Crazy Summer (38 page)

Summer was admitted into Georgia Regional after she underwent several mental evaluations. Summer had spent nearly six weeks inside the “crazy house”, as it was called by a majority of the patients. Still, her status was uncertain to the doctors. Some things she’d forgotten and some things she hadn’t. Her name, she remembered it every now and then. She didn’t remember her mother, and her kids didn’t even register in her memory. Bookie didn’t register, either, and he’s the one who took it the hardest.

On Sundays, her family would visit her, and they would eat outside at the picnic tables. Ms. Diane would often bring fried chicken, potato salad, rolls, and fresh lemonade. Then she’d switch it up to fish and yellow rice. Summer loved the food and the thought of strangers coming to visit her, but she simply didn’t know who the hell they were.

Inside her room, Summer climbed into her small bed and balled up in a fetal position underneath a thin wool blanket. She rocked herself to sleep. In her own world is where she would be.

No pressure.

No stress.

No pain.

No gain.

*****

Jeremy turned to the streets without questions and had no intention on turning back. However, the concern for his mother was another story. He wanted to know what was going on, and he knew that Bookie knew something. Now all he had to do was find him.

Jeremy stood up and moved around the small apartment where he and his girlfriend lived in South Augusta. He went into his bedroom and removed a Desert Eagle from between the mattress and box spring. When he tucked it inside his waist, his girlfriend opened her eyes.

“Where you goin’?” Her voice was soft and polite.

 Jeremy stared briefly at the beautiful face, then his eyes fell to her stomach. Angie was her name, and she was five months pregnant. He leaned over the bed, kissed her forehead, and gently rubbed her stomach.

“I’m goin’ to check on some shit,” he said before leaving the room.

*****

      Night was approaching, and this was Bookie’s time. He pulled up to a secluded area in a dark Excursion with a motorboat hooked up to the rear of it. This spot was a remote fishing area at the Savannah River. He’d been there before, a few times as a matter of fact.

      Bookie carefully parked the huge SUV and bounced out in a hurry. He moved around to the rear and removed a tackle box, two sporty fishing rods, and a spotlight. He then found himself a spot at the edge of the water. He went back to the SUV, removed a metal foldout chair, and quickly carried it back. He sat his chair in place and opened the tackle box, fumbling around in it for a few minutes.

      There was an older-looking white guy and his son fishing about forty yards down the bank. Bookie noticed them first. He fired up a Newport and cast his rod out into the flowing water. Relaxing back in his chair, he exhaled a stream of menthol smoke into the air. Two hours from now the two bodies that were resting in the bottom of the boat would be dumped in the Savannah River. One of them was Mama Elizabeth, and the other one was Terry Pate. There’s a phrase that says, “Stay down until you come up,” and that’s what he did. Two birds with one stone.

Something snagged at his line. Remaining calm, he fought with the rod for a minute, then looked over toward the white guy and his son. Bookie saluted them with his index middle finger.

Game over
, he thought to himself.

Jeremy pulled into the parking lot of the strip club his mother used to own. Along the way, he picked up one of his running associates who had a solid reputation with street credibility. His name was Wayne, a young, well-trained gunner. Wayne wore dreads, but his was longer than Jeremy’s and he was two years older than him, as well. Wayne watched the parking lot with anxious eyes, studying every car and everybody. His Glock rested between his thighs. With the parking lot this crowded, everybody had to be on the lookout. Jeremy looked around, too. He didn’t see either of Bookie’s cars. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know if he would even be there.

  He sat back and took a deep breath. Basically, he was frustrated with himself. Then something told him to check the rearview mirror. His eyes shifted; there was Red Bone walking by the rear of the rental. Jeremy rose up and leaned on the horn. She stopped instantly and turned around. When Jeremy jumped out to meet her, she didn’t recognize him. She stared up at the teenager who could’ve passed for mid-twenties with no problem.

“Where I know you from?” Her eyes searched his.

“I’m twin,” he replied without hesitation.

Red Bone’s eyebrows bunched together, and she covered her mouth with both hands. “You Summa’s son?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he responded. He wasn’t smiling, though.

“How she doin’? I heard she was in Georgia Regional.”

“She doin’ alright, I guess. Look, I’m tryna find Bookie. You know where he at?”

Red Bone’s facial expression changed instantly. “Last time I heard, he was smokin’ dope,” she lied.

Jeremy nodded. “But where he at?” His voice turned more demanding.

Red Bone shook her head. “I don’t have the slightest idea, baby.”

“Who bought dis club from my mama?”

Red Bone hesitated for a moment. The passenger door opened, and the interior light came on. Wayne got out, and Red Bone noticed him coming toward them. She stared at him briefly, noticing the bulge underneath his t-shirt. She looked back at Jeremy and then she checked her watch.

