The Jersey Wars

Chapter 1 - Back In The Day

April 1988

Ten years. Ten years is a very long time despite popular opinion of how short life is. When all of New Jersey's righteous hustlers came together a decade ago to form what is now known as The Garden State Syndicate, all of organized crime around the country laughed at us.

What the fuck do you kids know about organization? Was the question that was asked by the older heads. The answer was we didn't know shit, but like most beginning ventures in the life we'd sure as hell learn through trial and error. It was too unprecedented to ignore, an entire state of young go-getters putting all hate aside and coming together for the sake of making money. North Jersey, Central Jersey, South Jersey, and The Shore. We had to have a sit-down with The Commission to ensure them that we weren't intending to step on anyone's (The real Mafia) toes.

The thing about it was we weren't interested in any of their business ventures. The Commission could keep the sanitation and the gambling and the construction, we were planning on using technology to grab the world by the balls and twist them until we became filthy rich.

Ten years ago Rajohn Bowens (Don of Central Jersey), Earl McLinden (Don of South Jersey), Paulie Costanzo (Don of The Shore) and myself JDC (Don of North Jersey) were handpicked by The Commission to organize our corresponding section of the state and do what it was that we did best, get paid. Of course, you can't make money without spending money. Our kickback to The Commission was a paltry 0.9% of our total take, which equated to pennies coming out of hundred dollar bills.

We helped each other to prosper and used each other's law enforcement and political connections to make moves all over New Jersey as well as up and down the eastern seaboard. So long as we shared the pie with the Don of the section that we wanted to do business in, it was all love. It got to the point of where actual Mafioso soldiers and capos were looking to jump ship and join up with us.

If you wanted to sell a nickel bag of weed in North Jersey, my cut was $2. It didn't make any difference to me what a man did to earn a living you understand, so long as I got my cut. My inner circle consisted of guys that I knew my whole life, men who could be trusted with the kind of responsibility that it would take to succeed without making any waves....or so I thought. Money and power can make a man do strange things; behave in a way that he normally wouldn't behave outside of the spotlight. Too bad we all had to learn that lesson the hard way.

As I stood in the enormous meeting room of our headquarters located in Downtown Newark at 45 Academy Street, I looked around at my comrades: DeAntre Stone, better known as Tre, was my consigliere or counselor. It was his job to advise me on all matters of business. He was also my closest and dearest friend so his advice more times than not extended beyond business.

His older brother Wilson, B.K.A. Dunna, was one of my capo régimes or captains. He controlled the street operations in Essex, Hudson, Union, Bergen, and Passaic Counties and he did a damn fine job of it too.

Their little brother Dante, B.K.A. Lil D, was also a capo but being that he had an I.Q. of 210, it was he who formulated the different schemes and methods we used for turning our black money white.

Marcus Adams, B.K.A. Mark, was a capo as well as an old and dear friend of mine who controlled the operations in Sussex, Warren, Hunterdon, Somerset, and Morris Counties.

The final two members of my inner circle were Jamison Levens, B.K.A. KC (Killa Crazy), and Darrien Christiansen, B.K.A. Ghost. These two gentlemen were my family hammers and dealt with the unpleasant aspect of disposal. They were also two of the most dangerous psychopaths ever to be shot from the head of a dick, and I was thankful to God that they were on my team.