He talking bout Supreme Magnetic from Fort Greene. Cormega has mentioned his name in a couple off songs
Dexter Isaac (Dude That Robbed 2pac/Jimmy Hencmens Homie) Book Touchs On Alot!!!
- Thread starter Mad Good Dro
- Start date
He talking bout Supreme Magnetic from Fort Greene. Cormega has mentioned his name in a couple off songs
Youngblood Priest
Atl baby
I'm reading these threads and it amazes me that nikkaz are like "Pac didn't know street shyt". He wasn't brought up like that. Really. So because he knew a nikka was street heavy and didn't watch his mouth, I say this cause a lot of nikkaz saying he reckless with "his mouth", talking shyt when jimmy was a street dude. So the fukk what? I personally don't give a fukk who you are, if you try me, then its whatever. I can't knock that dude cuz he went off on dudes. I'm the same way. I say what the fukk I feel. Period. I don't care if you are the fukking killer of killers. I wasn't raised to back down. So if he bucking on nikkaz that's extorting other nikkaz, seems like a real nikka to me. fukk jimmy. If he told him, "bytch nikka bring me cash not a check, then bring me cash. You nikkaz are squares. I respect him for being a real dude. Say what your heart feel. Don't back down. Again, the nikka just turned 25. Majority of you dudes would have been folded if you had to experience what he was going thru. Yet yall hate on him for not being scared of a street nikka that is connected. I'm sure a few of you nikkaz fathers are embarrassed to have shot the sperm that bred ya.
from dexters book...
dogg pound trailer..
dogg pound trailer..
Things got tense that summer. In August 1995, Suge Knight pulled Puffy's ho card on the stage of the Source Awards. After Suge publicly humiliated him, people in New York lost a lot of respect for Puffy. My boys and I just laughed when we saw what Suge did to him. We felt it was about time somebody told this clown about himself. The following month, a party was thrown for Jermaine Dupree, in Atlanta, at a club called the Platinum House. My boys and I were close by in North Carolina and we almost went. We changed our minds at the last minute, deciding it was better to stay focused on making our money instead. So we skipped the party.
It was a good thing we didn't go because Suge's friend and bodyguard, Big Jake, was shot and killed that night. I didn't need to be around that. I wasn't into all that East Coast/West Coast shyt. That was not my beef. Some people said Big Wolf did it, but when I spoke with him, he never admitted to me that he did it.
That was the same month Suge bailed Tupac out of jail. Tupac immediately jumped right back into his anti-East Coast rants: He began pointing fingers at everybody again.
He accused Haitian Jack of being a snitch. He accused Jimmy of setting him up at the Quad, and he accused Puffy of knowing about it in advance.
Jimmy took Pac's accusations hard because he had just gotten his foot in the door of the music industry with the launch of his management company. If he got branded as a thug who set up his enemies in violent ambushes, no one would do business with him.
On top of that, Jimmy told me that Puffy started sweating him to do something about Pac. The rapper was out of control, making altogether too much noise. His behavior was raising concerns among the higher-ups in the music industry. Puffy didn't like it and he wanted Tupac silenced.
Trouble was not good for business, but it seemed to be everywhere. Snoop Dogg had put together a side group called Tha Dogg Pound--two young dudes named Daz Dillinger and Kurupt. Around December, Tha Dogg Pound flew with Snoop into the city to film a video for a song called, "New York, New York." They shot the first part of the video right smack in the middle of Manhattan. In the video, they were portrayed as Godzilla-like giants stomping through the city, crushing buildings and overturning vehicles. None of New York's playas was tripping on that. It was cool with us.
Later on that night, Biggie got on the radio and said something like, "New York nikkas must be getting soft, cause we got dudes from the West Coast disrespecting us right here in our own city."
The next day I was out riding around Brooklyn, listening to the homegirl Angie Martinez, on Hot 97. Angie is this fine Puerto Rican cutie that works at the local radio station. She was, and still is a New York radio princess.
Everybody loves her out here. While I'm driving around, Jimmy hits me on the cell. "Aye Dex, where you at?"
"In Flatbush, between Linden and Utica," I said.
"You got your gun on you?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Meet me down in Red Hook...ASAP. Snoop and That Dogg Pound down there shooting a video."
"A'ight, I'm on my way.”
I clicked off the phone, bent a U-turn and tore across town. The only thing I could think that Jimmy might have up his sleeve was him wanting to rob these dudes for their jewels and cash, the same way we got Pac.
When I got about halfway there, my thoughts were abruptly interrupted as I heard Angie Martinez announce over the radio that Tha Dogg Pound video set had just been shot up. Upon hearing this, I assumed there was no longer any need for me to go to Red Hook. Coincidentally, Jimmy never called me back that day to see what was taking me so long, or to ask why I never showed up.
My thing was, why shoot up a video set? What the hell is that going to prove? I would later find out that the whole thing started out because Biggie was angry about Pac. He thought Pac was with Snoop and Tha Dogg Pound, trying to rub Bad Boys' nose in this escalating war of words. That's why he went on the radio in the first place talking that shyt about them disrespecting the city. Snoop was in the trailer with Tha Dogg Pound when the bullets started flying. They escaped injury, but the trailer was shot full of holes. Whoever shot up the trailer that day didn't do it for the money. They wanted to send a message.
My motto has always been: "If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense!"
None of the dudes I kicked it with in the streets had any problems with dudes from the West Coast. The entire rap beef was nothing but Jimmy Henchman, Puffy and Biggie, fighting with Tupac and Suge Knight, and the rival gangs that each side hired for protection.
A lot of innocent people got sucked into their madness. The media, doing what they do best, threw gas on the flames when they started reporting about it being an East Coast vs. West Coast beef. The bi-coastal beef left dozens of unsolved murders and shootings in its wake. None of my boys or anyone I knew raised a finger in contribution to this music war. During that period, I would see Nate Dogg (R.I.P.) and Tha Dogg Pound hanging out in New York clubs, chilling alone, without any security. I respected them for that. Nobody in New York bothered them. In our minds, they were some real dudes, children of the ghetto, same as us. Real recognize real.
It was a good thing we didn't go because Suge's friend and bodyguard, Big Jake, was shot and killed that night. I didn't need to be around that. I wasn't into all that East Coast/West Coast shyt. That was not my beef. Some people said Big Wolf did it, but when I spoke with him, he never admitted to me that he did it.
That was the same month Suge bailed Tupac out of jail. Tupac immediately jumped right back into his anti-East Coast rants: He began pointing fingers at everybody again.
He accused Haitian Jack of being a snitch. He accused Jimmy of setting him up at the Quad, and he accused Puffy of knowing about it in advance.