Reluctantly, she said, “A friend of hers.” 

She then tried to turn and walk away, but Wayne cut her off. He reached for his gun, but Jeremy gave him a signal to let her go.

When she got inside the club, she went into the dressing room and removed her cell phone from her Gucci bag. She sent out a text message that read:
One of the twins and his friends is running around asking questions about your whereabouts. I told them I didn’t know where you were, but they had guns and I think they’re serious. Maybe you need to let 5000 know before some bullshit jumps off.

*****

The following morning, Jeremy rode alone. He pulled up at Georgia Regional and got out dressed in jeans and a Polo shirt, his gun underneath the seat. He strolled through the front door and spoke with the secretary standing behind a high wooden desk. She smiled and greeted Jeremy. They spoke briefly; he clearly stated that he needed to see his mother. The lady smiled and carefully pressed a small button underneath the counter, while at the same time giving a smile as if everything was all right.

Jeremy took a deep breath, trying desperately to control his temper. Just ahead, he noticed three huge guards coming toward him. He looked to the lady and felt his hands beginning to sweat. Jeremy had left his tool in the car and wished like hell he had brought it.

With cold eyes and a harsh tone, he said, “All I wanna do is see my muthafuckin’ mama,” then took two steps back.

The first guy who approached Jeremy stood 6’4” tall, was the only black guy on the premises, and had huge, wide shoulders. He folded his powerful arms across his chest, stared directly into Jeremy’s eyes, and spoke to him in a deep but kind voice.

“Who’s your mother?”

“Summer McKey,” he answered through clenched teeth. “I jus’ need to talk to her.”

The big guy studied Jeremy, seeing the hurt in his eyes and how his painful energy showed all over his face. He put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and guided him down a long corridor, where they turned left and went down another one. At the end of the corridor, they stopped at a room with a small twelve-inch window built into a steel door. The guard looked inside first, his Adam apple bobbing. He then stepped aside and allowed Jeremy to take a look. He moved up to the window and looked inside to see Summer sitting in the center of the floor in a paper gown. She was drawing invisible pictures on a rubber-looking floor. He beat the door with his fist.

“Mama! It’s me, Jeremy.”

She didn’t flinch.

“She can’t hear you,” the guard told him. “The room is soundproof.”

“Can I go inside?” he asked.

Jeremy couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This wasn’t the mother he knew.

After being rejected, he was back in the car and riding down Highway 56. He turned into a subdivision called Apple Valley when he noticed a black Dodge Durango with tinted windows following close behind him. Watching in the rearview, he saw the headlights flash on and then off. He slowly pulled to the side of the street right before he reached the cul-de-sac. Removing his tool from underneath the seat, he placed it in his lap just as the driver approached the driver’s side.

His swagger was overwhelming. Cartier frames covered his eyes and a huge yellow diamond sparkled in his ear. Jeremy stared at him briefly. He couldn’t see his eyes, and that made his uncomfortable.

“Who you?” Jeremy asked.

The stranger looked around inside the car. He saw the gun and nodded his head very slowly, as if he was impressed with the youngin’.

Finally, in a deep scratchy voice, he said, “Bookie wanna see you.” 

He walked back toward the Durango before Jeremy could say a word. The Durango backed in a driveway and turned around. Jeremy followed it, backing into the same driveway.

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into a parking area on Ninth Street. Jeremy got out and followed the driver of the Durango around to the rear of a club called Mr. J’s. At the door, a huge guy wearing a vest and a .45 in a leather shoulder holster stopped Jeremy and patted him down, removing his automatic handgun from his waistline.

“I’ma hold on to dis until you leave. Then you get it back.”

Jeremy exchanged a hard look with the goon for only a few seconds. Then he brushed past the guy and made his way inside.

Bookie stood at a pool table with the cue stick in one hand and a lit Newport in the other. Another guy was in the middle of sinking the 8-ball. He was concentrating hard, bent evenly at the waist. He had his back to Jeremy.

Bookie looked at Jeremy just as the guy hit the 8-ball and slowly rolled it toward a corner pocket, where it dropped without hesitation. Bookie slowly nodded and took a draw from his cigarette while staring at Jeremy before moving toward him. Jeremy stood like a giant over him; however, he knew Bookie was a gangsta and didn’t play any games. Bookie looked up at him, his eyes cold and fearless. Then a small grin appeared on his lips.

“What da business is?” he asked, then thumped the cigarette. It landed somewhere toward the other side of the pool table.

“What’s up with my mama?” he asked with a slight tremble in his voice. His eyes stayed fixed on Bookie, though.

Bookie hesitated briefly. Then he placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and tilted his head. “Follow me.”