Down by Law (19 page)

N
ine days.

No TV.

No pen.

No paper.

No yard time.

Nobody to talk to.

Showers er' other day.

And the only way I could tell time was by what was on the food trays they pushed through the door slot.

I just wanted out.

And I put that on everything. I couldn't take it in here no more.

I lay back on the thin blue striped mattress, the hard concrete pushing into my back from beneath.

All I could do in here was think.

Wonder.

What if... I was rich?

Born in the suburbs?

What if my daddy pimped trucks instead of tricks?

What if he was like Cliff Huxtable?

I smiled.

Mike Brady?

My smile grew even wider.

What if Face had never gone to jail?

Schooly never died?

Queenie never left?

Yvette never snitched?

Tears filled my eyes.

Screw what-ifs . . . what if ain't never did nothing for me but piss me off.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
I thought about bangin' my head on the wall. Then I remembered they was padded, which pissed me off even more.

The door rattled.

I sat up.

Somebody shoved a letter addressed from Ke'Ron Green and a food tray through the slot: watery eggs, buttered toast, applesauce, and milk.

It was morning.

 

T
he CO escorted me out of the bullpen and into the courtroom, handcuffed and shackled. Ready to deal with whatever this public pretender tossed my way. I'd already made up my mind that, lawyer or no lawyer, he had one time to say somethin' slick and he was gon' get cussed out today. I'd had enough of this and all I really wanted to do was get outta here.

I could barely walk, and with all these metal chains and steel garbage on me like I was some kind of criminal, I was forced to take short steps and sway.

The public pretender sat at the defense table, frowning like he clearly couldn't be bothered. I sat down beside him, hands behind my back. He leaned over and said, “Here's the deal. The prosecutor has offered you a plea. Three years' probation. You need to take it. It's only on your juvenile record so when you turn eighteen, it's wiped clean. And another thing, your mother is here to take custody of you—”

My heart dropped. “What?”

He continued on like he hadn't heard me stop breathing or my heart hitting the floor. “Yes. She's outside the courtroom. The sheriff's deputy will bring her in at any moment. The plan is for her to take you home.”

“What?”

“You are to be quiet until I tell you to address the court. Don't grunt. Don't groan. Say, ‘yes, Your Honor,' and if the judge asks you about some animalistic fight you apparently got into, you are to apologize. As a matter of fact, even if the judge doesn't mention it, you apologize anyway. You say you are committed to being a better person. And that you will never find yourself in another situation like this again. Now you either say that or you find yourself sent back to jail until your trial is over. Understand?”

“All rise,” the bailiff said before I could respond.

The judge took the bench. “Good morning. Counsel, please state your appearance for the record.”

“Claire Wallace. State's prosecutor.”

“Lawrence Cooper. Representing the defendant.”

I heard the courtroom double doors squeak open. And I could hear people walking in, but there was no way I could turn around to see who they were. Then I felt a hand lay on my shoulder and squeeze.

I wanted to scream, “Get offa me!” But I didn't. I sat there. Like stone. Hearing the judge and the lawyers speak but not really knowin' what they was sayin'.

All I knew is that it had been three years, five months, two weeks, and an afternoon that Queenie had been gone. And then just like that she wanted to show up like it was all good in the hood.

I don't think so.

I knew I needed to be quiet long enough to get outta here, then I could cuss Queenie out.

I tried to swallow the iron fist I felt balling up in my throat. I failed.

“My client would like to address the court,” the public pretender said, giving me a loaded glare like he dared me to flip the script.

I struggled to stand up. “Your Honor.” I paused. Pushed the cusses and the “forget all of y'alls” that I really wanted to say back down into my throat and said, “I would like to apologize to the court for my behavior. And I will not place myself in a situation like this again.”

The judge looked over his glasses. “I certainly hope not, young lady. Because the next time I will make you a ward of the court.”

“Your Honor,” my attorney said. “My client is willing to accept the plea. Also, her mother is here and she would like Isis to be released to her custody.”

“I thought the mother was missing, as the grandmother stated at the last hearing.”

“Your Honor, there appeared to be some kind of mistake.”

“The mother lives in Atlanta now, and she's promised to make sure my client is brought back and forth to court.”

I did everything I could to keep myself together.