Jimmy took Pac's accusations hard because he had just gotten his foot in the door of the music industry with the launch of his management company. If he got branded as a thug who set up his enemies in violent ambushes, no one would do business with him.
On top of that, Jimmy told me that Puffy started sweating him to do something about Pac. The rapper was out of control, making altogether too much noise. His behavior was raising concerns among the higher-ups in the music industry. Puffy didn't like it and he wanted Tupac silenced.
Trouble was not good for business, but it seemed to be everywhere. Snoop Dogg had put together a side group called Tha Dogg Pound--two young dudes named Daz Dillinger and Kurupt. Around December, Tha Dogg Pound flew with Snoop into the city to film a video for a song called, "New York, New York." They shot the first part of the video right smack in the middle of Manhattan. In the video, they were portrayed as Godzilla-like giants stomping through the city, crushing buildings and overturning vehicles. None of New York's playas was tripping on that. It was cool with us.
Later on that night, Biggie got on the radio and said something like, "New York nikkas must be getting soft, cause we got dudes from the West Coast disrespecting us right here in our own city."
The next day I was out riding around Brooklyn, listening to the homegirl Angie Martinez, on Hot 97. Angie is this fine Puerto Rican cutie that works at the local radio station. She was, and still is a New York radio princess.
Everybody loves her out here. While I'm driving around, Jimmy hits me on the cell. "Aye Dex, where you at?"
"In Flatbush, between Linden and Utica," I said.
"You got your gun on you?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Meet me down in Red Hook...ASAP. Snoop and That Dogg Pound down there shooting a video."
"A'ight, I'm on my way.”
I clicked off the phone, bent a U-turn and tore across town. The only thing I could think that Jimmy might have up his sleeve was him wanting to rob these dudes for their jewels and cash, the same way we got Pac.
When I got about halfway there, my thoughts were abruptly interrupted as I heard Angie Martinez announce over the radio that Tha Dogg Pound video set had just been shot up. Upon hearing this, I assumed there was no longer any need for me to go to Red Hook. Coincidentally, Jimmy never called me back that day to see what was taking me so long, or to ask why I never showed up.
My thing was, why shoot up a video set? What the hell is that going to prove? I would later find out that the whole thing started out because Biggie was angry about Pac. He thought Pac was with Snoop and Tha Dogg Pound, trying to rub Bad Boys' nose in this escalating war of words. That's why he went on the radio in the first place talking that shyt about them disrespecting the city. Snoop was in the trailer with Tha Dogg Pound when the bullets started flying. They escaped injury, but the trailer was shot full of holes. Whoever shot up the trailer that day didn't do it for the money. They wanted to send a message.
My motto has always been: "If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense!"
None of the dudes I kicked it with in the streets had any problems with dudes from the West Coast. The entire rap beef was nothing but Jimmy Henchman, Puffy and Biggie, fighting with Tupac and Suge Knight, and the rival gangs that each side hired for protection.
A lot of innocent people got sucked into their madness. The media, doing what they do best, threw gas on the flames when they started reporting about it being an East Coast vs. West Coast beef. The bi-coastal beef left dozens of unsolved murders and shootings in its wake. None of my boys or anyone I knew raised a finger in contribution to this music war. During that period, I would see Nate Dogg (R.I.P.) and Tha Dogg Pound hanging out in New York clubs, chilling alone, without any security. I respected them for that. Nobody in New York bothered them. In our minds, they were some real dudes, children of the ghetto, same as us. Real recognize real.
quad studio...
Life is mysterious. You can wake up in the morning and before you go to sleep that night, the course of your whole life can change in an instant, without you even knowing it.
The change may not only affect your individual fate, but the fate of scores of others, even possibly an entire culture, and the way that culture will forever be remembered. This is what happened on November 29, 1994.
I was checking up on my crack house on South Oxford Avenue in Brooklyn, when my cellphone rings. Paulie's name pops up on the screen.
"What's up Rudeboy?" I answered.
"Are you in New York my dude?" he asked as soon as he heard my voice.
"Yeah, I'm in town. I just got back in."
Paulie lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Starr me need to chat to you right away," he said in his thick Jamaican accent.
"Come by the spot on South Oxford in Clinton Hill," I replied. "We'll talk then."
"A'ight, me soon come."
Fifteen minutes later, Paulie pulled up in his Lexus LS400 with this kid named Fat Cat, a guy who grew up with us in Vanderveer Projects. He was the dude that gave Vinny Vance the ice to cool down after the Dread shot him in the groin and murdered Sherwin.
Before I'm even settled in the back seat, Paulie goes in.
"Jimmy needs you to do a job for him. He wants you to rob rapper Tupac Shakur," he said, "Teach him a lesson about respect."
"Why?" I asked.
"Jimmy-made a deal with Tupac to lay down a track with Lil Shawn, one of Jimmy's artist."
"So what happened?"
"Jimmy agreed to pay Tupac seven thousand dollars for making the guest appearance, but he wanted to give him a check. Tupac wanted cash and Jimmy refused." I sat there listening without saying a word. "After Jimmy refused, Tupac started calling him all kinds of ho's, p*ssy's and bytches. He told Jimmy 'You New York bytches better have my fukking cash when I get there'."
I know Jimmy, and after hearing an earful of disrespect like that, he was about to blow a gasket.
Tupac should've known better than to disrespect Jimmy like that, to talk so recklessly. Everybody knew Tupac had a big mouth, but now he had seriously upset Jimmy. It was like the time when Shoeshine and his boy went to rob Jimmy at his spot on Church Avenue. Jimmy shot Shoeshine without a second thought. Jimmy was my boy and I had mad love for him at the time. His artist, Lil Shawn, I didn't care for. He was messing with my homegirl Rhonda, who worked for Def Jam along with Nikki, my baby's mother.
Rhonda and her little daughter lived about a block down from my house in Clinton Hills. My mother used to babysit Rhonda's daughter sometimes and she would tell me how Lil Shawn used to beat up Rhonda. The dude was so insecure, he was like a stalker. He would hide in the bushes in front of her house and jump out on her when she was coming home. He would slap the shyt out of her right there in front of her daughter. Because of this, I didn't care for Lil Shawn at all.
"So what's in it for me Paulie?" I asked.
"According to Jimmy, you keep all the jewelry from the robbery, except for the biggest diamond ring. Jimmy wants that as a souvenir. Plus, he'll give you another twenty five hundred to pay your peoples for helping you."
Paulie then ran down a list of the exact jewelry that Pac would be wearing and estimated the value of each piece. When I asked him how he knew all this, he said Haitian Jack had taken Tupac to the diamond district on 47th St. when he bought it all.
