Thug in Me (16 page)

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Authors: Karen Williams

BOOK: Thug in Me
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Chapter 25
Two Years later. March 16, 2010
They made it seem like I was getting a new appeal and that from that appeal my murder conviction was changed to manslaughter. I did a total of seven years in that place and I knew I was lucky as hell to get the fuck out of there.
I touched the scar on my face the three Mexican dudes had given me when they jumped me on the track seven years ago and laughed. I stared out the windows of the bus as it passed through a town I never thought I'd see again . . . my town, where I grew up and made a life for myself before it was snatched away for prison life.
The warden was out, so was punk-ass Roscoe. They were going to be sent to prison for a long time and that is exactly what they deserved. And as for Randy, Lewis told me that Randy was shanked in the shower one day.
Somebody could not help but leak the information and news camcorders were all around the prison when they escorted the warden's punk ass and Roscoe out. Emily, like I had requested, did her part. I wondered if they had gotten a fair trial. And more importantly, I wondered what their defense would be? The shit was on videotape. What could they say? It couldn't be denied. I was so relieved and grateful for Charleston, Emily, and Lewis's help. I thought back to how good it felt testifying against the warden and Roscoe. All the while they were shackled like I was shackled. Lewis told me that the warden was sentenced to fifteen years while Roscoe got nine.
I chuckled again. I was free. I wish Tyson could have lived to see this day. The day he had told me was going to come but I never believed him. And I wished Charleston was here to see the day the punk-ass warden went down for all that trifling shit he made me, Charleston, and other inmates do. I smiled and thought about my mama. I still missed her. I wished she could be here to see this day as well. It still bothered me that she had to go through all that shit that Roscoe had subjected her to, on account of me.
After that visit with Emily when I was informed of what he had done to my mama, every time I saw him it was a struggle to not put my hands around his throat and end his life. But I managed to keep my cool and at the end he ended up in the shackles.
Lewis told me the day they arrested him he was blocked from entering the facility. He continued to argue and make a scene, saying, “What the fuck, yo?” Then the police arrived and put his ass in handcuffs. Part of me wished they would bring him to the very same prison that he had worked at, where he was so corrupt to inmates so that they could get retribution on his ass.
But I didn't have to worry about the warden, Roscoe or prison anymore. I was free of that place. And I wasn't doing shit to go back there. I never really did bad things before except maybe speed or buy bootleg CDs and DVDs. Now those things just weren't important enough for me to go to jail. I planned on taking no chances.
I took another breath of the fresh air that was blowing into the windows of the bus. Truth was, I really had nowhere to go. No house, no family, nothing. I wondered where Calhoun was. His number was no longer in service when I called him from the holding tank, before they released me. I knew he would be pissed that I kept quiet on getting released and even all the other shit. But I didn't want to take any chances. People were always watching and listening. I never forgot what Tyson had said about how once inmates found out another inmate is going to get released, they would be doing all kinds of shit so they didn't go home. Naw. I wasn't going to say shit until I was officially released. Calhoun would get over it. I made a mental note to stop by his parents' pad.
In the morning, I had to go by and see my parole officer. Supposedly he was going to help me piece my life back together; help me find a job and a place to live. Once I did that, I planned on stopping by Emily's house and get the things my mother had left for me.
Lewis made sure to say good-bye to me on my way out and even gave me two hundred bucks. I would never forget all that he had done for me. And I knew when I got myself straight I was going to pay him back.
I found a cheap hotel to stay in for the night.
As soon as I got there, I crashed on the bed, happy I was free but scared and not feeling like the old Chance I used to be. As I laid back on the bed in the hotel room I thought about how much I had lost. It made me sad, of course. But shit, now I was fucking free. Wasn't no better feeling than that!
The next morning I got up bright and early and went to the Long Beach office to meet with my parole officer.
He was an older black man with a Jheri curl and more gold teeth than white. Rings and bracelets adorned his arms and hands. He looked more like a pimp than a parole officer.
He looked at me and got straight to the point. “Listen, man. Plain and simple, I'm not here to babysit you so don't come with the bullshit. Come and meet with me once a damn month, stay out of trouble, stay out the hood, and go to fucking work everyday.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked surprised that I didn't give him any attitude or lip.
