity or sensibility with the area.

Wow, that program was nice, the tall blonde said. I would have never thought of coming up here to this end of Central Park. Is it safe?

Of course it’s safe, if you know how to carry yourself. I run through here every morning, haven’t you heard? Harlem is inundated with yuppies between 5 and 8 o’clock every morning. There’s nothing like starting your day with a nice run in the park!

Oh yeah, so why are so many negative things said to people who look like me about crossing 110th Street?

Well, I’ll admit Harlem has its fair share of problems. Drugs and crime are still commonplace, but it’s much better now, and apartment rentals are a steal. White-collar types are moving up here every day.

Do you come up here alone? the blonde asked.

Sometimes I do, when they have an event like the one we just left in the Dana Center. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, she added, looking at her friend with a slight but suspicious smile. Not all of them are criminals! She softly laughed a little to lighten up her mood. Are you hungry?

Yeah, the finger food was nice, but I’m ready to eat something like a nice salad, the blonde replied.

I know just the spot for that. Let’s grab a cab and head downtown to Columbus Circle. There’s a new restaurant—I’m just dying to see their menu and maybe try a few things. Are you up for that?

Sure.

Let’s see if we can get a cab, all right?

Sounds good to me, her friend replied.

The two women left the park and stopped on the corner of Lenox Avenue and 110th, hoping to catch a cab downtown. It was a busy afternoon. The weather was perfect, which likely could explain why so many people were out. Malcolm X Plaza was buzzing with music and loud conversations, and the traffic was unusually busy. Between sidewalk vendors—especially the ice cream trucks and the snow cone cart operators whose ices are a kid’s favorite on a hot day like this one—the kids were waiting on line for anything cold, plus they had their bikes and skateboards at the ready. Mostly everyone was just in the mood to be out, if for no other reason than to just hang around and enjoy the moment this perfect summer’s day offered.

The street hustlers were busy shopping their contraband, looking for a quick buck. The two women hardly suspected they were being watched by one of the street hustlers whose eyes were fixated on that Michael Kors bag hanging on the shoulder of the tall, flashy blonde. His street name was Lightning, and he was a seasoned pro. He could spot a genuine designer bag from a block away. Don’t ask how he routinely does it, he just does. He won’t make a move for a knockoff—you can buy one of those for $20 to $35 any day of the week in the streets of Harlem or the Bronx. He’s well known by the locals for his tactics: He’s a snatch-and-run type of thief, and you better have some wheels to catch him. This brother can run, and those who know him see him for what he is—a straight-up thief. He knows better not to practice his craft on the locals; his head would be handed to him if he tried that mess with any of them.

So he waits … for the unsuspecting stranger who enters his world on any given day on 110th and Lenox Avenue. That’s his spot; he perches himself in the same place every day, just to the right of the entrance to the Dunkin’ Donuts store on the corner, and he doesn’t take kindly to any competition for that prime piece of real estate from another hustler .

After standing on the corner in the hot sun for what seemed like an eternity, the two women’s patience was being tested, especially Blondie’s. She was getting a little agitated after several unsuccessful attempts to get a cab. They saw plenty, but none were empty. In the middle of the day with a friend, the other woman, more accustomed to the neighborhood, felt somewhat safe: The subway seemed a reasonable alternative to go quickly to Columbus Circle. After all, plenty of people were around and the number 2 and 3 trains ran express to 72nd Street. She knew if they transferred to the number 1 train at 72nd, they could be at Columbus Circle within a few minutes. She was hungry and tired: Getting some good food in a comfortable restaurant was all she could think about.

She looked at her friend and asked, What do you want to do? We can continue standing here trying to catch a cab, or we can take the subway. From the looks of the traffic out here, the subway might be faster; wanna try it?

Her friend couldn’t conceal her nervous discomfort—it was obvious she didn’t seem excited about the prospect of taking a crowded train downtown, but the thought of having a nice meal was too tempting.

You think it’s safe enough? The blonde asked, somewhat hesitantly.

Sure, we’ll be fine.

