The Finale (12 page)

After dinner Derek tucked the kids into bed while Tiphani cleaned up the dishes. As soon as the little ones drifted off, Derek snuck back downstairs and watched his wife's sexy frame move around the kitchen. Shaking his head left to right, Derek was in awe of her beautiful, flawless caramel skin, her chinky almond shaped eyes, and beautiful hourglass figure. He rushed into the kitchen and grabbed her roughly, lifting her off her feet. “Wait silly . . . let's go upstairs,” she giggled.

“I can't wait anymore. Seeing your ass in them jeans got me on rock!” Derek exclaimed, fumbling with the button on her jeans. She acquiesced, throwing her hands around his neck. Derek hoisted her onto their granite countertop and yanked her jeans off, pulling her black lace thong off with them. He inhaled, excited by the sight of her beautifully trimmed triangle. “Fuck . . . you look so damn good! I missed you baby!” he huffed, barely able to contain himself. Tiphani licked her fingers seductively and rubbed her clitoris, causing it to swell slightly. Derek had finally got his own pants off. His medium-sized member stood at full attention. He was a firm believer it wasn't the size that mattered . . . it was what you did with what you had that made all the difference. Derek rushed over to her and began licking the inside of her thighs.

“Ahh,” Tiphani grunted, throwing her head back. Derek teased around her thighs until she took her hand and forced his head between her legs. He stuck his tongue out and licked her clit softly. Tiphani slid her hot box towards his tongue in ecstasy. “I want you,” she whispered. At that, Derek lifted his head, grabbed his dick and drove it into his wife's soaking wet opening with full force. She let out a short gasp as Derek dug further into her flesh. Tiphani dug her nails into his shoulders. He began to pump harder. Suddenly something happened. Derek recoiled slightly. Tiphani closed her legs around his back trying to keep him inside her. She was hoping that it didn't happen again.

“Urgghhh!!!” Derek growled, collapsing. Tiphani slouched her shoulders and lowered her head. He had cum less than two minutes after it had all started. “Fuck!” he cursed himself, his cheeks flaming over with embarrassment.

“I'm so sorry baby, I was just so excited to feel you,” Derek said, making excuses for his shortcomings.

“I know you were just excited. That shit was still good baby,” Tiphani consoled as she hugged him.

“Did you at least cum?” Derek asked.

Is he fuckin' kidding me with that question?
Tiphani screamed silently in her head. “Hell yeah, baby . . . you know I cum as soon as you touch me,” she lied, as she hugged him and hid her face. Derek continued to apologize and she continued to console him.
This shit is so out of control right now!
Tiphani thought to herself as she rolled her eyes behind Derek's back. It wasn't like he came fast and stayed hard where he could please her too. After his nut he was a goner, leaving her unsatisfied and royally pissed the fuck off. Derek didn't know if she was telling the truth, but he did know that his premature ejaculation was starting to become a problem.

It had been three months since the raid and the day had finally come. Security was tight as Derek walked up to the courthouse. He could hardly make it to the steps there were so many reporters and spectators outside. Scar's impending trial had been in the news for weeks. There had even been a countdown of sorts. The media had dubbed it the “Trial of the Year.” When some of the media hounds noticed Derek they almost trampled each other to be the first to get a statement from him.

“Detective Fuller are you nervous to face the notorious Stephon “Scar” Johnson?” a reporter called out shoving a microphone into Derek's face.

“Are you kidding me with that question? If I wasn't nervous to bring him down in his own hood, why would I be nervous about facing him in a court of law?” Derek replied, giving the reporter a bit of heat. After he set the media straight, Derek smoothed the front of his Brooks Brothers suit and continued his stride up the courthouse steps.

