Finessed a Dope Boy's Heart

by Racquel Williams

  I mean, it wasn’t like I was flaunting the bitches around or no shit, and I drove to Alabama to get Gina’s ring, so I knew that wasn’t the issue. No one could’ve seen me buy that. And the shock that was on her face when Gina was calling me her fiancé let me know that she hadn’t been aware of it. I couldn’t figure it out. There was nothing but her ego that was keeping us from repairing our marriage. I’d told her I was willing to do whatever I needed to in order to make this shit happen. But she wasn’t biting, and I was getting tired of this game. She wasn’t about to divorce me. That wasn’t gonna happen. This shit was ’til death do us part, and she needed to get over what the hell happened so that we could continue on this journey together. She knew none of them bitches held a candle to her. That’s why she was in the house, with the kid, access to all the accounts, the clout, and had the ring—well, the last name, at least, because technically, Gina had a ring too. Regardless, she knew I wasn’t about to marry that white bitch. She couldn’t be that damn stupid. This was evidence that Mika wasn’t a real hood bitch, or she would’ve been happy with her position and played her fuckin’ role. But noooo, her ass wanna go file for divorce.

  “Boss, we gotta problem,” Detective Moore, my protégé, said, coming into the office without knocking.

  I hadn’t moved since that bitch had served me these damn papers and left the office. I had been reading the paperwork over and over again, trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand what it said. It was more that I couldn’t believe that I was really reading divorce papers. Mika wanted to end our marriage, and I knew she wasn’t playing with my ass. She had moved out, and now she’d hired a lawyer. She wasn’t one to waste money just to make a point. I had to get to her ASAP and talk her outta this shit.

  “Damn, Sheem. Are those what I think they are?” Moore asked, looking down at the same paperwork that I was reading for the twentieth time in an hour.

  “Man, she just tryin’a scare a nigga straight, that’s all,” I said, putting the papers back in the envelope that they were in and looking at Moore, who had sat his ass down on the opposite side of my desk.

  “What’s this problem that you’re talking about?” I asked, hoping that it was something that could distract me from my misery. Maybe I could take out some of my aggression on some nigga who had the nerve to be out here tryin’a break the law.

  Moore got up and closed the door, looking out before he did to make sure that no one was coming our way. I knew it had to be serious, then, because I never closed the door to my office. When he sat back down, the look on his face confirmed it. I gave him my undivided attention, waiting for him to tell me what we were up against.

  “You remember that li’l nigga you had me pull over and plant that shit on because he was fuckin’ with yo’ bitch?” he asked, and I nodded. He knew that I knew who he was talkin’ about because that was the case that got him promoted to detective, with my recommendation, of course.

  “Jakeel Greene, right?” I asked, and it was his turn to nod.

  “Well, he’s out.”

  “Damn, has it been seven years already?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “But that’s not the big problem.”

  “OK, what is it?” I asked, tired of him playing this game with me. I needed him to spit the shit out.

  “Guess who his probation officer is.”

  I didn’t want to hear the words because that would make it real. What the fuck were the odds of this nigga that I set up behind my side bitch being one of my wife’s parolees? I needed to get the two of them away from each other. I knew that Mika was all about being professional, but if Jakeel’s ass found out who she was to me, she could be in danger. I couldn’t chance her being hurt by more of my bullshit. But how was I supposed to protect her ass when she wouldn’t even answer my damn calls?

  “We gotta get him reassigned,” I said, and Moore looked at me like he knew that shit was impossible. Because, well, it pretty much was. Either there would have to be some kinda line crossed between the two of them, or he would have to pose a danger to Mika for that to happen. And she was too professional for the first to occur. The second one, though, was possible.

  “How you gon’ tell them that you feel like your wife is in danger without telling them why?” Moore posed the question like he was reading my mind. “You know that shit is gonna bring light to you and shit,” he spoke the truth.

  “Maybe we can catch his ass on a violation,” I said, rubbing my chin with my hand. That seemed like the only thing that would work, given the situation.

  “Yeah, that could work. What about Lauren? Would she be willing to help with that shit?” Moore asked, and I looked at him and then back down at the envelope. “Aaaah, man, don’t tell me she mad at yo’ ass too. What you been out here doin’?”

  “Got cocky and started movin’ real reckless,” I admitted, and he shook his head.

  “Well, you need to make up with her, and with Mika, so that we can get Jakeel’s ass out of the way—ASAP—before we both end up fucked up. I took that nigga down for you, but I ain’t ’bout to do no time behind that shit.”

  I looked at him across my desk, because I didn’t appreciate the threat that he’d just let slip from his lips. It seemed like everybody was tryin’a test me lately. I was gonna let that shit slide . . . for now. But what he didn’t know was, if this shit hit the fan, he would be the only one under fire. Not me. I had insurance to make that shit happen, as well as the pull to make sure that he was the only one that would be culpable for any of it.

  But I didn’t plan for it to come to that. I had some schmoozing and begging to do to all three of my bitches because even Gina was gonna come in handy in this little mission. This was about to get expensive as hell. But I was willing to pay any price to save my career, keep my freedom, and even, hopefully, get back in my wife’s good graces.

