Dollar Bill (8 page)

“Damn, old man,” Dollar said. “All this time we been kickin' it, you never found the need to tell me that you were a notorious, coldblooded murderer?”

“Shit, I figured you were one also so what would it matter?” Romeo said sarcastically.

“I done told you, man. I didn't kill nobody!” Dollar stood up and shouted in his defense. “Besides, poppin' a couple of niggaz ain't shit compared to torturing and murdering bitches.”

“All right. I hear you. Sit your happy ass down,” Romeo said. “It wasn't even like that. Them hoes asked for that shit. Look, little nigga, this is a ‘get out of jail for free' card. Do you want it or not?”

Dollar slowly seating himself back down was sign enough that he wanted the card. “I just can't see you doing no sick-ass shit like that, old man,” Dollar said.

“It ain't even like that, young blood,” Romeo argued. “I didn't just go out stalking and killing girls. It was part of the game. But never you mind the reasoning behind the slayings. You wanna reap from them, right?”

“I'm in for a body. How am I gonna get out on a body?” Dollar replied.

“Your bodies are some thugs, criminal niggaz who deserved to be dead anyway as far as the man is concerned. You did them a favor. My bodies: white girls. Over the years, these unsolved murders prevented the reelection of two mayors and a governor, and the resignation of a police chief. There's a million dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the Midwest Serial Killer. To make the deal mo' better, you decline the reward money. You do the math,” Romeo said.

Dollar listened intensely as he nodded his head. As always, Romeo was making sense.

“So do you want the card or not?” Romeo asked Dollar.

“Hell yeah,” Dollar replied.

“Good, then listen up.”

For the next few weeks, Romeo gave Dollar explicit details of the crimes such as weapons of choice, material used to bound and gag the women, what the women were wearing, et cetera. He even informed Dollar of a couple of bodies that had not yet been discovered.

Last but not least, Dollar and Romeo would have to stage a falling out. The prison would need to see that Dollar and Romeo were no longer on the same team in order for Dollar dropping the dime to be taken seriously.

Once Romeo was comfortable that Dollar had everything down to the T, the two of them acted out a fight in the prison yard. Blood was drawn and Dollar even ended up with a month in the hole. This action would validate Dollar's decision to snitch on Romeo and would be sure to guarantee him life on the outside.

“I got something the state wants,” Dollar said to the district attorney as his lawyer and the prison warden each sat beside him.

Dollar, after a thousand attempts, managed to retain the skills of a public pretender, also known as a public defender. He needed him to initiate and mediate the game of tit for tat between him and the State of Ohio.

The PD recorded Dollar's statement in relation to the Midwest Serial Killer and researched the facts of the crimes. Sure enough, Dollar's story about the crimes panned out. There were facts of the case that Dollar would have only known if the killer told him or if he was the killer himself; they determined the latter wasn't a possibility.

The PD contacted the district attorney's office, and after some major convincing, got him to agree upon a meeting with Dollar in the prison warden's office.

“I'm listening,” the DA said to Dollar as he tilted his chair back onto its two hind legs. “Get to talking. Time is money. It's not every day I allot my time to some two-bit killer convict.”

“My client has the key to unlock a case that has had law enforcement's heads spinning for some time,” Dollar's attorney pronounced. “Do you remember those five unsolved homicides here in Ohio, and the seven others throughout the Midwest? You know, those nice little Caucasian princesses?”

“The Midwest Serial Killer? Okay, you've got my attention,” the DA said, positioning all four legs of his chair onto the floor.

“Do you want them closed after all of these years?” Dollar's attorney asked.

“Don't play games with me,” the DA said. “You know goddamn well the public and the media were all over our asses on that one. Whenever one of those girls' parents decides to talk to
Dateline
or Court TV or Oprah or some shit, the shit hits the fan all over again.”

“Then I'm sure you'll be willing to sweep the lives of three dead African American thugs under the rug in exchange for the lives of five beautiful, hell, twelve, give or take a few, would-be doctors and lawyers, white females,” Dollar's lawyer said.

“It's hard telling, sometimes, the difference between when someone's jerking my dick and when someone actually has me by the balls,” the DA said. “I want the killer on a platter. No hints, tips, or premonitions. I'll settle for nothing less than being the one to shoot the needle into the son of a bitch's veins.”

