Money & Love Don't Mix (9 page)

              “Hey, Hey! Hurry and Google Sean Bradley locked up at Clayton County Jail and let me know what you get ese!”

              With thoughts of Sean Bradley being the other guy that had robbed him along with Smoke and Dre, but ended up getting caught as he saw the news. However, that thought exited his mind as soon as they finished checking the name and showed him a picture of Slick who was in Clayton County charged with a load of white collar crimes.

              Then he slammed the phone on the floor, got on his knees and started choking Dre telling him, “So you motherfuckers think you’re gonna shoot me, rob me and my brother and then act like y’all can’t speak?!”

              He grabbed the machete off the floor, raised to his feet and swung at Dre. The shot he took sliced completely through his shirt, leaving a deep laceration in the middle of his chest as he gritted his teeth trying to keep from revealing the pain he was in.

              ‘You know you…one tough…motherfucker Punta!” he mentioned while hitting lines of cocaine. “You know what though Punta, since you so tough…I’m not gonna…kill you perro puto’s right now;but I got another idea in mind. How bout we see how tough ya’ll bitches really are see I could just kill y’all now that I have complete control. But that’ll only take the fun away from everything…Before we get done torturing you perro puto’s y’all gonna wish y’all told me what I wanted to hear a long time ago, you high de tu puta perra madre!”

              The three of them laughed as they headed out of the basement. On  the way out the goons spotted a Louisville slugger by the door, grabbed it, as they took turns pounding on Smoke and Dre’s body brutally leaving them both with fractured ribs, busted kneecaps, and their faces badly bruised, then they cut the lights off and left the basement.

Chapter 10

Detective Sims escorted Trouble inside the jail where the intake officers strip-searched him, took a mug shot, and fingerprinted him before sending him upstairs to his dorm on the seventh floor. Which was where all the close security inmates who had been charged with severe crimes were being housed. The minute he stepped foot in the dorm he headed straight to his room and unpacked his property.

              “What’s good my nigga?! Dey call me
T
rigga I’m yo’ roommate.”

              “My nigga dey call me Trouble.” He replied as they gave one another some dap, then he made up his bunk, got in it to give his body the rest it was in need of.

              Click, Click, Click, was the sound of the officer clicking Trouble’s cell door from the control booth early the next morning to get their attention however, Trouble didn’t hear a sound due to him being in a deep sleep and s
t
ill exhausted from the day before. Therefore, Trigga went to see what they wanted. When he returned he started shaking him.

              “Trouble…Trouble!”

              “Yeah what’s up bruh?!” he madly inquired as he rolled to see what he wanted still half sleep.

              “My bad fo’ waking you up my nigga, but da’ officer just told me you gotta visit.”

              He was puzzled, wondering why the hell his mom came to visit him knowing he hated being seen at his lowest. But he put his pride to the side, got himself together and headed out to the visitation booth. Once he made it, there sat a middle aged white male wearing a suit looking over a little paperwork. After looking around and noticing that they were the only two in the visiting area he had a feeling the guy was there to see him. So he took a seat and grabbed the receiver.

              “Hey are you Daunte Jones?” he questioned.

              “Yeah, who you be?”

              “I’m Barrie from the Public Defender’s office, and I’ll be representin’ you on your case unless you already have someone of course…Do you already have representation or a plan on getting some?”

              “No sir, I don’t,” he replied before yawning, “So, what’s good, Mr. Barrie?” he seriously inquired.

              “You tell me Daunte…I looked at your charges and I see you’re being charged with six different felonies,what happened?”

              Trouble got defensive instantly telling him, “I really don’t remember. It seem like I been having a hard time remembering shit ever since I came out my coma.”

              By him being a ten year vet at doing time he had sense enough to know that at the end of the day, the same public defender that represented a nigga, is the same motherfucker that sit down and have lunch with the prosecutor while gossiping over different cases. So he wasn’t going out like that…naw, not Trouble.

              He replied with a head nod, “Okay! Now before I let you go I need you to try and remember what all took place the day these crimes were committed. So I can figure out what I think we should do.”

              “A’ight!” he replied, hanging up the receiver and heading back to the dorm. The moment he stepped foot in the dorm  he went straight over to the phone area. As he began dialing Maniac’s number Trigga approached him saying, “What he say my nigga?”

              “I’ma holla at ya’ when I get off da’ phone.” He responded as he hung up, after being sent straight to Maniac’s voicemail. Trigga went back to the table and continued playing spades, and Trouble began dialing Smokes’ number hoping he’d be able to catch up with him or anyone else out the clique just to hear their voice and make sure they okay. But after making several attempts back and forth at both numbers he started to worry.