The same hand that squeezed my shoulder before, squeezed it again. I knew for a fact that it had to be Queenie. I didn't turn around, though, because I knew if I did, it was no tellin' what I would say or what I would do. So I looked straight ahead at the judge, whose eyes combed my file. “The court will release Miss Carter into her mother's custody.” He looked up. “Court in a month.” He banged his gavel. “Dismissed.”

 

The processing officer handed Queenie my paperwork and then looked at me and wished me luck. I felt like I was about to burst into scorchin' flames.

I couldn't even look this trick in the face. I glanced at Queenie once and then quickly looked the other way. I couldn't believe she was standing here. Like she hadn't walked out and left me with the devil.

Once we were outside and I was free and clear of the court and the COs, I looked up at Queenie, fought back angry tears, and said, “You may as well carry yo' behind back to the track you just left 'cause I ain't goin' nowhere with you!”

“Don't you dare speak to me like that! I'm your—”

“My what? My mother? I know you was not about to say that! 'Cause last I checked, it's been exactly three years and an afternoon since we got down as anything, let alone as mother and daughter.”

“Isis. I can explain, but I need you to calm down.”

“You need me to calm down? Really? Screw you! Where were you when I needed you? Huh? Where were you? Off on some bus somewhere rollin' to Atlanta. Did you forget you had a daughter?”

“How could I forget something like that?”

“You tell me, 'cause after Schooly died you didn't care nothing about me! You just left me by myself.” Tears were flying everywhere. “I swear to God, I hate you! I hate you! And if you think I'm going anywhere with you, then you are dead-ass wrong!” And I stormed away, leaving her in the middle of the block with tears covering her face.

N
o money.

No beeper.

No phone.

Feet on fire.

Head about to explode.

I'd stormed through countless Newark blocks, from the courthouse to Fresh's apartment, only to find him smoking a blunt with two gigglin' tricks.

Wham! Bam! Pow!
With everything in me, I hooked off and one-twoed him right in his face. Painful surprise caught him and he stumbled back. I kicked him in his chest and just as I went to follow up with another round of spontaneous kicks and punches, he wrapped a hand around my neck and slammed me into the wall.

“You must want me to shoot you!” He tightened his grip on my throat. “What the hell is wrong witchu?” He flung me from the wall to the couch.

He looked over at the two chicks, who were no longer giggling. “Y'all need to leave. Now!”

“For what? They been chillin' here witchu, so why they gotta leave now?” I looked over at the chicks, who were walking toward the door. “No, y'all stay.”

Fresh shot them a look and they rushed out the door, as I shoved him in his chest.

I screamed, “Where have you been, huh? What happened to my lawyer? Money for my account?! A goddamn visit?!”

“A visit? And why would I come up there? You of all people should already know that the last place I'm gon' be is visiting you in jail!”

“You could've sent a lawyer!”

“You're a minor. You didn't need a big-time lawyer. I knew you would get off!”

“I had to take a plea for probation. You think that's getting off? Are you serious?”

“You need to be grateful!”

“Really? Grateful? So that's why you didn't do anything for me, not even send me money, because I should be grateful!”

“Money? You know how dry it's been for me around here? And who was I gon' send the money by? Your crackhead cousin, who's strung out and selling five-dollar blow jobs on the street!”

I felt like he'd just stuck me with a knife full of salt in my chest. “You know what? I went to jail, and the only person who cared enough about me to see how I was doin' was K-Rock. And he said some things that made a lot of sense.”

“So he tells you what to do now?”

“It's not about him telling me what to do. It's about me knowing when to take some advice. So hear me when I say this: I'm done selling weed. Finished!”

“What?”

“You heard me. So don't even look at me to hustle anymore.”

“Oh.” He arched a brow. “Word? And what you gon' do? Work at McDonald's? Burger King? Is that how you wanna repay me, after er'thing I've done for you?”

“Listen. It's no crew. They're done too. We all got a lil stash. Er'body trying to change their ways, finish school. Maybe go to college.”

“College? What? Here's what you need to do. Get outta this fairy tale you in and K-Rock needs to stop puttin' bullshit in your head. 'Cause you don't have no skills. You pretty, but you don't have no talent, so I don't know how long you think them looks gon' last.”

