Larceny

by Jason Poole

  “Yeah, try to work that out.”

  “Ain’t too much we can do right now but wait for this evidence the prosecutor has and the grand jury transcripts,” Michelle said.

  “Okay, Michelle. Oh, how’s Mark handling this?” I asked, afraid to hear her answer.

  “He’s pissed because of how he used to brag on you, and now he’s got a few dickheads clowning him about you.”

  “Tell him I’m sorry, but this is something that didn’t happen. It’s some type of mistake.”

  “I’m sure he knows that. Oh, Jovan, Cindy ain’t taking it to well either,” Andy said.

  “What do you mean, Andy?”

  “She’s been crying, asking about you all day,” Andy said, laughing. “Hey, tell me something, Jovan. Did you tap that ass?”

  “Naw, Andy, I don’t confuse work with pleasure.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “6 Months Later”

  Sonya came to visit Jovan every visiting day, but this day was the most intense visit they had. Jovan’s case was still at a standstill, and his trial was not going to start for two weeks. The prosecutor was still holding back on evidence, and Michelle couldn’t get her hands on those transcripts. Jovan was prepared, because no one could place him at the scene, not even Meeka. The only thing she knew was that Bilal gave him the gun, and he could argue that, because she wasn’t downstairs when Bilal gave it to him.

  Jovan had only seen Bilal once, and that was in the infirmary. He said everything was cool on his end and that they should get a severance on their case. Jovan had already done that, because there wasn’t no sense in both of them going on the same trial. They each had a better chance going in there alone.

  Jovan talked to the lieutenant, who said that the publicity on his case was down and that he’d let him out into population the next day. When Jovan talked to Sonya on the phone, he asked her not to come to his trial and to stay home and wait for his calls. She wasn’t try’na hear it, but Jovan being the man, he had to put his foot down.

  At twelve o’clock, the lieutenant came to Jovan’s cell. At first Jovan thought he was coming to tell him to pack up so he could go to population, but instead he told him to get ready for a visit. Now, Jovan had already seen Michelle and Andy yesterday, and Sonya’s visits didn’t start until 1:00 p.m., so who the hell could it be? He knew it wasn’t the Homicide Division, ’cause they already knew he wasn’t talking.

  Jovan got ready for the visit and was escorted to the visiting room. When he came through he saw Mark, Michelle, and Andy. This was the first time Jovan had seen Mark since he was arrested.

  When Jovan entered the room, everyone was quiet. Mark did the talking.

  “Look, Jovan, I had to sell my soul to get you this,” he said. There was a big yellow envelope on the table, and as Jovan reached for it, Mark grabbed his hand and said, “Don’t look at it in here. Take it back to your cell, and when you finish, make sure this envelope and its contents self-destruct.”

  They got up to leave, and Jovan asked, “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, Jovan, trial starts in two weeks, so get ready to rumble.”

  Jovan was so eager and curious to open the envelope. He pressed for the guards to take him back to his block.

  “Hey, C.O., my visit over wit’. I’m ready to go back!”

  “Okay, here I come. Hold up. You’re on special handling. You gotta wait for a white shirt,” the C.O. said.

  Lazy bitch, Jovan thought as he began to get mad. A lieutenant was walking past, so he said, “Excuse me, Lieutenant, my visit is over with. Can you take me back to my block?”

  “C’mon. You’re Price, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you know you’re going to population today,” the lieutenant said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Jovan said, glad to be getting out of solitary confinement.

  “Have your shit packed by three o’clock.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as Jovan was placed back in his cell, he opened the envelope. There were only two pages. The first one read:

  On May 12, 1994 Defendant Jovan C. Price

  was indicted in Washington, D.C. Superior

  Court for the following murders in the 1st

  degree:

  Count 1: Michael A. Jones, aka Fat Mike

  Count 2: Peter C. Milligan, aka Petey

  Count 3: Corey L. Washington, aka Chicken

  Wing

  Count 4: Anthony T. Bridges, Detective

  MPPD 6th District

  Additional Summary: It is also known that

  Defendant Jovan C. Price committed several

  other murders dating back at least to 1985.