He read from his computer screen. “Do you really have a bachelor's degree and you worked for Microsoft?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, you won't be going back there.” He held his hands out. “And your degree sure as fuck don't matter now. You are an ex-convict, my brother! That shit's going to follow you wherever you go. The shit don't stop just because you are out of prison. So don't count on making over eight dollars an hour, if you can get that.”
I nodded.
He told me what my conditions were. “Make sure you show up to your job, don't give me no dirty piss, stay out the projects 'cause you know the fucking felons are in there. In other words, use common sense if you don't want to go back to prison. If you don't use common fucking sense, your ass will go back and I won't give a fuck. 'Cause you should have done what you needed to not go back.”
He didn't have to worry about me. I wasn't going to do as much as jaywalk.
He handed me some bus tokens. “That should be a month's worth. When you come back next month I will give you some more. And don't try that ‘I lost them' shit 'cause you will just come up short!” Spit flew from his mouth every time his voice got loud.
I resisted the urge to laugh.
“Report to your job. You have to have a job.”
He handed me a paper that read
Speedy Computer Repairs
. My eyes scanned the address. It was located off of Termino, in Long Beach. I was familiar with that street. “He only pays eight dollars an hour. He don't give a fuck about them minimum-wage laws. So you best to take that shit and not count on a raise.”
I nodded. It was nowhere near what I used to make, but still, it was a job. Better than nothing.
“You said you know how to work on computers and shit.”
I nodded.
“All the info should be on there. And this other paper has the address to Grace Hotel. They are kitchenettes and are affordable. If you want you can call the housing authority and try to get on the section eight waiting list. I wouldn't recommend trying to get on the list for the Springdales, Carmelitos, or any other projects. That's putting you back in bullshit.”
He gave me that paper and then pointed a finger at me. “Don't fuck up.”
“Yes. sir.”
He drug tested me and I was on my way.
I went by the Grace Hotel like he had suggested. I signed the contract for a room. It wasn't bad. It was a lot cleaner than the room I had stayed at the night before. The plus was that it had a small kitchen. The room was small, though.
The computer repair store he sent me to was about fifteen minutes away from my room, so that was also another plus.
It was located in a small shopping center across the street from Wilson High School next to a bagel shop.
Once I walked in, I saw a short man sitting behind a computer.
I cleared my throat. “How you doing, sir? I'm Chance. My parole officer sent me for the position.”
He stood. He was a Middle Eastern guy who looked like he was barely five feet. He shook my hand. “Yes, your parole officer told me I should be expecting a visit from you. I am Zalman. Have you come to work hard?”
“Yes, sir.”
He clasped his hands together. “Good. Let me explain what we do here at my store.”
He explained that he made a lot of money by doing computer diagnostics, repairing computers for customers, as well as taking broken computers, fixing and selling them as refurbished computers.
He showed me around the store. “You will be opening and closing the store,” he said in his thick accent. “I can't afford to hire more manpower so you will be taking calls as well as doing repairs.”
I nodded.
“I opened up another store in Bellflower, so I will be there most of the time. Right now my wife runs that store.”
He pointed to the camcorder and said, “It is always on.”
I started to tell him that I didn't steal. I never have and never will. But he wouldn't believe me so I didn't bother. Instead, I simply said, “You don't have to worry, sir. I'm here to work and that's it.”
He smiled. “And I'm here to work you. You can have one or two days off a week. It is your choice.”
I nodded. “Just one.”
“Oh, you really are a hard worker. You need to open the store at nine and close it at five.”
I nodded.
“Eventually, if I feel I can trust you, I will give you a company cell phone and the car to make home visits. We charge fifty dollars to come out to homes and whatever the price for the repairs.”
I nodded. “That's fine.”
He gestured toward a computer on the table. “That needs to be repaired. Let's see what you can do, Chance.” He turned to walk away but stopped and pointed to the camcorder above my head.