              Trigga stopped playing cards and made his way over to the phone area where he noticed Trouble had been sitting looking stressed in a daze the past twenty minutes.

              “Trouble…Trouble!” he shouted.

              “Yeah what’s up?” he sadly replied.

              “You been in a daze fo’ a minute my nigga, I had to come check on you and make sho’ erry’thang a’ight wit ya.”

              “I ‘preciate day my nigga, but I’m a’ight I’m just tryna figure out why da fuck I can’t get in touch wit my partnaz. It ain’t like dem to not, answer when I call.”

              “COUNT TIME!” the female officer yelled as she and another officer made their way into the dorm to count. “EVERYONE STAND BY YOUR ASSIGNED CELL!” she shouted, before Trigga could respond him and Trouble made their way upstairs, stood by their door, and waited to be counted. Both officers began their count. Trigga tapped Trouble to get his attention and whispered.

              “My nigga, dat bitch dat’s counting gotta phat ass! Check her out when she walk by, she da’ baddest  officer at dis muthafucka!”

              Trouble raised his head to catch a glimpse of her as she passed by, but she stopped unexpectedly directly before him, gave a quick stare and asked.

              “What’s yo’ name? You look familiar.”

              “Dey call me—”

              “Trouble!” she shockingly stated without giving him a chance to introduce himself. “First name Daunte?”

              “Yeah why?”

              “When we get done counting step out in the hallway.” He replied as she made her way back downstairs to exit the dorm. He observed saying to himself,
Damn shawty ass is phat, and dem tight ass khaki’s she wearing look like a muhfucka dunn painted em’ on her. Shit!! Her bowlegged ass can get it…I wonder what d fuck she want wit me though?

             
“COUNT CLEAR! Y’ALL CAN GO BACK TO WHAT Y’ALL WERE DOING!” The male officer shouted on their way out the door.

              “You my nigga, you must know her or somethin? Cause she stopped and looked at you like she wanted to eat you alive!” They both laughed.

              Click, Click, the officer booth begin clicking their dorm before Trouble could respond and by the female officer telling him to step outside, he figured the door was being clicked for him. So he headed downstairs, then sat in the hallway one she opened the door.

              “Long time no see huh Daunte?” she uttered while noting him glancing down at the phat camel toe print she had displaying straight through the skin tight khakis she was wearing. And after seeing he had a hard time trying to recollect, she smiled saying, “Boy, this Miranda.”

              His mind began to wander as he whispered, “Miranda…Miranda…Miranda…” to himself trying to remember who she was and where he knew here from. Then suddenly it hit him and he told her, “Da’ only Miranda I know is Miranda Lewis but I heard she joined da’ army and been overseas ever since.”

              “Boy, that’s me!” she happily replied.

              Miranda had a huge crush on Trouble back in high school but always kept it a secret being that she knew he wouldn’t wanna fuck with her because she was a tomboy. She played basketball, softball and wanted to try out for the football team’s quarterback position cause her arm was that strong, but they wouldn’t allow her to. However, aside from all the tomboy shit, she wound up losing her virginity and became lady like. On top of that, she went from being one of the freshest muhfuckas in school wearing Jordan’s and Polo, to one of the sexiest, wearing heels and open toes. Before Trouble had a chance to see the new feminine Miranda he was on his way to prison to serve a fresh ten year bid, and she ended up committing herself to the army where she met the man that changed her last name.

              “Oh shit! Dat is you! You got fine as hell ova’ da years!”

              “Thanks!” she replied with a smile.

              “I see ya’ last name Robinson no
w
, who da’ lucky man?” Trouble inquired.

              “Mann please! Me and dat fool ain’t been together in a year. I’m boutta take his ass to court so I can get a divorce.”

              “Damn, sorry thangs ain’t work out fo’ y’all.”

              “Don’t be! I caught dat nigga cheating on me in da’ same bed we made love in…and da’ sad part about it is it was wit another man! So yeah I definitely gotta divorce dat clown!”

              “Ewww!” he mumbled.

              “Tell me bout it…I never felt so betrayed in my life. What’s up wit you though bae, I…I mean Daunte, last I heard, you was in prison doing ten years for armed robbery how da’ hell you end up back in da’ county?” he hesitated for a moment, contemplating if he should let her know why he was back with a shitload of new charges and knowing he would soon become another statistic so because of that he told her.