“First of all, I'ma hustler and I'ma always make a way to survive! I been on my own ever since my brother died, so I don't need you!”

“Look, hold on, you got me messed up. You the one who wanted to come into this marijuana game. I ain't even know you had the heart for it until you showed me what you was capable of. And er'body in the streets know that if it wasn't for your crackhead cousin runnin' her mouth, you would still be slangin'.”

“Do you understand that I just got outta jail? And I had to take a plea for probation. One screw-up and I'm back in jail. I'm not interested!”

“Oh, so now you wanna bitch up 'cause you got locked up. You did three months and suddenly you wanna do a whole one-eighty. I ain't tryna hear that from you. My coke and weed connect is locked up, which means my money is funny. So the last thing I'm tryna hear is you telling me that you about to screw wit' even more of my dough.”

“Fresh—”

“So you will sell weed, at school, and you ain't gon' stop until I tell you to.” Fresh peered through me as if he dared me to say something else, and when I didn't, he continued with, “Now I got someplace to go. And when I get back you better have your thoughts straight!”

He walked out of the living room and headed to his bedroom, leaving me standing there.

I couldn't believe this was happening to me. I felt dizzy and saw visions of Queenie dancing before me. How could she be back and living in Atlanta? Atlanta? So she just left me here while she ran off and started a whole other life somewhere else . . . probably with somebody else....

“Isis, you hear me?”

I blinked as Fresh's voice brought me out of my thoughts. I looked him over, my eyes stopping at the gold watch on his arm....

 

 

“Fresh, where you get that watch from?”

“My cousin Snoop gave it to me. Why?”

“'Cause my brother had a watch like that.”

“Your brother? What's your brother's name?”

“Schooly.”

Fresh blinked. His thoughts drifted and then he looked back over at me. “Schooly? Hold on. Was your brother the lil retarded boy that got killed?”

“Don't call my brother retarded. Now how did you get that watch?”

He curled his upper lip in disgust. “Just answer my question, was your brother the lil retarded boy? Who got killed because his brother Face set up my homeboy?” He paused, his eyes loaded with a million thoughts. “Hold up? Is Face your brother too?!” He snatched my cheeks and squeezed them.

“Get offa me!”

“I asked you a question!”

“Yes, Face is my brother!”

“He killed my cousin, Snoop! And here I been messing with you.” He reared his fist back and before I could even attempt to free myself from his grip, all I could feel was his fist landing in my face.... Everything around me faded to black.

 

I opened my eyes and Fresh stood over me, as I lay on the floor. “You lucky that's all you got. Now what you better do is tell me exactly how your brother got this watch. Or I'ma stomp blood from you and I mean that.”

Tears flooded my face. I scooted back, gripped the couch, and pulled myself up and off the floor. I sat on the edge, scared of what Fresh might do next. “Look, my brother Face used to sling, but he was also a stick-up artist.”

“I know. And he stuck his hand in the wrong goddamn pocket this time. Now keep talking.”

“All I know is that my brother and his homeboy—”

“Who, K-Rock?” Fresh placed his hand at his side, where his gun was tucked.

“No! K-Rock is freakin' square. A college boy. He don't know nothing about these streets. And like I said, my brother and his homeboy—”

“What's his name?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. All I know is that he and Face robbed some drug dealer—”

“Yeah, my cousin Snoop's right-hand man, George, and his crew is who they ran up on.”

“Okay, they robbed George and his crew. And they took his money and his jewelry. And when they came home, Face gave Schooly that watch.”

“Yeah, and this watch is why Snoop caught your little retarded brother at the bus stop and left him dead under the bridge. Which, as far as I'm concerned, his lil slow ass deserved. I don't believe this!” He slammed his hands against his temples, like his thoughts pained him.

I did everything I could to hold it together. I knew if I yelled, screamed, or made any sudden move that Fresh just might kill me or come close to it. He looked at me with rage and disgust. “Trick! You lucky I ain't know you was Face's little sister or I would've finished his family off, especially after he killed my cousin.”

The scorching heat of Fresh's slap stunned me as I fell into the wall and hit the back of my head. I spotted the butt of his twenty-two on the end table and immediately my instincts told me to pick it up and shoot this . . .

