This is the full 16th chapter of my book Paper Squares and Purple Stars: My Life as a Rave Outlaw. I have decided to share the whole book here for free. The book is already available for purchase at www.raveoutlaw.com, and the mobile game is coming soon, www.immortalgames.co.uk.
If you missed chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 or 15 go back and read those in order first.
Chapter 16 - Hustle and Glow (Winter 2009)
On my birthday that year, a few friends organized an intimate gathering of 100 or so people at Shorty’s. Even though it was just a small private party for the inner circle and our closest connections, we still booked a massive headliner to DJ that night. I would rather not share his name, for reasons that will become obvious later, but for the purpose of this discussion we’ll just call him “the DJ.” He was a pioneer of the scene, one of the very first superstar rave DJs in the US. He had one of the most recognized names in the industry because he appeared in numerous movies and documentaries, but over the years he stopped releasing music and played fewer and fewer parties. Still, it was a novelty to have him play the show. I saw it as a sort of status symbol, a sign that I had “made it.”
A few hours before the show, me and Stryda took a ride downtown to the hotel where the DJ was staying. We got him one of the best rooms in Baltimore, with expensive furniture, a big screen TV, and large glass windows overlooking the harbor. When we showed up at the hotel, he was wearing a big leather jacket that had straps and clamps hanging from it and no shirt underneath, with thick black sunglasses. I don't think I saw the dude’s eyes for the entire evening. As we greeted one another, he asked if we had any weed to smoke, so I pulled a joint out of my pocket, lit it and gave him the first drag. I always had weed on hand for DJs just in case, and I really never leave home without it anyway. While we were sitting there smoking, he started asking if we had any meth, which of course we did not, so the conversation became awkward very quickly, and we all decided to head out for the club. Meth and heroin are two things you don’t ask for in polite company, even among ravers. On the ride back to Shorty’s, he was quiet and stared out the window as we rolled down the road. When we got back to the club, he wanted to do a soundcheck, which was fairly routine, but then he asked me to take him back to his hotel so he could change and prepare for his performance. The request was a bit odd considering we were only at the club for a few minutes, but I just assumed it was some sort of diva thing, big-name DJs are often too cool to mingle with the crowd. It was only a few minutes down the road anyway, so I agreed to give him the ride. As soon as we got into my car, I realized that this may have been a bad decision, because he started trying to touch me from the passenger seat, putting his arm around me and caressing my head and neck. Obviously, I felt extremely uncomfortable. I can handle someone making a pass at me, but when that person is twice my size and age, and won't stop asking about meth, it becomes more of a threatening than a flattering vibe.
“So, when we get back to the hotel, do you want to come up to my room and smoke another joint while I get ready?” he asked as my car was beginning to pick up speed.
“I'd love to man, but I really need to get back and help them with the door. I have a whole pocket full of joints though, I'll give ya a few, so you have something to smoke,” I replied.
“Well that doesn't make very much sense to drive all the way to the club and back again,” he said, as he began touching my leg.
Just then the car shook, and I heard a loud pop, I was never so happy to have a flat tire in all of my life.
“What the hell was that?! What happened?!” he asked.
“I think that was a flat tire. I don't know what happened. There must have been something in the street. We are only a few blocks away from the club though, I can make it back there before it goes totally flat,” I said.
Luckily, I was able to make it back to the club before the tire was completely deflated, and our security team ended up driving the DJ back and forth from the hotel. I just let that whole incident slide, and I gave him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that he was just being pushy and not predatory. He kept on asking about meth though, and eventually, he talked to someone who was willing to help him out...Clyde. Clyde ended up telling him that he could probably find whatever he wanted at a warehouse nearby. He was right too, there was a small warehouse space deep in the city, and you could find pretty much everything there. The place hosted afterparties for every rave in town, but it was basically a trap house. I had been there a few times and was friendly with the dealers who rented the building, but there were rumors that the place was being watched, so I stopped going after a while. I was also uneasy about taking the DJ there after the show because I didn’t want to end up babysitting him, but Clyde was more than happy to volunteer as his chauffeur. I'm glad I didn't go too, because an hour or so later, I got a call from Clyde saying that the warehouse was getting raided as they were walking up to the door. They were apparently spotted by police but were able to escape through an alley and avoid being arrested. After that, I told Clyde that the DJ was his responsibility for the rest of the night, and I invited a few people back to the apartment for a small afterparty of our own.
