I was escorted out the same way my father had been escorted out a few minutes ago. The bottom had fallen out.
“You don’t know me! Keep yo’ mafuckin’ hands off me,” I yelled at the lady cop, squirming and trying to get free from her grip.
“Shut up, little girl, and keep still. You don’t scare me. Just like your wannabe-thug-ass father doesn’t scare us,” she hissed with a smile on her face. “Do you think I was playing upstairs when I told you I’d shove my nightstick up ya ass?”
“You’re gonna regret talking to me like this once my daddy gets out of jail. Trust and believe that,” I screamed at her as loud as I could.
She grabbed me by the arm, twisted it until I squealed, then pushed me into the back seat of the government-plated Crown Vic. “You better learn how to say fuck ya daddy just like the world has done. He ain’t getting out of jail, like you’ve already been told, so welcome to the life of an orphan. You’ll be in good company of the rest of these li’l degenerate bastards in ya city.” She slammed the door. The car rocked, and so did I.
Tears ran freely from my eyes, down my cheeks, and off my face. All I could envision was my father getting dragged out of our house, handcuffed, and badly beaten. I was in disbelief that our hood-royal family was going down. Leaning my head on the window, I now knew how caged beasts felt.
The white lady cop berated me the entire ride to the police station in an attempt to break me down mentally. She verbally abused me, calling me names like “a stupid nigger” and “a waste of good tax dollars.” Although I tried turning my ears off to her evil and gut-wrenching words, I knew I’d have to transform into a gutter girl in order to survive. My dad might’ve raised me to trap, but he’d failed to tell me how to survive in police custody. Probably because he hoped I’d never get here. Quick, fast, and in a hurry, whether I wanted to or not, it was time to grow the fuck up.
When the car stopped and the engine cut off, my stomach sank as far as it could go. We were inside a garage surrounded by cameras, which moved when my pupils did. If I couldn’t be honest with anyone else, I had to be honest with myself. I was scared. My whole body was trembling, and I was nauseated, overtaken with fear. It was no secret what cops did to innocent people, so being that I was part of a guilty family, who knew what their handling of me was about to be like.
I squirmed around in my piss-soiled panties, in no rush whatsoever to take them off. Maybe if I reeked loud enough, whatever deviant waiting inside the jail for me would leave me alone. I was nervous. I’d grown up in a trap house, not back and forth to the county jail. My dad’s words flooded back to the forefront of my memory. “Life is about to get a whole lot harder for you before it gets easier.”
So far, Calvin had not been wrong about any of his advice. Everything he’d told me when I was a child had come to pass. If only I wasn’t learning this lesson now, after it seemed to be too late. If only I had not been so busy grinning in the boy’s face who passed the counterfeit money off, I could’ve prevented my father’s anger, therefore preventing the vengeful murder they’d come and arrested him for.
Squeezing my eyes as tightly as I could, I pushed the rest of the tears out of my eyes that were built up for me. It didn’t feel right dwelling in a pity party when I was the reason for all of this madness.
The lady cop got out of her seat and marched around to the back passenger side door and swung it open. “Get ya ass up out of the car, you little piece of shit,” she whispered coldly before gripping me by the arm, trying to yank me out.
The image of my dad was replaced with the face of Sandra Bland. If they’d killed an advocate, they’d surely kill me. Now I saw why my social studies teacher dwelled for almost a month on police brutality.
“Stop! Get off of me! Take me back home,” I cried out, fighting with all my might against being detained.
I might’ve not wanted to be in a squad car, but I fa’ damn sure didn’t want to get out. Going inside of a jail seemed so permanent and irreversible. I was having a panic attack, like once I walked in, I’d never walk out. I couldn’t go down like that. I tried kicking, screaming, and nudging her off me with my shoulders, but it was no use with my wrists cuffed behind my back.
“Back up! Back up! I need help in here,” the officer called out.