  “Get the fuck outta my office so I can make sure you covered all the fuckin’ bases,” I snapped at him, and he chuckled a little bit before turning to head out. “And, Moore,” I yelled at his back right as his hand touched the handle to my office’s door.

  “Yeah?” he said, looking back at me, his eyes getting big as hell.

  “If you ever make another threat to me, you won’t get the pleasure of being behind bars. You’ll be in a fuckin’ box,” I said, holding my Glock in my hand, aimed right between his fuckin’ eyes. “And one more thing before yo’ scary ass go change ya drawers ’cause I know you just shitted on yourself . . . Never turn your back on a nigga you make a threat toward.”

  Reaching behind himself, he twisted the doorknob and opened the door just wide enough for him to ease out. I laughed at his scary ass when the door slammed behind him. He must’ve forgot who the fuck he was talkin’ to and about. I picked up the envelope. It seemed that all of them had forgotten who the fuck they were dealing with. I felt like it was time to give their asses a reminder. Beginning with Mika’s ass. If anybody should’ve known damn better, her ass should’ve.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mika

  After catching up on some work, I glanced at the clock on my desk. I had a client that was supposed to be returning in another five minutes. I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with no-damn-body after the day I had, but I needed to check on his progress and see if he made any effort in finding a job . . .

  I decided to use the restroom and freshened a little bit before I headed back to the office. Then I opened his file up and waited. I hoped his ass didn’t show up late ’cause I planned on getting the hell out of here....

  The phone started ringing so I picked it up. “Mrs. Blake, your three o’clock is here.”

  “Send him right in, Joanne.”

  “Okay.”

  A minute later, Mr. Greene walked in. I looked up and almost didn’t recognize him. It was like he got an entire makeover since the last time I saw him. This brotha that was standing in front of me looked like he was supposed to be in a GQ magazine. But not as one o
f those men in suits; instead, a gray-sweatpants-white-tee kind of brotha.

  “Mr. Greene, you look . . . different,” I blurted out before I could catch myself. Rasheem had knocked me all the way off my square because that was unprofessional as hell. Trying to regain my composure, I didn’t make eye contact with him immediately, because I could tell that he’d caught that slip up too. “Please take a seat. How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. How about you, beautiful?” he smiled at me.

  God, please make this man stop smiling like this, I whispered and scooted all the way back in my seat.

  “So, how’s it been going? Have you had a chance to check out the job leads?”

  “Yeah, but to be honest, I ain’t tryin’a to work no seven dollars an hour and shit. No disrespect, but I’m a grown-ass man. What the hell that’s supposed to do for me?” he stared me down.

  “You ever hear the phrase, ‘You have to crawl before you walk’?” I glanced at my computer, took a quick read, and then continued speaking. “You’re a convicted felon that did seven years in prison for selling dope and having a gun. You don’t have a high school diploma and no skills or technical training. Now, tell me what kind of jobs do you think you’re qualified for?” I took my glasses off and stared at him, waiting for a response.

  “Damn, shorty, you think a degree of the white man makes a motherfucker more qualified? Shit, I was making thousands per day in these streets without a damn degree. You can’t talk to me about making no money. I can walk my hood ass into any establishment and talk money with the best of the best. See, all y’all look at is a nigga’s record. I ain’t got to be book smart to be able to make money.”

  “I see you still have that street mentally. When you walk into an establishment looking for a job, you can’t tell them how many keys you done sold or how much crack you’ve cooked up, or how many guns you’ve slung. That shit doesn’t matter. What you need is a real job. It doesn’t matter if you flipping burgers or cleaning toilets. It’s a legal job that won’t land your ass back in the pen. The choice is yours. You can either do it the right way or go out there and do the same dumb shit that will land you right back into the arms of the white man.”

  This shit was pissing me off. In front of me was a fine-ass man, but the shit that was coming out of his mouth sounded dumb as fuck. I wished I could reach over and slap the hell out of him for talking dumb like that.

  “I hear you,” he mumbled.

  I’d hit a sore spot with him. I was sure that his mother had been on him about doing things the right way. She was a sweet lady, and I could tell that her son being locked up had aged her and broken her heart. No mother wanted her children locked up in some cell. It made them feel like a failure. But if he knew what was good for him, he would listen to her—and me. He had to change his ways to not end up in the same place that he’d just gotten out of. And, fine or not, I would put his ass right back there.

  I could tell he wasn’t liking the way I was talking to him, but hell, I didn’t give a damn. I was one of the few probation officers that gave a damn, and I was sick and tired of seeing these black men come in and out of these doors. I was tired of seeing the mothers breaking down ’cause their sons are led away in shackles. If me being a hard-ass on them can help one client, then, well, my job is done....

  “What are your weaknesses? Why do you think you can’t find a job?”

  “I mean, like you said, I ain’t got no skills.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “You know what? Your attitude is standing in the way of you being great.”

  “Yo, I’m about sick of yo’ slick-ass comments. I’m a grown-ass man, and I’ma figure my way out like I been doing since I been 15. I don’t need no fake-ass caring from nobody and especially not from the law. Are you done with all yo’ preaching so that I can get out of here? I got some places to be.”