The next weekend we were back at Galaxy for another packed show. In just a few months, Galaxy had become the successor to God’s Basement in many ways. Most importantly, it gave the community a home, and sort of sanctuary, but all of that came into question the week after my birthday. One of the other promoters at the club was hosting the show that night, so since I was free to do as I pleased, I dropped a few rolls and a few tabs of acid at the beginning of the night.
Before that shit even had a chance to hit me, Gordon frantically ran up to me and said, “spread the word, cops are coming through here in a few minutes. Charles is outside stalling them.”
“What the fuck are they doing here? We opened up like a half hour ago, there aren't even 50 people here yet,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. It’s bullshit. I heard one of them say an ‘anonymous tip’ was called in about someone smoking weed in the bathroom,” Gordon said.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Alright, I'll shut everyone down,” I said.
As quickly and casually as I could, I moved through the dance floor spreading the news about the cops. I told all the main dealers to close shop and made sure that there were no blunts sparked. Before I could get halfway across the room, a line of stormtroopers came passing through the door and walked straight towards the bathroom. A chill filled the air, and it seemed as if everyone was frozen in fear like small animals hiding from predators. The cop’s faces were emotionless and their movements robotic as they followed Charles to the bathroom in a single file line. By the time they got there, all of the evidence was long gone, and no one was even in there. However, the cops did take note that people were smoking cigarettes inside, which was, of course, illegal. They made a huge deal about that and gave Charles a fine, but then they went on their way and left us alone. The no smoking law was one that we had to break, we just had no choice, because hundreds of ravers rotating through the parking lot for smoke breaks all night would inevitably cause issues with neighbors and cops. The drugs were just starting to kick in as I walked outside to watch the last cop car pull out of the parking lot. As soon as the coast was clear, I ran inside to talk with Charles about what just happened, and he led me into his office.
“What the fuck was that about? Why did you let them in here like that?” I shouted, shaking.
“Calm down John. It’s over, and they aren't coming back. It was a good idea to let them in early when no one was here, this way we don’t have to risk having them come back with a warrant when we are packed. I let them through voluntarily, so it looks like I have nothing to hide, and we get off the hook with a smoking citation,” Charles explained.
“Yeah, that makes sense, I guess you're right, but still, that could have ended horribly, and now they know what goes on here,” I said.
“They didn't see anything when they came in here. They couldn't find anything,” Charles said.
“Yeah but now they know what goes on here, they saw a bunch of ravers, and now they are going to have their eye on this place,” I said.
“Well John, I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get you all worried, but the cops have had their eye on this place for a while, and it has nothing to do with the ravers. They are trying to segregate the whole damn city like it's Jim fucking Crow,” Charles said.
“Huh, what do you mean?” I asked.
“The local cops around here, and some of the asshole neighbors are racist as fuck, and they don't like the fact that we do hip-hop shows here on Wednesday nights. They have been here in the parking lot for those shows every week, harassing my customers, responding to bullshit ‘anonymous’ complaints. Then they started asking a pay-off. They said they would look the other way if we paid them a few thousand every weekend. Can you believe that? Those mother fuckers think they can get away with extortion,” Charles shouted, slamming his fist on the desk.
“Are you serious? Fucking pigs man! Why don’t we just pay them off though?” I asked.
“I’m not bowing down and kissing their fucking boots man! You of all people should understand the principles at play here. Plus, there is no way I could afford what they are asking, its obnoxious,” He said.
“I know man, trust me, I get it. I just don’t want to see this place go down, especially if we can avoid it,” I explained.
