Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  46

  Essex County Jail

  Hours Later

  Storm steps into the cell, washcloth and towel in hand. After hours of being processed, she’s finally in the system. Her natural hair stands on her head in a messy, coarse puffball. She was forced to remove the weave from her hair. She was handed a pair of scissors and the guard sat and watched as she cut the weave out with no mirror. She hasn’t seen what she looks like, but she’s sure she looks a mess. She’s quite happy that there are no mirrors, so she doesn’t have to face what she’s been hiding from for so long — her natural self.

  This is like a bad dream for her. As the gate is closed behind her, she realizes this is not a dream. It’s her reality. She can’t believe that she’s even here. She didn’t picture herself here. She never envisioned this because she expected to be bailed out long before making it to the county jail.

  The best part about it is she has a cell and she’s not forced to sleep in the dayroom with a bunch of women that she doesn’t trust. She quickly looks to the bottom bunk where her new cellmate sits hovered in the corner. Dressed in all black Muslim garb, it’s safe to assume that she is Muslim. The excess of mixed oils flow through the air, confirming that as well. The oils are so pungent that Storm’s stomach does flip-flops. Her allergies are immediately triggered, causing her eyes to water.

  The sound of Arabic recitation plays faintly from the MP3 player. The woman peeks up at Storm with only the whites of her eyes showing. Her face and head, which are covered in Niqab, makes the woman appear spooky to Storm. Without saying a word, she looks away and continues reciting along with the voice coming out of the MP3 player.

  Storm has been in the presence of Muslims before but never in this close of space. The mystique of the woman all covered up in here in the pitch darkness gives Storm a ghostly feeling. Storm climbs up to the top bunk and plops onto it. She grabs hold of the thin pillow and throws it over her head to drown out the noise of the woman and the MP3 player. She hopes for sleep and that by the morning, all this will be over.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Storm was awakened by bubble-guts a few minutes ago. She hasn’t eaten in two days now, and dehydration is kicking in from the diarrhea. As she lie there, she stares at the wall, butt-cheeks clenched tight, both hands enveloping her abdomen. She can’t even fathom using the bathroom in here.

  If it was up to her, she would hold it until she’s released. Maybe she would be comfortable with it if the woman was asleep, but she’s not. Storm was able to steal a few winks of sleep throughout the night, but each time she awakened the woman was up reading, reciting, or praying. Seeing the woman walking around in all black in the dark with her head covered creeps Storm out.

  The woman has now been praying in silence for the past hour, it seems. A violent spasm rips through Storm’s stomach, letting her know what is to come. She gets off the bunk and slides past the woman, careful not to touch her. With shame, she drops her jumper and panties around her ankles, and she takes a seat on the toilet. How uncomfortable she is with the woman standing with not even two feet in between them. Her head hangs low, eyes closed with both her hands clasped over her belly. Her mouth moves with no sound. Storm peeks up, wondering if the woman is looking at her on the sneak-tip.

  Her stomach rumbles, and she tries to silence it but it rips loudly. She is embarrassed it sounds as if she’s shitting through a bullhorn, loud enough for the whole tier to hear. One after the other, like rapid fire, she rips with shame, unable to control it. She looks up at the unaffected woman who continues to pray.

  The woman is now on her knees, still mumbling to herself. She prostrates one long time, head onto the floor. Her head is less than a foot away from Storm’s feet, way too close for comfort. She sits back on her romp, knees still bent. With her eyes closed, she turns to her right. “As Salaamu Alaikum Wa Rahmattullah,” she says out loud for the first time. She turns to her left. “As Salaama Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah!” The woman gets up slowly. She takes one step which has her standing over Storm. Her eyes glow in the darkness. Not being able to see the rest of her face leaves one to focus on her eyes. Her eyes have a violent glare in them, but her body language seems to be at peace. The woman doesn’t blink. “The next time you see me praying, and you take a shit, we will have a problem.”

  The woman’s threat doesn’t sit well with Storm. She hated to have to take the shit here in the first place, but to be called out on it makes it even worse. “What?” Storm asks as she sits up, erect. She sits on the edge of the bowl and cleans herself as best she can under the threatening terms. After a half-ass job, she stands up, pulling her jumper up over her waist. She holds her hands to her side, ready to fly if need be. “What I’m supposed to do? Shit on myself?”

  “I don’t know what you supposed to do, but I do know if you sit your ass in front of me taking a shit while I’m praying, that’ll be the last shit you take.” The woman turns around and plops onto her cot.

  The threat sends Storm into an irate frenzy. She loses it. She feels the woman is testing her. She knows, if she allows the woman to get this off, her days in this county will be tough. She’s ready to nip this problem in the bud and any other problem that comes her way.

  She stands over the woman, who now has her Quran in her hand. She reads from it as if Storm isn’t standing over her. She appears to have no worries. “Was that a threat?” Storm asks. The woman continues reading and ignoring her. “Oh, I thought so.”

  The woman finally looks up from her book. “That wasn’t a threat. Take it as a courtesy.”

  “I don’t need your fucking courtesy. If I have to take a shit, I will take a shit, simple as that.”