  As Jovan read off his indictment, his heart started beating so fast that he thought he was gonna have a heart attack. He hurriedly moved to the next page. It read:

  It is May 21, 1994 and this is the interrogation and debriefing of Bilal Ali Davis. Mr. Davis informed that he was the head of a multi-million dollar drug operation and that Mr. Jovan C. Price was his hit man. Mr. Davis said that most of the weapons used in the murders committed by Mr. Price were discarded, and that Mr. Price was an extremely careful professional. Mr. Davis gave extreme detail of most crimes Mr. Price committed, but acknowledged that he was not present at any dating from 1992 on up. He informed us that Mr. Price committed a murder in 1985 in his presence, and that he, Mr. Davis, was arrested and did time in Cedar Knoll and Oak Hill Youth Division for that crime.

  At that very moment, Jovan didn’t think there was any definition in the dictionary that could describe his pain. He dropped to his knees, the same knees he dropped to when Bilal got Juvenile life for a crime he had committed; the same knees he dropped to when Mal-Mal and Ms. Cookie died. Jovan couldn’t stop the tears from coming down his face, because he realized that Bilal had tricked him. He now knew that Bilal still held him responsible for his little brother’s death.

  Jovan got up off the floor, tore up the envelope and papers, and washed his face. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a reflection, a true resemblance of his father. Then those jewels that were handed down to him as an innocent child came back: trust no one, master your condition, and keep the suckers within the bounds of moderation. Those precious jewels were given to Jovan at a tender age, preparing him for the future. He always knew that he’d have to live by them, but when it came down to Bilal Ali Davis, they didn’t apply when they should have.

  It was now one o’clock and Sonya was like clockwork when it came down to Jovan’s visits. She’d be the first one in line outside. She told himm that she came at least an hour early just so she could get in first and get her full visit.

  “You got a visit, Price!” the lieutenant called out to him. “Cuff up,” he said.

  When Jovan got into the visiting room, Sonya was looking good as shit. She always came fly, representing her nigga to the fullest, and she had the deepest glow ever. Jovan knew this woman loved him, and he knew he loved her, but it would break her heart to know that he was a cold-blooded killer, that he killed outta loyalty and love, and that his best friend whom he killed for was now doing a Houdini trick.

  “What’s up, boo?” Jovan said, picking up the phone to speak, while at the same time looking at Sonya and wishing that they were able to touch each other instead of speaking on these damn phones.

  “I love you, Jovan,” Sonya said, picking up her phone also.

  “I love you too.”

  “Good. Now that we got that outta the way, Jovan, I wanna ask you a question.”

  “What, boo?”

  “Why don’t you want me to come to your trial?” she asked, still not understanding why he would not want her there by his side.

  “I have my reasons and that’s it. I don’t wanna talk about that,” Jovan said, not wanting to reveal the reason why he didn’t want her at his trial. “My trial starts in two weeks, and every day after trial, I’ll call to inform you of what’s going on. I promise.”

  “Okay, Jovan, but I mi
ss you. I miss you so much,” Sonya said, not wanting to spend the little time they had together arguing.

  “I miss you too, Sonya.”

  They talked for a while, and then all of a sudden, Sonya got up out of her seat.

  “Jovan, I love you very much, probably more than you’ll ever know.”

  “I love you too, baby, now sit down,” Jovan said to her, wondering why she was standing up all of a sudden.

  “No, Jovan, I have something to ask you,” she said, still standing.

  “What is it, and why can’t you ask me sitting down?” Jovan said.

  “Because, Jovan, what I have to ask you is very important.”

  “Okay, boo, go ’head. Ask your question.”

  “First, I want you to look at me in my eyes and know that what I’m saying is true and from the bottom of my heart.”

  As they talked through the glass, Sonya got down on one knee in the visiting hall in front of everybody.

  “Jovan Conrad Price, will you marry me?” Sonya asked.

  Jovan thought, What the fuck is she trippin’ off of? I’m facing life and she’s proposing to me. He had never seen or heard of this shit before.

  “Sonya, get up off the floor. Everybody’s looking at you. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Jovan told her.

  “So what? I love you, and I want to be your wife. I’m not getting up until you give me an answer,” Sonya said, refusing to get up off her knee.

