The Rise and Fall of a Jamaican Don

I was walking along Flatbush Ave thinking about life while fearing death. I have been on the run for the past three months, death has been looking for me, and I have no place to hide. Here I am standing at what seems to be a dead end road and my life has nowhere to turn. The sprits I thought were locked away in hell, the deepest depths of hell have come back to life. My darkest secrets and deadliest deeds from my past have come back to put an end to my future. I have seen things I should not have seen and have been forced to do things the bible say we should not do. Now I must pay the wages of sin.

A Black MPV has been following me for the past two weeks since I got back to Brooklyn. I didn't pay it much attention that's until it pulled alongside me and I saw them. Without thinking twice, I started running. I know I wont be able to run forever, but I will as long as I can. I had already gained considerable distance and began to seek help. They have murdered all those who have tried to assist me in the past. Thanks be to God I was always three steps ahead. I thought Brooklyn would be the perfect place to hide since the Gambinos and FBI had them on their most wanted list. The first door I knocked on no one answered. The second was a Puerto Rican woman that could not understand a word I was saying. The third door a man looked out his window then closed his blinds and turned off his lights. I could feel their presence getting closer as the sand in my hourglass was down to a few grains. I thought I was sweating from all that running but when I looked at my Grey shirt it was red. My body was stained with my own blood. I have never been shot before and this was no time to panic.

I crawled into the closest Dumpster and peeked through the lid as I tried to identify the fourth person with them. I stayed there until the night went back to its former silence then went in search of medical assistance. A few blocks down I saw a house with a cross on the door hoping that it represented a Christian who would be willing to help. A woman in her mid-forties opened the door but as soon as she saw the blood and the smell from the garbage she attempted to close it. Even though I begged her to help me she still refused. "Miss please, I need your help, if you do not help me they will kill me. Just hide me for an hour and I will be gone as soon as it is safe enough. Please help me, I don't want to die." My body was beginning to feel numb and my vision was less clear. Now I was getting scared. I did the only thing I could do. For the past six months I have been living in fear not knowing when things I kept in the dark would come to light. Three months ago they discovered the truth and since then I have been on the run. I began making a journal describing events that have occurred since meeting them a few years ago. I gave her the journal I had been guarding with my life along with the instructions I had already outlined and all my valuables. As soon as I saw them turn the corner, I tried to run.

Dear Reader,

Due to the nature of this text and possible danger involved, I will not disclose my name or any personal information that might link me to this publication or anything associated with it. A month ago, I had a very unforgettable experience as I think I might have witnessed one of New York's biggest unsolved murders. I had just came home from work and no longer than an hour later there was a wounded man at my door begging me to help him. I did not know who he was or where he was from so naturally I was reluctant towards letting him in my house. Especially a wounded man. He seemed terrified by what or who was chasing him. He handed me what seemed to be a manuscript and all his valuables and begged me to follow the instructions, as that was his last wish. I should have reported it to the police and I know I may go to jail for not doing so, but there was something about him that captivated my spirit and led me towards doing this.

A few minutes later after he disappeared into the dark gunshots disturbed the once silent night and the same MPV he described left tire marks at the end of our block. In the morning, there were no reports of a missing person or dead body. Nothing about the shots fired was mentioned in the news or in the local paper. I wonder what happened. Yesterday on my way to work, I realized that I left my Metro card and had to return home. While searching for it I stumbled on the manuscript and remembered the promise I had made that wounded stranger a few weeks ago. Since the post office was across the street from my work place, I thought I would mail it at my earliest convenience. The train ride to work is almost two hours long and is usually boring and exhausting. I decided to see what was so important to him. If I had known who he was or the people he was involved with, I would have never opened my door. The story was so compelling that I missed my stop and ended up being suspended and almost fired for my consistent lateness. The story was nothing compared to the info I found from researching old newspapers at the public library. He was associated with the ROCK, a Jamaican gang that became involved with the Mafia. Numerous unsolved murders, drug trafficking, loan sharking, tax violation, illegal firearms and the list went on and on. I guess the journal he made was his experience of living by their code of honor. A code he might have died to protect. He knows where bodies have been disposed and may have failed to protect his own. This is what was recorded in his journal, unedited, and possibly true. Now I would like to share with you what he gave to me that night. It seems to be only half the story, hopefully the person it’s being sent to will take it upon him or herself to share the remainder with you. May God bless that stranger’s soul.

Yours truly,
UNKNOWN.