by Ace Gucciano
$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $
“Yo wats going on wit you Slick? You been kinda quiet da’ past few days you a’ight my nigga?” Slick’s roommate curiously inquired.
“Hell naw, I ain’t a’ight, I been tryna call my partna Maniac since last week but his phone keep going straight to voicemail!” He angrily stressed to his roommate, after he hung the wall phone up viciously, “Then I just tried to call my other partna Smoke four times and his shit just keep ringing and ringing…Sum ain’t right my nigga!”
“Sum ain’t right like what?” his roommate asked.
“Hold on right quick,” Slick stated before going to get his mail from the officer after hearing her call his name for mail call. He watched Slick open the envelope, take out a paper and begin reading as he slowly made his was back over to him. Slick was devastated from reading, and finding out he was about to be going to pre-trial on his case in the next three days. He took a seat next to his roommate, and went into a daze wondering what was going to happen in court.
“Yo, you good my nigga?!” he curiously wanted to know after catching glimpse of Slicks reaction to his mail.
“Hell naw I ain’t good my nigga, I already to you dat.” He bitterly replied, before shaking his head and taking a deep breath, “I was worried bout my partnaz and if dey was a’ight or not at first, but now I gotta figure out what I’mma do when these folks take me to court in three days.”
“Oh, dat’s wat dat was, wat dey talkin’ bout my nigga?” Slick shook his head again and said. “Dey having my pre-trail Friday, dat’s three days from now…Dat’s da main reason I been walking round here lookin’ crazy da past few days, cause my homies ‘posed to came and bonded me out. But now I can’t get in touch wit em’ all of a sudden.”
“Damn you gotta have some helluva boys if dey ready to pay a hundred some thousand cash bond fo’ you!” He commented being sarcastic as he patted Slick on the back saying, “My nigga I hate to say it, but you already know how dis shit go, nigga’s a tell you anythang on da phone to make dat shit sound good,when dey know damn well dey can’t produce shit…Shit, I’m willing to bet you dats why ain’t none of em’ picking up da phone!”
Slick sat and meditated, letting what his roommate said go in one ear and out the other as he left and headed to rec call. He didn’t entertain his negative comments or thoughts since he never discussed his business with him about how they all planned on getting him out, so he just let it be.
$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $
“Hey…Hey Punta! Get up holmes!” The Hispanics demanded as he poured the majority of his bottled water in Dre’s face to wake him up, and the rest in Smoke’s. But neither of them budged, in fact their bodies were so exhausted and weak from being tied up in the dark and cold basement all alone with nothing to eat or drink in the past three days that the splash of water he threw didn’t awake them.
After kicking Dre in the gut a few times and Smoke in the groin they both woke up to a rude awakening as the Hispanic that Maniac shot in the back stood hovering over them with his machete, while two of his goons stood behind him. One with a uzi aimed at Smoke and the other with a carbon-15 on Dre. The three of them laughed for a moment as they observed Smoke and Dre’s body shake ad shiver with fear they became fully awake. The guy standing before them bent down saying, “You motherfuckers ready to tell me who da’ fuck sent y’all!” as he ripped the duct tape from their mouths for them to respond. But nevertheless they both were feeling as it they had finally met their fate so neither said a word.
“Oh, you motherfuckers gonna play pussy and not say anything holmes?! When ya’ll bitches robbed me you wouldn’t stop talking, now that the shoe is on the the other foot ya’ll acting like pussies!” he furiously stated as he became angrier and angrier that they wouldn’t say anything, and noticing the ways he was trying to terrify them weren’t working. So he became a lot more aggressive figuring if he took a different approach, making a lil’ blood shed they’d get their mind right. So with both hands he raised the machete over his head, getting ready to take aim at Dre’s neck but suddenly Future’s song ‘Magic’ started playing as Smoke’s ringtone. He then paused as he and his two goons patted them both down to see which one of them the music was coming from. They stopped once the found it in Smoke’s right pocket and snatched it out displaying a devious expression as he glanced at it, thinking he was about to finally get to the bottom of everything but the moment he answered hearing “You have a collect call from—” he hung up up without giving the recording a chance to finish. And before he slung the phone across the room, it rung again. He then answered and listened as the voice on the other end told him “You have a collect call from Sean Bradley, an inmate at the Clayton County Jail. To accept this call press one, to reject this call press—” This time he accepted and snapped his fingers twice at his goons signaling them to get on point as he quickly told them.