              “My bad baby girl, but I really don’t even feel like takin’ bout dat shit!” he tragically responded.

              “Oh-okay, I’m sorry,” she uttered as she took a deep breath before whispering, “Well if it’s anythang I can do fo’ you let me know and I got ya’.” She  mentioned, giving him an enticing stare.

              “All I need is some body in my corner right now so keep doin’ what you doin’ baby girl dats all.”

              “Okay, I gotcha!” she stated standing there watching as he made his way back towards the dorm, “Oh, yeah…I almost fo’got. I’m boutta start working third shift from ten at night to six in da’ morning in two days. So just in case you happen to wonder why you haven’t seen me, that’s why.”

              “A’ight, that’s what’s up!” he replied, making his way back towards the dorm. The moment he walked through the door he could smell the envy and animosity from him being out conversating with Miranda in the air, as if they all had some kinda hostility against him since he was parleying with what was considered one of the baddest chicks who worked at the jail. However as long as no one brought any drama or disrespect his way he really didn’t give a fuck.

              Despite all the negativity, he decided he’d make his way upstairs to his cell and take a nap, but as soon as he got ready to lay down in came Trigga.
Fuck dis nosy nigga want?
He thought to himself the moment he saw the door come open.

              “You must know her or somethin?” Trigga curiously asked, while standing at the front of the cell eyeing the control booth with a envious expression. But Trouble gave him nothing more to hate about, or to run back and tell everyone else by responding.

“Summ like dat,” before rolling over and going to sleep.

Chapter 11

Click! Click! Click!”

“Yo! What you keep clicking my door fo’?” Slick yelled into his cells intercom as he wiped the cold from his eyes, then the officer answered shouting.             

              “WHOEVER NAME IS SEAN BRADLEY IN THAT CELL NEEDS TO GET READY FOR COURT!”

              “A’ight!” he replied, thinking,
Damn I fo’got I got court dis morning.
As he got up and got ready to go.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              On the other side of the jail Trouble had just begun his early morning workout doing back to back sets of push-ups and crunches in his cell when the sound of his cell door
clinking,
startled him, and waking Trigga who caught an attitude at the same time.

              “Bruh you know dey clicking da’ door fo’ you to get ready fo’ court…let em’ know you up so dey can stop clicking my door, damn! Hurry u—”

              “Nigga kill dat shit! Fo’ I run yo’ ass up outta here, I’m tired of yo’ shit.” Trouble demanded, easing closer and closer toward the bunk. But once Trigga peeped his muscular physique and adrenaline pumping, he rolled back over and went back to sleep without saying another word.

              “Dat’s what da’ fuck I thought!” Trouble uttered the moment he rolled over, “Cause you ain’t ready fo’ my stress issues nigga…I promise you ain’t!!”

              He then buzzed the intercom and let the officers know he was getting ready to go.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              Slick and several other inmates from his floor were escorted downstairs to the holding cell where they remained until their names were called to get handcuffed, shackled, and then aboard the bus that would transport them to the courthouse.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              After intimidating Trigga, Trouble left the cell and paced the day room floor mean mugging everybody that looked his way, hoping someone would say sumthin’ out the way or disrespectful to him so he could send a message to the entire dorm—This ain't what y’all motherfuckers want! By beating the shit out whoever had sumthin to say. Plus with all the jealousy and hostility that was  going on towards him he knew that’ll be the perfect way to get his respect.

              But then he put his ill feelings to rest moments later when a transporting officer came in the dorm shouting.

              “DAUNTE JONES LET’S ROLL, YOU GOT MAGISTRATE COURT THIS

MORNING.”

              Twenty minutes later, Trouble and the officers finally made their way to the holding cell after picking up a few more inmates along the way. And as soon as they unlocked the cell door to let them in all you could hear was a bunch of noise and chaos. Then Trouble stepped in and looked around the crowded holding cell for somewhere to sit, but it wasn’t any. With that being the case he posted up with his back against the wall, as he started going in a trance, stressing asking himself,
why da’ fuck I had to go wit dem niggaz on dat lick?
But already had the answered to his on question. At that moment, he began to feel as if he was all alone in the world. In addition, he didn’t have a clue where any of his homeboys were.

              As his mind stayed in deep thought he began shaking his head, because he figured that everything turning out the way it did it was only the punishment  for the fucked up choices he made just coming home from prison. Moments later the cells door came opened and one of the transporting officers stepped in and started calling names. Trouble was still in a daze, as the first load of inmates who were called for court got handcuffed, shackled and made their way out the door to board the transfer bus. The holding cell thinned out tremendously and Slick, who was seated the entire time got up to stretch. While stretching he looked to his left, then to his right where he said, “Oh, shit!” Stunned by seeing his homeboy Trouble.

