Finessed a Dope Boy's Heart

by Racquel Williams

  “No, ma’am. I’m taking you downtown so that you can give us a full statement. I don’t know if you realize what you stumbled on, but this is a lot deeper than your man sleeping with another woman.”

  I hung my head, knowing that I had just lost Jakeel forever. Instead of being there for him, I was focused on self, and that shit could’ve cost him and his son their lives. Accepting that reality, I turned my legs so that he could close the door and escort me downtown. All I could do now was hope that Jakeel made it because his son needed him. He’d just lost his mother, and Keel was all that Jasheem had left.

  Epilogue

  Mika

  “Homicide Detective Rasheem Blake is facing several charges, including two first-degree murder charges after two videos surfaced of him shooting two women in cold blood. The women, 28-year-old Gina Klein and 30-year-old Lauren Mason, are believed to have been attacked by Detective Blake after they turned in some information that proved Blake had set up Mason’s child’s father, Jakeel Greene. Greene was sentenced to seven years in prison because of the actions of Blake. The police are keeping some details of this case closed, including a surprise witness, who they say will make sure that Blake never sees the light of day again. The chief of police said that Blake’s actions are deplorable and are not a reflection of the way that the Decatur police operate. He said that he feels that a pending divorce, as well as the surfacing of this evidence, were too much for Blake, and he snapped. We will keep you posted as we get more information on this high-profile case.”

  I turned the TV off and looked over at Jakeel. He was sedated. They’d had to remove the bullet that had been lodged in his skull. It had been touch and go since he’d gotten out of surgery, and I refused to leave his side because I felt like the minute I walked away, I would lose him. The door opened, stealing my attention from his handsome face for just a moment when Joy came in. Behind her were Ky’Imani, who was holding Jasheem in her arms. I’d pulled some strings and got CPS to let him stay with me until his father came to, letting them know that he was the only surviving relative that the little boy had. And it had worked—for now.

  “Daddy! You’re awake!” Jasheem yelled, almost jumping out of Ky’s arms.

  “Well, hey, there, handsome,” I said, leaning forward to kiss his lips. Joy left the room to get a doctor, and Ky handed Jasheem to me. He was almost fighting to get to his father, and I didn’t want to deny him any longer.

  I sat him on the side of the bed, and he lay on Jakeel’s chest. I couldn’t help but smile, and Ky came up beside me and rested her head on my shoulder, watching the two of them interact. She hadn’t been surprised by what had come to light about her father, and that bothered me a little bit. It seemed like everyone knew how fucked-up Rasheem was but me. I hoped that I wasn’t missing any signs with Jakeel now because I didn’t know if I could survive another night like this one.

  “You must be Ky’Imani,” Jakeel spoke to my daughter, while lovingly rubbing his son’s back.

  “Yes, sir. Nice to meet the man who gave my mama the ability to see herself the way we all do,” she said with a smile, making me blush.

  “She’s an amazing woman, and anyone who don’t know that don’t deserve to breathe the same air she does,” he said before the doctors and nurses came in to check his vitals. We left the room, well, all of us but Jasheem, who refused to let his father out of his sight. And rightfully so.

  When we reached the hallway, I saw the Shontelle girl who had acted a fool at TGI Fridays and who I’d learned was the person I thought I’d seen standing there recording the whole thing tonight, getting off the elevator. I wasn’t in the mood for no bullshit and would shoot her ass and just take the charge if she tried me after the night I’d had. She saw me and came straight toward me, but I couldn’t read her demeanor. When she got to me, she grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. I didn’t hug her back at first, because I thought the bitch was gonna try to stab me in my back or some shit. But when I saw that she wasn’t gonna let me go until I returned the act of affection, I wrapped my arms around her.

  “Listen, I know I’m ’bout the last bitch you wanna see after the night you’ve had, but I had to come and make sure that Keel was good,” she said, once she’d finally let me go. “He was all that I’ve known all my life, so I thought that my actions were my way of fighting to keep him. But if there’s one thing that watching that shit play taught me, it was that you can’t make someone stay who doesn’t want you.”