It was no better inside the courtroom than outside. There were throngs of cameras and reporters lined up around the back and sides. Derek sat on the bench directly behind the prosecutor's table and looked around. He could feel more than one pair of icy eyes on him. There were numerous members of Scar's crew peppered throughout the courtroom crowd and they weren't hiding their glares. Derek turned around just in time to see the court officers leading Scar to the defendant's table. Scar had a huge smile plastered on his face and he stared directly at Derek. Derek surveyed Scar and shook his head. “Ain't this a bitch?” Derek mumbled when he noticed that Scar donned an expensive Armani suit, complete with a tailor-made French cuff shirt, diamond cuff links and to top it off, what looked to be an authentic Cuban cigar sticking out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Scar looked down at his suit and back over at Derek. Speaking with his eyes and facial expression, Scar was letting Derek know he was still the man regardless of the bust.

“All rise . . . the honorable Judge Irvin Klein presiding in the matter of the state of Maryland versus Stephon Johnson,” the court officer called out. Everyone in the courtroom began to stand up. Derek broke his gaze on Scar, turned around and stood up as the judge slid into his seat on the bench. With a bang of his gavel the judge started the highly anticipated court proceedings. An eerie hush fell over the courtroom and all eyes were front and center.

“Is the state ready to present its case? If so, prosecutor Fuller you may begin . . .” Judge Klein began. On cue, the prosecutor, who Derek thought was the most beautiful, sexy, caramel specimen of a woman he had ever laid eyes on stood up to start.
My wife is not only beautiful she is on point. She got this shit.
Derek thought to himself, smiling proudly. She moved her sexy frame from behind the table and opened her mouth, but before she could speak Scar's defense lawyer—a shark named Larry Tillman jumped to his feet.

“Your honor, I would like to move to have this case dismissed immediately!” Mr. Tillman screamed out. Everyone in the courtroom was looking at him like he was crazy. Not only was he interrupting the prosecutor, he was stepping on the toes of one of the most hard ass judges in the Maryland court system. Hushed murmurs passed amongst the onlookers.

“Mr. Tillman . . . you will speak when spoken to,” Judge Klein said.

“Your honor with all due respect, I am requesting to approach the bench,” Mr. Tillman said. Prosecutor Fuller looked around confused. She was seething mad. She ran her hands over her skirt and cocked her head to the side in an attempt to compose herself.

“Your honor please tell me you will not allow the defense to turn this trial into a side show,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Approach!” the judge screamed.

Derek looked around confused. Scar was smiling from ear to ear. The media was going crazy writing and recording. The two attorneys approached the bench. The judge leaned in and spoke to them while everyone else seemed to be holding their breath waiting to see what would happen next.

Then the judge spoke somberly. “Mr. Tillman you may proceed with your argument for dismissal,” the judge said.

“I would be glad to,” Tillman replied, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Your honor with all due respect. I am asking that the state's case against my client Stephon Johnson be dismissed and that the evidence obtained be deemed inadmissible as it was obtained without warrant, and without consent to search. Therefore was obtained through an illegal search and seizure, which you and I both know was a direct and despicable violation of my client's fourth amendment rights. The state and their rogue cowboy troopers showed no writ of probable cause to enter my client's property and seize property or persons contained therein. This case was a prime example of the Maryland state troopers constant attempt at racial profiling and prejudice against young men like my client. I move to have this case dismissed without prejudice and expunged from my client's record,” Mr. Tillman argued. Tiphani Fuller looked back at her husband, her face contorted with confusion and anger.
He told me it was all good, he better be right,
she thought.

Loud gasps and murmurs erupted in the courtroom as Scar's attorney laid out his argument. Derek gripped the bottom of the wooden bench he sat on so hard his knuckles turned white. Chief Scott and the entire D.E.S unit sat in the back of the courtroom and were up in arms as they heard the defense basically make them look like racist assholes. Scar just sat there with a smug look on his face. Knowing he was about to be set free.

“Order! Order!” Judge Klein screamed out banging his gavel over and over. Finally, things quieted down in the courtroom. “In light of this new and unsettling revelation and the fact that the court records did not reflect that a search and seizure warrant was returned to this court, I have no choice but to honor the U.S. Constitution, in accordance with the fourth amendment—which provides citizens the right to be free from illegal search and seizure. I hearby dismiss the state's case against defendant, Stephon Johnson on the grounds that the state's evidence is inadmissible in the nature it was obtained,” Judge Klein said regretfully, slamming his gavel and rushing up from the bench.

