fairy tale.” He was sad because Vinnie and Alex wanted to shoot Rosa but Rosa was the mother of he kids. So I say cool…here’s story about women, dude. Things ain’t what they seem. I wasn’t trying to fuck with him. I was Bullwinkle, bitch.
“Yo, Papi,” I say, “you remember that piece of shit cop Herman Padilla, used to do Anti-Crime out of the Four-two in the Bronx? You know - the light skinned big dude they used to call ‘Herman Munster’ cause the nigga got a big square head and zombie eyes like so?”
And Tone say, “Si… coño… Herman Munster in the shitbox Buick? I remember when the fucker rolled up on that cholo Dominican Fred right in front of Yankee Stadium! Fred just out there running his ho’s, dude, and Herman Munster shook him down for the month’s nut…”
Dominican Fred paid for his mother’s house in Bridgeport, and had to pay some doctors a shitload of cash to treat his Crohn’s Disease, and shit is like the lupus my sister Nancy has - just in the ass, yo. Fred’s girls be slacking, so he was broke and Munster smoked him, planted his drop-gun on Fred and so the shooflies from NYPD said it was a righteous kill. They said a lot of dirt Munster did in the Bronx was cool, cause Munster was cleaning up ‘his own people.’
Till one day, Puerto Rican Day Parade - Tone was leading us down Fifth Avenue, and Papi had us walking tall, no violence, until POP-POP-POP and everyone’s diving for the pavement. Channel 2 and 9 and 4 and seven and NY1 are showing it all to the whitefolks in the suburbs. Gangsta shit?
No. Down 52nd Street Munster’s putting the Glock beat-down on some Gangsta Killer King maricon. NYPD says cool, g’head Herman - execute whoever you want, chico. Keep the GKK’s in Queens. Keep the Salvadorenos and Mexicanos from fighting the Nuyoricans, eh? But this time Munster didn’t have a drop gun. This time he walks right up on the muthafucka while he biting down on he empanada and KA-BAM! This time Munster takes a roll of bills from dude’s jeans and Munster all wild eyed and sweating and witnesses see it all. Shooflies can’t cover that shit up. Herman had just too much love in him…
Loved that spiced ron more than roasted pollo and black beans. Loved to fly to La Isla on sick days and buy property, farms, cases of spiced rum. Loved the horses at Belmont and Aqueduct. Loved expensive putas all with painted press-on nails, pushed- up titties, fat red lips and fat pale asses. Mira - Herman Munster was a dusthead.
Word was out. He’d stole his kid Bobby’s junior chemistry set and used a flask, stopper and glass tube to make his thing. Smoked that loveboat and it made him el Diablo when he needed to make his shark payments or bust out another credit card.
He was ass-out-the-door, and now he the one crying racism against Puerto Ricans! No pension, but hey - no prison, either. He had cash from shaking down cholos, Tone’s corner shorties or bodega owners from High Bridge to East Harlem. Still hid a drop-gun, though. This one a Browning 9mm, with clips he housed from NYPD’s ordnance room cause he be foquin one of this morena girls who worked there. Said he feared for his life from his old criminal enemies, like he Batman or some shit, and she fell for it!
Worse, dude kept his old uniform badge from before he made Anti-Crime dick. With some solder and silver nail polish, Munster made the badge a pretty damn good