VIDEO: NY Goons 2 Final 2.mov

REWRITTEN: 2026-05-12 22:20:24

SCRIPT 605 OF 686

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When that hip hop and R&B wave crashed through, young bloods in the streets started raking in serious paper, and all that cash brought nothing but reckless spending and non-stop mayhem. But yo, that whole scene? It pulled in all types of vultures. You see what I'm saying? These grimy characters spotted an opportunity, figured they deserved to eat off that plate too, and that's when some of the most ruthless crooks emerged on the scene. They transformed the hustle with stick-ups, shakedowns, and straight murder-for-hire operations. It evolved into a full-blown enterprise, driven by envy, territorial disputes, set beef, and cats stunting for recognition. Today, we breaking down the twisted tales behind some of the most treacherous goons and hoodlums to ever control these New York City blocks. These characters became myths, respected and feared from the Bronx all the way to Brooklyn, throughout the entire East Coast. Even though the majority of them either deceased or behind bars currently, just speaking their government names still got people moving cautious, watching their surroundings and who they associate with. Their reputation still got folks trembling to this very day. Number four on the roster, we got Walter King Tut Johnson. Youngblood was born in 63 growing up in Cypress Hills, East New York. That's an Eastern Brooklyn for those unfamiliar. Even though he came up as a Jehovah's Witness, that didn't prevent him from entering the streets young. By 16, Tut was already out here pulling robberies, and that's how he earned that notorious King Tut name. My man helped establish a robbery squad called the Black Mafia, filled with Brooklyn teenagers that specifically went after drug traffickers. Tut was out here getting busy, motivating other youngbloods in the neighborhood. One of his most brazen capers, back in 82, cat robbed 300 Jehovah's Witnesses in his own mother's Kingdom Hall right there in East New York, absolutely ruthless, no lie. Eight, so after Tut got knocked, he posted bail like it was lightweight, but homie couldn't stay quiet. On October 7th, he and four of his partners ran up in a city bus, robbing 12 passengers at gunpoint on that Queen's to Brooklyn line, mad wild, correct? Then on August 8th, 1983, he received that conviction for second degree robbery from the bus heist and first degree robbery for that Kingdom Hall caper. They sentenced him with two to six years in the penitentiary. When he got paroled in 88, it didn't take much time before he was back in the system. Got caught slipping once more, this time for criminal possession of a weapon, and they hit him with another four to eight years. My man just couldn't stay away from the streets. In 93, King Tut got jammed up again this time in some serious drama. They charged him for his involvement in the shooting of an NYPD cop officer Richard Aval right inside a Brooklyn barbershop. It all transpired around 7pm on January 15th at Eddie's Unisex barbershop in East New York. Tut entered with two other criminals, one of them being Jarrar Gary attempting to execute a robbery. But what they didn't realize was that two off-duty cops Aval and his partner John Morris were already present. Things escalated rapidly when them cops started firing shots, hitting Gary in both legs and the other cat in the chest. Both them cops caught leg wounds, but Aval, he got it worse, hip destroyed, and that left him partially paralyzed. They all got transported to Brookdale Hospital, including Gary, but King Tut came out of that situation unscathed. He didn't even get touched. Now while they couldn't pin the attempted homicide on him, Tut still got arrested for armed robbery and did a quick stretch one year in the joint. But yo, in October 96, it wasn't finished for him. They hit him with charges for three more robberies over the last 18 months. He was already on parole for another conviction when they arrested him again. But here's the crazy part. The robbery charges got dismissed. Tut believed he was walking free, but as soon as he stepped out of court, the US marshals and NYPD Major K Squad swooped in and arrested him again. Eight, so the state dropped them charges on King Tut, but that didn't mean he was off the hook. They did it so they could hit him with them federal statutes instead. My man got caught up badly. Ended up being the first cat from NYC to get sentenced under that 94 federal three strikes statute. That means life. No parole. Straight up. They transferred him out to USP Lee, one of them high security facilities in Virginia. But in 2005, Tut got moved back to MCC for a minute. And guess what? He ended up locked up right next to his old partner in crime. Jacques Agnone. The feds came back trying to press King Tut, thinking he might have had something to do with Pox 94 shooting. But fast forward to June 15, 2011 and out of nowhere, this cat, Dexter Isaac, who was already locked up for life at the Brooklyn, MCC, came through with the confession. He straight up said he was involved in the whole robbery and shooting of pack back in the 94. That took some heat off Tut, but it's wild how them streets always talking. Dexter Isaac put out a written confession on all hip hop.com, saying in 1994, Jimmy Henshman, James Roseman, contacted him to Rob Tupac at Quad Studios. Isaac said Henshman threw him $2,500 and let him keep all the jewelry except one ring that Henshman kept for himself. Of course, Henshman's lawyer Jeffrey Lickman denied any involvement. But by the