“Let me tell you somethin'.” I snatched the twenty-two and gripped it in my hand. “If you hit me again, I'ma send you visiting, and the same sucker-ass Snoop that you beatin' for gon' be the one you stop by to see!”

Blood dripped from my busted bottom lip and I flung it away. Fresh frowned and took a step closer to me.

I knocked off the safety.

“Put the gun down!” he ordered.

“Back up and you better not hit me again!”

He took another step forward. “What did I just say?!”

“Back. Up.”

Fresh rushed over toward me and just as I positioned my finger to squeeze the trigger, he snatched the gun from my hand. “What are you, stupid? I need to be the last person you pull a gun on!”

“Don't touch me again! Or I'ma pull the trigger the next time.”

“Then you better make sure the gun is loaded. 'Cause this one is empty.”

“Well, then it's your lucky night.”

Fresh shook his head and paced the room. He looked over at me and shook his head again. “I don't believe this!” he said as he tossed a punch into the air. Then he turned back toward me and said, “Sit down, Isis.”

“I'm not sitting down! Are you crazy?!” I wildly wiped the tears streaming from my eyes.

He shot me a look. “What did I just say? Sit down.”

“No!”

Fresh hopped up and walked over to me. I flinched. “Look.” He gripped my shoulders. “Had I known you were Face's lil sister, I would've never looked your way. But it's nothing I can do about it. I love you—”

“Puttin' your hands on me is not love!”

“Would you shut up! That's your problem—you're always running your mouth. You need to listen sometimes! It's messed up about what happened to your brother, but Face caused that. You know the rules. You come for me I come even harder for you. Fair exchange no robberies. You know that.”

“Schooly never did nothing to anybody! They didn't have to kill him!” I screamed and pushed him in his chest. I was doing everything in my power to stop these tears from burning down my face but, I couldn't.

“Well, you need to blame Face. He did that. And word is bond, you need to be thankful that didn't nobody off you.”

I was slowly losing my mind. All I wanted to do was slice Fresh across his throat and make him regret everything he'd just done to me. But I knew there was a time for everything....

Fresh continued, “None of this had to be. But it is.”

Silence.

“But I'ma forgive you.”

He carried on. “Only 'cause you really didn't know. And I care about you.” He paused. “And I'm sorry about what happened to your brother. But right now, I can't stay stuck on that. I gotta get back on top of my game and we need to get things back on track. And make this money.”

Fresh squinted and looked toward the door.

“Isis! You in there? Open up this door!”

“Isis!” She pounded. “You in there? Open this door right now!”

“Who is that?” Fresh reached for his gun.

“You don't need that. It's my mother.”

He frowned. “Your what? Your mother?”

“ISIS!” Queenie screamed. “Yvette told me this is where your boyfriend lives! So you better open up this door or I will have the police here!”

Fresh arched a brow. “I tell you what. You better get that old trick away from my door talking about the police or I'ma raise the body count in a minute.”

“You not about to shoot my mother.”

“You trying to find out?”

“Isis!”

I stormed over to the door and snatched it open. Queenie pushed her way inside. “Let's go!”

“I ain't goin' nowhere witchu! So you may as well go back wherever you came from and leave me alone. You ain't been worried about me, so why are you all up and in my business now?”

“I don't know who you think you're talking to, but obviously you forgot who I am. Now I made some mistakes, leaving you being one of them. But I'm here and lucky for you, I came back right on time. Otherwise you'd be sitting in some girls' home somewhere. . . .” She paused. “What happened to your face?” She grabbed my face and I flinched away. “Who did this to you?”

“None of your business!”

She walked over to Fresh. “You put your hands on my daughter.”

“You better go 'head. I ain't touch your daughter.”

“Do you know I will slice your throat?!” she snapped at Fresh. “You put your hands on my daughter!” She took a step closer to him.

I slid in between them. “Queenie, would you stop!” I screamed. “Just go! Just leave! You don't have a right coming up in here like this! You don't tell me what to do! I'm grown!”

“Well, I have custody of your grown ass. Now you decide.” She looked over at Fresh. “I don't know who you are, but I know you did this to my daughter. She's a minor. And right now, I'm telling you, if my daughter doesn't come with me willingly then I will be calling the police to make her go! Now you help her decide.”