Her lying ass didn’t need any help. She was only trying to make it seem like I was resisting her more than I actually was. Hearing the voices of officers telling her to back off and they were there to save the day, I couldn’t let her go thinking she’d broken me down. Her pig ass was already walking away with the trophy award of breaking up my family. Moving my head back, I snapped it forward against her forehead with as much aggression I could muster up with her weight on top of me.
Crackkk!
“Ahhh! This little nigger headbutted me,” she yelped out in pain.
In spite of my head pounding, feeling like it was going to split into two, I felt ten times better for causing the supposed protector some pain. My grin was ear to ear. I’d never forget her, so I hoped she’d never forget me.
“I told you to get your hands off me,” I screamed out again, then spit right into her face. “Fuck you and your oink-oink-ass friends!”
I’m Porsha Jackson, daughter of Calvin and Trinity Jackson. I wasn’t bred to be a wimp. The world will eventually see. Once I turn 18, I’ma be walking up out of juvie with a chip on my shoulder, ready to set shit the fuck off.
But I had to get through the system first.
LOCKED UP
The interrogation room of 1300 Beaubien rocked from the inside out as two officers of the Detroit Police Department badgered Calvin Jackson about the murders of Vincent Belmont and De’Mario Cooper. The cops had been going at it for hours strong, starting at the hour they met at the station and suited up for the raid of his home. They felt cocky, unstoppable, and superior to the drug-dealing kingpin, as Calvin sat slouched at the table, seemingly defeated.
Calvin Jackson’s wounds were fresh from taking an ass whopping of a lifetime from the gang of cops who’d snatched him out of his sheets, including the two before him. Calvin’s lip was busted, there were several lumps on his head, and his rib cage was bruised from one of the brazen officers stomping him in his chest. They’d shown no mercy toward him, and he planned on doing the same when his chance of revenge presented itself.
Raging like a bull on the inside, Calvin wanted nothing more than to be free from the cuffs and chains that secured him to the table. He felt the pulse of his heart speed up with every threat, derogatory insult, and fist the cops threw his way. Even the veins in his arms and hands were enlarged. Each deep breath that Calvin took was an attempt to calm him down. However, the only solace he found was in the thought of mapping out the murders of each Detroit Police officer who raided his home.
CHAPTER 23
PORSHA
Being yanked down a dreary hallway by a buff-body, man-looking woman guard, I was then tossed into another windowless room like a piece of trash, before being cuffed to a bench. I’d gone through this sickening experience three times already, and I was sure this one wouldn’t be the last.
“Ahh,” I yelped out in pain when the metal of the cuffs cut into my wrists.
“Shut up before I make ’em tighter,” she growled, using her power to control me. “Whatever you get, you deserve. Especially for that li’l stunt ya pulled in the garage. Now, what ghetto-ass name did your mother give you? I need your first, middle, and last.”
Grunting, struggling to sit up on the bench without cutting my wrists more, I still managed to speak up smartly. “Don’t speak ill about my mother,” I huffed.
“Or what? Huh? What do you think you can do to me that I won’t do to you and call it self-defense? I’ll be in the shower washing the backsplash of your blood off me while your body is lying here waiting for the state-paid medical examiner to write up a report releasing the system and their employee of any wrongful doings. I’m not my comrade. I’ll shoot a nigger like it does
n’t matter in a second.”
I was quiet, stunned, and in shock.
“Yeah, exactly what I thought. Now, like I asked you for, what’s your full name?”
“Porsha Shanae Jackson.”
After making a judgmental face, she asked for the spelling of my middle name before typing it into their system. Following that, she keyed in my date of birth, address, and the name of my high school. Though I wasn’t being a bitch, I still took my sweet time giving her all of the information. If being here was uncomfortable and unfair for me, I fa’ damn sho’ wasn’t about to make her processing job simple.
“Take your shoes off and step up on the scale,” she ordered, giving me the same attitude I’d thrown her.
Oh, she’s mad? Ain’t that a bitch? The audacity. “I ain’t putting my feet on that nasty thang,” I rudely responded, twisting my face up in pure disgust.
