I would use Sterling for as long as possible, at least until I got answers to the big questions about my mom, pop, and sisters. I couldn’t see him minding. He seemed to enjoy being used. I’d just pretend that all of a sudden I realized he was the one for me. He’d stare at me with those big dumb eyes and be happy I had finally seen the light. Whatever chick he had there before I came last night, she’d just have to wait. Eventually she could have the man, I just wanted the pockets, the apartment, and access to his little putt-putt to handle my business.
Goldstein located Moms swiftly. He told me she was being charged with resisting arrest, insulting and assaulting a police officer. From his estimation those charges were just a means for them to hold her for questioning about Santiaga and his operation. He put in his notification of representation. The court was backed up and she wouldn’t be arraigned until Monday morning. He said this was a good thing because he needed time to get to Santiaga’s safety-deposit box at the bank to see the status of things so we could settle the financial matters. He told me he was 98 percent sure he could get the prosecutor to lessen the charges on Mom, drop them completely or at minimum get her out on her own recognizance since she had no previous charges. This way she wouldn’t have to post bail. She’d just have to show up for her court date. He sternly told me to call him around three o’clock Monday.
Things were out of my hands. I had two hours before I had to pick Sterling up, so I went shopping. Nothing expensive, the Gap, Banana Republic, basic shit to get me through the weekend and the following week. Three hundred dollars was the budget I gave myself.
Why waste words on Sterling? Know that he was quick to dump the female friend he had over the other night. He was glad I decided to stay with him for the two weeks “my parents were out of town.” He said he couldn’t blame me for not wanting to stay in that big house alone and that he was happy I chose to spend my spare time with him.
Early Monday evening, Momma was released. She had on the same clothes she went in with. Overall she looked busted. Wig off, hair in bad need of Earline’s, mouth permanently twisted, I guess. She went off about the feds seizing her leathers, furs, suedes, jewels, furniture, and house. She was enraged by the loss of her record collection, which she had carefully acquired over the past seventeen years. “Whoever heard of the legalized robbery they orchestrated?” she cried. “And whoever thinks they can steal my babies got to be crazy ’cause I’m going to get them first thing tomorrow when the Bureau of Child Welfare office opens. And Magdalena needs her ass kicked. She should of known better than to let some woman in the house who was not in our family. And let me see some motherfucker driving around in my red Benz, sporting my wears. They’ll get their ass car-jacked right on the spot.”
“Where are you going to live?” I asked Momma.
“Don’t worry about me. What else can they do to me?” she asked. “They already shot me in my face. What they gonna do next,” she started laughing like the Penguin on Batman.
“Are you going to stay with Aunt Laurie?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s gonna be pissed about Stevie and money and everything,” I warned. She waved her hand in the air as if to say none of that mattered.
“After all I did for her. Santiaga gave that worthless husband of hers a job when nobody else would. She better recognize. She just better make room for me. Treat me like the queen I am and just help out till Santiaga gets home. He’ll straighten all of this out.” Speaking Santiaga’s name put her in another frame of mind. I saw her eyes switch and her voice did too.
“I saw Santiaga,” I said. “He’s alright. He asked about you, of course. He wants you to come down to see him on Thursday. Dress your best he said. He wants to show you off.” Mamma cried.
The twins were divided. “We don’t like to do it, but all of our facilities are overburdened. We had a space for Mercedes Santiaga in Manhattan. The other one, Lexy, is in Brooklyn. Porsche Santiaga is in Queens. There will be no problems getting them ready for release, but we have to release them to a stable environment. As it stands, Ms. Santiaga, you are still under criminal investigation. You have no residence. The address you’re listing here, your sister’s apartment, is a section eight residency. This means it must meet federal regulations for living arrangements. Your sister already has three children in her apartment. There are only three bedrooms; therefore it would be a violation of federal codes for us to release three more children into this apartment, or even one for that matter. Your sister has one daughter and two sons. Under federal regulations, a male and female child cannot share a room together after they reach ten years of age. You stated your sister’s sons are twelve and fifteen. We just can’t do it. Do you have a relative who can speak up for the children who has extra rooms in a non–rent subsidy, federally regulated building or house?” All of our peeps were in the projects. So that question didn’t deserve an answer.