“It's hard telling, sometimes, if I'm being made love to or if I'm being fucked,” Dollar said. “If I give you the name of your man, I'm screwed. I'm deemed a snitch and risk getting my tongue cut the fuck out. I'm not waiting around for no conviction, trial, or any bullshit like that. I turn snitch for the state then the state frees me. I'll give you a minute or two to check shit out, but that's it.”

“Look, nigger,” the DA said. “Oh, pardon me, how do you people like to say it these days, ‘nigga'? Anyway, if you can give me the Midwest Serial Killer, then you're a free man, no halfway house, no probation officer, nothing. In the words of your former, great African American leader, you'll be ‘free at last, free at last, God almighty, you'll be free at last.'”

Dollar knew the DA was being a bigot-ass prick, but what could he do? He wasn't free yet; not free enough to tie the DA's testicles in a knot for using Dr. King's quote as if it were some lame-ass cliché.

“You're already in on three bodies,” the DA started to ponder. “This could be tough. I mean, hell, how can I convince the state to let a killer out for turning in another killer? It just doesn't add up,” the DA said.

“Well, I didn't see the family of those three dead men on television threatening the skills and abilities of the judicial system,” Dollar's attorney said. “And just think, the person who finally breaks this case is going to be a saint in the community, and I'm sure that $1 million reward money that my client is willing to waive will find a nice home.”

A crooked smile swept over the DA's face. The things he could do with a million dollars. He could figure out some way to bank the million dollar reward money himself. He would probably have to pull a few strings and pay off a couple of folks with a portion of the reward money, but he just might be able to find a way to make the deal work. He was a politician; of course he could find a way.

“I think we can work this out somehow. I mean, perhaps there were some technicalities that were overlooked in your client's case,” the DA said with a devilish grin. “But if your client is bullshitting me, then you'll have him to thank for your new position,” the DA said to Dollar's lawyer.

“What new position?” Dollar's lawyer asked.

“The one you'll have mopping up floors in the prison toilets, you dumb fuck.”

Dollar couldn't believe this day was coming to pass. It was the day he was going to be a free man again. The State of Ohio was throwing him back onto the streets: the streets Dollar would have to get reacquainted with. He knew so much shit had changed over eight years that he would have to perform foreplay on the streets before running up in them again.

Dollar had big plans. He learned so much from Romeo that the sky was the limit. As he packed up the little bit of shit he owned, all he could think about was all of the tax-free money in the streets that had his name written all over it. No way was he going to fuck up this time around. This was his second chance to redeem himself to the game. Sure he could go back out in the streets vowing to live an honest life so that he'd never end up in jail again. But what were those chances? No matter what good deed the state thought he'd done, to society he was still a convicted felon, which meant no voting and no good jobs. He had better odds at winning the lottery, so he'd bet and take his chances on the streets.

“I'm a big-ass nigga,” Dollar said to himself as he buttoned up his blue dress shirt that was compliments of the prison. He flexed his muscles and thought about all the pussy his new build would gain him. There was no doubt in his mind that once he showed up on the block honeys would be all on his jock.

He entered prison looking like LL Cool J from
Krush Groove,
but came out looking like the new, buffed-up LL. He had picked up an extra forty pounds of muscle. Yep, yep, pussy and money was all that was on Dollar's mind but not necessarily in that order.

Dollar brushed his hair, then ran his tongue across his perfectly straight white teeth.

“Who would have thought it?” Ed said as he came to escort Dollar out of the prison. “Dollar Bill back on the streets. Where you gon' go, man?”

“I'm copping a cot at the YMCA back in Indiana,” Dollar answered. “When I leave this bitch I get a bus pass and one hundred dollars.”

“Then what?” Ed asked.

“Shit, man,” Dollar said. “I don't know. I don't give a fuck. All I know is that I'm kissing this place good-bye.”

“I'm sure you'll be just fine,” Ed said, reaching into his pocket. “But, hey, I got some peoples you might want to contact. They can hook you up with some ol' simple-ass shit. You know, just something to get you by like cleaning, painting, construction, working at a gas station, or whatnot.”

“Good looking out,” Dollar said, taking the piece of paper Ed had retrieved from his pocket.