  “Hmm, I see you one of the brothers who are not used to having a woman that cares,” I said, and that let me know that he was used to holding shit down on his own. He had trust issues, and that could be because of the life that he’d lived. I couldn’t blame him for that, because, at this point, I had my own trust issues.

  “I got plenty of bitches that care about a nigga,” he said, and that made me look at him with my head cocked to the side. I wondered if he realized how stupid he sounded. It was then that I realized that you could take the nigga out of the hood, but those ways were almost impossible to shake. That was my husband’s issue too. No matter how many promotions and accolades he received, he never got outta that street mentality, where shit is measured by credibility and how many hoes you had hangin’ off ya dick. That shit was sickening.

  “One of them places you gotta be needs to be a job or beating the streets ’til you find one,” I said sternly. I started typing up some notes, and he slid a business card onto my desk.

  “Nah, shorty, I don’t have to beat no streets for shit.”

  Looking down at the business card, I looked back up at him, confused. I didn’t know why he was giving me a card to a detail shop. But his smile let me know that there was a reason behind the action, so I just waited on him to fill me in.

  “I gotta job, man. I was just fuckin’ wit’ you,” he said, flashing me a proud smile. I couldn’t hide my own smile too. “But it’s nice to know you care about a nigga, though. The only other women in my life who seem to give a damn about me are my mama and my sister.”

  “None of them bitches that you were just braggin’ about?” I asked with my eyebrow raised.

  “Nah, all they care about is clout, green, and keys. But that shit don’t matter when you’re behind bars,” he said, and I knew the tone in his voice all too well. That was the tone of disappointment. Someone had let him down recently, and that shit was bothering him. But it seemed to be humbling his ass too.

  “Well, it seems like something is starting to sink in for you, Mr. Greene, and that makes me happy,” I said, looking over my laptop at him.

  “Oh yeah? Well, what else makes you happy? A nigga wants to make sure to do more of that,” he said, and I had to giggle. “Something is different about you too, Mrs. Blake. You ain’t got that stick up yo’ ass like you did when I first came up in here.”

  “Uuuugh, is that how you talk to all women? You do know that only works with ratchets and chickenheads. You’ll never pull a real grown-ass woman, talkin’ to them like that.”

  I didn’t know if I was telling him that because I wanted him to step up his shit for me or for the next real woman that he came across. The fact that I couldn’t decide was unsettling.

  “Well, then, Mrs. Blake, would you allow me to learn how to address a woman properly of your caliber from you? Saaaay, over some TGI Fridays?”

  That made me stop typing and damn near stop breathing. I knew that I had to be hearing things. There was no way that he was asking me out.

  “Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Greene?” I asked, smirking at him.

  “No,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “That would be unprofessional. But . . .” he paused, giving me that million-dollar smile again, “if the two of us just so happened to be at the TGI Fridays at Lenox Mall, in like an hour, and the hostess just happened to seat us both at the same table, then it would be a wonderful coincidence.”

  I had to laugh at that. He was handsome and funny, and right now, I needed that. Thinking back to what Ky had said about me going out, I didn’t see the harm in us “happening” to be in the same place at the same time. I knew I wouldn’t let it go any further than that, because it would be putting my career at stake.

  “Make it two hours,” I said to him, and I could tell that he didn’t expect me to agree.

  “Dead assed?” he asked like he was the one hearing things at this point.

  “Dead assed,” I repeated, trying to sound hip.

  “Damn, that shit sounds sexy as hell with your accent,” he complimented, making me blush.

  “Don’t push it,” I threatened.
I couldn’t deny that it made me smile, though, that he’d picked up on my accent. It’d been forever since someone said something about it. Everyone else that I was around every day was used to it. And it had been more than a decade since Rasheem said anything about it, to the point that I thought maybe it was gone.

  “A’ight, then lemme get outta here before you change your mind,” he said, rising from his seat. “And it’s on me, Mrs. Blake?” he said my name more as a question than a statement because I’d just agreed to meet up with him. “Ya know, since a nigga gotta job and shit.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Greene,” I said, shaking my head at him and rolling my eyes.

  “You mean, see you later, Ms. Blake,” he said, removing the “Mrs.” from my name.

  Before I could say anything else, he was up and out of my office, closing the door behind him. My head felt light like this was all a dream. The only thing that let me know it wasn’t was the scent of his sexy-ass cologne that I’d fought not to sniff too hard while breathing, and the smile that stayed plastered on my face. I had an internal struggle about whether this was a good idea, but I decided not to question it. I was about to be single soon, so he could be practice. And it wasn’t like I was sleeping with the man. After all, it was just dinner.

  I’d been cautious all of my life and had no negative marks against me my entire career. So, even though Mr. Greene seemed to be harmless enough, if something did come to light, it would probably only result in a verbal reprimand—if that. And it wasn’t like I would be the first in this damn office to sleep with a parolee. Hell, some of them had to transfer the niggas to another officer because they started full-blown relationships.

  “It’s just dinner, Mika. Chill out,” I said to myself, looking down at the card that he’d left on my desk.