The Story of Felix Hernandez's Murder
The story of Felix Hernandez’s murder was brutal in its simplicity, simple in its brutality. The shooter was Mike “Pops” Jones, a sixteen year old pimple face kid from the housing projects over on the east side. Jones drove down to the Chicken Roost where Hernandez worked part-time, because he owed him money for drugs and Hernandez wouldn’t pay. Perhaps it was because Jones was a young kid and Hernandez wanted to exploit that fact. However, the reasons were never clear, and would never be found out. Jones ended the negotiations with several shots from a weapon capable of shattering its target. Four bullets entered Hernandez’s chest pulverizing bones and exploding flesh. Then he fired two more shots at his left leg completely separating it from his torso. Hernandez experienced the insect on the front windshield effect of a car going 65 miles per hour. He never knew what hit him.
The shooting was an awkward, impulsive performance, the sort of thing to be expected from a teenager who was raised watching violent movies, and television shows, and spent endless hours trying to reach a high level in gang violent video game. The attack was clearly a CSI drama type. Hernandez didn’t even have enough time to shield himself from the blasts. He was no Humpty Dumpty, but The City of Bridgeport’s crime lab will have a field day trying to put Hernandez back together again.
Jones checked Hernandez’s bloody pockets and took out eight dollars and forty two cents. That was all the money he had on him. It wasn’t even enough to pay for the bullets he used. Jones then looked at the young waitress pinned to grill and noticed that she was bleeding from the stomach. A bullet found its way out of Hernandez’s body and claimed her life too. What kept her standing was the hot grill. It was searing the palms of her hands tightly as if they were burgers, and the smell of burnt flesh attacked Jones nostrils. She wasn’t the intended target, and he was too young to understand the collateral damage effect, so he did what many young frightened children would do. He ran in panic from the Chicken Roost.
The chase was on, hitting the streets of Bridgeport hard. The police turned over every stone until they apprehended Pops Jones. He was hiding out in an old condemned building on the corners of Clinton and North Avenues. He was high as a kite and didn’t recall the shooting. He was trying to tell the police that he just got out of class, and he was on his way home. The story was hard to believe, because it was a Sunday afternoon and he dropped out of school as a high school freshman.
The police searched him and found several bags of cocaine wrapped for street sale, and over six thousand dollars in large bills. Discarded on the floor next to him was eight dollars and some small change.
Mike “Pops” Jones was charged as an adult with a double homicide and possession of a firearm, and drugs with the intent to sell. The only family he had was a grandmother and disappointment riddled her tired old face. She did everything she could to raise that boy right, but the streets claimed him before whatever she taught took.
Mike “Pops” Jones told the courts that he was very remorseful and it was the drugs that made him become a murderer, later he took a second degree plea and twenty five years. He was released from prison eight years later for over-crowding, but they called it good behavior.
© 2013 Frank Atanacio