Haitian Jack and Tupac used to hang out together all the time before they caught that rape case at the Parker Meridian Hotel in the city. Haitian Jack was real flashy, a lady's man, but also a well-known hustler in Brooklyn. He robbed drug dealers, rappers and music executives. Tupac was mesmerized by Jack's flash and his jewelry, so he wanted to get himself some of the same. "The big ring is worth thirty-five thousand," said Paulie, "The little ring is worth twenty."
Tupac had a Rolex watch with diamonds all over it, worth more than $20,000 dollars, plus a gold chain and bracelets he always wore. The job was a no-brainer. It would more than make up for the time I wasted with Jimmy on that stolen car with the empty stash box. Spunk and JD were upstairs in the spot.
"I've got a mission for us," I informed them, "We going up into the city to rob Tupac."
"Are you fo'real?" Spunk asked. "As real as a heart attack, my dude." "Let's do this then," they both said.
My boys were very loyal and they trusted me with their lives. They knew I would never ask them to do anything that I wasn't willing to do myself. I was the boss of my little crew. I had taken these dudes off the streets when they were way down and out. Now they were sober, going out of town with me making money and meeting lots of girls. Thanks to me, they had cars to drive and they stayed clean with all the latest clothes. I was spreading that Brooklyn love with my peeps.
I handed a .45 automatic to JD and a 9mm to Spunk. I grabbed a 9mm for myself and we jumped in the MPV. We slipped the guns into the stash box and off we went. Paulie was leading the way into the city. We parked near the studio, got our guns out, walked around the corner and sat down inside a 24-hour Sbarro restaurant across the street from the Quad. Recording Studio.
The Quad is a world-famous recording studio near Times Square. Many of music's top stars have recorded there: Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Gerald Levert, lots of rappers, plus such white icons as Madonna, U2, and Bob Dylan. The studio is all the way up on the tenth floor. There is a lounge area up there as well.
Paulie called Jimmy on his cell when we arrived.
"Dex wants to holler at you before he does the job."
"Come upstairs," Jimmy replied, "But leave everyone else
in the lobby."
Paulie and I crossed the street and entered the building. The lobby was shaped like a reverse L. When I stepped into the building, the first thing I noticed was a vacant desk and a chair for a security guard. We went around the corner to the elevator and pushed the button. It was a narrow elevator that ascended slowly, floor after floor.
When we got off the elevator, Jimmy was right there waiting for us. To my right, I saw Biggie sitting there on a sofa, talking to Lil Cease by the window. To the left, up front, I saw Lil Shawn behind a glass booth. All the way down to my left, I could see Puff Daddy. He was talking to some dude with a dark bronze complexion like his, but the dude was a little taller. He had a low haircut and his eyes flitted back and forth behind black-rimmed glasses. I would later find out that this dude was Puffy's mentor and ex-boss, Andre Harrell. I wondered why they were all here.
"How many people know what's about to go down?" "He knows," Jimmy replied, nodding his head in Puffy's direction.
Puffy looked me dead in the eye and that's when I knew he was involved. "What Paulie told me, is that the real? "Yeah, it's all official," Jimmy stressed. "But I don't want y'all to kill him. Just rough him up and take his shyt."
After we received the instructions, he hurried us back into the elevator because he didn't want too many people getting a good look at us. Before we left, Jimmy said, "I'll call y'all on the cell when he's on his way. Wait outside the studio until then." As Paulie and I returned to the restaurant across the street, I studied the layout of the building and the streets. Traffic was light and there was very little foot traffic on this block because it was late and all of the stores were closed.
About ten minutes passed before my cellphone rang. "Tupac will be here in a fifteen minutes. He's got a couple of dudes with him." "A'ight. We ready." When I ended the call, I began formulating our strategy.
"Spunk, I need you to chill in the lobby and act like you're the security guard. When they come inside the lobby, me and JD will come from behind and get 'em right there. Under no circumstances are we to kill them. Jimmy doesn't want him shot. He just wants to teach him a lesson."
A few moments later, Jimmy calls again letting me know that Pac and his entourage were in the garage around the corner, parking their car and that I'd be able to see them walking around the corner at any minute.
It was midnight by now on November 30th. All this up-to-date information led me to believe that Jimmy had someone in Pac's camp who was feeding him information. Sure enough, a minute later, I saw Tupac bopping down the street, arms swinging back and forth, leading about four dudes to the studio. Me and JD crossed the street and followed the group into the building.
"Watch the door Dex, make sure nobody comes inside," JD said to me. "Me and Spunk got this covered." "Handle your BI then." My two soldiers wanted to show me they could put in work without me. I took my position at the door while my boys went around the corner to handle their business. I'm listening to them ordering Pac and his crew to get down.
"Get the fukk on the floor, now!"
Tupac's crew dropped to their knees, but Pac was bucking. He reached for his gun he had tucked in his waist. JD grabbed his hand and they both struggled for control. Pac's gun goes off before he can pull it free from his waist. JD started pistol-whipping Tupac in the head, over and over, with his .45. When I heard the shot, I crept around the corner to see what was up.
"Everything is cool," Spunk said, "We got this shyt under control."
Right at that moment, Lil Cease comes riding downstairs on the elevator. When the door opened, I barked at him, "Get the fukk back inside and go upstairs!" His eyes got big as a crackheads' who's just finished taking a hit.
"Go and start the van!" Spunk screamed, "We'll be right behind you."
As I'm leaving, JD was stripping Pac of all his jewelry. We took off down the street behind Paulie."Put the guns and the jewels in the stash box just in case the cops pull us over," I told Spunk.
We headed straight over to the FDR Drive Highway on the east side of the city. We took that to the Brooklyn Bridge, and then drove back to my spot on South Oxford.
After we parked our cars, Paulie approached me.
"Why y'all shot Pac?" he asked with disappointment spreading across his face. "Jimmy called complaining about Pac and his boys came up to the studio all bloody. Tupac said y'all shot him."
"Follow me upstairs Paulie. I want to show you something."
I had my boys put their guns on the table and empty out the magazines.
After laying all the bullets out on the table, I meticulously counted out each bullet to Paulie, showing him that not one bullet was spent from our weapons.
"Tupac shot himself in the groin with his own gun," I told him. "The wounds on his forehead came from the pistol whipping JD gave him. The wound on his hand came from the slide on his gun when he fired it while it was stuck in his waist."
Tupac went on and told everybody that he was shot five times at close range, which was an outright lie. If we had shot him five times he would have been dead, and then we would have had to shoot and kill the dudes that were with him too. Why would we shoot him five times if we weren't trying to kill him? If we had shot him five times, we would not have left any witnesses.
Our mission was not to kill Pac that night. We were sent to teach him a lesson for disrespecting Jimmy and that's what we did. All that crazy shyt he told everybody about getting shot five times was just acting. People forget the brother was an actor. He should've gotten an academy award for his skills.