“Look miss, I just want my children,” my momma said. “Now I’m good for raising hell. But I’m tryna be nice, work with you here. I’ve been through a lot, I’m innocent. I’m not perfect, but I just need to have my babies with me. I’m not a drug addict, crackhead, or criminal. I just need to have my girls back today.”
“You’re presently unemployed,” the lady said, as if we didn’t know it. “The only option we can offer is the emergency assistance program. We can put you and your children up in a family shelter with a kitchenette so you can cook your own meals. We would allocate you food stamps and medical coverage for the children, but there’s a waiting list for these type of facilities. There’s no way we could release the children to you with no income and no apartment. To be honest with you, Mrs. Santiaga, there are also some more problems with this case. The girls are five years old, but they’re not registered in kindergarten. Why? Did they attend private schooling?”
“No. If you check the birth date on my girls you’ll see that they turned five after the deadline for kindergarten registration.”
“Oh, I see, OK. Anyway, Mrs. Santiaga, we are willing in the meanwhile to place you in a women’s shelter while you try to pull things together. Sometimes it’s better to check into a shelter than to move into another problematic environment. The girls tell me, and our records show, that there is another child, one Winter Santiaga. Is that you?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
“No, I’m Rosie, a friend of the family,” I lied.
“We’ll need to know the whereabouts of the other child. Legally she is still a minor and we are responsible for her. We can place her in a group home with lenient rules and regulations since she is an older child. We can help her to complete her schooling. As long as she has no history of emotional problems, violent behavior, or educational dysfunctions she would not have to live in a restrictive or reformatory facility. When can you arrange to bring her in or provide us with an address so we can have her picked up?”
My mother glanced at the big-armed security police stationed in the corner of the room. She looked at me and said, “This is unbelievable.” Thinking of the time she spent in jail, she said in a polite yet aggravated voice, “Can I have your business card, miss? I’ll give you a call and let you know what I want to do.”
“Give us a call soon. We need to locate Winter. Should I put you on the family shelter waiting list in the meanwhile?”
My mother lowered her eyes. “Yes. But I believe you’ll be seeing me in court very soon. I need to get my girls back right away.”
In Goldstein’s office my mother went off. Goldstein had the confidence of a well-paid elderly gentleman. He let her rattle on and remained courteous.
“Let’s separate the matters,” he said calmly. “First of all, we’re operating with a nut of fifty thousand dollars. This is what I retrieved from Santiaga’s safety-deposit box. The real money is in his bank accounts. But his bank accounts are all frozen. His business records have all been siezed. None of that money will be accessible until after the case is closed. Depending upon the way things unfold, th
at may never be attainable. Given these circumstances that’s a small nut. Deduct seventy-five hundred dollars for Ms. Santiaga’s case.”
“Seventy-five hundred dollars for what?” my mother screamed.
“For getting all of the charges against you dismissed, Ms. Santiaga. That wasn’t easy. I had to really lean on the prosecutor in Long Island. You could be doing six months to a year and a half right now. I’d say your freedom is well worth your money. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“But I didn’t resist arrest. I didn’t assault no officer. How could I have assaulted them when I was already handcuffed?”
“Be that as it may, I took care of everything. My fee is seventy-five hundred dollars. The case for your children will require a retainer of three thousand. That’s a discount. Family court is a messy matter. It’s time-consuming. If the matter drags out, then you’ll receive my bill with the additional particulars. As far as Mr. Santiaga is concerned, I’ll need a retainer of fifty thousand dollars just to get involved. This is a big, big, case. He’s looking at years on top of years and possibly even life. A lot will depend on whether these cases get separated or not. There are several codefendants. Some of these cases can drag on and on. It’s a little early to discuss, however, if we go into appeals we’re looking at another major set of expenses. You need to be prepared for that. It all depends on how far Santiaga wants to take it.”
“So what exactly is my father being charged with?” I interrupted. The lawyer surrendered one of the folders in Santiaga’s file. There were ten sheets of green papers issued by the courts.
“The answer to my question,” I said. “What is he charged with?”
