Dexter Otero

Dexter Martinez Otero was the fifth child of six born to Javier Otero and Cecile Martinez in Spanish Harlem in Manhattan. Javier was a grocer in the predominantly Hispanic area, having come from Cuba as a child with his parents. Cecile was a first generation Puerto Rican-American, and added to the family income by working part-time at a local hospital as a clerk. Dexter’s earliest memories were of being brought to the hospital by his mother and later, going there after school with his kid sister and older brother (the older three were old enough to find their own ways home). There, he would see his mother explaining to patients which forms needed filling out.

Dex always remembered the respect that his mother received from others at the hospital, and made up his mind early on that he would someday work in medicine. He didn’t think he could ever make it as a doctor – who would pay for that? But his mother always encouraged his dreams, despite Javier’s admonitions that he should come to work at the grocer’s. Why pay for school, Dex’s father would wonder aloud, when the white people got all the good jobs?

With such conflicting opinions on what Dex could and should not bother doing, it’s not very surprising that he and his brother fell in with a crowd in high school that distracted him from his childhood dreams. They weren’t so much a gang as simply boys trying to show off for the tougher kids in the neighborhood. Their crimes started with petty shoplifting (usually beer or liquor) to joy-riding in stolen cars and eventually, getting involved in steering potential drug buyers to the correct people.

Dex was learning about the drug trade, and found it a tempting life, though he was far down on the totem pole. He wasn’t interested in partaking in the harder drugs, having heard from the leaders that a smart dealer didn’t employ junkies. Aside from the occasional hallucinogen, he kept clean. But it wasn’t long before he and his older brother were arrested in a large-scale sting operation and Dexter found himself facing jail time.

Refusing to cooperate with police officers, he was found guilty of aiding and abetting the sale and distribution of narcotics, but the judge – who was a frequent shopper at Javier’s market – offered Dex a clean slate if he would agree to enlist in the Army. The judge thought the structure and discipline of the Army would straighten him out, and Dex agreed at his attorney and parents’ urging. It was spring of 1993.

It was a rough adjustment at first, but once he made it through boot camp, Dex managed to get recommended for duty as a medic. He learned basic triage skills and found himself trusted with pharmaceuticals once again. With the help of mentors, Dexter learned fast and actually found himself wanting to excel at having a country to fight for, especially since both sets of grandparents left their native countries due to political upheaval. Over time, he advanced to Sergeant with the 101st Airborne, still working as a medic. He found himself deployed to Kosovo when the US became involved in a NATO-sanctioned action against the Serbians and the genocide of all non-Serbs.

It was Dex’s first and only combat action still, he found himself being called upon to give aid to the injured, dying or malnourished Bosnians. He received an honorable discharge in 1998 after receiving enough points to clear his record and get a ticket home. Upon his return home, Dex found himself feeling lost at sea and essentially surrounded once more by an environment designed to keep him labeled as a hood.

He moved out to Chicago with his cousin Ramon, and there the two rented an apartment. Dex got certified as an EMT and found it the perfect job for him…until a few old friends visited from New York, and talked him into supplying them with pharmaceutical-grade morphine. The money was good and, feeling still disenfranchised in Chicago, Dex agreed as long as his family in New York was guaranteed safety.

The enterprise didn’t last long. In October of 2012, Dex was caught lifting morphine from a hospital that had long suspected him, and once again found himself out on bail and awaiting trial. He knew the judge was not likely to give him another break this time, and was considering going to Mexico when the storms hit. A massive hurricane hit the area, leaving the city in tatters and largely depopulated.

Dexter holed up in the suburbs in an abandoned house for a while, dividing his time between drinking, smoking, getting high and sleeping. Running out of supplies is the only thing that prompts him now to venture out and try to find more booze, and maybe some food and smokes.