Okay, she said. Let’s go for it,

They crossed the street and headed for the entrance. Instantly Lightning saw them as they crossed over, and he knew it was showtime. He watched the tall blonde as she reached inside her bag, pulling out her iPhone to answer a call. Stopping for a moment, just shy of the subway entrance, she stood there talking as if she was afraid of possibly losing the phone signal if she continued walking and entered the subway stairs that would lead her underground. She was completely distracted by her call and unaware of the looming danger this distraction posed. Having better knowledge of the area, her friend was conscious of the potential danger and tried to take control of the situation.

It’s not safe standing here talking on your phone; we should go now.

Okay, in a minute. It’s my boyfriend, she replied showing her disapproval for the interruption.

Alright, but hurry; it’s not a good idea to be flashing your phone around here.

Finally the blonde rushed her boyfriend off the phone and thrust her phone back inside her bag, and they headed down the stairs entering the subway.

Lightning saw everything as he moved closer to them undetected and was just a few feet away when they entered the station. While they were standing in line waiting to purchase the MTA card that was necessary to ride the subway, Lightning made his move. He walked past them as if he was entering the turnstile and waited until they approached the toll booth clerk. When the brunette turned to her friend and asked her for a few dollars for her fare, her friend reached inside her MK bag once again, got the money and passed it to her. Just as the blonde was putting the bag back on her shoulder, Lightning—still unnoticed—came quickly toward her, and just like that, he grabbed the bag and took off. Up the stairs he went, with her bag in tow. It happened so fast, they didn’t see him coming, but her friend took off behind him, screaming.

Help..! Help! Somebody! Police..!

No one was responding to her cries for help. With the MTA card in hand, her friend ran after her. When she finally reached the end of the block, the blonde was hysterical and out of breath from running in her beautiful heels which were not suitable for chasing a thief. She kept screaming for the police.

There he goes! Please stop him! That bastard took my bag!

She kept screaming for the police as she ran up St. Nicholas Avenue toward 112th. Lightning was running at a world-class pace.

Police, help me please. Police..!

The locals didn’t seem fazed by the excitement. Most of them knew Lightning and was confident the woman had no chance of catching him. He made his way up St. Nicholas, running like he was executing a precision pass route showcased by an NFL player on any given Sunday. He was in control until he saw two police officers walking south on St. Nicholas, coming straight toward him. The police heard the blonde screaming for help, and they saw Lightning running toward them. Once she saw the police, her screams for help grew louder.

Help me please!! He stole my bag! she yelled, pointing straight at the running thief a block or so ahead of her.

She kept repeating her cry for help. He stole my bag! Stop him!

Lightning turned left on 112th, running toward 7th Avenue, with the officers in hot pursuit. Even the police were no match for him—he was running too fast, and they knew it. They started to yell at him: Police ... stop … stop! Lightning didn’t blink; he knew they couldn’t catch him. As luck would have it, though, a police cruiser was coming off 7th Avenue heading east, straight toward him on 112th.

Stop, police, stop..! the two running officers in pursuit continued to shout.

If you think Lightning thought for one second about stopping, you’re out of your mind. But they had him cornered, or so they thought.

I was coming out of my building on 112th Street, with a bag of garbage in hand. I stopped at the trash can, threw the bag inside and was headed east toward St. Nicholas in a hurry to get back to the tattoo parlor to take care of some unfinished business from the day before. All of a sudden, I heard shouts and saw this brother running like a Pro Wide Receiver, crossing in the middle of the street and heading straight toward me. For a few seconds, I thought he was trying to push up on me, but then I recognized him. It was Clay Woodard, our neighborhood snatch-and-run thief better known as Lightning. Two police officers were hot on his tail, and a police cruiser coming from 7th Avenue had him cornered inside the block.

I’ve seen Clay in action many times before, but it looked like this was his unlucky day. They had him cornered, or so it seemed. I stepped out of his way, and for those who didn’t, he gave them a little encouragement, pushing and knocking down anything directly in his path. He was yelling as he ran: Move, get the fuck out of my way! Breathing hard and sweating like a pig, he was trapped. I felt sorry for old Lightning. Hell, he’s harmless to those who know him. Sure, he makes a living robbing people, but he never hurt anybody. His whole life, he’s been in and out of prison. The only thing he’s good at is what he settled at doing: snatching and running. His specialty is mostly bags, cell phones or any merchandise close to the door in any store in the neighborhood. All day long, he walks up and down the streets of Harlem selling his daily harvest for cash on the spot. There isn’t a barber shop or beauty salon in Harlem that he hasn’t made a sale in.