“Everything. You name it. Santiaga is being accused of it, conspiracy, murder, weapons, money laundering, tax evasion …”
It was ridiculous to me. People don’t understand Santiaga’s world. It’s business. Nobody kept a drug dealer’s business in check but the dealer himself and the team he set up. There has to be punishment for those within the team who test too much and step out of line. There has to be punishment for outsiders who attack the business. Violations have to be responded to; otherwise the business don’t flow correctly and people try to take advantage. They shouldn’t be able to barge into our business and force their rules on us. Not when Santiaga knew his workers better than anybody from the outside. Everybody in this game understood what he was dealing with. Nobody forced them into this business. They understood the risks. Besides, the drug dealers helped America to be rich. If it wasn’t for us, who would buy the fly cars, butter leathers, and the jewelry? We put so much money into circulation. More than them little nickel-and-dime–paying taxpayers. We employed half the men in the ghetto. Nobody else gave them jobs. So why be a player hater?
It was sixty thousand five hundred dollars that had to go to the lawyer up front. Goldstein already had fifty thousand. Soon as I track Midnight I’d locate the loot and deliver the ten thousand five hundred to Goldstein. I’d have thirty-nine thousand five hundred to push around and double. Daddy said Midnight would be released. I’d offer him a partnership since he already knew the business. He’d go for it as long as he got his cut. Momma and Goldstein were closing out their talk. Momma was asking if she could arrange to see the girls at the places they were being held. Goldstein promised to look into the matter.
On the way out I asked Momma, “How was last night at Aunt Laurie’s?”
“It’s as cool as can be expected. She keeps asking if Santiaga had any money put away for a rainy day. She wants me to know that it’s raining and she needs the cash.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her shit. I just looked at her like this.” Momma made a real ugly face and rolled her eyes into her head. I laughed. Momma was becoming a real comedian. “After I made this face she knew the deal. Don’t ask me for shit!” Momma said.
I never mentioned to Momma that Santiaga told me about Midnight having some money set aside. I don’t know why I didn’t, I just didn’t.
After repeatedly beeping Midnight, he finally answered my page:
“Who’s this?” A shock wave shot through my body.
“Winter.”
“What do you want?”
“Santiaga …”
“Where do you want me to meet you for dinner?” he asked strangely. “I’m in Manhattan. I can meet you on 34th and 8th tonight at eight. We can go any place you want from there.”
When I hung up I began piecing together a cute little story to tell Sterling so he wouldn’t have a fit about me going out tonight without him. Then I picked up a new skirt suit to rock for dinner.
The cold air stung my face. The wind was whipping the pleats on my wool miniskirt, offering a free peep show to anybody who was looking. I was feeling a little more relaxed in the new suit, though. I knew my money was real tight, but this suit was an investment. If I could walk Midnight into my corner, we could regroup, create a new hustle, and land on our feet like cats.
Whatever Midnight decided to do would affect my father and even my own life. But I wasn’t about to give him the impression that I was desperate. I wasn’t stupid enough to go and try to get my hustle on without the input of a real player. Midnight knew the ins and outs. Plus he knew my father was loyal to him and he could duplicate Santiaga’s style of running things. In fact Santiaga could somehow counsel him from the inside. Santiaga had stayed on top for so long that Midnight, in the few years of working for him, had to have learned the secrets to his business. I knew at first me and him would have to squash any beef we had in the past, even though I never understood what the problem was anyway. He acted like me wanting to get with him was a crime. As serious as things were now, I was sure he would see that me and him gotta work together otherwise some lowlifes were gonna be happy to watch us sink down to their level. I promised myself not to piss him off. I was gonna stick to business.
“Don’t talk business over the phone.” Midnight had rolled up to the curb and dashed open the window. He didn’t even get out of the car. He didn’t even say hello, peace, or what’s up. “You called about the money, right? Well, I’ll have it for you Monday morning. Where do you want me to drop it?”
“I thought we was going for dinner,” I said nicely, bugging out on the way he was treating me.