  I nodded my head and smiled at her.

  “The doctors are checking on him now, but you can go in as soon as they’re done,” I offered, making Ky and Joy both look at me like I was crazy. I could tell that they thought I was crazy, or maybe that I hadn’t learned my lesson about letting bitches too close to my nigga. I had learned my lesson, but that wasn’t it. I’d learned that if a nigga wanted to do you dirty, they would find a way. So I wasn’t about to break a sweat tryin’a keep them from doin’ what the hell they wanted to do.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking through the window of the door. “How’s Jasheem?”

  “As well as he can be after seeing his whole family shot right in front of him and having a gun to his head,” I said honestly.

  “Yeah. That was fucked up. But I want you to know that I plan to testify for the prosecution and make sure that psycho nigga never gets out.”

  I didn’t waste my breath telling her that the psycho nigga was my soon-to-be ex-husband. Nor did I waste my breath telling her ass that I thought it was fucked up that she stood by while all that shit went down. I’d gotten the details of the whole scenario, and she showed her true colors with placing Facebook likes over the well-being of a man that she claimed to love. Even with all the dirt that Rasheem had done to me, I would’ve tried to do something to help. Not just stand by and watch. Just like earlier, when I could’ve killed his ass. But I wounded him to the point that he wouldn’t bleed out, but he wouldn’t be able to come after any of us again until the cops arrived.

  When the doctors came out, she didn’t stand by and wait for them to tell us the details of his condition. She rushed into the room and to his side. I saw Jasheem leap into her arms and give her a tight hug. The amount of love that little boy still had with all that he’d just experienced gave me hope. Turning away so that negative thoughts wouldn’t consume me, I faced the doctors.

  “So, what’s the verdict?” I asked, and the neurologist had a strange look on his face.

  “He’s gonna make a full recovery,” he said like he was surprised.

  “That’s great news,” I said, beaming.

  “It’s a miracle. He shouldn’t have made it out of surgery.”

  Nodding my head, taking in what he was saying, I had to fight back the tears. Just then, Shontelle came out of the room and touched my shoulder. She was holding Jasheem and looked at me with a smile on her face.

  “He’s asking for you. Just you,” she said and motioned with her head for me to go on in there.

  “You know you gotta be some kinda angel,” Jakeel said, as soon as I entered the room.

  “Why you say that?” I asked with a giggle.

  “You saved my life.”

  “I mean, I was just doin’ my job,” I said with a shrug.

  “No, you gave me a reason to live, to beat the odds, to want more. I done had a hard-ass life, ma. But from the first day I met you, I felt like I was bein’ given a second chance at life, and I knew it would only work with you in it.”

  I felt the tears start to fall because he was speaking the same truth that I felt about him. There wouldn’t have been any life for me without Jakeel. Before I met him, I didn’t know that I hadn’t been living—just going through the motions. But with him, I felt every beat of my heart. I had a reason to smile. I felt like I mattered.

  “I was tryin’a finesse you outta them drawers, and you finessed a nigga outta his heart,” he said with a chuckle. “But that’s cool. ’Cause I know it’s in good hands.”

>   I leaned down to kiss him with all the love that I felt for him.

  “Aye! That’s enough of that. Let the li’l nigga heal, so he has the strength to handle all . . . that . . . ass . . . Dayum, baby bro. I see why you was willing to die for this one here,” a woman said, bursting into the room.

  “Toya!” Ms. Greene said to her daughter, hitting her arm playfully.

  “I’m just sayin’,” the woman who I assumed was Keel’s sister, said. “Happy to see you still alive,” she finished, dapping her brother.

  “It’s all because of her,” Jakeel said, pointing at me. Ms. Greene pulled me into a tight hug.

  “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear before walking over to the side of her son’s bed. I decided to leave so that they could have a little privacy. I knew they’d been worried to damn death.

  “Hey, Tamika!” Jakeel yelled at my back right when I reached the door.

