# The Ghosts of the Streets: New York's Most Notorious Crime Lords

## A Deep Dive into the Legends That Shaped Urban America

In the annals of American crime and street culture, certain names carry a weight that transcends mere notoriety. These are the figures whose stories have been immortalized in rap lyrics, street documentaries, and the collective memory of urban America. They are the modern-day outlaws—men whose deeds created legends and whose legacies continue to reverberate through the streets they once controlled. Like the Jesse James and Billy the Kids of previous centuries, these contemporary crime lords have achieved an almost mythological status, their names becoming synonymous with power, danger, and an unflinching code of the streets.

At Evil Streets TV, we've dedicated ourselves to chronicling these figures with historical precision and cultural respect. These aren't merely criminals; they are icons whose influence shaped entire communities, spawned countless works of art, and left an indelible mark on hip-hop and street culture. Their stories deserve to be told with nuance—not to glorify their crimes, but to understand the complex figures behind the mythology.

## Peter "Pistol Pete" Rollack: The Bronx's Most Feared Operator

In the Bronx during the crack epidemic's most volatile years, one name struck fear into the hearts of even the hardest individuals walking the streets: Peter "Pistol Pete" Rollack. This wasn't mere reputation built on talk; Pistol Pete had earned his fearsome standing through consistent, brutal action that left no room for doubt about his willingness to use violence.

Operating out of the South Bronx in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Rollack built Sex Money Murder into one of the most formidable criminal organizations in New York City history. The gang operated with military precision, controlling the Soundview housing project with an iron fist painted red with both gang colors and the bloodshed that came with maintaining power. Pistol Pete wasn't just a figurehead; he was an active combatant who personally participated in the violence that kept his operation running. Witnesses and street accounts describe a man of terrifying efficiency—someone who didn't hesitate, didn't second-guess, and didn't show mercy. To issue an order from Pistol Pete was essentially to sign a death warrant. Bodies dropped with regularity, each one a demonstration of his reach and his will.

The legend of Pistol Pete extended beyond the streets into the realm of documentation and street media. His name appeared in Don Diva magazine, the underground publication that chronicled the exploits of New York's most significant drug dealers. He was featured in street DVDs and documentaries that circulated through urban neighborhoods, each retelling of his story adding another layer to his mystique. Even mainstream hip-hop artists referenced him in their lyrics, transforming his story into cultural currency.

But Pistol Pete's reign, while devastating, was not destined to last indefinitely. Federal agents and local law enforcement eventually built a case against him, armed with testimony from associates and evidence of his criminal enterprises. In 1996, while incarcerated on Rikers Island, Rollack made a crucial connection that would further cement his influence: he aligned himself with the Bloods organization. OG Mac and Dead Eye McKenzie, established figures within the Bloods hierarchy, brought the young gangster into their family. Rather than diminishing his power, this affiliation expanded it. Pistol Pete ensured that his entire neighborhood embraced the Bloods' red colors and ethos, spreading the gang's influence throughout the Bronx.

Even from behind bars, Rollack's empire continued to function. He managed his criminal organization through letters, phone calls, and messages conveyed by visitors—a testament to his continued relevance and the fierce loyalty he commanded. However, the criminal justice system was closing in. Multiple indictments followed, each one stacking additional charges onto his case. Some of these charges were directly connected to murders—bodies that prosecutors alleged had fallen at his command or with his sanction. When Rollack was finally convicted and sentenced, he found himself incarcerated in ADX Florence, the federal supermax facility in Colorado, where the most dangerous prisoners in America spend their days in near-total isolation.

The prison is specifically designed to prevent exactly what Rollack had accomplished from Rikers: the continued operation of a criminal enterprise. Communications are severely restricted; the facility operates under protocols designed to break the chains of command that organized crime figures attempt to maintain. Yet even in this environment, Pistol Pete's legend persists. The question of whether he would soon be transferred was a matter of speculation—that is, until the national media renewed interest in his story. When the television series "America's Most Evil Gangsters" aired a segment about Rollack, federal authorities apparently took note of how his continued prominence could inspire further criminal activity. They adjusted their plans accordingly.

To this day, in the Bronx and among Blood sets stretching across the East Coast, the name Pistol Pete carries weight. Young gang members invoke his story; rappers reference him in their lyrics; and his legacy has transcended street culture to become a part of New York City's criminal folklore. He is a legend locked away, but not locked down—his influence continues to resonate from within his cell.

## E. Money Bags: The Queens Rapper Caught Between Hip-Hop and the Street

Eric Smith, known professionally as E. Money Bags, represented a particular strain of New York street culture during the late 1990s—the figure who existed simultaneously in the legitimate music industry and the underground criminal economy. Born on November 19, 1969, E. Money Bags grew up in Queens, a borough that had produced some of hip-hop's most significant talent and harbored some of its most ruthless criminal organizations.