The courtroom erupted into pandemonium. Reporters scrambled to get the best shot of Derek and Scar. Tiphani threw her papers on the desk and stood up enraged. The D.E.S members and Scar's henchmen began exchanging harsh words and the court officers were overwhelmed with trying to bring order in the courthouse. Derek hung his head in shame. His wife shot him evil looks. She had put her ass on the line for this case. Chief Scott rushed over to him and grabbed him up by the arm. “I need to talk to you Detective Fuller . . . now!” Chief Scott growled, pulling Derek into the hallway by his arm. “For Christ sake Fuller what the fuck were you thinking?! Something as simple as getting a fucking warrant!” Chief Scott said in a harsh whisper.

“I thought that Cassell had gotten the warrant. I read the fuckin' probable cause affidavit . . . I just knew he had it!” Derek lied. The truth was he never bothered to check. He was so gung ho that he did not follow up like he should have and now the whole entire case was a waste. “Chief . . . I can fix this . . .” Derek started.

“You let the department down. You better come up with some good shit to redeem yourself Fuller,” Chief Scott said. Just then a huge, uproarious crowd began moving towards them. It was like the scene around a hot celebrity surrounded by fans. Derek and the chief looked on and in the middle of the crowd stood Scar. He could not contain the still smug smile that spread on his face as he held his unlit Cuban cigar between his fingers. As the crowd, complete with media cameras and Scar's henchmen approached Derek, Scar stopped.

“If it ain't the fuckin' man without a plan,” Scar said sarcastically to Derek winking. That was it.

“Fuck you!” Derek screamed, lunging at Scar. Derek instinctively reached into his waistline for his weapon. When he felt nothing there he realized that when he entered the courthouse he had to check in his gun.

“You lucky bastard!” Derek grumbled as Chief Scott blocked him. Scar's crew had gotten ready for battle, stepping in front of Scar ready to take on Derek. Chief Scott continued to struggle to restrain Fuller.

“Fuller! This bastard is not fucking worth it,” the chief said, dragging a raging Derek down the opposite end of the courthouse hallway. Scar popped his collar and stepped across the courthouse threshold into freedom.

Karma is what put me in that hellhole. I don't even know how I ended up in jail. A couple years ago I was on top of the world. I've had more money flow through my hands than most people ever see in their entire lives. I was the woman that everybody wanted, and I had my way with some of the richest men in the Midwest. From prestigious businessmen to the most hood-rich niggas in Flint, I've had them all.

We thought it was a game, and in a way it was. We were trained to be the best. Skilled in the art of seduction, we were professionals who knew how to please in every sexual way. In my family the mentality was if you ain't fucking, you don't eat.Growing up in the hood, I had to use what I had to get what I wanted. My pussy was my meal ticket, and in order to stay on top, I juiced every nigga green to the game. I felt like, if a dude was stupid enough to let me trick him out of his dough, then he deserved to get got. “Fuck me, pay me” was our motto, and I used to laugh when my girls used to shout that after we hustled men out of their money.

It's not quite as funny these days though. Now I've got a prison sentence hanging over my head, and I'm locked in this cage like an animal. I haven't washed my hair in months, and I'm looking over my shoulder every minute of every day, hoping these bitches in here won't try to get at me. I don't know, maybe it was my destiny. All the wrong that I've done, all that shit came back like a boomerang and hit me harder than I could have ever imagined. I sit in this jail cell every day wondering how I landed in a state prison, a maximum-security state prison at that.

When I heard the judge say those words, it brought tears to my eyes. It was like a nightmare and I was dreaming about my worst fear—only I couldn't wake up. It was real, and there was no waking up from it.

My downfall was . . . well, you'll learn about that later.

From the very beginning of my life, I was headed in a downward spiral. My mother is a crack fiend, and I haven't seen or spoken to her in years. I never knew my father. He died before I got the chance to get to know him. I hear that he really loved me, but the fact that he wasn't in my life affected me. I never had that male figure in my life, and that pains me greatly.

As you read this novel, understand that this is what happened to me, and that everything that you do has its consequences.

