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Authors: Tracy Brown

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BOOK: Criminal Minded
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I rang the doorbell and waited. I shot Curtis a sideways glance to let him know that I didn’t appreciate him and his moms pressuring me to
go see my own mother. He laughed as if reading my thoughts and shook his head.
“You need to stop grillin’ me like that, Lamin.”
“Shut up, nigga. Remind me to shoot you a fair one when we leave.”
Curtis smiled and patted his heavy chest. “I’m ready when you are, dog.”
The door opened and my mother stood before me, looking skinny and frail. She had always been slim, but now she looked downright sickly and exhausted. I was caught off guard and she filled the silence.
“Lamin, come in. I’m so surprised to see you here.”
“Me, too,” I said, as I entered the house. Curtis hugged my mother and she asked him when he’d come home. While he explained the day’s events, I let my eyes wander around what I could see of the house. The place still looked the same, except for a few of Wally’s things laying around. I hoped he was there as I remembered all those scowls he used to give me. I wouldn’t even fight him this time. I would let Curtis beat the hell out of him to get out some of his pentup frustrations.
“Lamin, I been meaning to call you … ,” she said.
“My number’s still the same.” My voice was a monotone and unfeeling, although inside I felt concern for her. She didn’t look like the vibrant woman I remembered. She looked like she’d been beaten, not just by Wally, but by life.
She smiled awkwardly. “I know. I just didn’t call because I didn’t want you to think I wanted your money. People start calling all the time when you get a little fame and recognition. Once your name is out there you start hearing from people you ain’t heard from in years. I didn’t want to be one of those people.”
I didn’t say a word. Just listened as silence filled the space after she stopped talking. Curtis broke the stillness.
“Aunt Nadia, me and Lamin were just talking about how family is family. We got each other or we got nobody. That’s how I see it. Right, Lamin?”
I cut my eyes at Curtis. As far as I was concerned the woman standing before me who called herself my mother was still not getting a dime from me. “You look terrible,” I said.
She waved her hand as if dismissing my remark. “I have a headache so I was just laying down when you rang the bell,” she explained.
“Where that muthafucka Wally at?”
My moms looked nervous at the mere mention of his name. “He went to the doctor today …”
“Let me put it to you like this, Ma. The nigga beats you, he got you losing weight—”
“Wally ain’t the reason I lost all this weight, Lamin …”
“Exactly. Nothing is ever Wally’s fault. The nigga can walk on water in your eyes. But the truth is he ain’t shit. You chose him over me and I never got over that, Ma. And you never apologized.”
“Lamin, I
am
sorry …”
“I don’t want the apology now. I want you to be happy. Since that muthafucka still makes you happy, good. Call me when you kick him to the curb. As long as he’s still in your life, there ain’t no room for me.” I turned to leave and she grabbed my arm to stop me. Her grip was even loose as if she felt weak.
“Lamin, don’t act like that. You don’t understand what it’s like for me. You never did. I was wrong to put you out, and I apologize for that. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Just don’t have so much hate in your heart for me. I’m still your mother.”
“Were you my mother the day you tossed my shit out the door?”
“I wasn’t thinking straight, Lamin …”
“You never think straight!” My voice echoed off the living room walls. “All you ever see straight is cash. You see whatever or whoever could bring you cash. All my memories of growin’ up are of you fuckin’ every Tom, Dick, and Harry to get money—”
“LAMIN!” Curtis bellowed. “That’s your mother!”
“Nah, fuck that, Curtis! You brought me over here! You told me
I’d feel better, right? Well this shit makes me feel better. I got some shit to get off my chest, is that alright with you? I didn’t grow up with a moms like yours. I got the short end of the stick!”
“Leave him alone, Curtis. I need to hear this,” my mother said. Her voice was thick with emotion, as if at any moment she could burst into sobs. I was unmoved.
So I continued. “I remember, Ma. I remember hearing you fuckin’ all those different men night after night. Then you’d get up in the morning and take Olivia shopping or take her to get her hair done or buy something new for the house. Didn’t you see the type of message that shit was sending to her? You should have seen her doing the same shit. Acting the same way. But you didn’t see that coming, right? You only saw dollar signs. I had to get out ’cause Wally had money, and I was just your broke teenaged son. I had to
hustle
my way out them streets, ma. Them streets
you
threw me into. And for what? For trying to protect you from Wally’s burn ass? So now you have him. He’s yours. He stayed and I left. And look at you. Look at yourself!”
“I know what the fuck I look like, Lamin.” My mother couldn’t stop the tears from falling now. She fought to regain her composure but the tears streamed down her face.