“Well, I guess it's that time, partna,” Ed said.

“Let's do this,” Dollar said, grabbing his bag and following Ed's lead.

A crescendo of whistling followed Dollar throughout the prison as Ed escorted him to freedom. He gave dap and pound to some of the inmates. Most of them couldn't care less about Dollar being freed; they were just caught up in the idea of freedom alone. Underneath the whistling there was some hissing, like the sound of a snake. That's one thing Dollar had to mentally prepare himself for: being thought of as a snitch. He had planned on spending the rest of his life having people think he was a murderer and he really wasn't, so what the fuck if they thought he was a snitch?

Dollar obeyed the street code. He hadn't snitched on his partners. This situation with Romeo was different. He couldn't help it if a “get out of jail free” card had been placed in the palm of his hands. Only a fool would have declined it.

“Yo, Ed,” Dollar said. “Where's Romeo?”

“Come on, Dollar, man,” Ed said. “Don't even think about it. You on your way out of here. Don't start no shit now.”

“No, it's cool,” Dollar assured him. “Just take me to him.”

Ed thought for a minute. “Man, I don't know.” Dollar pleaded silently with his eyes. Ed exhaled. “Shit, man, come on.” He took Dollar to solitary where Romeo was moved to while he awaited trial for the murders.

“Five minutes, man,” Ed said noided. “Five minutes and don't start no shit, Dollar, or I swear to God.”

Ed left Dollar outside of Romeo's solitary cell as he stood at the corner conversing with another CO and keeping watch for any of the big dawgs who could have his job if he was found out.

“Oh Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” Dollar whispered outside of the steel door.

“You out, man?” Romeo asked through the slot.

“I'm out,” Dollar replied as silence fell upon them. “Any last words of advice?”

“You know everything I know now,” Romeo said. “Be good, Dollar, and be good at it.”

“I hate to leave you in solitary like this, man,” Dollar said.

“I'm going to have to buy all new shit,” Romeo said. “You know them niggaz done had a field day raidin' my shit.”

“Why, old man?” Dollar couldn't help but ask.

Romeo ignored Dollar's inquiry as he pressed his head against the door holding back his tears. One of the hardest cats in the system, for the first time since he could remember, Romeo felt like he was about to break. “Do me a favor,” Romeo said to Dollar.

“Anything, man,” Dollar replied.

“Make sure the first thing you do is go see your family,” Romeo replied.

“No doubt,” Dollar said. “That goes unsaid.”

“You take care of yourself,” Romeo said.

“Peace out, old man,” Dollar replied as he prepared to walk away. “Yo, Romeo,” Dollar said, “what's your real name, at least?”

“Don't matter now,” Romeo said.

“Come on, man,” Dollar begged.

“I said it doesn't matter!” Romeo spat.

“Damn, all right,” Dollar said, leaving the situation alone. Hell, he could read it in the papers. “Anyway, take it easy old man.” As Dollar walked away, heading over to where Ed was, Romeo called out.

“Blake,” Romeo said. “Ramelle Blake.”

Dollar immediately stopped in his tracks. A sudden chill took over Dollar's body. His blood boiled throughout his body and he could hear his heart beating as loud as thunder. Dollar hadn't heard that name since he was three years old. The last time he heard it was when his mother was begging and pleading for his father not to leave her.

Dollar never heard his father swear at his mother before. He rarely heard them argue in his few years. The disrespect Dollar's father was showing his mother was the first sign that the streets were taking over him
. . .
or he was taking over the streets.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Dollar's father said to his mother as he exited the apartment, leaving him, his mother, and his screaming ten
-
month
-
old baby brother for dead.

Dollar couldn't move as he stood in the prison corridor. The man he had spent almost his entire life hating, the man who gave him life, was now, once again, giving him life. Dollar wanted to rip Romeo's fucking heart out, though. He wanted to spit on him. He wanted to stomp him for each year his mother spent working in fast food restaurants. He wanted to stomp him for each year him and his brother went without a daddy. In Dollar's head, he was envisioning him shankin' Romeo until every ounce of life oozed out of his body. But in reality, he was stiff.

“I know you can't speak,” Romeo said. “And even if you could, no telling how cruel your words might be even in spite of the situation at hand. And I wouldn't blame you one bit. Believe me, any hate you've had for me over the years, I've hated myself ten times as much.”