I remember we would talk about opening up our own salon and not needing a nigga to support us. That was before my life got complicated. Believe me, if I could turn back the hands of time, I would have never stepped foot in the murder capital—Flint, Michigan.Yeah, that was the first of our mistakes. Honey made it seem so live, so wonderful. I thought it was the city that would make all my dreams come true. The truth of the matter is, everyone in that damn city has hidden agendas and is looking for a way to get paid, by any means necessary. I was a little girl trying to do big things in a small city. I should've just kept my ass in good ol' New York.

Me and my girls thought we were the shit. We got whatever we wanted, when we wanted it, from dick to pocketbooks, even first-class vacations around the world. We used men until their pockets ran out, and when we were done, we tossed them aside and moved along to the next. Some people may call us hoes, gold-diggers, or even high-paid prostitutes, but nah, it wasn't like that. It was our hustle, and trust me, it paid well. Very well.

I wish I could go back to the good ol' days when we used to smoke weed in Amra's room and open the windows so Ms. Pat wouldn't find out. Or the days when we used to lie about staying the night over each other's houses so we could go to parties and stay out all night. Those are the memories that make this place bearable. Those are the times that I reflect on when I get depressed and when life seems unfair. The times when it was just me, Honey, Amra, and Mimi, the original Manolo Mamis.There have been many after us, but none like us. All them other bitches are just watered-down versions of what we used to be. That's who we were, that was our clique. That's the friendship that I miss, and think about when I feel lonely. The thought of how close we used to be is something I will cherish forever.

I know I'm rambling on and on about me and my girlfriends. You are probably wondering,
Bitch, how did you end up in jail
? Damn, I'm so busy trying to tell y'all what happened, I forgot to introduce myself. I know y'all wanna read about Halleigh and Malek and all that high-school bullshit, but let me get my piece off first. I promise you, you won't be disappointed. I'm Tasha, and this is my Flint story.

As Lisa looked into the mirror, she could not recognize the eyes that stared back at her. Everything started running through her mind all at once. She thought about the loss of her only love, Ray, his death, and about their creation, Tasha. Tasha was the only positive thing in her life. Her bloodshot eyes stared into the mirror as she looked into her lifeless soul and began to cry.

Lisa tied a brown leather belt around her arm and began to slap her inner arm with two fingers, desperately searching for a vein. As the tears of guilt streamed down her face, she looked at the heroin-filled needle on the sink and reached for it. She hated that she had this terrible habit, but it called for her. She wasn't shooting up to get high anymore; she was doing it to feel better. She needed the drug. She tried to resist it, but the drug called out to her more and more. When she wasn't high, she was sick and in tremendous pain, and her body fiended for it.

She injected the dope into her vein and a warm sensation traveled up her arm. The tears seemed to stop instantly, and her frail body slowly slumped to the floor, her eyes staring up into space. All of Lisa's emotions and her negative thoughts slowly escaped her mind as she began to smirk. She could not shake this habit that a former boyfriend had introduced her to, and her weekend binges eventually became an addiction.Her addiction affected her life, as well as her daughter's. All of her welfare checks sponsored the local dope man's chrome rims, ice, and pocket money.

Her life started going downhill after the death of Raymond Parks, better known as Ray. It was 1982, the era of pimping. Lisa was fifteen when she met Ray, who was twenty-one at the time and a known pimp in the area. Ray approached Lisa while she was walking to the store. He pulled up and slyly said, “Hey, sweetness. Wanna ride?”

Lisa paid him no mind and kept walking. She started switching her ass a little harder while walking, knowing she had an audience. She pretended not to be flattered by the older man and flipped her sandy-brown hair.

Ray parked his long Cadillac at the corner and stepped his shiny gators onto the streets of Queens. He took his time and eventually caught up with the thick young woman with hazel eyes. He slid in front of Lisa, blocking her path.

“Hello, beautiful. My name is Raymond, but my friends call me Ray. I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I didn't take the time out to meet you.” Ray stuck out his hand and offered a handshake.