  “Understood,” the woman says a she looks back to her Quran.

  Storm turns to the sink, eyes still on the woman. She has to have the last word. “I fucking thought so.”

  “Okay, you’ve been warned,” the woman says humbly.

  “Fuck your warning.”

  47

  The Next Morning

  The courtroom is packed. Family and friends of the three men who were killed in the robbery are spread throughout the room. A few slick remarks and threats have been made to Storm. It’s taken everything in her to sit quietly as they have made threats against her life. All the spectators aren’t strangers to her. A few of them are mutual friends of her and Man-Man.

  At this point, she’s not sure if they are there to support her or there out of love for him. Either way she’s taking note of every face present just in case. There are only three people she knows for certain who are here for her support. Toy and Wendy who stand on the side in clear view for her to see, while Mr. Antonelli sits close to the front. He peeks around nervously at the angry family members present. He’s quite ashamed to be a part of this.

  She sits before the judge for her arraignment. Dressed in an oversized jumpsuit with her hair in two Pocohontas braids, she looks like an innocent young girl. It all plays like a courtroom television series. The only difference is she’s the defendant and she can’t get up and turn the station when she chooses to. Even with her always living a life of crime, she’s never envisioned herself in this situation. Like many other criminals, she’s always seen herself as too smart and slick to ever be in this situation.

  About thirty minutes ago, she stood up after hearing the prosecutor run off her charges. Of course, she pleaded innocent. Now she sits back, listening to them go on and on. All she’s interested in is hearing what her bail has been set at, so she can get out of here.

  She damn near loses her mind as she hears the words that come out of the prosecutor’s mouth. She prays that she’s hearing him wrong. “Your Honor, we strongly recommend denying bail because the nature of the crime. We are talking about four homicides.”

  She wishes she could get up and choke the prosecutor right now. She looks to Tony, who is now speaking. “Your Honor, the above men
tioned charges are alleged. She hasn’t been convicted of a crime. She’s been charged with a crime. My client poses no threat to the public.”

  “No threat?” the prosecutor interjects. “We are talking about four murder victims.”

  Tony looks to the judge. “Your Honor?” he says with his hands high.

  “Sustained,” the judge says.

  Tony speaks. “As I was saying, she has ties to the community,” he lies. “And she will undergo monitoring as a condition of bail.”

  The prosecutor continues on, just in case the judge is thinking of setting a bail. “Your Honor, we ask that, in event that you do grant a bail, we would like a source hearing date set, so we can make sure that all funds presented are legal.”

  All Storm heard is date which means they are trying to not let her go today. They are trying to hold her longer. She’s heard of instances like this where they want to check out the money and the sources who have put up the money just to make sure she’s not being bailed out with drug money. She knows this can take weeks.

  “Granted,” the judge says. “I hereby set the bail at two million dollars cash. No bond, no ten percent,” he adds. He’s sure she would never be able to make a bail of this magnitude. The people in the audience cheer at the thought of her not being able to make bail.

  Storm’s heart sinks. She was expecting to hear a bail of no more than a million in which she could’ve gotten out with a hundred grand with a bail-bondsmen. In no way was she prepared for a bail like this, and with no ten percent. She sees that they are doing everything in their power to hold her.

  Storm looks to Tony, hoping he has a defense for her and this outrageous bail. “Your Honor,” Tony says, “my client is prepared to make that bail today.” The judge, the prosecutors and everybody else are in shock. “Can we proceed onto the source hearing today?”

  “Your Honor, we are not ready to proceed with the source hearing right now,” says the prosecutor.

  Her hopes of being freed today sink once again. She looks at the judge, hoping for a miracle. “Okay, we will set the source hearing date for one week from today.” He bangs the gavel and exits the room. The bailiff walks over to Storm and escorts her away from Tony. She looks back at Tony with helplessness that turns to rage. In no way was she expecting this and neither was Tony.

  48

  Later that Night

  It’s been a long day for Storm. After court she returned to her cell. She still hasn’t eaten. She’s so pissed at herself for turning herself in that she has no appetite.

  She and her Muslim cellmate have not said another word to each other. Storm has sat on her cot, tossing and turning while the woman goes on with her normal regimen. She prays and recites all day long. Storm is tired of her praying and the sound of the recitation. She’s heard it so much that she now knows it by heart. Covering her head with the pillow doesn’t work. Being on guard prevents her from sleeping as well. She’s sat up, one eye open, just in case the woman decides to make a move. Seems that she submitted too easily, and because of that, Storm doesn’t trust her.

  As harmless as she would like to believe the woman is, she has to keep in mind that she is here on the murderer’s floor. That does mean that even if she hasn’t committed murder, someone believes that she has the ability to commit murder. She can’t be taken lightly. She can’t let her pride and ego blind her and allow her to underestimate the little woman dressed in all black. Also, something about the woman’s crying while praying makes Storm believes she is begging for forgiveness for something major.

  Just as Storm finally dozes off, the sound of shower slippers awakens her. She sits up, startled, ready for war. She looks around, and the woman is not there. The sound of the slippers shuffle across the floor outside of the cell.