  “Look, Sonya, there’s a lot of shit about me that you don’t know,” Jovan told her.

  “So what, Jovan? I don’t care about that. There’s a history with me also, but I love you so much that I’m willing to bury it for you.”

  “I don’t think yours is worse than mine.”

  “Trust me, Jovan, if it ain’t, it’s running neck and neck.”

  “Sonya, if I marry you, there are certain things you must do.”

  “Whatever it is, Jovan, I’ll do it. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it baby. I know you’ve got skeletons in the closet. Who doesn’t? I’ve got some too, baby. Whatever you try’na do, I’ma follow that pattern. You’re the king, baby,” Sonya said, meaning every word of what she was saying, because she loved Jovan more than life itself.

  Sonya’s eyes got watery as she stayed there on one knee. “Baby, can I get an answer?”

  “You sure you’re ready for that?” Jovan asked her, still unsure of his answer.

  “Yes, baby.”

  “You know if I marry you, you gotta be down to the end?”

  “Like I said, Jovan, I’ll do anything, even if it involved anything like Bonnie and Clyde and when I say that, nigga, I mean it.”

  “Sonya, you gotta be down with the move.”

  “Baby, you lead, I’ll follow, and if you fall down, I’m picking you up and carrying you the rest of the way, even if it breaks my back. Now, what’s the move, and can I get an answer?”

  “Yes, boo, yes, I’ll marry you,” Jovan finally said to her.

  Tears started gushing outta Sonya’s eyes. “Baby, you are my life, and I vow with my life that I’ll be by your side through any storm.”

  “Okay, boo, I love you too. Now will you please get up off the floor?”

  After their visit was over, Jovan was escorted back to his cell. It was two o’clock, and since he had packed his shit earlier for population, he did about fifteen hundred push-ups, a thousand crunches, and a few bend-and-reaches. He was thinking about how he was gonna get out of this shitty situation.

  Jovan was hoping they would put him in the same block as Bilal, and then he could really figure it out. Jovan wanted to look him in his eyes, because the fact that he did this to him made him feel like he was half dead—not his man, his best friend, his only family. Jovan had killed at will for this nigga. He had protected him and fed and clothed this nigga when his dopefiend-ass mother wouldn’t. How the fuck could he empty his brain and sell his soul like that? What Bilal did to Jovan was unforgiving. He had committed the greatest sin.

  The lieutenant came down to the cell and said, “Price, you got your stuff ready?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready. Where I’m going?”

  “You’re going to NE three, cell sixty-three.”

  As soon as Jovan got to the block, the first people he saw were Li’l Rat Man from Glass Manor and Li’l Hog from down Southwest. They were running the block. These niggas had all types of tennis shoes, commissary knives, street food, weed, and liquor. They said they had a cellular phone, but the police took it when they got shook down last week. Damn, Jovan would have loved to use that cell joint right about now.

  It was almost 2:15, and the C.O. came and started calling for Jumah, the Muslim prayer service.

  “Jovan,” Li’l Rat said.

  “What’s up, Rat?” Jovan said while lying on his bunk.

  “Look, if you try’na see your man Bilal, you better get on that Jumah list.”

  Jovan went over and signed the Jumah list and asked Li’l Rat, “When are they gonna take us up there?”

  “They be back in ’bout five minutes. What size shoe you wear?” he asked.

  “I wear a nine.”

  “Hog, get Jovan a pair of them Jordans out my room when you come up.”

  “Thanks, youngin’,” Jovan said.

  “Ain’t shit, slim. I got a lot of that shit, and plus, you a real nigga. You used to look out for me when I was a young nigga,” Li’l Rat said.

  Jovan went downstairs to his cell and got the knife that Li’l Chaz had given him. This was a big-ass knife, and it had ridges on the side like a hacksaw.

  The C.O. came back into the block and said, “Everybody who signed the Jumah list, let’s go, front and center!”

  “Jovan, you got a joint?” Rat asked.

  “Yeah, I’m a’ight, Rat.”

  “Stand on this side so he won’t pat you down,” Rat said, pointing to the opposite wall from where Jovan was standing.