Back in my apartment, my boys handed over the jewelry. There were two diamond rings, one diamond necklace with diamonds between each link, three bracelets--one looked like a handcuff made out of gold, with diamonds all over it; another bracelet that looked like a bicycle chain but was made out of solid gold, and there was another bracelet with a couple of gold charms on it.
We failed to get the gold cross with the chain because it fell to the floor when JD snatched it from Pac's neck. Nor did we take the Rolex watch. We did get a bonus bracelet from one of his boys--a skinny gold bracelet with the name Stretch written on it. I took that bracelet to the Albee Square Mall in downtown Brooklyn and had a jeweler there change the name to Spunk and gave it to him as a present.
The following day, Jimmy and Paulie came to my house. I gave Jimmy the biggest diamond ring, as we had agreed, and he gave me the $2,500 1ike he had promised.
The change may not only affect your individual fate, but the fate of scores of others, even possibly an entire culture, and the way that culture will forever be remembered. This is what happened on November 29, 1994.
I was checking up on my crack house on South Oxford Avenue in Brooklyn, when my cellphone rings. Paulie's name pops up on the screen.
"What's up Rudeboy?" I answered.
"Are you in New York my dude?" he asked as soon as he heard my voice.
"Yeah, I'm in town. I just got back in."
Paulie lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Starr me need to chat to you right away," he said in his thick Jamaican accent.
"Come by the spot on South Oxford in Clinton Hill," I replied. "We'll talk then."
"A'ight, me soon come."
Fifteen minutes later, Paulie pulled up in his Lexus LS400 with this kid named Fat Cat, a guy who grew up with us in Vanderveer Projects. He was the dude that gave Vinny Vance the ice to cool down after the Dread shot him in the groin and murdered Sherwin.
Before I'm even settled in the back seat, Paulie goes in.
"Jimmy needs you to do a job for him. He wants you to rob rapper Tupac Shakur," he said, "Teach him a lesson about respect."
"Why?" I asked.
"Jimmy-made a deal with Tupac to lay down a track with Lil Shawn, one of Jimmy's artist."
"So what happened?"
"Jimmy agreed to pay Tupac seven thousand dollars for making the guest appearance, but he wanted to give him a check. Tupac wanted cash and Jimmy refused." I sat there listening without saying a word. "After Jimmy refused, Tupac started calling him all kinds of ho's, p*ssy's and bytches. He told Jimmy 'You New York bytches better have my fukking cash when I get there'."
I know Jimmy, and after hearing an earful of disrespect like that, he was about to blow a gasket.
Tupac should've known better than to disrespect Jimmy like that, to talk so recklessly. Everybody knew Tupac had a big mouth, but now he had seriously upset Jimmy. It was like the time when Shoeshine and his boy went to rob Jimmy at his spot on Church Avenue. Jimmy shot Shoeshine without a second thought. Jimmy was my boy and I had mad love for him at the time. His artist, Lil Shawn, I didn't care for. He was messing with my homegirl Rhonda, who worked for Def Jam along with Nikki, my baby's mother.
Rhonda and her little daughter lived about a block down from my house in Clinton Hills. My mother used to babysit Rhonda's daughter sometimes and she would tell me how Lil Shawn used to beat up Rhonda. The dude was so insecure, he was like a stalker. He would hide in the bushes in front of her house and jump out on her when she was coming home. He would slap the shyt out of her right there in front of her daughter. Because of this, I didn't care for Lil Shawn at all.
"So what's in it for me Paulie?" I asked.
"According to Jimmy, you keep all the jewelry from the robbery, except for the biggest diamond ring. Jimmy wants that as a souvenir. Plus, he'll give you another twenty five hundred to pay your peoples for helping you."
Paulie then ran down a list of the exact jewelry that Pac would be wearing and estimated the value of each piece. When I asked him how he knew all this, he said Haitian Jack had taken Tupac to the diamond district on 47th St. when he bought it all.
Haitian Jack and Tupac used to hang out together all the time before they caught that rape case at the Parker Meridian Hotel in the city. Haitian Jack was real flashy, a lady's man, but also a well-known hustler in Brooklyn. He robbed drug dealers, rappers and music executives. Tupac was mesmerized by Jack's flash and his jewelry, so he wanted to get himself some of the same. "The big ring is worth thirty-five thousand," said Paulie, "The little ring is worth twenty."
Tupac had a Rolex watch with diamonds all over it, worth more than $20,000 dollars, plus a gold chain and bracelets he always wore. The job was a no-brainer. It would more than make up for the time I wasted with Jimmy on that stolen car with the empty stash box. Spunk and JD were upstairs in the spot.
"I've got a mission for us," I informed them, "We going up into the city to rob Tupac."
"Are you fo'real?" Spunk asked. "As real as a heart attack, my dude." "Let's do this then," they both said.
My boys were very loyal and they trusted me with their lives. They knew I would never ask them to do anything that I wasn't willing to do myself. I was the boss of my little crew. I had taken these dudes off the streets when they were way down and out. Now they were sober, going out of town with me making money and meeting lots of girls. Thanks to me, they had cars to drive and they stayed clean with all the latest clothes. I was spreading that Brooklyn love with my peeps.
I handed a .45 automatic to JD and a 9mm to Spunk. I grabbed a 9mm for myself and we jumped in the MPV. We slipped the guns into the stash box and off we went. Paulie was leading the way into the city. We parked near the studio, got our guns out, walked around the corner and sat down inside a 24-hour Sbarro restaurant across the street from the Quad. Recording Studio.
The Quad is a world-famous recording studio near Times Square. Many of music's top stars have recorded there: Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Gerald Levert, lots of rappers, plus such white icons as Madonna, U2, and Bob Dylan. The studio is all the way up on the tenth floor. There is a lounge area up there as well.
Paulie called Jimmy on his cell when we arrived.
"Dex wants to holler at you before he does the job."
"Come upstairs," Jimmy replied, "But leave everyone else
in the lobby."
Paulie and I crossed the street and entered the building. The lobby was shaped like a reverse L. When I stepped into the building, the first thing I noticed was a vacant desk and a chair for a security guard. We went around the corner to the elevator and pushed the button. It was a narrow elevator that ascended slowly, floor after floor.
When we got off the elevator, Jimmy was right there waiting for us. To my right, I saw Biggie sitting there on a sofa, talking to Lil Cease by the window. To the left, up front, I saw Lil Shawn behind a glass booth. All the way down to my left, I could see Puff Daddy. He was talking to some dude with a dark bronze complexion like his, but the dude was a little taller. He had a low haircut and his eyes flitted back and forth behind black-rimmed glasses. I would later find out that this dude was Puffy's mentor and ex-boss, Andre Harrell. I wondered why they were all here.
"How many people know what's about to go down?" "He knows," Jimmy replied, nodding his head in Puffy's direction.