  “Yea?” I asked, turning around.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I said, smiling and blushing, blowing him a kiss. I knew that I’d made the right decision for me for the first time in my life.

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  by Racquel Williams . . .

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  Prologue

  Donavan, aka Gaza

  “Compound is now open for breakfast,” Lieutenant Rodriguez yelled over the loudspeaker.

  Fuck. How did I sleep this late? I’ve waited ten fucking years for this day to come, and my dumb ass fell asleep. I jumped off the top bunk onto the floor. I grabbed my shower bag and rushed toward the shower. To my disappointment, the shower stalls were already packed. Mostly with niggas going to work at Unicor or to the gym for their daily workout routine.

  “Damn, homie. This yo’ day, ain’t it?” my homie Big Cee said to me as we exchanged daps.

  “Yeah, you know it, mon. Yo, soon as I touch down, my nigga, I gotcha. You hear me, yo?”

  “Man, I already know you got me, bro. Aye, yo, get out there, fuck some bitches, get money, and stay out the motherfucking way. Nigga, I don’t want to see you back in here. You heard?” He grabbed me up in a bear-type hug.

  “Yo, my nigga, you already know, I’m focused as fuck,” I said. “Fuck the Feds. I ain’t never coming back to this shit. My nigga, keep yo’ head up. You know they passing these laws and shit. Yo’ day comin’, homie.”

  “My nigga, I got fifteen bodies on me. Ain’t no motherfucking law can get me up out of here unless they drop the motherfucking charges, you dig? All I need you to do is bless a nigga with some change when you send me some pussy pictures. Other than that, go live life, my nigga.”

  I nodded. “A’ight, man, I got you. I love you, my nigga.”

  “Yo, lemme go. You know how I hate missing breakfast,” he said, trying to hide the tears that were coming down his face. I watched as he ran out of Unit 8H, into the dimly lit federal compound.

  I used e’erything in me to fight back tears. Cee was my big homie, my partner up in this bitch. The only nigga that I had confessed a lot of shit to. But he was right; he been down for fifteen years, and the judge had sentenced him to life. E’erybody knew life in prison meant just that: life. The best I could do for homie to show him how much I appreciated him was to keep his books stocked and send him naked bitches....

  “Shower open,” a dude yelled, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Here I come.” I squeezed through, not giving a fuck who was next. I was ready to get the fuck up outta here.

  “Nigga, how the fuck you goin’ to just cut? You see all these motherfuckers waiting to get in,” someone said behind me.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, then turned around to face the little pussy nigga that had had the balls to say some shit like this to me. I stepped a little closer to his face. “What the fuck you say to me?” I had my fist balled up. Before he could respond, I hit him dead in his mouth. Before I could get another hit in, I felt someone grab my arm.

  “Yo, chill out! You goin’ to let a bitch-ass nigga take yo’ freedom away?” It was Cee holding on to me.

  “Nah, bro. Fuck that nigga. I ’on’t give a fuck.”

  “Man, shut the fuck up. Get in the shower, so you can dress and get the fuck up outta here. You in a motherfucking position that myself and other niggas would kill to have.” I saw the seriousness in Cee’s face, and I knew he meant business.

  “A’ight, man.” I snatched my arm away and walked into the empty stall.

  I was still fuming. But I felt where the big homie was coming from. I had a chance to walk out of here a free man today, and here I was, trying to fight. I cut the shower on, releasing the water on my head. I need to get my mind right before I stepped out today....

  Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and ready to go.

  “Donavan Coley, to R & D. Donavan Coley, report to R & D.”

  This was my time, I thought as I strutted to the main building. Niggas were passing by me, giving me daps and reminding me to keep in touch. I assured them I would and kept it pushing.

  Freedom at last, I thought.

  * * *

  When average prisoners left prison, they’d either go to a halfway house or go straight home if they maxed out. However, for me, it was different, I was on my way to an immigration holding facility, where I would stay until they shipped me back to my home country of Jamaica.