“Hey, Hey! Hurry and Google Sean Bradley locked up at Clayton County Jail and let me know what you get ese!”
With thoughts of Sean Bradley being the other guy that had robbed him along with Smoke and Dre, but ended up getting caught as he saw the news. However, that thought exited his mind as soon as they finished checking the name and showed him a picture of Slick who was in Clayton County charged with a load of white collar crimes.
Then he slammed the phone on the floor, got on his knees and started choking Dre telling him, “So you motherfuckers think you’re gonna shoot me, rob me and my brother and then act like y’all can’t speak?!”
He grabbed the machete off the floor, raised to his feet and swung at Dre. The shot he took sliced completely through his shirt, leaving a deep laceration in the middle of his chest as he gritted his teeth trying to keep from revealing the pain he was in.
‘You know you…one tough…motherfucker Punta!” he mentioned while hitting lines of cocaine. “You know what though Punta, since you so tough…I’m not gonna…kill you perro puto’s right now;but I got another idea in mind. How bout we see how tough ya’ll bitches really are see I could just kill y’all now that I have complete control. But that’ll only take the fun away from everything…Before we get done torturing you perro puto’s y’all gonna wish y’all told me what I wanted to hear a long time ago, you high de tu puta perra madre!”
The three of them laughed as they headed out of the basement. On the way out the goons spotted a Louisville slugger by the door, grabbed it, as they took turns pounding on Smoke and Dre’s body brutally leaving them both with fractured ribs, busted kneecaps, and their faces badly bruised, then they cut the lights off and left the basement.
Chapter 10
Detective Sims escorted Trouble inside the jail where the intake officers strip-searched him, took a mug shot, and fingerprinted him before sending him upstairs to his dorm on the seventh floor. Which was where all the close security inmates who had been charged with severe crimes were being housed. The minute he stepped foot in the dorm he headed straight to his room and unpacked his property.
“What’s good my nigga?! Dey call me Trigga I’m yo’ roommate.”
“My nigga dey call me Trouble.” He replied as they gave one another some dap, then he made up his bunk, got in it to give his body the rest it was in need of.
Click, Click, Click, was the sound of the officer clicking Trouble’s cell door from the control booth early the next morning to get their attention however, Trouble didn’t hear a sound due to him being in a deep sleep and still exhausted from the day before. Therefore, Trigga went to see what they wanted. When he returned he started shaking him.
“Trouble…Trouble!”
“Yeah what’s up bruh?!” he madly inquired as he rolled to see what he wanted still half sleep.
“My bad fo’ waking you up my nigga, but da’ officer just told me you gotta visit.”
He was puzzled, wondering why the hell his mom came to visit him knowing he hated being seen at his lowest. But he put his pride to the side, got himself together and headed out to the vi
sitation booth. Once he made it, there sat a middle aged white male wearing a suit looking over a little paperwork. After looking around and noticing that they were the only two in the visiting area he had a feeling the guy was there to see him. So he took a seat and grabbed the receiver.
“Hey are you Daunte Jones?” he questioned.
“Yeah, who you be?”
“I’m Barrie from the Public Defender’s office, and I’ll be representin’ you on your case unless you already have someone of course…Do you already have representation or a plan on getting some?”
“No sir, I don’t,” he replied before yawning, “So, what’s good, Mr. Barrie?” he seriously inquired.
“You tell me Daunte…I looked at your charges and I see you’re being charged with six different felonies,what happened?”
Trouble got defensive instantly telling him, “I really don’t remember. It seem like I been having a hard time remembering shit ever since I came out my coma.”