              “Trouble…Trouble!” Slick uttered moving closer to him, but could tell Trouble was in a daze when he never responded. He then made his way through the crowd of inmates, stepped over to Trouble and pat him on his arm.

              “Oh, Shit…what’s good my nigga?!” Trouble inquired after he was caught off guard, surprised to see Slick.

              “Shit, I’m good playboy. What’s up wit you?” Slick replied giving him some dap and a hug, since he was glad to see his homeboy, “I saw dat shit on da’ news playboy…How da’ fuck y’all end up in a high-speed chase?!”

              “My nigga I really don’t even know where to being but Maniac and Dre ran up behind dem muhfuckas on dey way in da’ crib, drew down, and forced dey way in.”

              “So, what happened next?” He eagerly wondered why Trouble paused, he then looked Slick in the eyes, shook his head and told him, “All hell broke loose my nigga! Dre held it down on his end, but da’ muhfucka Maniac snatched up yanked away and tried to run in a room so he shot em’…he shot em’ twice bruh! So you already know at dat point we had to hurry up and get what we could get and get da’ fuck on…We ended up leaving wit two duffle bags dat had like a hundred fifty racks and a few bricks, but by da’ time dey searched da’ crib, found da’ shit, and came out damn near da’ whole hood was either on their porch or looking out da’ window tryna see who da’ hell was shooting.”

              “Did dey eva’ see?”

              “Who, folks in da’ hood, hell yeah my nigga!! Shit dem niggaz came running back to da’ car wit two duffel bags, and da’ only thang on my mind was getting’ da’ fuck on fo’ da’ folks got there. So soon as dey hoped in, I mashed da’ gas all da’ way out da’ hood…but guess what happened?”

              “What?!”

              “Time I turned out da’ hood and pulled up to dat first red light on da’ corner, da’ light turned yellow on me, but since we was already going bout sixty it wasn’t no sense in stoppin’ so I kept going…and mann as soon as I ran dat muhfucka I passed two Clayton County police cars.”

              “Damn playboy, dey prolly was on the way my nigga, but once I ran dat light dem muhfuckas bust a u-turn and got behind us.”

              “Fo real?? I was wondering how da’ hell y’all got fucked up, cause when I saw da’ shit on the news, I could tell you wrecked da’ car but I ain’t know what exactly happened. So I called dem niggaz but dey was all paranoid and shit like dey phones was being monitored or some’ shit.”

              “Dey prolly shook my nigga you know how dat shit be.”

              “Shook fo’ what, dey know you ain’t boutta say shit…hell if anything you should be da’ one shook.” Slick angrily stressed as he shook his head, blown by the fact that Trouble had just came home from doing a long bid and was on his way back. “Damn! I wish I was out there you wouldn’t have had to do dat shit playboy! What made you change ya’ mind bout working?”

              “My nigga I tried and tried, putting in application after application. But it’s like a muhfucka ain’t really tryna let you work in dey establishment once dey find out you been convicted of a felony.”  He paused as they both glanced over at two inmates about to fight. “But on da’ real, I got tired of bustin my ass getting up early erry’ other day puttin’ in apps and showin dem muhfuckas I’m willin to work, fuck dat my nigga, I needed paper righ
t
then and there.”

              “I hear what you sayin Trouble, but you ain’t been home long enough to see fo’ yo’self what all is going on in da’ hood. You did a decade playboy erry’thang done changed since you left da’ streets, even da’ jack game…You shoulda sat back and peeped da’ scene on erry’thang instead of jumping back out there in da’ streets head first, real talk playboy!”

Trouble nodded his head before looking Slick in his eyes saying, “Yeah you’re right my nigga. So wat dey finally taking you to court on dat shit dey kicked ya’ door in fo’?” Trouble questioned officers making their way back inside to get the rest of the inmates for court.

“Yeah, I got a letter in da’ mail a few days ago letting me know my pre-trial was dis morning. So I gotta either take a plea today or pick my twelve jurors and get ready fo’ trial.” Slick quickly stated while the officer began placing shackles and handcuffs on him, “You must be going magistrate court?” Slick questioned.

“Yeah and to see if dey gone gimme a bond or not…Mo’ than likely dey prolly won’t!”

