The Preminitions of the Past

*The two young men walk down the street, the sun beating down lightly. an oxymoron in itself. Not a cloud passes through the sky of Queens, New York. A beautiful morning. The man to the right, our protagonist Tyrone Williams. The man to the left. the late Michael Cerda. Both men look slightly younger than we remember last time, since after all, this is the past. The two approach a wooden, cracked, bench and take a seat. Tyrone looks around a bit, as Michael digs through his pockets and slowly pulls out a wad of one hundred dollar bills. He counts them out, then counts half of that amount, and hands it over to Tyrone. Tyrone looks at it. and pushes Michael's hand away. Michael looks up at Tyrone, and the two meet eyes. For the first time ever, Tyrone and Michael both notice that there isn't friendship behind the windows to the soul. It's more of a hatred. a hatred that brewed from nearly nothing.

Tyrone: Michael I can't take that mon-

[ Time out. You want the whole story right? Then, I guess we'll have to go back a little further. Right then was when it was all thrown away like garbage. Excess things that are no longer needed. I didn't need the money, I was well off from what was already in my bank account. I didn't even need him though, because all he ever did was drag me into more than I ever wanted to have to deal with. But, I can't deny this, he was the person who took me in when I was stuck in the rain storm of a life I was living. Enough reminiscing though, let's get back to what was going on.]

Tyrone Williams sits on that same bench, but this time, it is the night. Beside him is an older looking man. not really old, but older than Tyrone. He looks similar to Tyrone, but there are very noticeable differences. Tyrone looks up at the crescent moon, but the man looks into the two full moons that are the eyes of Tyrone. They lock eyes, nothing but the silence of night. The two read eachother's minds, taking a dive into the depths of thought. It shatters though, as the unknown man speaks.

Man: I told you months ago to get out Tyrone. I told you that enough is enough. I told you that you'll be finding yourself endighted if you keep around him. I've been in your position before, but I was lucky enough to walk away from it all when I did. The next week. it all went down. Police, FBI, the whole deal. burst into Liam's place. I saw it coming. It was a nightmare that I thought was trying to send a message, so I followed through with what my gut instict was at the time. I'm not giving you an option anymore though, because you've put it off long enough. Time is ticking against you and all you are doing is wasting time by the grain of sand. Tell him you're done. Tell him you're rinsing your hands of the blood, sweat, and tears. Tell him that it's coming to an end any day now.

Tyrone: I can't do it Kawahn. I can't walk away from that. I spent three years of my life building up my reputation on that, and you want me to throw it all away. for a GUT INSTINCT? That's like telling Michael Jordan not to take the shot because he has this gut feeling that he'll miss it. I can't turn my back on it. I've done too much. dug too deep to get out now. If it makes you feel any better. I'll stay out of the larceny from here on out. I'll stay away from the money. Money can't buy me what I want. respect.

Kawahn: Respect? You think people respect you because you're some thug on the streets? Grow up. I only respect people who have intellect. People who are progressive. People who have a passion in life and work for it. You're wasting your life away, and you aren't even old enough to know it. You have once chance to prove yourself to me, if not. don't bother calling me your brother.

Tyrone bolts up from the bench and slowly walks away from his older brother. He doesn't turn back, and Kawahn is highly disappointed in the fact that Tyrone is acting like a child. On his way down the street, he only says one thing.

<p><font color=blue>Tyrone:</font><font color=white> I don't need to prove myself to anybody, especially you. I can't believe this.</font>

[ If I could have changed that moment. I would have. I said some things I shouldn't have. I didn't even mean most of what I said that night, but he meant every word of it. That same night, when my head lay against my pillow, I thought. Maybe he was right and I did need to get out of the circle of fire I was in. Well. alright. He WAS right, but I WAS ignorant. But no need to keep interrupting this right now, let actions speak for themselves. One week later now. ]

The clerk has both of his hands up. Three men wearing black ski masks keep their guns out. One at the door, one at the back door, and the other with the clerk. The clerk hurriedly puts all of the money into a brown bag, all two hundred, and hands the bag over. The man snatches it from his hands, and as he does this, the clerk smacks the silent alarm. The men don't realize it, but it really doesn't matter, because they're already gone. The clerk isn't quite sure as to what he should do at this point, having never been held up before. The men disappear down a dark alley as the red and blue cop lights flash in front of the liquor store. The cops go in and do the usual routine, usual questions, usual answers from the victim. None of those three men realized there were cameras within the store. The third man, Joe Elliot, didn't have his mask on when he first was at the door. He put it on when they were going to stick up the place. The cops review the tapes and have a match as to who it is. The cops leave and head back to the station, planning out how they would snuff out Joe Elliot.