  I was ten years old when Mama and I made our way to the “land of opportunities.” Those were my mom’s words for the United States. Since I was born and raised in the Kingston slum of McGregor Gully, my destiny was already carved out for me. Mama was a higgler who bought and sold clothes, shoes, and whatever else she could get her hands on to support her five children. There wasn’t no Daddy, and the few no-good niggas that came around didn’t stick around, especially when it was time to come up off that paper.

  After watching Mama struggle by herself for a few years, I decided that I had to go out there and get money by any means necessary. I and two of my partners started hustling weed. The business started off slow, but as time went on, it grew. At first, I was able to help Mama with our food bill. Eventually, I was able to afford more. I remembered the smile on my younger siblings’ faces when I bought our first television and brought it home. Then I purchased a nice bed, and before you knew it, our little two-bedroom board house was decked out. I smiled as I thought about the joy on my mama’s face....

  At some point, a relative of ours in the United States offered to help Mama out. So Mama, my oldest sister, and I came to New York one summer, with no intention of going back to Jamaica. The rest of my siblings remained in Jamaica and lived with my grandmother. Mama quickly married some dude and got her green card in no time. About a year later, my sister and I got ours also.

  I wasn’t no book-smart nigga, not that I didn’t know a little something, but my focus wasn’t on that. I wanted to make money fast—not a few dollars, but plenty of them. I started off small, with an eight ball, and worked my way up. At first, things moved slowly for me, because I was the new kid on the block. One night at a club in the Bronx, I met two cats from Jamaica, Leroy and Gio. We became a trio and were inseparable. Whether we were grinding or fucking bitches, if you saw one of us, you saw all of us. It didn’t take me long to convince them that we could make this money and start running shit. Later, we made friends with a Trini dude, Demari, who would forever change our lives.

  It took me about six years to get shit moving the way I wanted it to move. I found a connect out in Cali to supply me with pure, uncut coke. Within a year we were copping twenty-five kilos on each run. Putting in that work, me and my crew of five niggas had the East Coast on lock. We were supplying niggas in Jersey, Delaware, Virginia, and as far away as Florida. Money was flowing in, and so was the hate from other niggas. That didn’t stop shit, ’cause after a few altercations and niggas getting dropped, the word was out there that we were not to be
fucked with. Shit started getting hot, but that didn’t deter me and my crew. Matter of fact, we started going harder at the grind.

  I was so caught up in the grind, I was oblivious to the fact that one of my runners, Demari, had got torn off in Delaware by the Feds and had decided to rat on me. What made matters worse was that I had fucked with this nigga hard. Had brought the nigga to my crib, had gone on trips with this nigga, and had even bought this nigga a brand-new Lexus truck. Demari hadn’t been moving no way different, so I had had no reason not to trust him or believe he was anything short of loyal.

  A year later, I was on my way to one of the trap houses when a black SUV cut me off. I pulled my gun, getting ready to bust at this clown, before I exited my Range Rover. Five other black SUVs pulled up. Niggas jumped out and ran up on me.

  “US marshals, get down! Get down!” one of them shouted.

  Fuck! I just shook my head. I thought about trying to shoot my way out, but I was surrounded. I looked up and saw a helicopter flying low. It was like in the movies. These motherfuckers were everywhere. They put the cuffs on me, and just like that, my life was changed.

  As it turned out, all the trap houses were raided, my niggas were locked up, and accounts were seized. As I sat in my cell in MDC Brooklyn, I kept wondering how the fuck the Feds knew so much about my operation. The answers soon came to me in my motion for discovery. There was an undercover confidential informant. A bitch-ass nigga that I fed had crossed me! My lawyer fought, but in the end, the Feds had too much shit on me. From hours and hours of wiretapping, they had amassed a mountain of information about my drug activities and discussions of shootings. My lawyer advised me to go ahead and plead out.

  In the end, the judge sentenced me to 180 months in prison, which was equal to fifteen years. I heard Mama screaming out after the sentence was passed down, but I, on the other hand, was feeling blessed. I wasn’t happy, but, shit, with all the evidence that they had on me, they could’ve easily given me life in prison.