The Apostles (9 page)

Viciously, Sakawa retorted, “If you hate them so much, then why did you fuck so many of them?”

China tossed the blunt duck into the blown-glass ashtray on the coffee table. “I don't know what you talking about.”

Sakawa laughed. “Bitch, stop lying. You know that they call you GP—Governor pussy.”

China was unruffled as she flattened out her cherry-cola-dyed weave ponytail. She pulled off her camel leather, high-heeled boots and swung her legs over the arm of the sofa. Her Baby Phat pants fit like a second layer of skin. “I don't care. Motherfuckas can say what they want to say. They just be hating on a bad bitch like me. I bet can't none of the broke-ass niggas that be hustling packs say they hit this shit. As long as them niggas keeping paying for that new Altima parked downstairs, putting Prada on my feet, and putting Armani Exchange and Iceberg on my ass they can call me Governor pussy. All of us ain't as fortunate as you.”

“What you mean by that shit?”

China rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she twirled a few pieces of weave around her finger. “Shit, we all ain't lucky enough to have a man like Wayne. That nigga gave you everything. He was a good man.”

“China Doll, what you know about a good man? You give them some pussy so fast that you never find out if the nigga good or not.”

“Whatever, bitch,” China Doll said. She knew that she had struck pay dirt. Sakawa was pissed about her comments about
Wayne. She decided that it was time to change the subject before Sakawa made her leave. The weed she'd smoked had made her lazy and the couch was comfortable—she definitely didn't feel like going home. “How you been though, Saki? You know, since Wayne been gone.”

For a short moment Sakawa's anger subsided. She sighed. “My fault for snapping you up like that, China Doll. It's just that since Wayne been gone that nigga Vee been trying to holla at me. He stop me on the street. He be calling all the damn time. Shit. That was him I just hung up on. I don't even know how that nigga got my number.”

China knew—she had given him the telephone number for a hundred and fifty dollars. She tried to get him up to two hundred, but he wouldn't go for it.

Smoothing her shirt down, China said, “Girl, what's the problem? Shit, Wayne ain't got nothing. That nigga is fuckin' nuts. He ain't coming back, Saki. His ass gone be in Tinley Park, if anything, wearing one of those coats that make you hug yo'self. Is you trying to get that crazy nigga back?”

Disgusted, Sakawa replied, “Hell, nall, girl! I would love to spit in his fucking face. That nigga took my damn car and I ain't seen him since. That was about three weeks ago. I ain't tripping though—he bought it. I hope his ass die in a flaming car wreck!”

Both women laughed.

“What's wrong with Vee, girl? That nigga is the Head Governor. Shit, you was going with one of the soldiers. What is you thinking about?”

“Ain't nobody thinking about Vee. That nigga had his chance back a while ago, but he wanted to fuck with a hoodrat. I can't have that shit. At least if a nigga gone creep on his girl, he should get big—not little. I caught that nigga hugged up with some underage, baldhead, dirty little hood booger.”

“Girl, if I had a man with as much paper as Vee, I wouldn't
give a fuck what he did. Shit, I would help that nigga get some pussy, just keep my car note paid, and minutes on my cell phone. I would let that nigga …”

Sakawa drifted off into her own world, ignoring China. She thought,
Vee is the damn reason that my fucking man is out of his damn mind. Things used to be perfect with me and Wayne.
She thought of the engagement ring in her dresser drawer with the two-carat heart-shaped diamond.
We was gone get married and move to Atlanta and open up a business or two. Them niggas took the money we had saved up for our house. Wayne was ready to retire and have kids. Shit, I knew that everything was going too perfect. Now because of Vee I'm right back where I started—broke and looking for a way out of the damn ghetto. And this high-ass bitch sitting over here talking about I should holla at Vee. Shit, Vee already owe me. Wait a minute, that's right. That motherfucka do owe me. She said it, Wayne was just a soldier, Vee the damn general. I can take way more from that nigga than they took from Wayne. That nigga stupid too, plus he used to fuckin' wit these slum-ass bitches. I got some game for his ass. Yeah, I'mma take everything that nigga got. That should be payment enough for him fucking up my man and our future. I told Wayne stop fucking with them niggas, they petty. You can't get nowhere fuckin' with no loose-square buying-ass niggas. Shit …

“Sakawa James!” China Doll shouted.

Sakawa looked over at China Doll. “Girl, why is you hollering in my damn house like you crazy?”

“Bitch, you musta caught a contact high or something. I was sitting here talking to you and yo ass drifted off into space. I was telling you that you betta holla at that nigga Vee. Shit, that nigga got that new Lexus, the 430, I think. And got a Excursion with all them TVs, DVD players, video games—all that shit. That nigga got some paper. You better get that money, girl.”

Slyly Sakawa said, “I just might listen to what the nigga got to say next time he try to holla.”

“You better, bitch, because it's all about the paper in the
new millennium. Shit, I tell ‘em, spend a gee on me, you can pee on me. I needs my paper. Shit, if he got the scratch, we can have a wrestling match. A bitch like me is high maintenance. I need to—”

“Girl, shut yo ass up and go in the bathroom and get that air freshener from under the sink. You got my whole damn house smelling like weed.”

Juvenile criminal court Judge Geneva Sehorn looked down from the imposing bench at the boy. He looked like every other Black man-child that was dragged in front of her—poor and lost. As a Black woman she supposed that she should have felt some iota of mothering instinct for these ghetto spawn, but she didn't. In them she always saw the faces of the two boys, high off of happy sticks, who had broken into her parents' home, killed her father, and then taken turns raping her and her mother.