[ See, that was a turning point. That was when one of our little operations went down, and somebody went down with it. Twenty Four hours from when those cops left that store and the empire I worked so hard to solidify would begin to crumble. Rome wasn't made in a day, and neither was my Rome. It sure felt like it could break in a day though. The next day. ]

Joe: AH FUCK! Loosen my hand cuffs man. I didn't even do anything man.

Joe has handcuffs around his wrists? Why? Because the police officers got a hold of him. It's about 1:30 PM and as Joe yells in protest, the police officer shoves Joe against the side of the squad car. Joe hits the car hard, quieting down now.

Cop: I suggest you shut up before the last thing you worry about are the handcuffs being tight. We have you on video. We know what you did last night. We matched the man in the video to you. No questions asked, we know it was you. We're bringing you down to the station, we want to know who the other two men were.

[ Sorry sorry, but there's something you should know before we move on with this one. I was running that gang. Gang of misguided teenagers. The fist rule was. NEVER SQUEAL! If you go down with the law, you go down alone. Otherwise, the least of your worries would be jail time, but the priority would be your life. Joe Elliot was taking a fall, but the police wanted the whole trio that robbed the liquor store behind bars. I watched Joe get pushed into the police car. I thought he would point fingers. ]

The polic officer pushes Joe into the squad car, gets in the front seat, and speeds away. Tyrone, looking through a window from across the street, sighs under his breath, and begins to walk to the bench where he is supposed to split up the money they've stolen within the last week. Guess there's one less person to split it with now. As Tyrone walks, Michael Cerda comes up beside him and they walk together. The two approach a wooden, cracked, bench and take a seat. Tyrone looks around a bit, as Michael digs through his pockets and slowly pulls out a wad of one hundred dollar bills. He counts them out, then counts half of that amount, and hands it over to Tyrone. Tyrone looks at it. and pushes Michael's hand away. Michael looks up at Tyrone, and the two meet eyes. For the first time ever, Tyrone and Michael both notice that there isn't friendship behind the windows to the soul. It's more of a hatred. a hatred that brewed from nearly nothing.

Tyrone: Michael I can't take that money.

Cerda:</font><font color=white> What?

Tyrone: I told you. I can't take the money. I want out of this man. I'm done. Joe's going upstate now, and I don't plan on going with him. Keep the money yourself, run things yourself.

Cerda: Fuck that. You're taking this money, and you aren't going anywhere. Now TAKE IT!

Tyrone takes the money. and then throws it at Michael. Michael doesn't even pick it up, but he gets to his feet and gets in Tyrone's face. Tyrone stands so they are face to face, and Tyrone pretty much towers Michael. Michael at about five foot eight, Tyrone at six foot four. Tyrone grabs Michael by the shirt collar and throws him against the bench. He lands with an impact, but he realizes that right now. Tyrone isn't one to be messed with. He remains standing now, watching Michael.

Tyrone: I told you, I'm through with this man. You keep it all if you want, but me. I'm washing my hands now and walking away. Don't use my name, don't even think of me. I don't exist to you, or anybody else. If the cops come to me, I don't know a thing. But one last thing from me to you Michael. If I catch you alone on the streets. better get both fists up. Word gets around the streets fast, I know you've been talking about you being the only real man behind our operations. Watch yourself.

Michael doesn't say anything, just looks at Tyrone in disgust. Tyrone begins to walk away, finally. All the years he wasted dealing with the gang life style. He's done. As Tyrone walks away, Michael pulls out his gun and calls Tyrone. He closes his eyes and shoots. BAM. His bullet penetrates and shatters the shin of Tyrone. Michael walks up to Tyrone, points the gun at his head. and out of nowhere comes Kawahn. He tackles Michael to the floor, takes his gun, and pistol whips him two or three times. Michael knocks out, Tyrone burns with pain. Kawahn picks up his brother and puts him into the passenger seat of his car. They hurry off to the nearest hospital.

[ It all happened so fast to me. It was a blur. Who knows where Kawahn came from, who knows why I actually turned around. Who knows what would have happened if Kawahn wasn't there? There's only one more thing to talk about when it comes to Michael Cerda. I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. But, everyday, everynight. every second of my life. it's haunting me. I try to avoid it, but it is impossible. So. here it goes. The moment that made all of this happen. The moment that changed me forever. ]

It was 12:37 AM in Queens, New York; the date. November 24th, 1994. The two young men were sitting on the stairs outside of their "housing facilities", talking to each other. Lessons of life filled the chilly night air, mainly from the older more mature looking man. The younger listened on, noting much of the wisdom spurting out from his guide.