I laughed. “So was it worth it? Was it worth throwing your only son out without a second thought?”
“I never should have done that, Lamin. That was fucked up. I fucked up.”
I saw the tears in my mother’s eyes. Knew I was being cruel, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Why? Why do you feel like you fucked up, Ma? ‘Cause I got more money than a little bit now? ’Cause I got more dough than Wally’s broke ass has seen in his life?”
“No, Lamin. Because what I did made you feel this much pain for all these years,” she said. “I ain’t gonna make excuses for what I did. I never should have had all them niggas in my bed for all them years. Never should have threw you out. Never should have let Wally put his hands on me. But I can’t change none of that shit, Lamin! All I can do is tell you I’m sorry. I don’t want your money—”
“You ain’t
getting
my money! Not as long as you’re with that muthafucka.”
“I don’t want it!” she yelled. “And maybe I don’t deserve it. But I am your mother. And I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday.” She was sobbing uncontrollably now.
Curtis stepped in. “Aunt Nadia, we gotta get going. We gotta meet Olivia and Lucky.”
My mother coughed for a few moments and then said, “Excuse me.” She cleared her throat. “Curtis, can you ask Olivia to call me, please?”
Curtis nodded. “Sure I will.” He hugged my mother and kissed her on the cheek “Take care of that cold,” he said.
She smiled. “Alright.”
We turned to leave. Curtis opened the door and headed for the car, and my mother blocked my exit.
She looked in my eyes and seemed to search for the right words. “I understand,” she said.
I nodded. “Good.”
And I left. As I pulled away with Curtis riding shotgun, I caught a glimpse of my mother standing in the doorway watching us drive away.
Pitiful woman,
I thought to myself.
God don’t like ugly.
foolish
I looked out the window as we crossed the Verrazano bridge.
I wanted to lighten the mood as we drove to Brooklyn so I broached a new subject. “How’s things with you and Lucky?”
Lamin smiled. “She’s the one, Curtis. That’s for sure.” He shrugged. “But I still got a couple broads on the side. When I decide to marry Lucky, those bitches will have to go, though.”
“Damn, La. She got you talkin’ marriage?”
Lamin laughed. “That’s all it is right now. Talk. We’re both young, and it’s too soon to be tying the knot. But eventually, I think it’ll happen.”
I nodded. “It won’t be easy to let go of all them chicks throwing pussy at you every day.”
Lamin shook his head. “I think I can do without most of them bitches. There’s really just one in particular that I been spending a lot of time with besides Lucky. I met her up at Sony about three months ago when I was negotiating a deal with them and one of their artists. She works as an A&R for them, and she got a good head on her shoulders.” He looked at me with an expression of ecstasy and bobbed his hand as if an imaginary woman’s head was in his palm. “Plus her head game is tight.”
I gave my cousin a pound. “A girl who’s good on her knees is worth her weight in gold,” I said. “What’s her name?”
“Dream. She’s fine, too, cousin!”
“So is Lucky,” I reminded him.
Lamin pulled up on Fulton Street opposite Jimmy Jazz, the hip-hop clothing store. We climbed out of the car and my eyes lit up, looking at all the things I wanted on my first shopping spree in years.
Lamin agreed. “Yeah, Lucky has that exotic kind of beauty. The Asian features mixed with the black in her—it’s definitely sexy. But Dream is brown skinned with pretty brown eyes and cornrows …”
“Damn, where you be findin’ these women, La?”
Lamin laughed. “I guess I just be in the right place at the right time. Don’t get me wrong, I respect Dream ’cause she got her own career, her own money, and a nice house. But Lucky got my heart. I wouldn’t leave her for nothin’. She was with me when I was on the come up. You don’t find a woman like that every day.”
“But it must be nice to meet a woman who made it on her own. A woman who got to where she is by paying her own dues. Lucky has what she has because
you
made it possible.”
Lamin looked at me strangely. “It’s funny you should say that, Curtis. Sometimes I feel like that, but I try not to dwell on it too much. I believe that Lucky would be successful with or without me. Plus she was in my corner when I got shot and she gave up her family for me. I love her for that. She’s only a year away from graduating and getting her business degree. Then me and her are gonna be like Bonnie and Clyde in this industry. On the other hand, Dream is the type of woman that I have the utmost respect for. She’s independent and she’s paid.”
“And her head game is tight,” I reminded him.
We both laughed. Lamin said, “I guess you could say I got the best of both worlds.”
I agreed. “You got the kind of problems most niggas would love to have.”
We began searching for the essentials of my new wardrobe.