She shook her head like she pitied me, but I quickly learned that wasn’t the case. “Your problem is not mine. Get up on the scale so I can log your weight, Jackson.” She called me by my last name only, a true sign I’d crossed over into some real rough shit.
I thought about pushing her limits like I’d done to her buddy, but I didn’t. I had enough problems on my plate. Whereas at first I was only facing a few hours with a state social worker until one of my aunts showed up to get me and Benzie, I was now facing charges for assaulting an officer of the law.
I might’ve been standing tall and acting tough, but I was scared as hell. I’ve never once had a run-in with the cops without Cal or Trin being around. So having a bunch of them barking at me that I’d be going to prison terrified my soul. I wanted my mommy and daddy, and I didn’t care how juvenile that sounded. I wasn’t sure of what to do.
Trying my hardest to be compliant, I slid my shoes off and stepped onto the filthy scale. I was grossed out but stood still. This wasn’t shit but the start of my transition into a group home. After the digital numbers bounced around, they finally landed on 123.4 pounds.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she mocked me. “Now, after you put your shoes back on, stand right behind that black line. When you get there, say cheese.” She was being sarcastic, rubbing my face in my misery, and trying to piss me off all at the same time. She had the same condescending tone the other cop had before I split her cranium open.
Biting my lips to keep them from flapping and talking shit, I did exactly as I was told except for smiling. My expression was ripped, set to kill. If only my mom had been here to put the processing officer in her place for talking to her baby girl so recklessly, I’d be grinning instead of frowning. But they’d already told me my parents were going to jail before hell when I’d first thrown my bloodline up.
With my back against the wall, I wished I could chuck my middle fingers up at her in all of the mugshots. She took my front picture, exposing the huge unicorn knot I had on my forehead from headbutting her partner, then my profile shots. I was usually camera thirsty, but I wasn’t feeling the flash today. I knew my face was roughed up and bruised from battling it out with that lame-ass cop who was gonna catch these hands for real whenever I got free.
“If you hated taking off your shoes, you’re surely going to hate the next part.” She found joy in antagonizing me. I stared at her with tight lips, afraid to ask what was next, but she killed my curiosity quickly. “The strip search.”
“Aw, hell naw! Y’all already searched me in the garage,” I complained, pulling my arm back before she could grab it. “I’m not taking my clothes off, so you might as well back up off me. Your perverted ass ain’t about to see me naked.” Being compliant, yeah, that was now a notion of the past.
Instead of attacking me like the other lady did, this officer chirped her walkie-talkie on and called for backup, saying I was refusing to leave the processing area for a strip search. With a grin on her face, she leaned against the wall I’d just taken pictures on, tapping her foot and picking the dirt from underneath her nails. “You can make it as hard on yourself as you want to,” she said to me nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m scheduled to go home after processing you, which means I won’t be stuck here a minute longer having to fill out paperwork behind an incident.”
“Blah, blah, bullshit, yap, yap. Unless you’re about to take these cuffs off, which we both know you’re not going to, then shut the fuck up,” I simply responded, more concerned with the officers who were getting ready to barge into the room.
She rolled her eyes, knowing I’d pulled her card. Then she hit me with the same line all uppity people said when they’d be hoed. “I wouldn’t dare stoop to ya level, ya li’l bitch.”
I was shaking mad, and my legs were trembling uncontrollably. I wanted to get up and handle her without reaping a consequence. It was hard as hell bowing to someone who wasn’t Calvin or Trinity. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths, because I heard voices and shuffling coming from the other side of the door. The last tag I ever wanted attached to my name was the one of a punk. The voice of my momma kept playing over in my head to “take my punishment like a woman,” so I planned to. This might have been my karma for creeping around with Street. Until I went against family, everything about everything had been all good.
CHAPTER 24
ELIZABETH
I called my assistant over the speakerphone into my office. “Excuse me, but I need you in here.”
Within seconds, she was in the doorway of my office with a notepad and pen. “Yes, Mrs. Hines? What can I do for you?” She was always prompt and ready to serve. I was glad to have an assistant working as my second pair of hands.
