Larceny (11 page)

Jovan was still at Mark's office, learning as much as he could. This day, Mark was in court representing his best friend, Bilal Davis. Mark didn't know that Bilal and Jovan were best friends, and Jovan intended for it to remain that way. Bilal got arrested on some bullshit charge of a one-count conspiracy with no co-defendants, no drugs involved, and no murders. He was charged with conspiracy because of the amount of money they found in his stash house. They confiscated 3.5 million of Bilal's money.

The house wasn't in Bilal's name, and he wasn't on the lease. The only way they connected Bilal to the money was from a suitcase full of expensive clothes and two plane tickets to Paris in his name, along with his passport. Bilal was going away to take a break from the streets, and he was taking some broad he messed with to Paris for a month.

Come to find out that one of Bilal's customers was caught with a couple of bricks down Southwest, and in turn for his freedom, he agreed to be an informant for the Sixth District police. The officers at this precinct hated Bilal. They wanted him bad but could never get anything on him, until they got a hold of Fat Mike.

Fat Mike hustled down Southwest on Delaware Avenue, and Bilal used to look out for this nigga. Mike always bought only two kilos, but Bilal used to give him five and let him owe him the rest later. Bilal always looked out for niggas that he thought had that hustle in 'em.

On the morning Bilal was going to Paris, he made one mistake by serving Fat Mike at one of his stash houses on Florida Avenue. The only reason why that much money was in that house was because Carlos was supposed to come over first thing in the morning and send it down to Mexico for shipment. After Bilal served Fat Mike, Fat Mike went right around the corner and told the police that Bilal was in the house, never telling the police that Bilal had just sold him his last five bricks. Fat Mike was a bitch. He figured he'd pay for only two bricks and get Bilal locked up so he wouldn't have to pay for the other three.

The officers that were waiting called the precinct for backup. They didn't even get a legitimate warrant. They just busted into Bilal's joint, locked him up, and later he was sentenced to thirty years.

Bilal hired Mark, and Mark's motion for a new trial was so strong because of the newly discovered evidence indicating that the warrant that the officers used was bogus and not signed by a judge. The judge immediately called Bilal's case back for a new hearing.

On May 10, 1994, Jovan was granted a temporary pass as an attorney's assistant. As Mark and Jovan went upstairs, Jovan chose the first conference room, and Mark chose the one across from him. Jovan had to do that so Mark wouldn't look over and see Bilal and him smiling and talking like they knew each other. Plus, he wanted to see Bilal first and give him the eye so he wouldn't come out all loud trying to hug a nigga, blowing Jovan's cover.

The first inmate they brought out was a little dude Mark was representing because he got caught up in a foolish carjacking with some friend while high on PCP. His people had a little money, so they hired Mark. As Mark started interviewing his client, the C.O. brought Bilal into the conference room.

Jovan hadn't seen Bilal in almost nine years. He was big as shit, ripped up like Mike Tyson! He had on his blue D.C. jail jumper, blue kufi, a pair of Versace glasses, and a pair of new blue-and-white Versace tennis shoes. Damn, even in jail Bilal was giving it to them. You could tell everyone in the prison respected him and that he was fucking the C.O., 'cause the C.O. that brought him in whispered something in his ear and felt his dick while patting him down.

When Bilal turned around and saw Jovan sitting in the conference room, his eyes got big as shit. Jovan placed his fingers to his lips to let him know not to let the cat outta the bag and then got up and reached out his right hand.

“Mr. Bilal Davis, I'm Jovan Price, paralegal assistant to your lawyer, Mark Rohon. I'm here to talk to you about a few things.”

Bilal had a slight grin on his face as he shook Jovan's hand. When the C.O. left and closed the door to the conference room, the first thing that came outta Bilal's mouth was, “Nigga, what the fuck you doin' here?”

“I come to pay my loyalty to my only friend,” Jovan said as he held back the tears with all his might.

Bilal sat back in his chair, looked at Jovan, and shook his head as if in a state of shock.

“Man, Jovan, we got a lot to talk about,” Bilal said as Jovan noticed he, too, was holding back years of unshed tears.

“Yeah, I know, but first we gotta get this shit together 'cause I only got a hour with you,” Jovan said.

“Man, don't tell me you're a real lawyer.”

“Naw, I ain't no lawyer yet. I'm a paralegal.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” Bilal said, still shocked.

“Naw, slim, this is real.”

“How the fuck did you become a paralegal?”

“Long story, Lal. I'll fill you in later.” Jovan smiled and said, “What's up, Lal?”