I was just arriving back in town from a trip to the Cayman Islands. Business was booming, and while Lamin was making major strides in the record industry, I was making power moves in the streets. When my flight landed, I called Lamin. He told me that his cousin was out of jail and I looked forward to meeting the man I had heard so much about. I got to Lamin’s house just as he did, and we parked our cars. When I got out, I saw him walkin’ toward me with a big, burly dude. Didn’t recognize the guy but he looked a little like Lamin. I quickly put two and two together and got four. From the get-go, there was something about Curtis that I didn’t like. I wondered if it was something in his walk. Perhaps his stony expression. But something in my gut told me not to trust this guy.
Curtis wore a baggy blue and white Phat Farm sweatsuit and a cold sneer as they approached. Lamin and I gave each other a pound and greeted one another.
“Yo, Zion, this is my infamous cousin, Curtis.”
Lamin made the introduction and I smiled. “I heard a lot about you, dog. It’s nice to finally match the name to a face.”
Curtis smiled, too. But his smile seemed forced. “Heard a lot about you, too. I hear you took my place as my cousin’s right-hand man while I was gone.”
“Somebody had to do it,” I joked. “This nigga’s a magnet for trouble, so I had to have his back.”
Lamin laughed. “Zion, if that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black! When it comes to trouble you’re like a fly to shit.”
We all laughed and proceeded inside Lamin’s big brownstone. When he first moved there, Lamin only had one floor that he rented for himself. As his career blossomed Lamin purchased the whole brownstone, and what he’d done with the place was just crazy! Curtis was instantly impressed. “Goddamn, cousin! I ain’t know you was livin’ the lifestyles of the rich and famous on
this
level!”
Lamin smiled proudly. “If it was up to me, I’d still be livin’ like a bachelor with nothing in here but a TV and some Hennessy. Lucky did all this shit.”
As Curtis admired the decor of Lamin’s home, I took a seat in the leather recliner, kicked my feet up, and grabbed the remote. I turned on the TV and switched the channel to ESPN. “Can a nigga get a beer or somethin’?”
Lamin laughed sarcastically. “Nigga, you are not a guest in this muthafucka. You can get your own beer. And while you’re at it, get me one.
As if on cue, Lucky came out of the kitchen followed by Olivia. Lucky looked pretty in a denim dress. But, damn, Olivia looked good. I hadn’t seen her in more than a month and she seemed to be more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She had on a black miniskirt and a white shirt. Her long legs looked like they were glowing and her hair was up in a slick ponytail pulled back from her face. I noticed she was wearing the Manolo Blahniks I bought her during our trip to Philly and I smiled. She looked like a top model.
“Did someone ask for a beer?” she said, looking directly at me. My heart was racin’ but I kept my face from showing it.
“I did.” I licked my lips as I said it, and she tried to stop herself from smiling. She walked over to me and handed me the Heineken and then turned around, strolled over to the sofa, and sat next to Lamin. I forgot how bad her walk was, but the girl had a strut that belonged on the runway. I was mesmerized by the way her booty bounced in that skirt. Thankfully, Lucky diverted my attention.
“Zion, how come you always have to turn to fuckin’ sports when you come over here?” she asked playfully.
Lamin answered for me. “The living room is for the men. You and Olivia can go in the kitchen and talk about shoes, clothes, and all that other bullshit women discuss when they’re together.”
Lucky hit Lamin in the head with one of the throw pillows from the sofa. “Shut up.” She turned her attention to Curtis, who was admiring all the African oil paintings on the wall. “Curtis, come on and
let me give you a tour of the place. Lamin and Zion are too busy with sports and beer to show you anything.”
Curtis happily followed Lucky down the hall for the tour. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Olivia. Lamin must have seen how good his sister was lookin’ so he commented on it. “Why you always gotta wear your clothes two sizes smaller than you really are?”
Olivia sighed loudly. “Don’t start this shit today, Lamin …”
“I’m just sayin’. It’s like you crave attention or somethin’. What’s up with that?”
Olivia grinned. “I get all the attention I can stand, Lamin. Don’t you worry.” Olivia looked in my direction and winked at me. Lamin didn’t catch it though. Thank God.
I changed the subject. “Olivia, congratulations on your new apartment.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I’m loving it. You’ll have to come see it for yourself one day.”
Just as I was beginning to squirm in my seat, Curtis came back with Lucky and she turned off the TV set. “Come on, y’all. It’s time for us to get going. Veronica is waiting for us and saving us the best table at the lounge.”
“What’s the name of this spot you’re taking me to?” Curtis asked.
