Lost Boys

A few minutes later the barefoot boy flagged down a police officer, and the gunman was soon identified as "Head Cracka," a.k.a. Reginald LaVergne. The HPD gang task force said they knew him to be a member of the Black Disciples, a gang whose MO is to make money through robberies and drug deals. Six weeks later officers tried to stop Reginald for trespassing at an apartment complex, but he ran from them, jumped two fences and raced into an apartment, where he was arrested.

Reginald's family says he was a smiling, happy kid who constantly joked and charmed his way out of punishments. He loved all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets, vanilla ice cream, okra and baked pork chops. The youngest of his mother's five children, Reginald never liked to sleep alone. "He wouldn't be by himself," his cousin Alainna Talton says. "He was always with somebody." He used to lie on the floor of her room and talk all night; if she fell asleep, he covered her in whipped cream. His stepfather says Reginald wanted to be a pro ball player; his brother Kevin says he thought Reginald was going to be a preacher. "He always talked about God, and he knew things out of the Book," Kevin says. "It always used to amaze us; I guess he paid attention in services." But there are other, less heartwarming stories about Reginald. He was called Head Cracka because he once hit a guy in the head and knocked him out. "He was strong," his cousin Alainna says. Her 15-year-old brother, Stefan Talton, touches his brow and says he still has bruises from the twins beating him up, and Reginald's aunt can't count the times she had to leave work early because Reginald was in trouble at school.

At 15, Reginald already had 13 priors, including car burglary, curfew violations, running away, trespassing on school grounds and evading arrest. In December 1995 he was expelled from Elsik High School and sent to Alief's alternative school. There, his mother said he had to fight to defend himself from gangs (which she insists he never joined), so he moved in with his aunt and enrolled at Grace Baptist Academy. According to his probation officer's report, he was repeating ninth grade, already had been suspended three times that term and had been expelled for the remainder of the year after assaulting a teacher. His probation officer wrote that detention was in Reginald's best interests because of his "continuous referrals" and "his apparent disregard for rules and authority figures."

Reginald took the district attorney's plea bargain of a five-year sentence for aggravated robbery with a deadly weapon. In retrospect, his mother doesn't think this was a good deal and still contests the facts of the case. "I shouldn't never let him take the lesser plea," his mother says. "He never had no gun." She says the other boy was embarrassed that he easily relinquished his shoes and lied to the police; she says the police never found a gun and can't prove it. She can't understand why Reginald committed the robbery, since he already had a pair of red and black sneakers. "He didn't need no Air Jordans," she says. "They had all kind of shoes." She says that before the May 2, 1996, hearing, Reginald's attorney scared him with thoughts of a longer sentence. "The lawyer brainwashed me," she says. "He knew he could've fought. I paid him $1,000; he knew the law better than I knew the law." Reginald's brother Kevin thinks he should have just been given time in the juvenile detention center. "He wasn't a troublemaker like how they claim him to be," he says. "He was a good kid. He just got caught up at the wrong time. He wasn't no criminal."

On October 15, 1996, Reginald was sent to the Clemens Unit, before being moved to the Michael Unit in Tennessee Colony. He worked on the hoe squad and constantly complained of back pain, dizziness and shortness of breath; he often said his heart hurt, but his EKGs were normal.

After two and a half years Reginald handwrote a petition requesting a three-hour bench trial. He argued that he had served enough time for a pair of $130 Air Jordans -- especially since he hadn't hurt anyone. The petition was filed, but nothing happened.

Every week Reginald wrote his mother and his cousin Alainna, telling them he wished he could turn back time and that he wanted to straighten out his life. He wrote poetry and covered the envelopes in angels and detailed pictures of masks that said, "Smile now, cry later." His drawings glimmered with the kind of stars shopping-mall airbrush artists spray on T-shirts. He said he loved them, missed them and couldn't wait to be free.

Ralph Chaison drove up to 12707 Bellaire and parked the gray Dodge Ram in front of the Arbor apartments. "Cover me," he said to the other undercover HPD narcotics officer as he got out of the truck. It was February 4, 1998. Chaison and Vonda Higgins were working on a project to infiltrate the southwest Houston neighborhood, learn who the dealers were and eventually bust them. The gang task force had complained that the Black Disciples were dealing in the neighborhood. Since the pair had successfully moved the gang out of the Club Creek area, they were put on the project. They surveyed the area, videotaped trades and in one day saw 30 transactions in an hour. "You just don't see that anymore," Higgins says. "It was like back in the late '80s." Higgins already had made three buys at this location, and they were trying to introduce Chaison's face. The plan was to buy it, bag it, tag it and then meet Higgins's best friend for lunch at Houston's before finishing the paperwork. It was going to be a short day.