“Your Honor,” the juvenile court state's attorney said, “this young man is a serious threat to society. The charges that he is facing are of an extremely grave nature. The unlawful possession and concealment of a firearm by a minor. Also we have upgraded the previous charge of assault with a deadly weapon to attempted murder. Your Honor, though the defendant cannot be charged as an adult, the state would like to pursue the maximum penalty for these charges.”

Judge Sehorn pointed her gavel at the public defender and the boy. “How does the defendant plead to these charges?”

The boy's public defender thumbed through her yellow legal pad, then stood. Ms. Tiena Hernandez was a pretty, petite Latin American woman with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. She was also in need of a vacation. Before she opened her mouth she knew that her case was lost. Sehorn had that look on her face that she had come to recognize. That look that said that no matter what Tiena said, the judge had already made up her mind, and that it wasn't going to go
well for her client. Judge Sehorn was hiding something serious in her past—something that made her hate young Black boys. Tiena was determined to find out what it was so that justice could be served.

“Your Honor, I am not truly prepared for this case. I have had little or no cooperation from the defendant in this matter. It is obvious that he has behavioral and psychological deficiencies. At the time of his arrest, the defendant was covered in so much blood that the police sought medical attention for him along with the victim. The defendant wasn't injured at that time, but the medical personnel who examined him found evidence of long-term physical abuse. He obviously suffered this abuse at the hands of the victim, his stepfather. Your Honor, before you, you will find a notarized affidavit that attests to this.”

Judge Sehorn took a cursory glance at the affidavit, then tossed it to the side. “Ms. Hernandez, we are not here for that. We're here today about the charges on this docket.”

Tiena protested, “But, Your Honor, that is a vital part of my defense. I'm trying to establish to the bench that my client was severely beaten over a long period of time. I need that document entered into evidence, Your Honor. Furthermore—”

“I know what you're trying to do, Ms. Hernandez. You're trying to garner sympathy from the bench for the defendant, but I won't allow it. Do you have any real evidence to help these proceedings?”

Tiena was noticeably flustered. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper with the clerk's seal on it.

“Your Honor, I have a motion to lessen the charge of attempted murder to assault with a deadly weapon.”

Sehorn banged her gavel. “Granted.”

“Also, Your Honor, I have a motion to suppress the firearm as evidence against the defendant. His stepfather's fingerprints were on the trigger and the spent shell casings in the revolver.”

Sehorn banged her gavel. “Denied.”

“But, Your Honor …,” Tiena tried to argue.

“Ms. Hernandez, if you don't have any real, presentable evidence, may we proceed?”

Stumped, Tiena closed the case file on the table in front of her and looked over at the boy. As usual he seemed to be totally oblivious of his plight, showing no emotion. She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“There's nothing I can do, Shawn.”

The boy's lips parted in a slight smile as he looked up at her. He motioned for her to bend her ear.

He whispered in return, “I know. Thank you for your compelling, but ineffectual argument on my behalf.”

Tiena straightened up and looked at the boy for a moment. With a sad smile in her eyes she turned back to the judge.

“Your Honor, the defense rests with hope for leniency due to the defendant's tender age and lack of criminal history.”

“I'll take that into account,” Judge Sehorn said dryly. “I find the defendant guilty of assault with a deadly weapon and unlawful possession of a firearm. Does the state have anything else to present before sentencing?”

The state's attorney stood. He buttoned his suit jacket, then riffled through his case file until he found a handwritten note. Clearing his throat, he motioned to the bailiff. “Your Honor, the bailiff is handing you a letter from the defendant's mother. His mother states that the defendant no longer has a place in her household. Essentially she has washed her hands of the defendant because of his actions. Also, Your Honor—”

“All right, Mr. Davidson, I get the gist of the letter. Mr. Terson, obviously you are a threat to society, sir. The danger that you represent is leagues beyond your fourteen years on this planet. I wish the law books would allow me to charge you as an adult. Were that possible, I assure you that any one of my colleagues that you stood in front of would give you a fitting sentence. However, since that is not possible, I will impose the maximum sentence for a juvenile offender. You are to be remanded to the St. Charles Boys Reformatory until the age of eighteen. Mr. Terson, do you have anything to say?”

The boy shook his head.

F
ROM HIS GIRLFRIEND'S APARTMENT WINDOW BING USED
the remote start on the automobile alarm keypad to fire the ignition of Wayne's Buick Regal. Though it really wasn't a huge car, it was comfortable as long as he slid the leather power seat all the way back and tilted it. Every time that he looked at it, he knew that Wayne had to miss this car. It was painted a sparkling black cherry and sat on nineteen-inch fans. The interior was soft black leather with a dashboard television and two more televisions in the headrests for the rear passengers. Four ten-inch subwoofers in the trunk in a custom bass box made the sound massive.

Bing held the blinds open for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the Regal. The night they had robbed and beaten Wayne had proved quite fruitful. They seized thirty-one thousand in cash, a quarter key of coke, and the title and keys to his Regal. Bing gave Toobie and Tonto nine ounces of cocaine and two thousand dollars as a thank-you. After bailing his woman out of the County, he still had about twenty thousand in change—enough to buy a lot of weed. The only problem was his connect was still dry. He told him to hold out though—it would be all good soon.