Seven Five...

‘What happened to Coke?’ ‘Let’s just say he’s not around anymore’ – A wry smile, and a glint said everything you needed to know about Adam Diaz - He was a cold motherfucker… If you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing Tony Montana on the big screen, Adam was a close fucking second.

I first heard of Adam Diaz because we had been fucked over by another wannabe narco trafficker who thought that he was in a technicolour film and thought he could fuck with the Seven Five, big mistake! On reflection, I should have read the writing, but what you gonna do when all the fucking cash is flashing large and ever green. Coke was a low level dealer trying to make a name for himself and his fucked up rag-tag crew, I can’t recall his second in command, but that’s probably best as he disappeared just like Coke did.

That was almost three years ago, and a lot happened in-between.

Let me take you back when times were full of flowers and purity, and I say purity with my tongue firmly in my cheek. 1984, my Buzz Cut - My low hanging balls were brand new – I had just turned twenty years of old and as I looked in the mirror, I studied the crisp lines of my NYPD uniform, the Seven Five epaulettes sparkled, I had finally made it and was about to begin a new day as a cadet in one of the most fucked up boroughs in Suffolk County, New York.

I don’t remember much about the ceremony other than lots of back slapping and suits giving speeches that meant more to the crowded deck chairs than to the new recruits who were about to take to streets of what some referred to as ‘The Land Of Fuck’ – I didn’t really care about any of those dangers at that moment, my ass was as green as, and I’m sure you’ve heard a thousand times before ‘I was gonna make a difference’. I vaguely shook hands, received some paperwork and pledged allegiance to the stars and stripes, salutes were proffered and more backs were slapped and that was pretty much it.

I was in - A blue blooded cop in one of the world’s most prestigious police forces in the world, the NYPD.

As Kenny once said ‘It was either become a cop, or become a firefighter’ – I think my choice had already been made long before I knew. Most of us become a product of our upbringing, meaning that when you watch your father return after grueling nights on the beat, and listen to the tall stories he would narrate over boiled bacon and cabbage at Sunday dinner time, it seemed much more appealing to be a cop on the beat rather than running headfirst into burning buildings trying to save some fucked up crack freak who had lit their pipe a little too energetically.

A cop’s life was inevitable.

The Land Of Fuck – So eloquently put by my one of partners in crime ‘Chicky’ (We will get to him later) – Was just that.

My first day on the beat, I arrived like my life depended on it. Entering the inner sanctum of East New York’s finest was mesmerising. You have to remember, I had just turned twenty, and didn’t really know a great amount about the police other than the stories my old man had conveyed over salty bacon and admonished looks from my tired mother. My adrenaline was almost impossible to tame. I was ready to take on the world! However, before that I was shown around the drab facilities by my training officer ‘Pat McKeon’ a fat man on the verge of retiring who just wanted to get through another day of showing the next line of cannon fodder the do’s and don’ts of precinct ‘Seven Five’. On the laboured tour, Pat pointed at lockers, signing in places, gun requisition and numerous others places that I would not remember at this moment, but would become accustomed to over the coming months and years.

As I said, I was only twenty and wanted to get on with defeating all the bad guys that I had seen on various news channels, and had witnessed first-hand growing up in my Brooklyn neighbourhood. My buzz cut was shining (I had just got it cut especially for this moment) I had my father’s Italian dark looks, and I had been working out in anticipation for the adventure ahead.

I was invincible.


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