[ That was the last night we would ever be able to talk. I'm glad that we made it count... ]

Wisdom can only reach those who are willing to listen. Ignorance has always been the overpowering instinct of man. But what is instinct? Instinct is an excuse for the irresponsible man. Instinct is an excuse for the unsure mind. For the habits which we, as humans, unwilling project, we blame instinct. We do not know of the "origin" so we allow it to remain a mystery that only the minds optics can see through. Thus, broken down to the core, believing in instinct is one of the key components in the foundation of the sky scraper of ignorance on which we continue to build upon. Each level has its own theme: greed, gluttony, jealousy. very similar to the seven deadly sins which we are brought up to fear but proceed to embrace, yet there is a fine line. Sinning can be done voluntarily. You know what you are doing is wrong, but you continue. Being ignorant is doing something morally and socially incorrect (notice that I did not apply political correctness), and not realizing the fact that you are not right in your actions.

[ He got me out of the gang lifestyle that was going to bury me six feet underground. He saved me. He brought my life back around, full circle. I was grateful for that, and so much more. He gave me another opportunity in life. ]

As the two continued to talk, ignorance slowly cruised down the street. Four windows rolled down, five people ready and loaded. They see their targets, cock back, and turn off the music in the 93 Toyota Corolla. They point their semi-automatics out of the car, each with a full clip of cowardice and unleash the barrage of lead. The two men duck for cover, but it's too late. The younger man was in the line of fire... so the older one pushed him aside to try to save his life. The older was hit three times in the chest, the younger unscathed. The car speeds away, the gang members feeling accomplished.

[ No no no no... my mind was blank. How could that happen. How could he die on me like that. How could he be killed so quickly. No warnings. Nothing. DEAD. A four letter word that can never be reversed. My heart and soul died with him... ]

Back at the scene of the crime the younger boy clings onto his wounded brother. Blood stains his hands. Blood of nobility. But, it's blood that was shed for the wrong reason. The younger brother tries to talk to his brother, but the light is overwhelming to him. All the older brother can spill out is blood, and his final four words. "DON'T LET ME DOWN."
Thump Thump
Thump Thump
Thump...
Ignorance is always the killing of innocence.

[ I guess everything is starting to make sense now. The reasoning behind the death of Michael Cerda. If you haven't figured it out for yourself yet... Michael Cerda was the man who set up the murder of my brother. He was the man in the passenger seat. The puzzle of my past has begun to come together. There's alot more than just Michael Cerda... but that's not what these FBI Agents wanted to hear about... they wanted to know about my brother and Michael. I... don't know why. The day after I killed Michael I was taken out of my home by FBI agents. They didn't tell me why. They didn't give me an explanation. They knocked me out, and I woke up to a light shining in my face. They were all sitting around me, waiting. I didn't get a chance to speak, they said they wanted everything about Michael Cerda and Kawahn Williams. What could I do? I didn't have a clue as to what was going on. I didn't get the chance to realize that I was merely a pawn on their chess board. But, ironically, they didn't realize that I was the only pawn that mattered. As I finished up telling them of the death of my brother, the men were all writing things down. I could hear the pencils scratching the paper. The light turned off now... and I slowly opened my eyes. My vision was blurry and I was dizzy, but I could make out six men sitting at a round table. Then I felt something prick my neck... and I was out like a light again. ]

Tyrone passes out as the doctor walks away and tosses the syringe into the trash can. The men get all of their notes together and walk into the next room. They open a file cabinet and and pull out a black folder. It's labeled "Obstacle Course: Kawahn Williams", and they place all of the notes into the folder. They put it away, lock the cabinet, and walk back to the unconscious Tyrone Williams. They all stare at him and get a slight grin, and then they turn off the light in the room. The next time Tyrone opens his eyes, he is laying on a bench in New York. His neck still stings from the syringe that knocked him out. He feels like he had a long long night out, and it's even worse that he didn't. Worse still that he doesn't know what the hell that was all for. Up on the rooftops above him, he stands. Watching him breathe. He's disgusted by it. Tyrone's head is spinning, but he sees the shadow up high. Then, he sees that shadow walk out of sight. If he wasn't so damn out of it, he might have chased it down, but not right now. Right now he needed a hot shower, some fresh clothes, and a sign from god that this would all work out.

And so, while we put together the puzzle of the past... the puzzle of the present and future just got a whole lot uglier. Who was that man on the rooftop? What did the FBI want with Tyrone? And what the hell does "Obstacle Course: Kawahn Williams" mean? Maybe we'll come across the next puzzle piece in the next issue of Pages on the Concrete, Destination: Madison Square Garden! Till then take heed to the apostle's warning!