Lisa looked up and saw a tall, lean, brown-skinned young man. She couldn't stop her lips from spreading, and she unleashed her pretty smile. She shook his hand and said with a shaky voice, “I'm Lisa.”

Raymond smiled and stared into her eyes. Lisa stared back, and her eyes couldn't seem to leave his. He knew he had her when he saw that all too familiar look in her eyes. He asked in a smooth, calm voice, “Can I take you out sometime?”

“My mama might not like that.”

Ray smiled. “Just let me handle her. So, can I take you out sometime or what?”

Lisa blushed. “Yeah, I guess that'll be all right.”

Raymond gave her his number and asked her how old she was. Lisa told him that she was only fifteen. Ray's facial expression dropped, disappointed to know she was so young. He didn't usually approach girls her age, but she had an adult body and was by far the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He grabbed her hand, looked at her, and told her to give him a call so he could pick her up later that day.

Lisa watched Ray get into his car and pull off. She couldn't stop smiling to herself as she continued to walk to the store.
He was a fly brother. I hope my momma let me go.
She hurried to the store so she could get home and call Ray. She knew that it would take a miracle for her to get her mother's approval, but as fine as Ray was, she was definitely going to try.

Lisa called Ray later that evening, and an hour later he was at her front door with a dozen roses in each hand. Lisa's mother answered the door and was impressed by the well-dressed young man that stood before her. She noticed he wasn't around Lisa's age and became skeptical about letting him in.

Ray sensed the vibe and quickly worked his magic. He handed the flowers to her and took off his hat to show respect.

Ray didn't get to take Lisa out that night. He and Lisa's mother talked, and he charmed her for hours. He barely spoke to Lisa the entire evening. A professional at sweet-talking, he knew that to get Lisa, he had to get her mother first.

As the night came to an end, Ray said good-bye to Lisa's mother and asked if Lisa could walk him to his car. She agreed, and they exited the house.

Lisa and Ray stood in the driveway. He took her by the hand and said, “I never saw a lady so fly. I want you to be mine . . . eventually. What school do you go to?”

“McKinley.”

Ray shook his head then said in a soft voice, “I know where that's at. I'll pick you up after school tomorrow, okay?”

Lisa started to cheese. “Really?”

He grabbed Lisa's head, kissed her forehead softly, and whispered, “See you tomorrow.”

She turned around and entered her mother's house, and Ray took off as soon as he saw that she got in safely.

The next day Ray was parked outside of the high school in his Cadillac, waiting for his new “pretty young thang,” as he called her.

When she got into the car, Ray smiled at her. “Hello, beautiful. How was your day?”

From that day on, Ray and Lisa were together. He took her on shopping sprees weekly, and she was happy with her man. He never asked for sex and never rushed or pressured her in any way. Lisa wondered why the subject never came up and wondered if he was physically attracted to her. Ray was very much attracted to her, but he'd promised himself he wouldn't touch her until she was eighteen. He had his hoes and women all over town, so sex was never an issue.

Lisa knew about his other women and his line of work, but never complained. Ray took care of her and treated her like a queen at all times. Over time, she fell deeply in love with him, and never had a desire to mess with any other man.

Ray always made sure she had whatever she wanted and that she went to school every day. If she didn't do well in school, her gifts would stop, so Lisa became a very good student.

Occasionally Ray would help Lisa's mother with bills and put food in their refrigerator. Ray had money, real money. He was a pimp with hoes all over the city. He wasn't the type to put his hands on a woman. He made exceptions for the hoes that played with his chips or disrespected him, but in general, he had mind control over many women, so violence was rarely needed.

Exactly one month after her eighteenth birthday, Lisa found out she was pregnant with Ray's child. She couldn't believe she had gotten knocked up on her first time, but when she told Ray, he was the happiest man on earth. Lisa dropped out of school, and Ray immediately moved her from her mother's house and into his plush home in the suburbs.

He used to put his head on Lisa's stomach every night and tended to her every need. He promised that when he saved up enough money, he would open a business and exit the pimping game.