“The Autumn Lounge,” Lucky answered. “It’s Veronica’s supper club in East Harlem and only the beautiful people go there.” Lucky smiled, proud of her friend and the successful business she was running.
We all rose to leave. I watched Olivia put on her tight leather jacket and touch up her lip gloss in the mirror. I couldn’t help noticing her fat ass in that skirt. I asked myself if I had done the right thing by ending our so-called relationship. Then I looked at Lamin and realized that I
had
done the right thing. The right thing just ain’t always easy.
We all drove our separate cars to the club, and Curtis rode with Lucky and Lamin. When we got there, Veronica met us at the door. The place was packed. Janet Jackson’s “That’s the Way Love Goes” blasted from the speakers and the waitresses in short cocktail dresses made the rounds to each table.
Veronica hugged Lucky. “Hey, girl. I was holding the best table in the house for you.” Veronica looked good, wearing a white pantsuit and a big diamond necklace with matching earrings.
Lucky held Lamin’s hand. “We got here as soon as we could. This place is standing room only!”
Veronica nodded. “There’s a forty-five minute wait for a table. You’re fortunate you have connections.”
She showed us to our table, walking us through the restaurant with its round tables covered with ivory tablecloths and napkins and matching ivory-and-gold-trimmed silverware. There were candles on each table with breadbaskets and flowers in the center. I saw that Leo was there that night with his entourage of about seven niggas. We threw up a peace sign to him and he smiled at us. A few of the diners recognized Lamin, stopped him, and asked for his autograph. He was good enough to sign them and stopped to take pictures with a couple of pretty girls. Lucky took it all in stride. She was confident enough in her own beauty not to care.
Our table was in the back, giving us a bird’s-eye view of the entrance and all the patrons. I was happy with the table we had, since I never sit with my back to the door. This table allowed me to sit where I could relax and take in the whole scene. Leo sent a bottle of Moët over to our table and we raised our glasses in a toast to him across the room.
Curtis tapped me. “Don’t you ever want to share the spotlight, Zion? Everybody knows who Lamin is, but you never get no shine.”
I nodded. “That’s how I am,” I said. “I don’t like the spotlight. I prefer to sit back in the shadows and watch everybody else. Me and Lamin ain’t in competition for shine.” I kept my conversation with Curtis brief because he seemed to be subtly antagonizing me. I brushed it off as my usual paranoia that everyone was secretly out to get me. But although I couldn’t put my finger on it, something wasn’t right about the dude. I soon learned he was gettin’ the same vibe from me.
Curtis gave me a funny look and grinned. Looking at Olivia he said, “I don’t know if I like this guy.”
Olivia laughed. “What’s not to like?”
I noticed one seat was empty and said, “Who’s that seat for?”
Olivia smiled and nodded toward the door. “It’s for him.”
I saw a tall nigga walking our way with a toothpick in his mouth. He had on baggy jeans and Timbs, a turtleneck and a leather jacket. He was dark skinned—about Lamin’s complexion—with a bald head and dark features. He looked a little like that male model who’s in all the pictures. He strolled over to our table and Olivia stood up and kissed him long and full. I was tight. But true to form, I kept my face from showing my emotions.
When she came up for air, she said, “Everybody, this is Donovan. He manages the R&B group, Phya. Lamin did their video and Donovan has had my undivided attention ever since.”
I watched Olivia introduce that nigga to everyone at the table. When she got to me, she said, “And this is Zion. The baddest nigga in New York City.” Donovan extended his hand to me and I shook it, despite the fact that I wanted to crack his fuckin’ jaw. Olivia was playin’ herself. I felt like she was trying to make me jealous so I ignored her ass.
We ate dinner and had a few drinks. Lamin proposed a toast to Curtis on his first day home. The conversation was good. Lamin talked about his plans for Shootin’ Crooks and his plans to start a family with Lucky. Curtis said how happy he was to be home and how good it felt to be around women for a change. I sat and watched Olivia feeding that son of a bitch Donovan from her own plate and wiping his mouth with her napkin. The shit made me sick to my stomach.
She was playing dirty and I decided to play along. I slipped Veronica my number when I knew Olivia was lookin’. Two could play this game. Except I was gonna play to win.
It felt good to be home. I was happy to be back around my family and glad that Lamin had done so well for himself. I admired him for all the big things he was doing, and I was happy to have a job on my first
day home. I had to admit, though, that Lamin’s friendship with Zion made me feel like the fifth wheel. I had always been my cousin’s best friend. When I went away, I felt like a void should have been left in Lamin’s cipher until I returned. But Zion had quickly filled that void, and I was left feeling like a newcomer. So much had changed about Lamin and Olivia since I left. Most of those changes were good. But Zion was one part of their new life that I could do without.