Puffy looked me dead in the eye and that's when I knew he was involved. "What Paulie told me, is that the real? "Yeah, it's all official," Jimmy stressed. "But I don't want y'all to kill him. Just rough him up and take his shyt."
After we received the instructions, he hurried us back into the elevator because he didn't want too many people getting a good look at us. Before we left, Jimmy said, "I'll call y'all on the cell when he's on his way. Wait outside the studio until then." As Paulie and I returned to the restaurant across the street, I studied the layout of the building and the streets. Traffic was light and there was very little foot traffic on this block because it was late and all of the stores were closed.
About ten minutes passed before my cellphone rang. "Tupac will be here in a fifteen minutes. He's got a couple of dudes with him." "A'ight. We ready." When I ended the call, I began formulating our strategy.
"Spunk, I need you to chill in the lobby and act like you're the security guard. When they come inside the lobby, me and JD will come from behind and get 'em right there. Under no circumstances are we to kill them. Jimmy doesn't want him shot. He just wants to teach him a lesson."
A few moments later, Jimmy calls again letting me know that Pac and his entourage were in the garage around the corner, parking their car and that I'd be able to see them walking around the corner at any minute.
It was midnight by now on November 30th. All this up-to-date information led me to believe that Jimmy had someone in Pac's camp who was feeding him information. Sure enough, a minute later, I saw Tupac bopping down the street, arms swinging back and forth, leading about four dudes to the studio. Me and JD crossed the street and followed the group into the building.
"Watch the door Dex, make sure nobody comes inside," JD said to me. "Me and Spunk got this covered." "Handle your BI then." My two soldiers wanted to show me they could put in work without me. I took my position at the door while my boys went around the corner to handle their business. I'm listening to them ordering Pac and his crew to get down.
"Get the fukk on the floor, now!"
Tupac's crew dropped to their knees, but Pac was bucking. He reached for his gun he had tucked in his waist. JD grabbed his hand and they both struggled for control. Pac's gun goes off before he can pull it free from his waist. JD started pistol-whipping Tupac in the head, over and over, with his .45. When I heard the shot, I crept around the corner to see what was up.
"Everything is cool," Spunk said, "We got this shyt under control."
Right at that moment, Lil Cease comes riding downstairs on the elevator. When the door opened, I barked at him, "Get the fukk back inside and go upstairs!" His eyes got big as a crackheads' who's just finished taking a hit.
"Go and start the van!" Spunk screamed, "We'll be right behind you."
As I'm leaving, JD was stripping Pac of all his jewelry. We took off down the street behind Paulie."Put the guns and the jewels in the stash box just in case the cops pull us over," I told Spunk.
We headed straight over to the FDR Drive Highway on the east side of the city. We took that to the Brooklyn Bridge, and then drove back to my spot on South Oxford.
After we parked our cars, Paulie approached me.
"Why y'all shot Pac?" he asked with disappointment spreading across his face. "Jimmy called complaining about Pac and his boys came up to the studio all bloody. Tupac said y'all shot him."
"Follow me upstairs Paulie. I want to show you something."
I had my boys put their guns on the table and empty out the magazines.
After laying all the bullets out on the table, I meticulously counted out each bullet to Paulie, showing him that not one bullet was spent from our weapons.
"Tupac shot himself in the groin with his own gun," I told him. "The wounds on his forehead came from the pistol whipping JD gave him. The wound on his hand came from the slide on his gun when he fired it while it was stuck in his waist."
Tupac went on and told everybody that he was shot five times at close range, which was an outright lie. If we had shot him five times he would have been dead, and then we would have had to shoot and kill the dudes that were with him too. Why would we shoot him five times if we weren't trying to kill him? If we had shot him five times, we would not have left any witnesses.
Our mission was not to kill Pac that night. We were sent to teach him a lesson for disrespecting Jimmy and that's what we did. All that crazy shyt he told everybody about getting shot five times was just acting. People forget the brother was an actor. He should've gotten an academy award for his skills.
Back in my apartment, my boys handed over the jewelry. There were two diamond rings, one diamond necklace with diamonds between each link, three bracelets--one looked like a handcuff made out of gold, with diamonds all over it; another bracelet that looked like a bicycle chain but was made out of solid gold, and there was another bracelet with a couple of gold charms on it.
We failed to get the gold cross with the chain because it fell to the floor when JD snatched it from Pac's neck. Nor did we take the Rolex watch. We did get a bonus bracelet from one of his boys--a skinny gold bracelet with the name Stretch written on it. I took that bracelet to the Albee Square Mall in downtown Brooklyn and had a jeweler there change the name to Spunk and gave it to him as a present.
The following day, Jimmy and Paulie came to my house. I gave Jimmy the biggest diamond ring, as we had agreed, and he gave me the $2,500 1ike he had promised.
more on quad....
Jimmy had no idea what he had started. The Quad ambush would alter the course of Hip-Hop history. None of us knew it that night, but the job we did for Jimmy was a portentous moment in the history of American entertainment.
Although the crime was never solved, our actions would trigger a cross-country rampage that left a trail of body bags from Manhattan to Los Angeles, igniting a vicious bi-coastal rap war that culminated in the deaths of the world’s most important and influential rap starts; Tupac and Biggie.
On June 15, 2011, I released a statement to allhiphop.com in which I publicly confessed to robbing and attacking Tupac at Jimmy Henchman’s behest in 1994. The revelation rocked the world. Copies of my confession ran in every major U.S. newspaper and hundreds of media outlets around the world. Here is what I said: “My name is Dexter Isaac. On Monday, May 23, 2011 Rosemond released a statement in which he named myself and another individual, a Mr. Winston Harris (who I do not know), as government informants. I would like to clear the record on that statement: I have never been a rat for anybody and I do not have any deals nor was I made any promises by any government agency for information on Mr. Rosemond.
Mr. Rosemond has crucified good reporters like Chuck Philips, at the LA Times, and Alison Gendar, at the Daily News, for telling the truth about him his activities. He claims they had no proof that he was a rat for the government, which is an outright lie, because Mr. Rosemond, you signed a proffer agreement with the U.S. Attorney’s office in New York on 10-20-1998. Mr. Rosemond, I have copies of your presentence report from North Carolina dated 1-13-1997 and other documents about you working with the government sending people you befriended to prison so you can maintain your own freedom. I have met with individuals on whom Mr. Rosemond has told.
Jimmy, I say to you: I have kept your secrets for years. You have never been arrested because of me, or anyone of our friends because of me. How dare you call me an informant! I have stayed silent in prison for the past thirteen years, doing a life sentence like a real soldier should, when you and everybody have turned your backs on me. I have never gotten any help nor asked for any help from you or anyone since being locked up.