By him being a ten year vet at doing time he had sense enough to know that at the end of the day, the same public defender that represented a nigga, is the same motherfucker that sit down and have lunch with the prosecutor while gossiping over different cases. So he wasn’t going out like that…naw, not Trouble.
He replied with a head nod, “Okay! Now before I let you go I need you to try and remember what all took place the day these crimes were committed. So I can figure out what I think we should do.”
“A’ight!” he replied, hanging up the receiver and heading back to the dorm. The moment he stepped foot in the dorm he went straight over to the phone area. As he began dialing Maniac’s number Trigga approached him saying, “What he say my nigga?”
“I’ma holla at ya’ when I get off da’ phone.” He responded as he hung up, after being sent straight to Maniac’s voicemail. Trigga went back to the table and continued playing spades, and Trouble began dialing Smokes’ number hoping he’d be able to catch up with him or anyone else out the clique just to hear their voice and make sure they okay. But after making several attempts back and forth at both numbers he started to worry.
Trigga stopped playing cards and made his way over to the phone area where he noticed Trouble had been sitting looking stressed in a daze the past twenty minutes.
“Trouble…Trouble!” he shouted.
“Yeah what’s up?” he sadly replied.
“You been in a daze fo’ a minute my nigga, I had to come check on you and make sho’ erry’thang a’ight wit ya.”
“I ‘preciate day my nigga, but I’m a’ight I’m just tryna figure out why da fuck I can’t get in touch wit my partnaz. It ain’t like dem to not, answer when I call.”
“COUNT TIME!” the female officer yelled as she and another officer made their way into the dorm to count. “EVERYONE STAND BY YOUR ASSIGNED CELL!” she shouted, before Trigga could respond him and Trouble made their way upstairs, stood by their door, and waited to be counted. Both officers began their count. Trigga tapped Trouble to get his attention and whispered.
“My nigga, dat bitch dat’s counting gotta phat ass! Check her out when she walk by, she da’ baddest officer at dis muthafucka!”
Trouble raised his head to catch a glimpse of her as she passed by, but she stopped unexpectedly directly before him, gave a quick stare and asked.
“What’s yo’ name? You look familiar.”
“Dey call me—”
“Trouble!” she shockingly stated without giving him a chance to introduce himself. “First name Daunte?”
“Yeah why?”
“When we get done counting step out in the hallway.” He replied as she made her way back downstairs to exit the dorm. He observed saying to himself, Damn shawty ass is phat, and dem tight ass khaki’s she wearing look like a muhfucka dunn painted em’ on her. Shit!! Her bowlegged ass can get it…I wonder what d fuck she want wit me though?
“COUNT CLEAR! Y’ALL CAN GO BACK TO WHAT Y’ALL WERE DOING!” The male officer shouted on their way out the door.
“You my nigga, you must know her or somethin? Cause she stopped and looked at you like she wanted to eat you alive!” They both laughed.
Click, Click, the officer booth begin clicking their dorm before Trouble could respond and by the female officer telling him to step outside, he figured the door was being clicked for him. So he headed downstairs, then sat in the hallway one she opened the door.
“Long time no see huh Daunte?” she uttered while noting him glancing down at the phat camel toe print she had displaying straight through the skin tight khakis she was wearing. And after seeing he had a hard time trying to recollect, she smiled saying, “Boy, this Miranda.”
His mind began to wander as he whispered, “Miranda…Miranda…Miranda…” to himself trying to remember who she was and where he knew here from. Then suddenly it hit him and he told her, “Da’ only Miranda I know is Miranda Lewis but I heard she joined da’ army and been overseas ever since.”
“Boy, that’s me!” she happily replied.
Miranda had a huge crush on Trouble back in high school but always kept it a secret being that she knew he wouldn’t wanna fuck with her because she was a tomboy. She played basketball, softball and wanted to try out for the football team’s quarterback position cause her arm was that strong, but they wouldn’t allow her to. However, aside from all the tomboy shit, she wound up losing her virginity and became lady like. On top of that, she went from being one of the freshest muhfuckas in school wearing Jordan’s and Polo, to one of the sexiest, wearing heels and open toes. Before Trouble had a chance to see the new feminine Miranda he was on his way to prison to serve a fresh ten year bid, and she ended up committing herself to the army where she met the man that changed her last name.
