Excerpt from “Crime and Drugs on Trip City Street” by Timothy Louis Baker

At only four years old, Kevin Gregory Wilson entered a life of crime on the streets of New York City. Saving his money, he began plans for building a terrorist army when he was only 10. The most powerful man in the world by the time he turns 40, the huge amount of money he amassed through organized crime allows him to finally build his army…the army that will launch an assault upon the U.S. government military bases. Will the government discover Kevin Gregory Wilson,s New Army and stop them? Or will he and his army overpower the entire population of the earth and rule it under the anarchy of crime?


Now in this crime syndicate on Trip City Street of New York, New York, there was an upper silent circle of men who were bosses and who served those who made the money they got a cut from. They were made men. In this silent circle, guy A knew guy B and guy C knew guy B but guy A didn’t know who guy C was nor did guy C didn’t know who guy A was. Guy B knew both who guy A and guy C were and everything coming or going from one to the other up to his boss, who neither guy A nor guy C knew either. The silent circle then kept all protected as long as guy B never talked. In this crime ring the guy B never did.

In 2018 there was a party for all of the upper silent circle on Trip City Street and Budweiser was the “in” drink at this party-down-big-time party-down-place from a long-timeway- ago-back past. Along with whiskey and Coke to mix it with and pot, acid, cocaine, crack, what have you in the doings of the people of the party there on Trip City Street. It was the host’s stuff from and where the one getting and giving the stuff is silent in the inner circle and gets his stuff from out of town or more usually from out of the country there on Trip City Street, New York, New York, USA,

Planet Earth, in the solar system where all of that space is. The guests kept thinking about the effects of the drugs as the leader of the group who lived in the rich neighborhood was speaking, keeping the audience spellbound in their thoughts about the glorious subject of crime and drugs.

The host, Craig, who was the rich upper man of this crime syndicate was saying, “We all jumped off the back of the boat into the water off the dock and swam to the dock on the other side of the harbor and climbed up on it and took off running before any of the Feds could catch up to us. They fired guns, and believe it or not, on top of that entertainment center where that hole is in that hat is where the bullet that almost got me! No shit! They got the boat and the shit but we managed to escape and I almost bought it.” Girls cooed and men stood in awe and said, “Wow!” and another said, “No shit?” and yet others simply stated awe in their breath.

The bravest one there, Jack, the drug runner, the one who worked for the man who owned the house and the one who did all of the dirty work, found it amusing that all of the man’s adventures were not nearly as close to being as dangerous as the life he had led. It was a remarkable life he had led to get this together and piece by piece he knew he had many times the amount of lore and guts, life to death closer than anything Craig had ever or would ever have done. He knew it would take a long time to get it all together, what he had done, but he also knew it could come apart at any second in time.

The house was an expensive huge mansion, Craig’s home away from home of his penthouse apartment, and even for the rich man Craig, it was expensively decorated with the souvenirs from various places he’d been to see about the things pertaining to crime of other nature than setting up a deal, before he did this softer, easier, less dirty work of smuggling drugs into the country. He used to smuggle other things from foreign countries overseas, stolen stuff, foreign guns, diamonds, jewelry, paintings, other art works, and now drugs instead. It brought more money to smuggle the drugs instead of all of the latter, which are less risky. The drugs are more risky but paid well if you dealt in large enough amounts of business and used to have and still had other businesses, stolen cars, chop shops, prostitution, and drug sales in and around Trip City Street.

The carpet in the house was deep plush and there was a linoleum kitchen floor. There was deep brown paneling, dark brown fine furniture, and he even had a pool table at the back of the apartment with a bar in it, and they were all in that room having the party together, and taking the drugs continued for quite some time.

Other people told other lore. Some of it was quite good. One man after another challenged each other with previous experiences, the bravest things they’d ever done, the closest to getting caught without getting caught, the most dangerous things they’d ever done, the closest they’d ever been to getting double crossed by someone else in the drug world, the closest they came to getting busted, and a whole multitude of things to match that and the henchman Jack was aware the whole lot of them hadn’t done as much close calls to death or any other danger as the ones he’d personally done. The total amount was more than what they’d all done combined, all of their experiences they talked about, and he knew they talked about all of them and had a good time with them. The stories were silent of other names because that was the silence in which they lived and died by hopefully. So they snorted lines of cocaine and smoked the dank shit (that’s how fresh it was), which they dried out under light bulbs first, and drank their casual party beer. It was a better party than Craig ever expected. It was just a casual beer and dope party with a group that worked together for a man who worked for somebody else and neither Craig nor the others there, nor the others not there any of them dealt with, never say anything to anybody about anything ever or the vow of silence was broken, and if you ran, you’d be found quicker than you could get away. There would be no reason for you to run because you would be found.

The inner circle was assembled within the New York City part in Trip City Street. The bosses of the boys were gathered together there.

Crime was what was going on. What one man stole another man fenced but it passed from one to another by a boss of a lower or the upper inner silent circle. Drugs were also dealt. Where they came from and where they went was the inner circle of silence. No one ever told, as it would have been pointless to do so, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The hit man would find you wherever you were, and you would be found where there would be a hit man to find you and you would be on a contract, with your death warrant signed by yourself.


Timothy Louis Baker has published five books. He is a maintenance technician for a machine service shop. Timothy resides in Paulding, Ohio.

Crime and Drugs on Trip City Street by Timothy Louis Baker Available @ http://fantasticfloridafun.com @ http://timbaker.bookblogworld.com @ http://www.authorsden.com/timothylbaker @ http://tinyurl.com/457nas7

Click here for an interview with: Timothy Louis Baker, Author of “Crime and Drugs on Trip City Street”