As a matter of fact, when I was first notified a couple of years ago that the Feds and Chuck Phillips were investigating you, I wrote you and sent you everything they sent me. I kept it real with you because that’s what real G’s do. Anyway, that was before I found out that you were, in fact, already a turncoat rat for the government. Mr. Rosemond, if I were an informant like you, I would’ve been home years ago with my family, not doing life in prison.
Now I would like to clear up a few things, because the statute of limitations is over, and no one can be charged, and I’m just plain tired of listening to your lies.
In 1994, James Rosemond hired me to rob Tupac Shakur at the Quad Studio. He gave me twenty-five hundred dollars, plus all the jewelry I too, except for one ring, which he wanted for himself. It was the biggest of the two diamond rings that we took. He said he wanted to put the stone in a new setting for his girlfriend at the time Cynthia Reid. I still have as proof, the chain that we took that night in the robbery.
Now, I’m not going to talk about my friend Biggie’s death or Tupac’s death, but I would like to give their mothers some closure. It’s about time that someone did, and I will do so at a different time. Jimmy, you and Puffy like to come off all innocent-like, but as the saying goes: ‘You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.’
Mr. Rosemond, I ask you “Are you going to flip on Puffy when the Feds get you? To save yourself like you have done in the past? Because that’s what a rat does. So in closing, we shall see who the rat is in the near future.”
Two weeks after the statement was published, five N.Y.P.D. detectives came to the jail in MDC Brooklyn to interview me. I swear, the lead investigator, detective Reives, could’ve passed for Denzel Washington. Detective Dozier was a real smooth bald-headed brother who impressed me as a quiet, sneaky type of dude. Detective Salta looked like Al Pacino, as Michael Corleone, in the movie “The Godfather.” I complimented detective Salta on his pin-striped suit.
“I’ma big fan of the Sean Jean clothing line, and I recently spent several hundred dollars at the Sean Jean store in Manhattan,” detective Salta replied.
“I find it odd for a white cop to patronize the business of a black entrepreneur who’s released rap songs in which he boasts about how much richer he is than most while folks, and brags that he does not need their money,” I replied to Salta’s statement. Detective Salta suddenly got real serious, like I had offended him. “I never heard that song.”
His colleagues told him I was telling the truth. There was also this fine Puerto Rican female officer with them who looked exactly like J-Lo. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. She was looking very sexy in her tight two-piece suit. The last detective was another real quite brother with short curly hair. He told me he initially doubted that I had committed the robbery, but after house of interviews he said he was convinced that I was 100% the real deal.
I told the detectives some very specific details that had never been mentioned in the media, such as, if Tupac was shot five times, like he claimed, what type of caliber bullets was he shot with? What happened to the five slugs? What happened to the five casings? The lobby and the elevator at the building that housed the Quad Studios are very small. With all the sophisticated technology and evidence analysis that the N.Y.P.D. has at its disposal, they should’ve recovered any bullets lodged in the walls of the building or casings on the floor, or bullets in Tupac’s head or body.
Have you ever heard the police or the media claim he got shot with a 9mm or a .45 caliber weapon? The answer is no because he was only shot once with a 10mm bullet from his own weapon.
For the last seventeen years, I’ve heard people complaining about why we did him like that and all types of crazy statements. I could not have spoken up earlier because of the statute of limitations was not up on that crime, and my boys and I could’ve been prosecuted for it. The statute of limitations is up now so no one can ever be prosecuted for the crime. It is very important that you understand that point. Over the years, I’ve heard many erroneous rumors about this robbery, so I would like to take this opportunity to clear the air.
Anyone who doubts whether Puffy knew about the ambush need only to consult an interview he gave in the September 1996 issue of Vibe magazine, where he suggests that Tupac shot himself. (How could he possibly know that?)
“Tupac knows who shot him. If you ask him, he knows.”
In April 2005, Vibe magazine published an even more revealing interview in which Jimmy brags about detailed knowledge of the crime.
“Tupac went for his gun and shot himself, and it all makes sense to me because if you got shot five times while laying down, you wouldn’t do all that running around like he was doing in the studio. Later on, I heard that the gun went off, and he got the shyt beat out of him and was gun butted.” Later in the same interview, Jimmy said he once confronted Tupac backstage in 1995 at the House of Blues in Los Angeles to explain the exact motive for the attack.
“Dude, you gotta stop telling people that shyt,” Jimmy recalled. “Nobody came to rob you, they came to discipline you, that is what happened!”
There are people who have been unjustly blamed for the Quad attack that had absolutely nothing to do with it.
*First and foremost: Biggie had nothing to do with Tupac getting robbed that night. *Scotter (real name: Spencer Bowen) played no part in Tupac’s beating. He was nowhere around.
*King Tut, whose real name is Walter Johnson, had absolutely nothing to do with the ambush.
uad ambush. He was a stick-up guy from Brooklyn trying to beef up his street credibility. Tut had zero to do with the Quad ambush. Tut's bragging finally caught up with him in '96, however. He was sentenced to LIFE in prison, on a t
The reason police suspected him of being involved was because this clown used to always go around bragging he committed crimes he didn’t actually do, including the Qhird strike, for a robbery he did not commit. Police picked him up after somebody at a party heard him running his mouth about details of the robbery he had overheard from the real perpetrators.
*Haitian Jack (real name" Jacques Agnant) had nothing whatsoever to do with the Tupac robbery.
Like Tupac, Jack and another guy were arrested in 1993 for an alleged gang rape of a 19-year-old woman at the Parker Meridian Hotel in New York. I know Tupac was mad because Jack's lawyer got his charge reduced to a misdemeanor, when Pac, in fact, ended up getting convicted for sexual abuse, and was sent to prison. Pac told everybody the reason Jack got off was because he was a snitch. But here's the thing: sometimes when two or more people commit a crime, only one person goes to jail as the sacrificial lamb. Like it or not, that's the way the justice system often works in this country.
Let me take y'all back for a minute. Remember earlier in this book when I told you about my arrest in the game room with Vicky, Stephan, and his uncle with the guns and drugs? I was the only one that went to prison on that case. None of them told on me. That's just how Lady Justice works sometimes. When she wants you, she's going to get you. Unfortunately for Tupac, that's what happened to him in 1994.
I'm not saying Haitian Jack is not a snitch, nor am I saying he is a snitch. I have no idea. But before someone accuses a person of being a snitch, they should have proof because such accusations can get a person killed in or out of prison. Once somebody says it, you can never take it back, because people like to gossip and spread rumors. I too have heard these rumors about Jack over the years, but I have never met anyone in prison or on the streets that said Haitian Jack sent them to jail or that he testified against them in court. I have never seen a single court document showing Jack was a government informant. Nor have I ever spoken to anyone who has.