I performed a diagnostic on the computer to see what the problem was. The drivers were bad and there was a virus on it. It didn't take me long to repair it and have it running good as new. Fixing computers was something I was always good at and I could take one apart with my eyes closed.
Once it was running, I tried to log on to verify the virus was gone. It was and the computer was even running faster.
Zalman got up from the computer he was sitting at, and inspected my work.
I scanned the screen he was on, shaking my head. The whole time I worked on the computer he was in some chat group on another computer.
He said, “I'm going to get myself lunch.”
Once he walked to the door, he turned, looked at me, and pointed to the camcorder.
I shook my head and sat in the chair he had abandoned.
Chapter 26
I logged onto the Internet and instantly Deyja came to my mind. I wondered if she was listed. I remembered from one of her letters she told me that she worked in real estate. I wondered if I typed her name into a search box if she would pop up. I remembered how she had even slipped on one of her letters and written her last name.
I typed her name under Google Search, along with the words
real estate.
Deyja Sims Real Estate
website popped up. I clicked on her site. Since the business was under her name I assumed it was hers. My eyes scanned the page as it talked about the services that they offered to the public.
I printed out the address and phone number and closed out of the site.
I went to the phone and called her office. A secretary answered. “Deyja Sims Realty.”
I licked my dry lips, cleared my throat and said, “Yes. Deyja Sims, please.”
“She is out of the office and won't be back until three. Can I take a message for you?”
“No. No, thank you.”
“All right. Have a nice day.”
I hung up quickly.
At five I was all done and ready to go. My first day was a lot of work for me but it was the type of work I didn't mind doing. I was sweating like a slave. But none of that mattered. I never shied away from hard work. And it felt good. This was because I knew that at the end of the day, I would be free and able to go home. I wasn't going to be stuck there. Like the prison I was stuck at for the past seven years.
When I got off, my plan was to go to see Deyja and see if I could catch Calhoun at his parents' house.
The location of her office was right off of Ximeno, near the traffic circle in Long Beach. So it wouldn't take too long. If I wasn't so tired from work I would have walked there and saved a token.
As the bus drove I couldn't help gaze at all the cars in traffic and remembered how it used to be when I had my nice, new car. I knew they had pretty much repossessed my car so my chances of getting another car were slim. Being in jail I had defaulted on my car loan and it was repossessed and that was on my used-to-be-perfect credit along with two American Express cards I had for myself and Toi. It made me feel a little bitter. But then I reminded myself that I still had my freedom and to count the blessings I did have.
The real estate office was in a small shopping center next to a clothing store and a nail salon.
My eyes passed over the sign with her name on it in bright purple letters. I wondered if that was her favorite color.
The closer I got the door, the more nervous I got. I started to sweat and my heart started to pound harder. Damn, that wasn't how I used to be. I never had a problem stepping to a woman. And I had always considered
myself to be a good catch. I didn't feel that way anymore. I had experienced a feeling I had never felt before: insecurity.
I closed the distance between me and the door in a series of three steps. My hand reached for the doorknob.
Then I paused as the reality of the situation hit me. I was a fucking ex-convict. Yeah, she wrote me letters while I was in prison. But that didn't mean shit now. She probably wouldn't spit on me. She was an accomplished woman. And she could be anything from having a man to being married with kids.
I took a deep breath. I was probably wasting my time. But there was so much I wanted to say to her. I wanted to tell her how much her letters meant to me, how much they helped me get through a very dark time. And as crazy as it sounds, I felt like I fell in love with her just based on what she wrote to me. When I went to her website I didn't even bother looking to see if there was a picture of her. I had no idea how she looked. And I didn't care. It didn't matter if she were old, fat, and ugly. However she looked is not what helped me. So they were no concern to me now.
And maybe if my circumstances were different this could be different. If I went in there and told her who I was and her connection to me I would probably end up embarrassed and leaving with my feelings hurt. The fact that I tracked her down may even make me look like a stalker and I wasn't. But that's probably how it would look from her standpoint.
So with a feeling of defeat, I turned and walked away.
I instead, hopped on a bus to take me to the Westside, to go to Calhoun's house. The ride took me about a good twenty minutes.
I figured that since it was the evening someone had to be home.