Dollar was still cold speechless. He couldn't even blink for fear a tear of anger might drop.

“You asked me why, why I'm doing this for you,” Romeo spoke. “When you were born, I remember watching you sleep in the hospital. I never took my eyes off of you. When you opened your eyes for the first time I wanted to be there. My mother, your Grandma Stevie, told me that you can see your soul through the eyes of your child.

“When I looked into your eyes I saw everything that I knew I had to be. I didn't see the person I was, but the person I needed to be. Sooner than later, the streets started calling me. I wanted so much for you and your mama. I wanted to give y'all the world. But then your little brother was born and the world was on my shoulders. I couldn't luck up on a decent job and couldn't hold on to a halfway decent one. Instead of pushing myself and being strong I answered the call. I answered the calling of the streets. Hell, I don't need to tell you. There was tax-free ends to be made out there, but your mama wasn't with that. No way was she going to be a hustler's wife. That's why I told you what I told you back when I first started kickin' knowledge to you. If you find a good woman and you love her, then you have to choose. You have to choose either the streets or her. If you really love her then you fo' sure don't want to bring her into the life. You have to choose. Don't ever make her choose. You won't win.”

Dollar listened intensely as Romeo continued.

“Anyway, the first time I looked into your eyes I promised your mama I would always be there for you. I told your mama I'd trade in my life for you. I made a lot of promises to her. So far this one, trading in my life for you, has been the only promise I've been able to keep. Go out there, son. Take everything I've given you and rule them streets. The world is your playground, remember that.”

Dollar swallowed and stuck his chest out. He regained his composure and looked straight ahead at Ed to signal him that he was ready to walk. He felt as though he had to say something to Romeo. This was his only opportunity to have words with the man he now knew to be his father.

As Dollar proceeded to exit the jail, he said to Romeo, “Don't you ever call me son.”

 

 

Back in the day when Dollar first went to jail, Jodeci was the male group dominating the charts. Now in 2003, these young cats named B2K was ripping up the airwaves. Dollar bounced his head as one of their songs played on the radio through the walkman he had copped off of an inmate a few years ago.

The Greyhound bus ride from Ohio to Indiana was like a luxurious limousine ride. Dollar could have ridden on that bus forever. Anything but the jail cell was like paradise.

Dollar knew that the bus ticket and one hundred dollars wasn't going to get him far, but it would get him as far away from that jail as possible. He was free and clear of his debt to society. He didn't owe the State of Ohio, or any other state for that matter, a thing. He knew he was going to have to stay at the YMCA until he could blueprint some shit out, but he was cool with that. He needed time to think. He needed to clear his mind of what he had experienced for the last eight years and put into action all that he had learned.

Dollar knew that there were three kinds of smarts in the world: street smart, book smart, and prison smart. Dollar now possessed each. Once he put things in perspective and learned what was presently going on in the streets, he would be invincible.

When Dollar's bus finally arrived in Indiana, he exited the bus and took in a whiff of the smell of the streets. Damn, he had missed that scent; the scent of cruddy sewers and cigarette smoke with just a hint of beer that some cat had poured onto the ground for his homie who no longer walked the earth. City life: there's nothing like it in the world.

After taxiing over to the Y, Dollar was down to $88.21. The taxi fare was only $7.80, but he purchased an Extra Value Meal from McDonald's at one of the rest stops the bus made. Dollar knew he was going to have to start setting up a hustle, but it was going to be impossible to do it without a crew. With only $88.21 to his name, time was of the essence.

As Dollar had learned in prison, everyone around him was his enemy. No way could he trust these new age gangstas. These cool-ass muthafuckas wasn't about nothin' but the bling-bling and screwing each other's hoes. He knew that much from the young bucks who were starting to fill the prison. It was time to drop in on Tommy and Ral. Hustling ran in their veins. No matter what they were up to these days, Dollar knew in his heart they would be down for a hustle. Besides, they owed him. The way Dollar saw it, them niggaz owed him the trouble of getting his life on track, for it was his life that spared their own.

First thing was first; he had to look up his family. The guilt of betraying them by being loyal to Tommy put Dollar in between a rock and a hard place. The choice he made meant having to abandon his mother and brother.