During dinner, every now and then, someone would bring up a situation that happened while I was in jail. “Remember when we all went to Miami for the weekend?” or “Remember when Zion and Lamin used to challenge the youngsters in the neighborhood to basketball games?” I felt like I was invisible. It showed me just how easily life had gone on for everybody while I was gone. Zion had more fun with my cousins than I did. That shit infuriated me.
I went home that night with a girl I met at the lounge. Her name was Jennifer and she helped me release a lot of tension. I knew that she was so willing to give up the ass on the first night only because I was Lamin’s cousin. But I didn’t care. The pussy was good, and I was happier than I had ever been. I spent the next few weeks soaking up the lifestyle that Lamin had become accustomed to. I also spent a lot of time catchin’ up with my boys from around the way in Shaolin.
I started chillin’ with the hustlers from the block, smokin’ weed and hangin’ around in the presence of drug transactions. Careless, reckless shit. I missed curfew a few times, but nothing happened so I pushed my luck. After a while, I ignored that curfew altogether. I was the man around my way. Even though I wasn’t Lamin Michaels, the famous director working in the music and film industry, I was his cousin. I was famous by association. Every time I went to clubs in Staten Island—the Island Room, especially—I was given VIP treatment. I loved it. I got more ass than I knew what to do with, and I was the toast of Shaolin.
I saw Zion around the way often. We never kicked it, though. He was always checking up on his workers and flossin’. It made me sick to see him drive through the ’hood slow so that everyone could see
his new Porsche. To me, it was ridiculous that he wanted attention so badly. The bitches loved his pretty-boy image and that also got on my nerves. I just made up my mind that I would stay as far away from his punk ass as possible. I didn’t want to have to beat the shit out of my cousin’s new best friend.
As soon as things had started looking up for me, they quickly went completely wrong. One night, I was at the Island Room with a couple of my boys. We were drinking like crazy, smoking weed outside, and just acting up. It was cold outside, and we all huddled together passing the blunt. A couple of young dudes were in there that night, and I should have sensed trouble. But I didn’t. Out of nowhere, a loud commotion started right near the entrance of the club where we were standing. The door flew open and a whole crowd of niggas poured out onto the sidewalk. A fight had broken out, and before I could pass the blunt back to my man, shots rang out. I ducked for cover, as did the rest of my crew, while shots echoed through the quiet street. When the bullets stopped firing, I heard the shooter yell to my man, “Yo, Vaughn, take this shit!” The shooter, a young guy who I had seen a couple times around the way, handed Vaughn a .45-caliber gun still smoking from the shootout. Vaughn took it, and the shooter ran off toward a black Nissan Sentra.
Vaughn and I took off running, both from the gunfire and from the police who would surely be on the scene within minutes. We got into Vaughn’s Ford Explorer and he started the car. We peeled out of there, tires screeching from the speed. But by the time we made a mere two and a half blocks, there were cops hot on our trail. They ordered us to pull over, but we weren’t about to give up that easily.
Vaughn took them on a high-speed chase down Richmond Terrace. But the cops started shooting at our tires. Right around the Markham Homes in West Brighton, they finally shot out the rear tires. Vaughn and I both jumped out and began running toward the projects. I was
out
, running like Carl Lewis toward the tall buildings. I even psyched myself up, telling myself that I was close to getting away. But just as I approached Henderson Avenue doing top speed, a
police car swerved in front of me. I stopped short, trying to redirect my path, but instead, I flew into the car and rolled across the hood from the impact. I tried to get to my feet and keep running, but the police had me, and they were hitting me with their sticks and cursing me for making them chase me. As quickly as it started, my freedom was over. I was goin’ back to jail despite my vows not to return.
Of course they found the murder weapon in the car. And even though my prints weren’t on the gun, and I was not placed at the scene by any of the witnesses, I was still going to jail. In the courtroom, when the judge ruled that I had violated parole, I was devastated. My mother was cryin’, looking all sad, and she was so disappointed in me. But more importantly, I was disappointed in myself. I had spent my whole adult life in prison, and I was facing at least another year behind bars. It hurt even more since I had a taste of the lifestyle my cousin was living. Once again, I was living in a cell the size of Lamin’s linen closet, and I resented myself for that. I wouldn’t admit that I was jealous of my cousin, but I was damn sure sick of living my life the way that I was. It was time for me to stop playin’ games and get my shit together.
BOOK: Criminal Minded
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