“Ain't nothin'. I'm just sitting here trippin' the fuck out because my fucking best friend who I ain't seen in nine years becomes my lawyer.”

“Nigga, I told you back in '85 that I'll never let no one do nothin' to you.”

“And I told you vice versa,” Bilal said, glad to see his friend.

“Bilal, you already proved that. Now it's my turn to show my loyalty. Now, look and listen carefully,” Jovan said, ready to get down to business.

Jovan filled Bilal in on everything from the time he got locked up in '85 all the way up until now. Bilal dropped a few tears then hurried up and wiped them away. They told each other that they loved one another and would forever remain loyal, and that from this point on they'd never lose contact again.

“Look, Lal, you're gonna win your case next week. We only got an extension of time for one week,” Jovan told Bilal.

Jovan told him everything about Fat Mike. Bilal never knew Fat Mike was the one who gave him up. He always thought that the police had came up into his spot and found the 3.5 mil on a humble.

“Damn, Bilal, them people took a lot of money from you, slim.”

“Yeah, Jay, they hit a nigga's head, but I'm still cool though. I still got like 3.5 mil that Carlos is holdin' for me.”

“How much you payin' Mark?” Jovan asked inquisitively.

“He didn't tell you?” Bilal said.

“Naw, I didn't ask him.”

“I gave him two hundred thousand and told him if he could guarantee he'd win my case, I'd give him another fifty.”

“You paying this mu'fucka all that money?” Jovan asked, shocked.

“Jovan, that ain't shit compared to my freedom. Shit, a nigga like me is worth two hundred fifty million.”

“Yeah, I feel you on that one, Lal.”

“And, nigga, when I get out, you're going to get a piece of the action too.”

“Man, you know I can't hang with you when you get out. Them people's gonna be watching you.”

“No, they ain't; not if I play it right. Jovan, this all I know. I don't know nothin' else. I'm a born hustler just like my pops,” Bilal said sadly.

Jovan knew one day Bilal would think that he had turned into his pops. He also knew what Bilal said was true, that this was all he knew. Personally, Jovan thought, with 3.5 mil he'd quit and do something else, or at least try to wash that shit up.

“Look, Bilal, your hearing is next week, and if somehow Fat Mike doesn't walk up in that courtroom, you'll be walking out.”

Bilal came closer, lowered his voice, and said, “Jovan, look, this is what I need you to do.”

“What's that, Lal?” Jovan asked.

“Okay, do you remember Li'l G from around Orleans Place?”

“Yeah, I remember shorty. I hear he's out there killin' everything that moves.”

“Yeah, that's right. He's the li'l youngin' I fuck wit'. Look, go around Orleans Place and tell Li'l G I said to lay the demonstration down on Fat Mike ASAP, and that I got fifty thousand for that move. If it's done nicely, I got an extra thirty thousand as a bonus.”

“Damn, Bilal, giving up eighty thousand for Fat Mike's head. That's a nice start-up bank,” Jovan said. “Okay, Lal, you got that. I'll get on top of that as soon as I leave here.”

“Yeah, Jay, and next week when I get out, you and me are going somewhere and talk. I don't care what you're doin', nigga. You my family, and some way you're gonna be a part of my team and play your position. You got that, nigga? Forever I remain loyal,” Bilal said seriously.

“Look, Bilal, when we get up, just shake my hand. Don't try and hug me, because we still wanna keep Mark in the dark.”

“Okay, Jay.”

When Mark signaled to Jovan that it was time to go, Bilal and Jovan stood up and shook hands. This time when Jovan shook Bilal's hand, he saw the tattoo on his right forearm. It was a tombstone with flowers around it, and it read:
In Loving Memory of Mal-Mal, My True Love.
As Jovan looked at the tattoo he felt guilty, because for some reason, he always felt responsible for Mal-Mal's death.

Mark and Jovan left the jail. Mark asked him, “Hey Jovan, I'll see you in the office tomorrow or what?”

“Yeah, but first I gotta try and find this witness to see if he's gonna sign this affidavit,” Jovan said. He had to find Li'l G.

“Okay, call me if you find out anything.”

Jovan had been up all day without anything to eat, so before he went around Northeast, he stopped somewhere and ate something. Normally, he didn't eat fast food because he tried to keep his figure tight. Right now he was 178 pounds of all muscle. Today he had to break one rule; he drove around the corner on Pennsylvania Avenue and pulled into the Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru and ordered a baked chicken dinner. After pulling off, Jovan looked at his watch and saw that it was 6:00 p.m.. He hoped this youngin' was out there.