I cannot say the same for Jimmy Henchman. He has snitched on both friends and enemies. I have seen the, documents, and now, you will too in the next few pages. No wonder Jimmy was always so lucky. I can't even remember how many times he dodged arrest. He shot a guy in the face and beat the case. He escaped from prison and the government called it bail jumping. He was a fugitive for three years, even the night he had Pac robbed and beaten. The police never even questioned him that night and he was the guy that rented the studio. His entire crew got popped in 2005 and went to jail, everybody but Jimmy. He'd either avoid getting locked up, or if he went to prison, he always served less time than everybody else. When someone deals drugs for nearly twenty years without getting caught, it's going to make you wonder.
So, look closely through these documents. They do not lie. Jimmy says his enemies fabricated them, but they were obtained from his own court cases, most of them written by his own lawyers. The New York Daily News ran a story in September, 2010, that accused Jimmy of being a snitch. He said he was going to sue them, but he never did. Why? In October, 2010, he sent his lawyer to court in North Carolina and California to try to seal the very papers you are looking at.
Like I said, back in the day, all of us had mad love for Jimmy. He was an American myth, our Scarface. We respected his defiance of the law, the way he thumbed his nose at the man. Apparently he tested the government's patience one too many times.
One week after I released my statement on allhiphop.com Jimmy was arrested and charged with running a nationwide cocaine trafficking operation, money laundering, and obstruction of justice and implicated in the murder of a man who slapped his son. Some of his crew who have been arrested for the murder have told authorities that Jimmy orchestrated it. I had absolutely nothing to do with Jimmy's arrest or trial. Like I said before, I have been in prison since 1998.
Soon after his arrest he did exactly what I said in my statement. He made a deal with the prosecutors and started spilling his guts just like the rat I said he is. He met with agents more than nine times telling on everybody he knew, trying to get a deal to save his ass. He even finally confessed to setting up the Quad robbery during one of his proffer sessions with federal agents and prosecutors. At one time Haitian Jack and Jimmy use to be friends. Now they are enemies.
Tupac and Jimmy use to be friends, but they became enemies after Jimmy set him up to get robbed at the Quad Studio.
Haitian Jack and Tupac use to be friends and they became enemies after they fell out over the rape case. Me and Jimmy use to be friends but now we are enemies because he slandered me and I exposed him as the "Rat" he is.
Puffy and Suge use to be friends. Now they are enemies. Tupac and Biggie use to be friends and they became enemies because of negative people around them whispering bullshyt in their ears. But who knows, now maybe they are back to being friends again, smiling down on us...
Although the crime was never solved, our actions would trigger a cross-country rampage that left a trail of body bags from Manhattan to Los Angeles, igniting a vicious bi-coastal rap war that culminated in the deaths of the world’s most important and influential rap starts; Tupac and Biggie.
On June 15, 2011, I released a statement to allhiphop.com in which I publicly confessed to robbing and attacking Tupac at Jimmy Henchman’s behest in 1994. The revelation rocked the world. Copies of my confession ran in every major U.S. newspaper and hundreds of media outlets around the world. Here is what I said: “My name is Dexter Isaac. On Monday, May 23, 2011 Rosemond released a statement in which he named myself and another individual, a Mr. Winston Harris (who I do not know), as government informants. I would like to clear the record on that statement: I have never been a rat for anybody and I do not have any deals nor was I made any promises by any government agency for information on Mr. Rosemond.
Mr. Rosemond has crucified good reporters like Chuck Philips, at the LA Times, and Alison Gendar, at the Daily News, for telling the truth about him his activities. He claims they had no proof that he was a rat for the government, which is an outright lie, because Mr. Rosemond, you signed a proffer agreement with the U.S. Attorney’s office in New York on 10-20-1998. Mr. Rosemond, I have copies of your presentence report from North Carolina dated 1-13-1997 and other documents about you working with the government sending people you befriended to prison so you can maintain your own freedom. I have met with individuals on whom Mr. Rosemond has told.
Jimmy, I say to you: I have kept your secrets for years. You have never been arrested because of me, or anyone of our friends because of me. How dare you call me an informant! I have stayed silent in prison for the past thirteen years, doing a life sentence like a real soldier should, when you and everybody have turned your backs on me. I have never gotten any help nor asked for any help from you or anyone since being locked up.
As a matter of fact, when I was first notified a couple of years ago that the Feds and Chuck Phillips were investigating you, I wrote you and sent you everything they sent me. I kept it real with you because that’s what real G’s do. Anyway, that was before I found out that you were, in fact, already a turncoat rat for the government. Mr. Rosemond, if I were an informant like you, I would’ve been home years ago with my family, not doing life in prison.
Now I would like to clear up a few things, because the statute of limitations is over, and no one can be charged, and I’m just plain tired of listening to your lies.
In 1994, James Rosemond hired me to rob Tupac Shakur at the Quad Studio. He gave me twenty-five hundred dollars, plus all the jewelry I too, except for one ring, which he wanted for himself. It was the biggest of the two diamond rings that we took. He said he wanted to put the stone in a new setting for his girlfriend at the time Cynthia Reid. I still have as proof, the chain that we took that night in the robbery.
Now, I’m not going to talk about my friend Biggie’s death or Tupac’s death, but I would like to give their mothers some closure. It’s about time that someone did, and I will do so at a different time. Jimmy, you and Puffy like to come off all innocent-like, but as the saying goes: ‘You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.’
Mr. Rosemond, I ask you “Are you going to flip on Puffy when the Feds get you? To save yourself like you have done in the past? Because that’s what a rat does. So in closing, we shall see who the rat is in the near future.”
Two weeks after the statement was published, five N.Y.P.D. detectives came to the jail in MDC Brooklyn to interview me. I swear, the lead investigator, detective Reives, could’ve passed for Denzel Washington. Detective Dozier was a real smooth bald-headed brother who impressed me as a quiet, sneaky type of dude. Detective Salta looked like Al Pacino, as Michael Corleone, in the movie “The Godfather.” I complimented detective Salta on his pin-striped suit.
“I’ma big fan of the Sean Jean clothing line, and I recently spent several hundred dollars at the Sean Jean store in Manhattan,” detective Salta replied.
“I find it odd for a white cop to patronize the business of a black entrepreneur who’s released rap songs in which he boasts about how much richer he is than most while folks, and brags that he does not need their money,” I replied to Salta’s statement. Detective Salta suddenly got real serious, like I had offended him. “I never heard that song.”
His colleagues told him I was telling the truth. There was also this fine Puerto Rican female officer with them who looked exactly like J-Lo. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. She was looking very sexy in her tight two-piece suit. The last detective was another real quite brother with short curly hair. He told me he initially doubted that I had committed the robbery, but after house of interviews he said he was convinced that I was 100% the real deal.