“That was just something to say to keep you from running your mouth on the phone. There’s a lot of brothers in jail today because they or some silly girlfriend don’t know how to shut up over the phone. I knew what you wanted, I’ll take care of it. Meet me Monday at 1:30 P.M. on the pier outside of Louie’s restaurant at the South Street Seaport.” He pressed a button and the window closed tight. As his wheels started to roll, I kicked his car with my foot.
“Wait a minute. Wait a fucking minute. Who the fuck do you think you are?” He hit the brakes, reversed, and the passenger window rolled down.
“Are you crazy? The last thing you want to do is make a scene.”
“Well, I’m gonna make a movie if you don’t show me some respect.”
“Respect,” he laughed. “What you know about that? I saw your naked ass on that videotape sipping champagne with Bullet. Who’da ever known that Santiaga’s daughter was sipping bubbly with a nigga who’s a worker for the other side! While your daddy was being raided by the feds you were having drinks butt naked with the enemy.” His words pierced me like knives. I was tongue-tied. I had been part of a setup. My mind tried to reject any blame. I would never do anything to hurt Poppa. My chest was heated up. My mouth cranked up and said whatever came to mind.
“Yeah, I was with Bullet. So what! You gotta problem with that?”
“I spent the night in jail behind your stupid shit. That’s right! Slick Kid brought the video to Big Moe’s to celebrate how much of a fool some small-timer like him made of Santiaga’s daughter. He showed the video on the bar TV at Moes! Our spot! Where we used to run shit. I’m chillin’ in the back room doing what I’m s’pose to be doing, when Moe comes to the back to
tell me what’s going on. I come out to the bar area, blowing my cover. Here I’m the only nigga on the team who ain’t got pinched by the feds. They ain’t got nothing on me, but I gotta sit in the pen for two nights for beating the shit out of a little broke-ass nigga ’cause you a stupid bitch. Back off my ride. I’ll bring your money on Monday.” He pulled off.
Furious wasn’t enough to describe the intensity of my feeling. Below the anger my thoughts played dodge ball. I ran to the nearest telephone and gave Natalie a call. She picked up. Her usually bold voice was quieted by sleepiness.
“Yeah?”
“What’s up with your man Slick Kid?”
“Oh, forget him. I’m not messing with him anymore. He’s ridiculous.”
“So you know that he’s running around showing niggas my ass on the videotape.”
“Don’t take it personal. My ass is in the tape, too. Why sweat it? We in shape. Niggas can’t lie and say they saw some cellulite or stretch
marks or nothing like that. Our shit was tight. I should thank the fool. You know how much dick I got sweating me now? His ass was straight up tryna dis me and I flipped it on him, ha ha, now niggas checking for me!”
Natalie’s calm ran against my fury. “So why you didn’t tell me Bullet was down with them other niggas around the way?”
“Oh that. Bullet’s cool. He’s getting a little name for himself. He’s pulling in the loot. It’s just a money thing with him. He ain’t got nothing personal against you or your family. He’s cool peeps. He really like you. I mean for real for real.”
“Yeah, with a wife and a newborn baby?!”
“What? Oh, I didn’t tell you? Remember Patches from around our way? You know how all the boys in his family got that big hairy black stain on the side of they face that they be saying is a birthmark? Well Saria had that baby and it had a big-ass black hairy mole like Patches. Now Saria swearing up and down that it’s still Bullet’s baby, it’s a miracle or something. Bullet’s grandmother talking ’bout there’s no way her fine-ass grandson gave birth to an ugly little something like that kid. Now Bullet’s looking like a fool. He’s all caught out there, filled Saria’s house up with Toys “R” Us stuff for the kid ’n all that. He’s standing in the waiting room with the cigars and champagne when Patches, Jr., slid right out. I overheard Saria talking to her girl Fatimah who be kicking it with Monica saying even though Patches is ugly he can eat a mean pussy! That’s why Saria kept seeing him on the side. When she got pregnant, she just told Bullet it was his kid ’cause Patches is broke as hell. She knew Bullet was a good guy who would support the baby. Now I saw Bullet today. He said as soon as Saria heals, he’s gonna go upside her head. He said he knew she was a hoe. He just want to be a man about it and represent for the baby that Saria swore up and down was his.”
The Coldest Winter Ever Page 10