“Don't worry John. It's my job to worry about this shit, it's your job to get people in the door. Remember, I used to be a lawyer, I know the law, and I know how to deal with these clowns. They can’t come in here and shake everyone down, this is a licensed establishment on private property. They are just trying to intimidate me into discriminating against the hip-hop crowd, and it's not gonna happen. I'm gonna go on the offensive and go after these fuckers legally... Harassment, discrimination, just watch,” Charles said.
We spoke for a few minutes as he assured me that we had nothing to worry about and that he was going to get the cops off our back by filing a lawsuit against them. I knew that he was at least telling the truth about how the racist cops were trying to shut down the hip-hop nights. I can remember even back when I was a doorman, they would show up on those nights specifically to hassle people and follow them from the parking lot to pull them over for searches and sobriety tests. When Morgan State, a Black University had their homecoming afterparty at Galaxy, riot police blocked off the streets for no other reason than there were a lot of Black people in one area. One time they even accused a high-profile rapper of being a drug dealer and tore apart his car only to find it totally clean. Things like that happened often, so Charles was right to go on the offensive. Still, I wasn’t very convinced that a lawsuit was going to scare away the cops. The raves were also developing quite a reputation all over the state, and it's hard to imagine that those rumors didn’t get back to the wrong people. I was worried about the cops, but not worried enough to stop selling pills. I had bills to pay anyway, this was my day job now, so I really had no choice. That night, the party was very impressive and continued a streak of sell-out shows.
I was happy that someone else was in charge for a change so I could get a bit sloppy, but I ended up going a bit too far with that. I spent most of the night wandering around and getting caught up in conversations, getting offered a bump here or a tab there.
At 2am there was always a cleanup process where security briefly turned on the lights to shut down the bar and clear all the alcohol out of the rooms, just to give some semblance of complying with the law. When one of the security guards was passing by me, I heard him say something about cops, and I freaked out. I'm not exactly sure what he said, but with the events earlier that day, I got the idea in my head that the club was being raided. I rushed across the dance floor and frantically told Caylee “We need to leave, we are getting raided, we need to go home!”
“What’s going on? I guess I'm ready to go,” she said.
I quickly moved down the steps and out the door to my car without even thinking to sort out what was in my pockets or get rid of my stash. I never drove home with anything, I always cashed out with Charles at the end of the night, but I was afraid I might run into a cop if I went around looking for him. When we got out to my car, I didn't see any cops in my direct view, but I didn't want to take any chances, so I pulled off towards home. Less than a mile down the road, I saw a line of cop cars all with their lights on.
“FUCK! It's a roadblock! I knew all this shit was too good to be true! This is the end, it's all over!!” I cried.
“JOHN! Calm the fuck down! Just drive straight, they aren't going to stop you, they got someone else pulled over,” Caylee shouted back.
I kept it cool and passed the cop cars with no problem, making it onto the safety of the highway.
“I could have sworn that was a roadblock,” I said.
“Well, they weren't, and I don't think they raided the club either, I think that was all in your head too,” Caylee said.
When we got home, I made some phone calls back to the club and learned that I was in fact: trippin. I had concocted this whole scenario in my head that the cops raided the club and set up a checkpoint for me down the street, but luckily that was just my mind playing tricks on me. I never really had a bad trip before, although I have had plenty of unpleasant trips where I became extremely introspective, but I always tried my best to learn from those experiences and was careful to keep my mind from drifting into dark realms. This was something entirely different altogether though, I imagined my worst fears coming true, Galaxy getting shut down, and I convinced myself that it was happening. Luckily, we were not getting shut down, it was just a small bump in the road, and we got the cops off our back for a while by giving them a quick tour of the building. Charles wasn't playing around either, he seriously did file a lawsuit against the local police department, fighting back legally was our only option at this point. Now that we were in some sort of public beef with the local police department, I realized that I needed to be taking some extra precautions with my operation. I already ran a tight ship, there were no pictures of me online, and nothing to tie my government name to Galaxy or my production company. I was still sloppy on the phone though, so I got an extra burner phone and developed a few code words to use with Charles and my runners, just in case some investigator was listening in.