White Lines III (2 page)

Sunny's blood boiled. Malcolm was claiming that he hardly knew her when, just days ago, he'd had his face buried in her pussy. The two of them had children who played together. He had met her family. They were a couple. But, not anymore. Right now, she could just kill him.

Mr. Gomez snapped her back to the issue at hand.

“We can maybe work something out for you,
Señorita.
” He looked her in the eyes. His suggestive tone of voice conveyed the message loud and clear.

She dismissed her thoughts of Malcolm that instant. “How much?” she asked, anxiously.

Mr. Gomez shrugged. “Ten thousand U.S. should do the trick.” He rubbed his thumb against the rest of his fingertips in the universal symbol for cash.

“Are you crazy?” Sunny snapped. “I had $100 worth of yayo and you muthafuckas want ten grand?” She was appalled.

Gomez suppressed a smirk. For someone who had been framed, she certainly knew the market price of the drugs she'd been carrying.

“You must think I'm crazy. You must be out of your mind!”

Gomez watched silently while she had her temper tantrum. Sunny was on her feet, pacing her tiny cell, muttering how ridiculous this was. She thought about Malcolm. Had his corny, dumb ass ponied up that much to get himself out of this hell? She shook her head at the thought.

“I don't have that kind of money,” she said, lying.

Gomez held her gaze, unblinkingly. “It is no good lying to your lawyer,
Señorita
Cruz.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Exhaling the smoke, he leaned back against the wall. “The police at the airport discovered that you and your companion were traveling home with $7,000 in cash—$6,000 of which was in
your
bag. You have expensive jewelry, expensive clothes, and shoes. And your traveling companion told his interrogators that he was working with you, that you are scheduled to do a film. So you are a high-profile American woman. It is very easy to search your name on the Internet to find out exactly who you are and whether we can get more money from a tabloid instead.” He took another puff of his cigarette. The cost is $10,000 or they Google.”

Sunny was snarling at him and he took notice. He softened his tone a bit.

“I am not your enemy,” he said.

“All you muthafuckas are my enemy,” Sunny snapped. “Somebody must have planted those drugs on me. I'm telling you it wasn't mine.”

He looked at her doubtfully.

“What else did Mr. Dean say in his statement?” She figured that he hadn't told about the incident with the driver because they never would have offered her a way out if they knew that she was a murderer. Still, she asked out of curiosity.

“He said basically that the two of you met recently. That he was your attorney, maybe sometimes more than that. But that he doesn't really know
who
you are.”

“He's lying.” Sunny fought the emotions that she was truly feeling, and looked Gomez squarely in the eyes. “All of that's a lie.”

Gomez stared back at her silently. He pondered what would be the best route to take in order to convey his message to his fiery client. The lovely lady before him had all the markings of a chameleon. Sunny slipped between Spanish and English so easily, and switched demeanors at will. Her duality was evident, as she looked lost and sad one moment, then angry and defiant the next. Gomez wondered what her story was, how she had learned to be two people at the same time. Even though he was a stranger to her, it was easy even for him to ascertain that Sunny was into something, and she was in way over her head.

Sunny felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. She was being extorted. “I don't have that amount of money.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. “You said yourself that I only have six grand with me. I don't have ten.”

Gomez balanced his cigarette between his lips, and began to pack away his paperwork. “That six grand has already been taken as evidence,” he said, calmly. “You will need to produce an additional $10,000.”

Sunny was furious, but she kept her mouth shut. She was aware that it was futile to try to reason with these people. Involuntary tears flooded her eyes. As Gomez zipped his briefcase, Sunny faced the facts. Either she was going to see her reputation publicly torn into pieces, or she would have to call someone close to her and explain her predicament. Someone would have to bring the money—and fast! Her carefully guarded secret was now being exposed, and she had never felt like such a failure in her whole life.

“You do not want to remain in jail here in
Mexico.
Nothing nice about it.” Gomez gestured at her surroundings. “The real thing is far worse than this.” He hoped he was getting through to her.