Guys like me who have known him for a long time refer to him by his street name, Lightning, because he’s so fast. He looks a lot like Usain St. Leo Bolt, the world-class track star. He’s tall, muscular and about the same skin color as Bolt. Hell, I believe in a head-to-head race, he’d give Bolt a run for his money. If the world had done right by him, maybe he’d be famous for the right reasons. But today he’s likely headed back to Rikers Island, one of many New York State correctional facilities with which he is most familiar. Well, I call it his second home. But damn, the way he’s running, he definitely has other plans.

Just as I had conceded his demise, Lightning pulled one hell of a move. He headed straight for the parking lot. The only thing that stood between him and a clean escape was an eight-foot chain link fence. He threw the bag over the fence and jumped up to climb it. He had time if he was quick about it. He made it halfway, but his sweaty hands caused him to slip and fall before reaching the top; crashing back onto the sidewalk, he lost precious time.

Sweating and breathing hard, he quickly got up and tried again. He didn’t have as much time as before, because the police officers were just a few feet away as he began his second attempt. But he knew they wouldn’t shoot him. After all, he was unarmed. Out of breath, he reached the top, getting one leg over while trying to avoid the jagged edges of the sharp braided wire. Rushing with little time to spare, he couldn’t avoid getting the crotch of his pants snagged by the wire; he was unable to go any farther until he unhinged himself. Time ran out on him. One of the police officers grabbed his leg before he could free himself from the wire, but he kicked and kicked until his leg was free.

Finally, after a brief struggle, his crotch was free. He tried to pull his leg over, but this time the officer had help. His partner had arrived. Again he started to kick and kick but they grabbed his ankle and put a handcuff on it before trying to pull him back onto the sidewalk. Lightning was fighting with all he had, pulling and kicking but they refused to let go of his leg, determined to apprehend him. He was moaning and groaning as he wrestled with them. Pulling with all his strength, his might was still no match for them. I could hear them yelling at him saying.

Stop and come down; you can’t get over the fence, let go!! Lightning still had some fight left in him. Their commands went unheeded. He wanted no part of surrender; he was too busy trying to escape. He knew if he could somehow free his leg and clear the fence, they would never catch him. Now there were four officers, as the two from the cruiser had joined in. They pulled hard on his hand-cuffed leg and finally Lightning’s strength gave way to their brute force. Suddenly, his crotch went straight down onto the jagged wire fence, almost exactly where he was hung before; this time however, with far more punishing consequences. He let out one loud haunting scream that lasted forever it seemed. I could hear his voice echoing as it bounced off the building’s façade. Blood ran down his legs, flowing like an open faucet onto the sidewalk. His screams brought a larger crowd of onlookers. Many, just like me, couldn’t help but to feel sorry for Lightning. Even in pain, he continued to put up a mighty struggle. They grabbed the belt around his waist doubling their force, and pulled again with punishing results. He let out another scream, this one much louder than before. The people began to plead with the police to let him go. They could see he was determined to fight to the bitter end and there was no quit in him. The police weren’t about to do that. The blood continued to fall onto the sidewalk and it wasn’t pretty. With that devastating pull, I swear they must have ripped his balls completely off. This was a sidewalk castration if ever I saw one. Blood spilled everywhere. Some people started to scream at the police to stop but it was too late. Lightning was finished; there was no more fight left in him. He was bloody, ball-less and looked near death as his body went limp, falling onto the sidewalk. It took EMS forever to arrive but nobody left their spot, including me. I looked up for a quick moment and saw Jimmy looking on from his second floor window one building away. As usual, he was taking advantage of his bird’s-eye view of any event taking place inside his block. Those of us standing on the sidewalk, stood there in shock, feeling sorry for old Lightning. I heard one woman claiming to be an old lover of his say to someone standing next to her,

"This shit is off the hook! Damn, too MF bad for Lightning; he’s ruined now and that’s a damn shame. He’s going to jail without his balls. He may as well