Though he released only one official album during his career—"In E Money Bags We Trust" (1999)—his cultural footprint extended far beyond traditional metrics of commercial success. He collaborated with some of hip-hop's heaviest hitters: Nas, the Wu-Tang Clan's Prodigy, the Notorious B.I.G., Norega, and the Brave Hearts Crew. These weren't light associations; E. Money Bags was moving in circles with the most respected names in East Coast hip-hop, suggesting that his credibility both in the streets and in the music industry was substantial.

The trajectory of E. Money Bags' career took a dramatic turn when he became involved in a bitter public conflict with Jay-Z. The dispute apparently originated from a matter of disrespect: Jay-Z had signed an artist named H. Money Bags to his Rockefeller Records imprint, a name choice that E. Money Bags perceived as a deliberate appropriation or mockery of his own moniker. For someone with E. Money Bags' standing, this slight could not go unanswered.

The conflict erupted into the public sphere in a dramatic fashion when Prodigy, who was closely affiliated with E. Money Bags, called into the influential Hot 97 radio station while Jay-Z was on air. What followed was an impromptu, live confrontation between two figures operating at the top of New York hip-hop's hierarchy. The tension and animosity that had been simmering beneath the surface came boiling to the surface, broadcast live to the entire New York listening audience. This wasn't a whispered beef conducted through intermediaries; this was a direct challenge played out on one of the city's most important radio platforms.

In response to this public humiliation, E. Money Bags recorded several diss tracks aimed directly at Jay-Z, with "The Gospel" becoming the most recognized response track. What made this situation particularly poignant, and perhaps darkly prophetic, was that "The Gospel" would turn out to be the final recording E. Money Bags would ever complete.

On July 16, 2001, at 9:45 p.m., in Queens Village, E. Money Bags was sitting in his Lincoln Navigator with associates Big Noise and Cormaga when a gunman approached the vehicle and opened fire. Ten bullets tore through the car, ending Eric Smith's life at what should have been the prime of his career. The killing had the hallmarks of a professional hit, calculated and executed with brutal efficiency.

Street intelligence quickly pointed toward the Supreme Team, the notorious Queens-based drug organization that had dominated the borough's narcotics trade. The motive, according to street accounts, traced back to an incident from December 1999, when E. Money Bags was allegedly involved in the murder of Colbert Johnson, an individual with close ties to Supreme Magriff, the Supreme Team's boss. In the code of the streets, such a killing demanded retribution—and retribution, it seemed, had finally arrived.

The Supreme Team's dominance in Queens and their willingness to use lethal violence were well-established by 2001. Kenneth "Supreme" Magriff ran the operation with an iron hand, ensuring that his authority was respected both through economic power and the fear generated by his organization's willingness to kill. When Magriff was eventually arrested and convicted in February 2007, the charges included the murders of both E. Money Bags and another individual named Troy Singleton—two killings that prosecutors proved Magriff had ordered.

What emerged during the police investigation revealed chilling details about the murder. A videotape was discovered that had been filmed between July 13-16, 2001—footage that essentially documented E. Money Bags' final days. The video showed him driving through Queens, parking his vehicle on the very block where he would be killed, establishing the location and his patterns to those who were planning his assassination. The footage had been shot by Dennis Crosby, an associate of Magriff's, and his girlfriend, Nicole Brown. This wasn't a random killing; it was the culmination of surveillance and careful planning.

E. Money Bags left behind his young son, Eric Smith Jr., a child who would grow up knowing his father only through reputation and record—a tragic legacy of the street conflicts that claimed his life.

## Howard "Papi" Mason: The Enforcer's Enforcer

The introduction to Howard "Papi" Mason, a native of Queens, New York, begins with a single descriptor that carries immense weight in street terminology: enforcer. In the hierarchy of criminal organizations, the enforcer occupies a position of particular significance—someone whose job isn't to think strategically or manage resources, but to implement authority through fear and violence. Papi Mason earned this designation through a reputation that even hardened criminals acknowledged with respect and caution.

As the top enforcer for Fat Cat Nichols—the kingpin of the crack epidemic in Queens—Papi Mason operated at the front lines of New York's most violent period of gang and drug war activity. The crack epidemic of the 1980s transformed urban America, and nowhere was this transformation more visible than in Queens, where Fat Cat Nichols' organization distributed the drug that fueled both the economy and the violence of the borough.

The story of these figures—Pistol Pete, E. Money Bags, and Papi Mason—represents a particular moment in American crime history. These were men who didn't exist in the shadows; they moved through their territories with open defiance, known to police, feared by civilians, revered in street culture. Their names became synonymous with power itself, their deeds documented and retold until they transcended mere criminality to become something approaching legend.

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