  Jovan stood on the side of the Sally-Port and watched the C.O. pat down all the dudes in front; then he crept back in like he had already been searched. On the way to Jumah, Jovan let everybody walk ahead of him so he would be in the hallway damn near by himself.

  As Jovan turned the corner to where the Jumah services were held, he heard the most beautiful chanting sound ever. There wasn’t a crack in the voice, and it sounded milky and smooth. As he got closer, he heard it louder, “Allahu-Akbar. Allahu-Akbar.” When Jovan peeped through the door, he saw where the sound came from. Young Rico, aka Ali Katabb, was standing in the middle of the floor with his hands behind his ears, singing this beautiful song. Rico was back from Allenwood Penitentiary on his appeal. Later, Jovan came to find out that this song wasn’t really a song. It was a call to prayer for Muslims.

  As Jovan entered the room, he looked around for Bilal, and when he looked to his left, he saw him in the corner making Salat, the Muslim Prayer. Jovan always knew Bilal was a Muslim, but he had never seen him do the prayer. Bilal’s father, Saleem, was Muslim, and if Saleem knew that his son was a cold ho, he’d probably kill him himself.

  At Jumah, everybody came because this was where co-defendants met up to discuss their case. This was where niggas passed shit off, or it was just something else to do other than be in the block. Only a few dudes in there were true Muslims. Most of these niggas were faking it, just trying to be accepted, and were punks for real—like Bilal, for instance.

  Jovan went to the back of the room and found a seat. When Bilal finished his Salat, he looked up and saw Jovan in the back of the room. Bilal’s eyes were like Pop Rocks, like he had just seen a ghost or something. He put his shoes on and headed toward Jovan with a fake-ass smile. He had on his D.C. jail jumper, a black kufi, a platinum chain with the word Allah in Arabic writing, a pair of Cartier glasses, and some brown suede butta Timberland boots.

  When Bilal came over, Jovan greeted him. “Damn, nigga, even in jail you lookin’ slick.”

  “Yeah, you know me, Jay. Shit don’t stop ’cause the nig
ga got knocked,” Bilal said.

  “That’s right, slim.”

  “So, what is your lawyer saying, Jay?” Bilal asked.

  “Oh, they bullshittin’. They’re saying that the prosecutor got some damaging evidence on me,” Jovan said.

  “Did they give it to you?”

  “Give me what?”

  “The evidence.”

  “Oh, naw, they ain’t try’na disclose that info to me.”

  “So what else they say?”

  “They said somebody gave the feds some type of info on me or something.”

  At that moment, Bilal tightened up. “Who they say it was, Jay?”

  “I don’t know, Lal. They won’t tell me.”

  “You sure they ain’t gonna tell you, Jay?”

  “Naw, they ain’t gonna tell me. So who you think it is, Lal?” Jovan asked him, already knowing the answer.

  “I dunno, Jay, but hey, don’t even worry about that. We’re gonna beat this shit. Did they give you another indictment or anything?”

  “Naw, the only indictment I got said accessory or conspiracy to commit murder. Why you ask?”

  “’Cause I heard that they be try’na fuck with niggas and give ’em another indictment right before their trial.”

  “Oh, naw, they can’t indict me on anything ’cause you the only nigga I’ve ever done something with, Lal, and that was in ’85. Everything else I’ve done by myself with no witnesses. You’re the only one I’ve told about my work, Lal, and I know your loyalty with me, so hell naw, they can’t indict me on nothing.”

  “Yeah, Jay, you’re right.”

  As Lal sat there and lied to his face and tried to compose himself, Jovan smiled and said, “Lal, you know I love you, right?”

  “Yeah, Jay, I love you too.”

  Jumah was now over, and everybody was leaving. Bilal and Jovan stayed behind so that they could walk the hall and get a little extra time in.

  “What block you in, Jay?” Bilal asked.

  “NE three. Where you at, Lal?” Jovan said.

  “NW three.”

  “Oh, we’re going the same way then.”

  As they walked into the hallway, Jovan could see that it was only Bilal and him. As Bilal kept talking, Jovan knelt down as if he was tying his shoe and let Bilal walk in front of him. Jovan then reached into his jumpsuit and grabbed hold of his knife as if his palm was dipped in Crazy Glue. He held onto its handle with the tightest grip ever.