Jovan drove around Orleans Place and saw two dudes he didn't know. He didn't bother to ask them where Li'l G was because Li'l G be killing so much they'd probably think Jovan was trying to do something to him. As he continued to drive down the street and before he got to the intersection of Orleans Place and Sixth Street, he saw Omar pull up in his Pathfinder. Jovan rolled down his window to signal for Omar to pull over, and it looked like he was reaching for his gun, until he saw Jovan's face.

Omar rolled down his window and said, “What's up, Jovan? Damn, nigga, where you been at? I ain't seen your ass in a long time.”

“Yeah, I know. I just been chillin'.”

“You heard what they did to Bilal? Them people smashed him with thirty years.”

“Yeah, I know, but I'm looking for Li'l G. I gotta holla at him about something,” Jovan said.

“You a'ight, Jovan? You ain't got no problems or nothin', do you?”

“Oh, naw, I just need to holla at shorty about something important.”

“Check around back. They're probably behind Wilson's playing craps,” Omar said.

“Okay, slim, thanks.”

“Anytime. It's good to see you again, man,” Omar said. “Start coming around more often. For a minute I thought you was one of them niggas trying to get at me, and I was 'bout to put this glock to your head.”

“Yeah, Omar? I'll see you later,” Jovan said, laughing.

As Jovan drove around back, he could see Short Dogg, Cat, Dre, Soup, and one-eyed Sean shootin' craps. It was obvious these niggas was beefing hard as shit, 'cause soon as Jovan pulled up, they all pulled their shit out.

Dogg had a MAC-11, Cat had a Glock 40, Dre had a Beretta, and Soup had the prettiest Smith and Wesson. 45 Jovan had ever seen. He didn't see one-eyed Sean pull anything out; he guessed he felt safe knowing these niggas were strapped.

When Jovan got out of his van, the first nigga who said something was Cat. “Who dat?”

“It's Jovan,” Jovan said to him.

“Who?” Cat asked.

“Jovan, Bilal's man.”

As Jovan walked up closer so Cat could see who he was, the first thing he said was, “Nigga, where the fuck you been hidin' at?”

“Slim, you know I don't do no hidin'.”

“What's up?”

“Ain't shit happenin'. I see you niggas still the same way; ain't letting a nigga just walk up on you.”

“Oh, hell naw. You know we ain't going for it!”

Everybody put their straps back in their dips but Short Dogg. For some reason, this li'l nigga was on point. He was Li'l G's young protégé, and if he didn't feel comfortable, he showed it.

“Man, Jovan, what'cha doing around here? You back in action or what? 'Cause we do need a connect. Ever since Bilal went in, we've been fucked up, and you know that bitch-ass nigga Carlos ain't trying to do nothin' with us. He's scared we ain't gonna pay him. That nigga's a ho. I don't understand what Bilal see in him.”

Jovan wanted to say to Cat that what Bilal saw in Carlos was millions of dollars that Cat couldn't get, but instead he asked the question that he went there for.

“Naw, Cat, I ain't back in action. I'm looking for Li'l G,” Jovan said to Cat.

When Jovan said that, Short Dogg looked at him as if he said he wanted to kill Li'l G. This li'l young nigga was on point. He knew Jovan never did business with Li'l G before, so Jovan could understand why he had his antennas up.

“Jovan, man, come here for a second and let me holla at you in private,” Cat said.

“Yeah, what's up, Cat?”

“Look, man, whatever you looking for my man for, I know it must be a good reason, but for real, slim, we don't even know where he's at. You know homicide been around here all week looking for shorty. They're trying to pin some shit on him, so when he got whiff of that, he jetted. Shit, that's my man and he ain't even tell me where he was going.”

“Damn, Cat, I needed to talk to him bad.”

“Slim, ain't too much I can do, but you can give me your number, and if he calls or comes around, I'll give it to him,” Cat said.

Jovan gave Cat his pager number and a special code for Li'l G. “Look, Cat, as soon as you talk to him, tell him I've got a hell of a proposition for him, and it would be in his best interests to get back at me ASAP.”

“Okay, Jay, I'll do that.”

“A'ight, I'll holla at ya later.”

“Okay, Jovan, take care.”

As Jovan got back into his van, he looked through his rear view mirror and watched Short Dogg stick his MAC-11 into his pants and he just shook his head. Damn, these young niggas was out there going hard as shit, but in all actuality, they didn't know that Jovan had killed at the age of fifteen, way younger than they were.