Sunny was trembling. She knew better than anybody that she had to get the hell out of Mexico immediately. Malcolm had left her with a dead body and a bag of cocaine on her hands in a foreign country. She had to figure out who she could turn to for help. For the first time, she was the one who needed a lifeline. Sunny cried in silence.

Gomez took pity on her as he rose to leave. “I will see to it that you get a shower, a decent meal, and a phone call home.” He offered a weak smile. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

And then Sunny was alone again.

*   *   *

Jada and Sheldon sat together eating dinner quietly at the dining room table. The silence was eerily familiar. It had been three days since Sheldon's release from the psych ward of Staten Island University Hospital. Three days of awkward conversations and unspoken tension. Both Jada and Sheldon had found comfort in the silence that continually fell between them. In that silence, each of them was able to think things that would have been too dreadful to give voice to.

Jada blamed her son for the fact that her relationship with Born was in ruins. She hadn't spoken to the man she loved since the day she'd walked away from him at the hospital weeks ago. He texted her from time to time to see how she was holding up. She would respond and let him know that she was hanging in there, that she needed some time alone with her son to sort things out. Sheldon had made it clear through his suicide attempt that he was not happy with his mother and Born's relationship. Jada had martyred herself in the weeks since then, depriving herself of Born's love as a way to make up for all the damage she had done to her only child. But the truth was that a large part of Jada hated Sheldon for forcing her and Born apart. It felt as if Sheldon's father, Jamari, was torturing her all over again from the grave. She hated it so intensely that she had to make a conscious effort to be kind to her son. She reminded herself that she had no one to blame but herself for Sheldon's struggles. Still, it was hard not to think negatively about the young man who had taken such control of her life.

Sheldon, on the other hand, was having his own sinister thoughts. He was glad that Born was gone, gladder that Jada was clearly upset about it.
Good for her!
he thought. She deserved to suffer for being a crackhead, for making him so different from other kids his age. She was to blame for the urges he felt to lash out and misbehave. All the doctors at the psychiatric center pointed to his being born a crack baby as an explanation for his imbalance. He had heard them discussing his problems and their roots in Jada's drug use. Toward the end of his stay at the hospital, Sheldon had reduced his own medication. He didn't like the way it made him feel—all loopy and lethargic. He had no energy when his meds kicked in. Even his thoughts slowed to a crawl. He didn't like it. So, he began to find ways to avoid taking it. He couldn't get away with it all the time. The aides were usually extremely vigilant. But, at times, while one of the lazier aides waited and watched to ensure that he swallowed his pill, he'd create a distraction—sometimes sneezing and spitting it into his palm, other times dropping something on the floor so that he could stash the pill while the aide bent down to pick up the dropped item. Each time he would dutifully open his mouth and lift his tongue to prove that he had swallowed his meds. And once the aide was gone, Sheldon observed what was being said and done around him. Without the medication, he felt more like himself. He had perfected his listless gaze and would stare off into space as the doctors discussed his medical history. It was during one such conversation that he overheard a discussion about his parents' battle for custody of him. As he sat staring blankly at the bare white wall, Sheldon listened closely.

His father had been killed, he learned, in the midst of his parents' custody war. It was something his mother had never told him. She hadn't told him much of anything, in fact—not about his father, not about her drug use.

As they sat in silence now, eating curry chicken, yellow rice, and asparagus, Sheldon watched her. Her eyes were focused on her plate as she seemed lost in thought.
Probably thinking about Born,
Sheldon thought bitterly. He cleared his throat.

Jada seemed to snap out of her trance and she looked up at him. Their eyes locked for several seconds.

“What's wrong?” Jada asked.
What's wrong NOW?
she thought.

Sheldon set down his fork and sat back in his chair, looking his mother in the eye. “I want to know everything,” he said. Seeing a look of confusion flash across her face, he explained. “About my father. And about you. And how I got here.”