time Isaac came clean, the statute of limitations had already expired. Meanwhile, King Tut is sitting at USP Lewisburg, a max security facility in Pennsylvania, riding out his time. Number three on the roster, Kelvin 50 cent Martin, born July 24, 1964, straight out of the South Bronx. Back in the day, they used to call him Lil Shaft. Life wasn't easy for cat. When he was just eight, his parents separated and it was rough. His mother, she didn't waste no time. She pinned a note to Lil Homi's shirt, put him on a bus, and shipped him off to live with his grandmother. When Martin was a teen, his life got flipped again. The family relocated from the Bronx and landed in some subsidized housing in Brooklyn. Not long after, he got introduced to Islam through the 5% nation and started going by the name Shamik. His wild behavior as a young buck landed him at Rikers Island in the C-74 juvenile facility, where he crossed paths with some future heavy hitters, like James Jimmy Henshman Roseman, who would later become deeply embedded in the drug trade. When he got out back in Brooklyn again, Martin rolled with the Supreme Team crew, and that's when he started going by 50 cent. Always had his two favorite weapons on him, a colt 45 and a 357 magnum. Instead of diving into the crack trade, he kept it gangster with strong arm robbery, making his money by hitting licks instead of dealing that powder. He soon assembled the crew known as Brooklyn Zoo, a squad of young hustlers who'd hit up blue collar folks, college students, liquor stores, pimps, and especially intoxicated clubbers. They'd be collecting cash, designer bags, and gold chains from folks at the clubs in Manhattan, fencing all that jewelry they snatched from party goers. Martin got his reputation buzzing all over the streets after he allegedly robbed some big names in the hip hop world. He's rumored to have robbed members of the rap group Houdini, and even young James L. Cooljay Word is, Martin rolled up on Smith in the parking lot of a White Castle in Brooklyn and snatched his solid gold rope chain at gunpoint. But Martin wasn't just after rappers. His main operation was hitting up dope dealers at the stash locations. His hustle expanded to include kidnappings and extortion too. Martin was running a real shady operation, offering so-called protection to local store owners and drug dealers. He'd tell them he'd keep their businesses safe from all kinds of trouble, robberies, violence, vandalism, you name it. As long as they paid him off regularly. If anyone had the nerve to say no, they'd find themselves on the wrong end of the violence they were trying to dodge, all courtesy of Martin himself. It was a dirty scheme where saying no meant becoming a target for his own attacks. Martin's street life was straight up wild. Not only did he get caught up in multiple robbery beefs, but his name was linked to several homicides throughout Brooklyn and the surrounding areas. In 1990, Martin finally caught a major case that would change everything. He got arrested for armed robbery and drug possession, but that wasn't the worst of it. While locked up, federal authorities started building a case against him for racketeering and organized crime. By 1992, Kelvin 50 cent Martin was looking at serious federal time. The prosecutors laid out a pattern of systematic robbery, extortion, and violence that painted him as the mastermind behind the Brooklyn Zoo operation. They had witness testimony, they had evidence, and they had his own street reputation working against him. Martin eventually took a plea deal and got sentenced to significant federal time. He spent years moving through the federal system, doing bids at various penitentiaries across the country. Unlike some of his contemporaries who tried to maintain street credibility from behind bars, Martin kept his head down. He eventually got released years later, but the streets had moved on. The game had changed. The crack epidemic that fueled so much of the violence in the late 80s and early 90s had subsided, and a new generation of hustlers had taken over. Martin tried to go straight for a minute, but old habits die hard. He caught another case, did another bid, and eventually settled into a quieter existence far away from the spotlight that once surrounded him. The legacy of these New York goons and hoodlums represents a dark chapter in the city's history. These men, born into poverty and circumstances beyond their control, chose paths of violence and criminality that ultimately destroyed not only their own lives but the lives of countless innocent victims. From King Tut's relentless robbery spree to Kelvin Martin's extortion racket, they exemplified the worst of what the streets could produce. Yet their names still carry weight, still command respect in certain circles, a haunting reminder that in the urban jungle, notoriety can outlive redemption. Most are now behind bars, aging out their sentences, or deceased, their violent legacies confined to the pages of police records and street folklore. But the impact of their actions—the families destroyed, the communities terrorized, the lives altered forever—that remains permanent. These goons became urban legends, teaching a brutal lesson about the consequences of choosing the gun over education, the corner over legitimate work. Their story is one of tragedy, wasted potential, and the harsh reality that street life, no matter how glamorized in music and media, ultimately leads to one of two destinations: death or prison. That's the real legacy of the New York goons, and it's a lesson that still echoes through the streets today.