When I knocked on the door, Calhoun's father answered. He was the same build and height as Calhoun. But Calhoun, like me, had a lot of his mother's features. In all my years of being friends with him I often wished he and I could trade places. He had everything I had ever dreamed of . . . a father. Over the years, while Calhoun continued to disappoint him, he saw my accomplishments and always applauded me on them in front of Calhoun, which didn't make him too happy. At a very low point, when Calhoun had gotten arrested and used his father's name, his father came looking for him at my house. At that time I was in my second year of college. He looked so frustrated when I couldn't tell him where Calhoun was. Since when we were kids Calhoun's dad made it seem like I was the bad influence on his son. It felt good to show him that Calhoun was actually the bad influence. But I just never allowed myself to be influenced.
He blurted out, “You know what I don't understand, Chance.”
“What, sir?”
“You came from nothing. I saw how your mother struggled to take care of you with no father and here you are trying to make something of yourself. I'm trying to figure out where I went wrong with Travis.”
“Well, you didn't, sir. What Calhoun is doing is more of a reflection of him and not you or your wife, so you can't beat yourself up for it. Calhoun has a lot more growing up to do. I try to talk to him as much as I can but he doesn't want to hear anything that makes sense.”
His eyes were watery and tears were sliding down his cheeks. He bowed his head in defeat.
“Calhoun is just hardheaded. You are a good father, Mr. Parks. So good that growing up and being around Calhoun I always wished you were my father.”
He looked up at me when I said that and smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from such a smart young man like you, Chance.”
“Just don't give up on him, Mr. Parks.”
“I won't. I won't give up on my son.” He patted me on my back and walked out of me and my mother's apartment.
I wondered now after seven years if he had given up on Calhoun and what types of crazy things Calhoun had sent his parents through.
Mr. Parks paused for a moment, taking my face in for familiarity. When he realized who I was he said, “Chance?”
“How you doing, sir?”
He cracked up laughing and pulled me into his arms for a hug.
I laughed and hugged him back.
“Praise God, you are home!” He slapped my back and continued to chuckle. When he pulled away he grabbed my face in his hands before shaking my hands.
“Is Calhoun here?”
“No. But come in.”
A few minutes later, we were sitting in his living room, drinking cans of Coke. All it made me think was how lucky Calhoun was to still have both his parents.
“So how have things been?” I asked him
“Work is good, my wife is well when she isn't stressing about Travis.”
I chuckled and said, “Same ol' Calhoun.” Calhoun wasn't bullshitting when he told me when I was in prison that he was still on the same tip.
“Yep, same ol' Travis.” He refused to call him Calhoun.
“My wife and I try not to stress out anymore, but that is hard in itself with the things that he does. But we spend a lot of time with our grandchildren.”
“And how are they?”
“Well. Very well. But what about you, son? You spent seven years of your life locked away. I would imagine that would have had to be hard, harder than any other challenge you have ever faced.”
“It was. But I had to find a way out.”
“And how were you able to do that?”
I wasn't able to answers those questions yet. I wasn't strong enough yet. To talk about the rape and how it led me to my freedom.
He saw and said, “Travis told me that it was for something you were innocent of. I believe him and I'm sorry for always making you out to be the bad guy when the bad guy was my son all along.”
“I understand, Mr. Parks.”
“He was never really able to move past you being in there.”
“Neither was I.”
“Does Travis know you're out?”
“No. I just got out yesterday.”
“Wait until he does, he's going to go crazy. Right now I'm sure he is hanging in those projects.”
He paused for a moment and then said, “Chance, I'm sorry about your mother. Travis told me.”
He looked away quickly and I was glad he did because the mention of my mother and her not being there momentarily choked me up.
I could only manage to get out, “Thanks.”
“You bet.” He studied his Coke can.
“Well, I have to get going. If he comes by tell him I came over and I will try to swing by again.”
“Take care, Chance.”
He stood and I did as well. He gave me another hug and I was out the door.
I knew I would run into Calhoun eventually. Long Beach was too small. He would probably be pissed that I kept the fact that I was to get released on a hush. But I had to.

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