Jada's jaw clenched. For Sheldon's whole life, she had avoided talking about his father or about the ugly and traumatic things that transpired between them. But her policy of “don't ask, don't tell” clearly hadn't worked. Born was not around for her to seek his strength and reassurance. Alone with her son, Jada took a deep breath, sat back in her seat, and threw up her hands.

“What do you want to know, Sheldon? I already told you … I was addicted to coke … cocaine. Your father accepted that. He gave me crack to smoke. He lied to me—

“Lied to you about what?”

Jada sighed. “A lot of things. He hated Born.”

Sheldon frowned. “Why?”

Jada shrugged. She shook her head. Sheldon was so young, too young to fully understand. But she forged ahead. “Your father was jealous of Born.” She ignored Sheldon, who sucked his teeth in disbelief. “Born and Jamari grew up together. They were close friends. Jamari's mother was addicted to drugs. So was Born's father. So, Jamari and Born bonded since they had that in common.” Jada could tell that she had Sheldon's undivided attention. She went on.

“Jamari's mom told him that he and Born had the same father. She claimed that Born's father, Leo, had never acknowledged Jamari because Leo was married to Miss Ingrid.”

Sheldon's brow furrowed as his young mind tried to process all of this information. “My father and Born were brothers?”

Jada shook her head. “We don't know that for sure. That was what Jamari's mother told him. But she died, and Leo never mentioned anything about it before he died, too. So, we'll never really know for sure.”

“Why would my grandmother lie about that? If she said it, I believe her.”

Jada noticed Sheldon's choice of words.
My grandmother
. He said it with such conviction that she was slightly taken aback by how he had aligned himself with his father's side of the family so instantaneously. He had never met his paternal grandmother and couldn't even remember his father. Yet, he had such faith in their truthfulness. Jada didn't address it, opting to continue instead.

“Jamari was jealous because Born's father gave him everything. Meanwhile, Jamari and his mother struggled. So, all the time that he was friends with Born, he wanted what Born had. And then Jamari stole money from Born.”

Sheldon blinked a couple of times. “He
prolly
needed it since him and his mother were broke,” he suggested.

Jada's jaw clenched again. Clearly, Sheldon refused to believe the worst about his father. She wanted to end the conversation, but she pressed on. “When Born realized that Jamari stole the money—”

“How much money was it?” Sheldon interjected.
Bet it was like $20!
Born seemed like the type to make a big deal out of nothing.

“Five thousand dollars.”

Jada waited for a reaction from her son but got nothing.

“Anyway, Born cut him off. He stopped being friends with him and I never knew the whole story between them until years later. All I knew was that Born didn't like him, didn't trust him. And Jamari didn't like Born either.”

She took a sip of water and swallowed slowly before continuing.

“After Born found out that I had started getting high again, he broke up with me and I had no place to go. I had a bad drug problem, and my family had abandoned me. Jamari and I got closer and … we started a relationship.”

“Did you love each other?” Sheldon asked.

Jada wished she could self-destruct. She knew what Sheldon wanted to hear. Every kid wanted to believe that they were conceived in love. But the truth was far uglier. She recalled Jamari's lies, the way he had manipulated her. She could still picture his outstretched hand with the crack vial in it.

“Go ahead and take it. I'm not gonna judge you. I understand.”

She could hear Jamari's voice as clearly now as she had all those years ago.

“Sheldon,” she explained. “I was so addicted to drugs that I couldn't love anybody. Not even myself.”

“Did he love you?”

She shook her head no. Seeing the hopeful expression on Sheldon's face melt into dejectedness, she lied a little. “He did at first,” she said. “But my addiction made him turn against me eventually.” Jada knew that, in truth, Jamari had never loved her. He only saw her as a pawn in his sick game against Born. His control over every aspect of her life was all in an effort to flaunt his “trophy” in Born's face.

“Why did y'all break up?” Sheldon asked.