“COME ON OUT DA’ CELL BEFO’ WE COME AND DRAG YOU OUT INMATE! WE AIN’T GOT TIME TO WAIT ON Y’ALL MOTHERFUCKERS TO GET DONE TALKING…FUCK Y’ALL THANK Y’ALL AT.” The officer yelled to Slick as he made his way to the door, but before leaving out he glanced back at Trouble showing a unhappy expression telling him.

“Keep ya’ head playboy, I love ya’  bruh!” Since he had no idea when they’d run into each other again.

“Love you too, my nigga! We dawgs fo’ life!” he quickly uttered before the officer slammed the door shut in his face and Slick was on his way to court. That moment Trouble started reminiscing back on all the good times he had, him and his boys as he took a seat and waited for the officers to come get him for court.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              The moment Slick made it into the courtroom and took a seat, his public defender Mike Birmingham came over to have a word with him whispering, “Hey, how you doing this morning Sean, you’ve been hanging in there since the last—”

              “Mannn, I ain’t tryna be rude or nuthin’, but get straight to the point! What kinda plea da’ prosecutor boutta try and come at me wit today?”

              The way Slick rudely stopped him from trying to run game on him before he could get started made Mike realize he wasn’t dealing with a new jack that didn’t know the court system got down. Because at times your public defender would sell your ass out and you won’t even know it, but they’ll be done already discussed your case over lunch—you know, “LET” me get the conviction I want so I can look good, and later on down the line I’ll return the favor.

              “Umm…I haven’t uhh, I haven’t had a chance to speak with the prosecutor as of yet.” Mike stuttered once Slick’s backlash hit him unexpectedly, “But umm, hang on a sec while I go see what’s what.”

              As soon as Mr. Birmingham walked away Slick looked around, and caught a brief glimpse of the courtroom but his mind went into a trance the moment he heard a voice yell.

              “ALL RISE FOR THE HONORABLE, JUDGE LINDA HENCHMAN.” As he tried to remember where he heard that name at prior to today.

              “Thank you…You may be seated. First case please.” Said Judge Henchman and just as Slick sat back down he saw Mr. Birmingham making his way back over towards him. And suddenly Slick gaze up at the Judge as it hit him.
Damn, now I know where I remember dat name from…She dat evil ass Judge my roommate was tellin me bout dat day!
He then took a deep breath and shook his head. Mr. Birmingham sat down next to Slick and whispered.

              “I just spoke with the prosecutor, and she’s willing to give you a plea of ten years to serve five years in prison if you plea out today…You have until your case is called to make your decision.” Once he was done, he patted Slick on the back saying, “ I gotta go speak with another client, I’ll be back to represent you soon as the case is called…Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention. You know by this being a non-violent offense you’d more than likely get released anywhere from eighteen months to three years. So take all this in consideration when making your decision.” He then grabbed his briefcase, stood up, and headed over to a different client.

             
Serving eighteen months to three years before I make parole really ain’t too bad for all da’ shit dey had me charged wit
, he thought to himself after realizing it don’t matter how many times you get away with the shit you doing, cause in the long run shit’ll always catch up with you when it’s all said and done because God has the last say so. Therefore, twenty minutes later his case was called and him and Mr. Birmingham approached the bench and he entered his plea.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              Yenni was sitting in the bed looking at the afternoon news, while amigo was in bed next to her trying to take a nap. But the moment she heard the news reporter saying.

              “Good Afternoon! We’re reporting live right outside Clayton County’s magistrate court, where this young man by the name of Daunte Jones is about to make his first appearance before the court on the case that took place in Lexington Square Townhomes earlier this month when two Hispanic males were robbed at gunpoint by a group of black men who left one of the Hispanic males in critical but stable condition from two bullet wounds at Grady Memorial Hospital.”

              “Papi! Papi, look!” Yenni excitedly uttered while patting amigo repeatedly.

              “What?!” he barked, ready to explode once she eventually awaken him.

“Papi look!” she excitedly uttered pointing at the TV screen. “What? What-is-it?” he questioned, wondering what the hell was so important for her to wake him up from his nap.

“Papi, da perro puto that shot you…Their friend going to court right now, today. Look…Listen!!” again she uttered, directing him to the TV as the news reporter continued.

“Daunte Jones, who was the getaway driver of the incident came out of a coma three days ago that he was initially put in by banging his against the windshield once the car crashed from trying to avoid a road spike…The other suspects involved have yet to be found, if you have any information that you’d like to share please call crime stoppers. We promise, you will remain anon—”