“Call the courts to see which judges are scheduled to hear the cases of Calvin and Trinity Jackson. If the list isn’t favorable for us, see if you can get the clerk to shift a few things around so it becomes favorable. Then call Katie to see if she can meet me for bagels in an hour. And finally, let Mr. Heagenbon’s assistant know that it’s urgent for me to see him upon his arrival.”
“Got it,” she said, still penning notes. “Anything else?”
“Yes, a fresh cup of coffee. Put on a new pot, because this case is kicking my ass.” Without saying thank you, I waved her from my office and dove right back into trying to prepare myself for Mr. Jackson’s jail consultation. He’d given me way too much upfront money for me to come out of the gate choking the first time he needed representation.
Pacing back and forth in front of the windows of my office, I stared out across the waves of the Detroit River into Canada. The sun was shining, and the water looked blue and calm, but the Zen-like view wasn’t putting my mood at ease. I wanted so badly to take another bump to relax my nerves, but I couldn’t risk meeting with my associate high. He didn’t indulge but should have.
Gregory Heagenbon was on the firm’s roster as the go-to guy for straight and narrow cases because he was a straight and narrow guy. He was the friendly face of the firm. Gregg didn’t break rules, make deals with the devil, or cut a person’s throat for wins. He was the perfect guy for the plan I’d concocted. That was why I had to be on the up-and-up when I asked him for the favor.
I’d been diligently working on the Jackson case, Calvin’s record in particular. I was trying to find loopholes, incongruent stories from witnesses, if the cops violated his rights as a citizen during the raid, and whatever other factors I could legally argue in his defense if the case went to trial. The evidence stacked against the trapping family was insane, but they wanted Calvin’s head on a platter in particular. It was my job to change his foreseen circumstances. That was where Gregg would come into play.
Besides Calvin being charged with the murder and mutilation of two bodies, the DPD also recovered large amounts of cash, drugs, and a few pistols from his home, referenced to as “an operation.” Working Calvin out of the system was going to take a little more than magic. However, that was why all the big dogs paid me the big bucks. I wasn’t above making cruddy deals. It’s not always about what you know, but who you know. Oh ye
ah, and how you work the system. I was willing to do all of the above plus things unmentioned to win a case. My resume was far more important than my reputation.
“Mrs. Hines?” my assistant chirped over the intercom.
“Yes, what is it?” I snapped at her, irked that she was interrupting me with a call instead of the cup of coffee I’d requested.
“Um, sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hines, but Mr. Heagenbon’s assistant just called and said he’s on his way up.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks. Make sure that cup of coffee is in my hands before he’s in my office.”
CHAPTER 25
TRINITY
“If you wanna walk up outta here with your baby boy and not have him lost in foster care somewhere, you better write some juicy shit on this notepad about your husband and his drug operation,” the police officer said, trying to intimidate me, slamming a yellow notepad and pencil down onto the table in front of me.
“Tah! You got me fucked up, Mr. Officer. I ain’t writing shit on that paper but my food order, because I’m starving.” I set him straight, picking weed flakes from underneath my acrylic nails.
“Do you think I’m playing with you about the powers I have, Mrs. Jackson? My partner already hauled ya daughter away to the group home.” He thought his news was gonna make me shit.
Both of the officers were coming at me from left and right with what they’d do, what they had on my husband and me, and how our family would be completely dismantled if I didn’t at least give them some pertinent information against Calvin that would stick. They kept advising it would be best for me to take their deal, allowing me to go home and keep the kids out of the system, especially Benzie. That sour deal, however, meant my husband would do all of the time for all of the crimes.
If I were dumb, which praise God I wasn’t, I’d have actually believed the deal they were giving me was the best one available. I couldn’t wait until the attorney Calvin had been paying strutted her high-heel-wearing ass into this precinct and escorted me out of here. Them trying to coerce me into snitching, making a deal, and incriminating myself meant they didn’t have a helluva case against me anyway. I continued holding my own.
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