  “Yo!” the woman shouts from the bottom bunk. She gets up and runs over to the gate. “Ay yo!” she shouts more aggressively. The sound of the slippers shuffling stops. “Come here for a second,” the Muslim woman demands.

  Storm watches from underneath the pillow as a young butch-looking, heavyset girl appears at the gate. “What’s up?” she asks cocky-like.

  “Listen, I’m in here trying to get some sleep and the sound of them damn shower slippers wake me up every morning. Next time you walk past my room, pick your feet up. I don’t want to hear them slippers no more.”

  Storm snickers to herself. The nerve of this chick, she thinks to herself. Storm is familiar with her type. She’s like a little Chihuahua, all bark and no bite. She awaits the response of the woman on the other side of the gate, wondering how this will play out.

  “Whatever,” the woman says with disrespect. She walks off, slippers shuffling across the floor even louder than they originally did.

  The Muslim woman says not another word. She lie back on her cot, and in seconds, her loud snoring sounds off.

  Storm laughs to herself, believing the woman is just all mouth and harmless. She’s able to catch some ZZZs with no further worry.

  49

  Essex County Jail

  Two Days Later

  Mr. Antonelli sits in the visiting hall, feeling like a fish out of water. In all his years he’s never been on the opposite side of the law. The only law he’s ever broken is speeding five miles over the speed limit in his Ferrari. He’s never had to visit a jail because no one he knows has ever been inside one.

  The process of being searched and talked down to is an experience that he will never forget. As he sits in the room among criminals and criminal lovers, dressed in his suit and tie, he’s looked at as an attorney and not the lover of an inmate. All of this has him frustrated but missing his baby has him comfortable outside of his element.

  As she steps into the room, her rage fills the empty spaces. Once she spots him in the corner, her fury heats the room up even more. She stomps toward the table, staring at him ferociously. He hates to see her like this, dressed like a criminal in a prison jumpsuit.

  As she reaches him he stands up for a hug. She seats herself with no hugging, not even a smile. “I thought you said I would be out the next day! You and your fake-ass model attorney bamboozled me.”

  The people in the surrounding area all watch as she creates a spectacle. She talks down to him in a humiliating manner.

  “Baby, baby, calm down,” he says with embarrassment as he peeks around at the people.

  “Baby, my ass. When the fuck I’m getting outta here?”

  “The attorney is working. We can’t do anything until the source hearing. He says they are just playing hardball to make you pay for running for so long. They see you as a flight risk.”

  “Man, fuck all that! Money talk and bullshit walk. Put that money up and get me the fuck outta here!”

  “Baby, speaking of money… why didn’t you mention the one hundred thousand dollars they found in the apartment?”

  “Because it was my money. Had nothing to do with you.”

  “But they will want to know where the money came from.”

  “Tell them you gave it to me. That’s where I got it from.”

  “But I didn’t,” he replies with helplessness in his eyes.

  “How the fuck they know that? Did you tell them?”

  “No, I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “Good!”

  Mr. Antonelli sits back, wondering what he’s gotten himself into just. The unexplained money coupled with many other things has him questioning her innocence. He now fears for himself, not knowing if he will be involved in her madness.

  “I don’t know how you’re gonna do it, but you need to get me out of here,” she says with rage. She walks away from him and makes her exit from the visiting hall, leaving him standing in embarrassment with no words.

  50

  Dover Downs Casino, Delaware

  Later that Night

  Even with Storm locked away, business stil
l must go on. Of course, she appointed Toy in charge to watch over the girls and make sure everything moved accordingly. She sent Mud along to watch their backs since she couldn’t be there. She trusts him to be all the muscle they need in case somebody steps out of pocket.

  At this moment, Toy and Wendy are on the floor, trying to catch while Jazz has already caught. Jazz felt partly sure that no one she knows would come this far just to gamble. For days she contemplated as she expected her husband to call and ask about her being in Atlantic City, but to her surprise he never did. She even threw Jeff’s name around just to see if she could get a reaction out of him.

  He’s stated that they have been in their normal contact and he’s been putting money on his books every week as he normally does. There was no mention of anything else. What does surprise her though is that his friend has been calling her. His calls to her all seem to be reaching, but she takes it as him checking on her as if he may know that she was up to no good that night in Atlantic City. His calls only increase her guilt, but as Storm stated, guilt won’t get the bills paid.

  Right now Jazz drags along behind the middle-aged white business tycoon as they step down the hall of the luxurious hotel. While inside a restaurant, they met this man and he paid for their meals. His generosity didn’t stop there though. He dragged them along to the casino with him and gave them all a few hundred to gamble alongside of him.

  As the night progressed, Wendy decided to pass this one off to her friend, knowing it was money in the bag already. With Jazz still new to the business, she knew it would be harder for her to get another, while she could blink and catch another one. Hours and hours of gambling with no luck whatsoever, Jazz watched as he lost close to eighty thousand dollars. Just minutes ago, he decided to stop, understanding that tonight isn’t his lucky night. Neither he nor Jazz had to state the details of what the rest of the night was hitting for. It was said without being said.