 

 

Eight months into her pregnancy, Lisa began to become jealous of Ray and all his women, and confronted him about it.Ray reacted in a way that Lisa never saw. He raised his voice and said, “Don't worry about me and my business! You just have my baby girl and stand by yo' man!” He stormed out of the house and slammed the front door.

Lisa felt bad for confronting him and began to cry. She cried for hours because she'd upset the only man she ever loved. Ray was all she knew. She stayed up and waited for his return, but he never came.

That night Ray went around town to collect his money from his workers. He was upset with himself for raising his voice at Lisa. He'd never yelled at her before, so it was really bothering him.

He pulled his Cadillac onto York Avenue and saw one of his best workers talking with a heavyset man about to turn a trick. He thought to himself,
Make that cheddar, Candy.
He decided to wait until Candy finished her business before collecting from her. He sat back in his seat and turned the ignition off, sat back and listened to the smooth sounds of the Isley Brothers and slowly rocked his head.

He looked back at Candy and noticed that the man and Candy were entering a car parked on the opposite side of the street. Candy was his “bottom bitch.” She always kept cash flowing and never took days off. He smiled.
Candy going to make that fool cum in thirty seconds.

Suddenly he saw Candy jump out of the car, spitting and screaming at the man. She walked toward the sidewalk spitting. The man jumped out of the car and started to yell at Candy, and yelled even louder when Candy kept on walking.

At this point, Ray calmly stepped out of the car and began to head toward her. The man had gotten to Candy and grabbed her and was screaming at the top of his lungs. Ray approached the man from behind and grabbed him. “Relax, relax.”

“Mind yo' fucking business, playa. This bitch is trying to juke me out of my money.”

“Daddy Ray, he pissed in my mouth! He didn't say shit about pissing. I don't get down like that.”

Before Ray could say anything, the man lunged at Candy, slamming her head hard into the brick wall she was leaning on. Ray immediately grabbed the man by the neck and began to choke him. His fingers wrapped tightly around his neck, Ray whispered to him, “Never put your hands on my hoes. If I see you around here again, it's you and me, youngblood.” Ray released the man, and he dropped to the ground, trying to catch his breath. Ray stood over the man and pulled out a money clip full of cash. “How much did you give her?”

“Forty. I gave her forty,” the man said, rubbing his neck.

Ray peeled off two twenties and threw it at the man and told him to get the fuck out of his office. The man took the money and ran to his car and pulled off.

Ray then turned around to help Candy up. She was lying motionless. He quickly bent down to aid her and noticed she wasn't breathing. He started to shake her and call her name. “Candy! Candy!” He got no response.

He gave her mouth to mouth resuscitation, and she began to breathe lightly. He knew he had to get her to the hospital, but he didn't want to be the one to take her in. It would raise suspicion if a known pimp brought a half-dressed hooker in, barely breathing and battered. He decided to go in her purse to see if he could find a number for someone that she knew, to check her into the hospital.

As soon as he stuck his hand in her purse, he saw flashing lights and heard a man on a bullhorn telling him to put his hands up. Then another police car pulled up.

Ray stood up, both of his hands in the air.

One of the police officers ran to the girl and put his fingers on her neck. He shook his head. The policemen handcuffed Ray and began to read him his rights.

“Wait, man, you got this all wrong—”

“Yeah, yeah.” The cop led Ray to this police car.

Ray began to pull away from him. “Listen, I was helping her. I didn't—”

Another cop hit Ray over the head with a billy club. “You got caught red-handed robbing this young lady. People like you make me sick.”

Ray was too dazed to say anything as the cops put him in the back of the police car. He knew it looked bad for him. He dropped his head and began to pray.

 

 

The prosecutor stood up to give his closing argument. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief then slowly approached the jury. “The man sitting in that defendant chair is a man of no remorse. He killed a seventeen-year-old girl in cold blood. Imagine if that girl was your daughter, your sister, or a beloved neighborhood child.” He paused for effect. He wanted to give the jury time to process what he'd just said.

He pointed his finger at Ray. “This man is a menace to society and deserves to be punished to the fullest extent of the law. All of the evidence points toward one man, and that man is sitting before us today. That man is Raymond Parks.