I told the detectives some very specific details that had never been mentioned in the media, such as, if Tupac was shot five times, like he claimed, what type of caliber bullets was he shot with? What happened to the five slugs? What happened to the five casings? The lobby and the elevator at the building that housed the Quad Studios are very small. With all the sophisticated technology and evidence analysis that the N.Y.P.D. has at its disposal, they should’ve recovered any bullets lodged in the walls of the building or casings on the floor, or bullets in Tupac’s head or body.
Have you ever heard the police or the media claim he got shot with a 9mm or a .45 caliber weapon? The answer is no because he was only shot once with a 10mm bullet from his own weapon.
For the last seventeen years, I’ve heard people complaining about why we did him like that and all types of crazy statements. I could not have spoken up earlier because of the statute of limitations was not up on that crime, and my boys and I could’ve been prosecuted for it. The statute of limitations is up now so no one can ever be prosecuted for the crime. It is very important that you understand that point. Over the years, I’ve heard many erroneous rumors about this robbery, so I would like to take this opportunity to clear the air.
Anyone who doubts whether Puffy knew about the ambush need only to consult an interview he gave in the September 1996 issue of Vibe magazine, where he suggests that Tupac shot himself. (How could he possibly know that?)
“Tupac knows who shot him. If you ask him, he knows.”
In April 2005, Vibe magazine published an even more revealing interview in which Jimmy brags about detailed knowledge of the crime.
“Tupac went for his gun and shot himself, and it all makes sense to me because if you got shot five times while laying down, you wouldn’t do all that running around like he was doing in the studio. Later on, I heard that the gun went off, and he got the shyt beat out of him and was gun butted.” Later in the same interview, Jimmy said he once confronted Tupac backstage in 1995 at the House of Blues in Los Angeles to explain the exact motive for the attack.
“Dude, you gotta stop telling people that shyt,” Jimmy recalled. “Nobody came to rob you, they came to discipline you, that is what happened!”
There are people who have been unjustly blamed for the Quad attack that had absolutely nothing to do with it.
*First and foremost: Biggie had nothing to do with Tupac getting robbed that night. *Scotter (real name: Spencer Bowen) played no part in Tupac’s beating. He was nowhere around.
*King Tut, whose real name is Walter Johnson, had absolutely nothing to do with the ambush.
uad ambush. He was a stick-up guy from Brooklyn trying to beef up his street credibility. Tut had zero to do with the Quad ambush. Tut's bragging finally caught up with him in '96, however. He was sentenced to LIFE in prison, on a t
The reason police suspected him of being involved was because this clown used to always go around bragging he committed crimes he didn’t actually do, including the Qhird strike, for a robbery he did not commit. Police picked him up after somebody at a party heard him running his mouth about details of the robbery he had overheard from the real perpetrators.
*Haitian Jack (real name" Jacques Agnant) had nothing whatsoever to do with the Tupac robbery.
Like Tupac, Jack and another guy were arrested in 1993 for an alleged gang rape of a 19-year-old woman at the Parker Meridian Hotel in New York. I know Tupac was mad because Jack's lawyer got his charge reduced to a misdemeanor, when Pac, in fact, ended up getting convicted for sexual abuse, and was sent to prison. Pac told everybody the reason Jack got off was because he was a snitch. But here's the thing: sometimes when two or more people commit a crime, only one person goes to jail as the sacrificial lamb. Like it or not, that's the way the justice system often works in this country.
Let me take y'all back for a minute. Remember earlier in this book when I told you about my arrest in the game room with Vicky, Stephan, and his uncle with the guns and drugs? I was the only one that went to prison on that case. None of them told on me. That's just how Lady Justice works sometimes. When she wants you, she's going to get you. Unfortunately for Tupac, that's what happened to him in 1994.
I'm not saying Haitian Jack is not a snitch, nor am I saying he is a snitch. I have no idea. But before someone accuses a person of being a snitch, they should have proof because such accusations can get a person killed in or out of prison. Once somebody says it, you can never take it back, because people like to gossip and spread rumors. I too have heard these rumors about Jack over the years, but I have never met anyone in prison or on the streets that said Haitian Jack sent them to jail or that he testified against them in court. I have never seen a single court document showing Jack was a government informant. Nor have I ever spoken to anyone who has.
I cannot say the same for Jimmy Henchman. He has snitched on both friends and enemies. I have seen the, documents, and now, you will too in the next few pages. No wonder Jimmy was always so lucky. I can't even remember how many times he dodged arrest. He shot a guy in the face and beat the case. He escaped from prison and the government called it bail jumping. He was a fugitive for three years, even the night he had Pac robbed and beaten. The police never even questioned him that night and he was the guy that rented the studio. His entire crew got popped in 2005 and went to jail, everybody but Jimmy. He'd either avoid getting locked up, or if he went to prison, he always served less time than everybody else. When someone deals drugs for nearly twenty years without getting caught, it's going to make you wonder.
So, look closely through these documents. They do not lie. Jimmy says his enemies fabricated them, but they were obtained from his own court cases, most of them written by his own lawyers. The New York Daily News ran a story in September, 2010, that accused Jimmy of being a snitch. He said he was going to sue them, but he never did. Why? In October, 2010, he sent his lawyer to court in North Carolina and California to try to seal the very papers you are looking at.
Like I said, back in the day, all of us had mad love for Jimmy. He was an American myth, our Scarface. We respected his defiance of the law, the way he thumbed his nose at the man. Apparently he tested the government's patience one too many times.
One week after I released my statement on allhiphop.com Jimmy was arrested and charged with running a nationwide cocaine trafficking operation, money laundering, and obstruction of justice and implicated in the murder of a man who slapped his son. Some of his crew who have been arrested for the murder have told authorities that Jimmy orchestrated it. I had absolutely nothing to do with Jimmy's arrest or trial. Like I said before, I have been in prison since 1998.
Soon after his arrest he did exactly what I said in my statement. He made a deal with the prosecutors and started spilling his guts just like the rat I said he is. He met with agents more than nine times telling on everybody he knew, trying to get a deal to save his ass. He even finally confessed to setting up the Quad robbery during one of his proffer sessions with federal agents and prosecutors. At one time Haitian Jack and Jimmy use to be friends. Now they are enemies.
Tupac and Jimmy use to be friends, but they became enemies after Jimmy set him up to get robbed at the Quad Studio.
Haitian Jack and Tupac use to be friends and they became enemies after they fell out over the rape case. Me and Jimmy use to be friends but now we are enemies because he slandered me and I exposed him as the "Rat" he is.
Puffy and Suge use to be friends. Now they are enemies. Tupac and Biggie use to be friends and they became enemies because of negative people around them whispering bullshyt in their ears. But who knows, now maybe they are back to being friends again, smiling down on us...