“Oh shit! Dat is you! You got fine as hell ova’ da years!”
“Thanks!” she replied with a smile.
“I see ya’ last name Robinson now, who da’ lucky man?” Trouble inquired.
“Mann please! Me and dat fool ain’t been together in a year. I’m boutta take his ass to court so I can get a divorce.”
“Damn, sorry thangs ain’t work out fo’ y’all.”
“Don’t be! I caught dat nigga cheating on me in da’ same bed we made love in…and da’ sad part about it is it was wit another man! So yeah I definitely gotta divorce dat clown!”
“Ewww!” he mumbled.
“Tell me bout it…I never felt so betrayed in my life. What’s up wit you though bae, I…I mean Daunte, last I heard, you was in prison doing ten years for armed robbery how da’ hell you end up back in da’ county?” he hesitated for a moment, contemplating if he should let her know why he was back with a shitload of new charges and knowing he would soon become another statistic so because of that he told her.
“My bad baby girl, but I really don’t even feel like takin’ bout dat shit!” he tragically responded.
“Oh-okay, I’m sorry,” she uttered as she took a deep breath before whispering, “Well if it’s anythang I can do fo’ you let me know and I got ya’.” She mentioned, giving him an enticing stare.
“All I need is some body in my corner right now so keep doin’ what you doin’ baby girl dats all.”
“Okay, I gotcha!” she stated standing there watching as he made his way back towards the dorm, “Oh, yeah…I almost fo’got. I’m boutta start working third shift from ten at night to six in da’ morning in two days. So just in case you happen to wonder why you haven’t seen me, that’s why.”
“A’ight, that’s what’s up!” he replied, making his way back towards the dorm. The moment he walked through the door he could smell the envy and animosity from him being out conversating with Miranda in the air, as if they all had some kinda hostility against him since he was parleying with what was considered one of the baddest chicks who worked at the jail. However as long as no one brought any drama or disrespect his way he really didn’t give a fuck.
Despite all the negativity, he decided he’d make his way upst
airs to his cell and take a nap, but as soon as he got ready to lay down in came Trigga. Fuck dis nosy nigga want? He thought to himself the moment he saw the door come open.
“You must know her or somethin?” Trigga curiously asked, while standing at the front of the cell eyeing the control booth with a envious expression. But Trouble gave him nothing more to hate about, or to run back and tell everyone else by responding.
“Summ like dat,” before rolling over and going to sleep.
Chapter 11
Click! Click! Click!”
“Yo! What you keep clicking my door fo’?” Slick yelled into his cells intercom as he wiped the cold from his eyes, then the officer answered shouting.
“WHOEVER NAME IS SEAN BRADLEY IN THAT CELL NEEDS TO GET READY FOR COURT!”
“A’ight!” he replied, thinking, Damn I fo’got I got court dis morning. As he got up and got ready to go.
$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $
On the other side of the jail Trouble had just begun his early morning workout doing back to back sets of push-ups and crunches in his cell when the sound of his cell door clinking, startled him, and waking Trigga who caught an attitude at the same time.
“Bruh you know dey clicking da’ door fo’ you to get ready fo’ court…let em’ know you up so dey can stop clicking my door, damn! Hurry u—”
“Nigga kill dat shit! Fo’ I run yo’ ass up outta here, I’m tired of yo’ shit.” Trouble demanded, easing closer and closer toward the bunk. But once Trigga peeped his muscular physique and adrenaline pumping, he rolled back over and went back to sleep without saying another word.
“Dat’s what da’ fuck I thought!” Trouble uttered the moment he rolled over, “Cause you ain’t ready fo’ my stress issues nigga…I promise you ain’t!!”
He then buzzed the intercom and let the officers know he was getting ready to go.