ANYTHING 4 PROFIT (ANYTHING FOR PROFIT)

by Justin Amen Floyd

  After all the indictments were read, Judge Anderson looked down at Mike and asked, “Do you understand all the charges that I just read, that are being brought against you?”

  Mike remained silent.

  “Now, I understand that there was also a young lady at the scene of the arrest… So Mr. Smith, I’m going to do you a favor. You have two choices. You can either own up to the drugs and guns in your apartment that were found… or she can take the fall with you, and y’all can spend the next twenty years being pen pals in the Department of Corrections. The choice is yours.”

  Without even a moment of thought or hesitation, Mike looked directly into the eyes of the old pale faced judge, and finally broke his silence. “Everything in the apartment was mine.”

  “Are you absolutely sure about what you’re saying, Mr. Smith? You have been advised of your rights, and stated that you understood them. As you know, anything you say can and will be used against you in any future proceedings.”

  Mike knew that admitting to the fact that everything the officers found upon their search of his apartment was his was an open admission of guilt that could not be taken back later, but he also knew it would free Nikki, so he never even thought twice. “Yeah, I’m sure. And I understand my rights and all that, so can we just go ‘head and skip all this Law & Order bullshit, and get this over wit’, man?”

  There was a brief moment of silence as the judge busied himself signing off on some papers. Finally he said, “Bail set at $150,000!” and banged his gavel down. “Deputy, would you please get this worthless piece of shit out of my sight.”

  “Gladly, your honor.” The guard grabbed Mike roughly by the arm, and led him out of the judge’s chamber.

  They headed down a corridor, and then were buzzed through two heavily fortified double doors. Mike was led into the reception area where the dehumanizing process known as “intake” would begin. He got ready to have his mug shot taken, be fingerprinted, and strip searched.

  $$$

  Almost a full day had passed since Nikki was arrested with Mike. She hadn’t seen him since they had both been placed into separate squad cars, and taken to the county jail. Her worse fears had become a reality. She’d been crying so much in that tiny, soiled cell that her eyes were red and puffy. She had no more tears left to cry, so she pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth in the corner. Nikki was exhausted, both mentally and physically. She hadn’t even bothered touching the disgusting jail house trays of food they had been periodically pushing through a small opening at the bottom of the door.

  “Jones…Nikki Jones…” It sounded as if someone was calling her name from some far, far away place. It was a female’s voice, but Nikki wasn’t sure where the sound was coming from so she kept her head buried between her knees and prayed that her horrible ordeal would be over soon.

  “Miss Jones,” said the voice, “you’re being released.” As the words the guard had just spoken gradually registered in her brain, Nikki looked up and finally noticed the female guard who was standing at the entrance. She was so out of it that she hadn’t even heard the heavy metal door when it was opened, let alone noticed the guard standing there. “Did you hear what I said, Ms. Jones? You’re being released.”

  “Released?” Nikki knew what the word meant but after hours upon hours of solitary confinement, it seemed foreign somehow. Slowly, she got to her feet. She felt as if she was emerging from a dream, or a nightmare rather. Nikki followed the guard out of the cell.

  $$$

  “Nigga, is you listenin’ to what I’m sayin’?! The po-lice kicked in my door, and arrested me and Nikki,” said Mike to Ant D, while using the phone at the guard’s desk where they did the processing. That was one of the few advantages of being locked up in Greenville County. More than likely one of the guards, who were predominately young and Black, had gone to school with you, had heard of you, or knew somebody that was related to you. So after Mike was dressed out in an orange jumpsuit and matching flip flops, he approached the desk and saw his homegirl Brandy Harris from Brutontown sitting there waiting to process him.

  Mike had quickly and discreetly, as there were eyes and ears everywhere in the detention center - both real and electronic, explained his situation. He told her that he’d throw her a little paper when he got out if she would let him use the staff phone to make a call instead of the inmate phone, which blocked you from calling cell phones. Brandy was from the ‘hood, and had a father, brother, cousin, and a baby daddy who were all incarcerated, so she sympathized with Mike. Plus she’d had a crush on him since back in the day, so she went ahead and let him use the phone.

  “Look here, they should be lettin’ Nikki go in a hot minute. So get her mama to scoop her, then give her the paper for my bond so I can get the fuck up out this bitch befo’ the weekend over.”

  “How much yo’ bond is?”

  “Hundred and fifty stacks.”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand?!! Goddamn, what the fuck they got yo’ ass charged wit’?” asked Ant D.

  “Just some bullshit from that chase, and some other shit they talkin’ ‘bout they found in the spot. Nigga, you know these crackers be jackin’ bonds up high as a muh’fucka so they greedy asses can get a cut, and put they sorry ass kids through college. But you already know what it is. Ten percent get a nigga out. So make it do what it do.”

  Brandy started motioning for Mike to wrap it up. The next shift would be coming on in a few minutes, and she wasn’t trying to get written up… not even for Mike. “Look, nigga, I gotta go.”

  “Don’t even stress that shit, my nigga. I got you! And as soon as you touch down, we goin’ to see Meka and find out who them fuck niggas was that fucked her up. After that… you already know what it is.”

  “Yeah I know, I know. Let me get my ass off this phone tho’, ‘cause it look like B finna have a goddamn seizure,” Mike laughed.

  “Ok, bet. Don’t drop the soap, muh’fucka,” Ant joked.

  “Nigga, fuck you!” retorted Mike, and he handed the phone back to Brandy. “Good lookin’ out, B, fa’ real.”

  “Ain’t no problem, Mike. If you need anything else when I’m on duty, anything at all, just holla’ at me,” stated Brandy, with a look of lust on her face that didn’t attempt to conceal the meaning behind her words.

  Mike knew exactly what the business was, but he had bigger, more important shit on his mind. So he just said, “I’ma get at you, baby.”

  Chapter 26

  After the intake process, Mike was thrown into the large holding tank with about twenty other individuals. They were all waiting to be assigned to a block in the “old jail”, which was where most of the inmates with more violent charges were kept, or a pod in the “new jail.” As usual, the holding cell was packed with mostly Black men, waiting to be sent to their assigned housing units. Individuals charged with everything from murder, to something as simple as public drunkenness. Crackheads, winos, rapists, dope boys, and junkies going through withdrawal all in the same spot at the same time.

  Mike looked around the cell to see if he saw any familiar faces - friend or foe. He recognized a few niggas he had seen here and there around town, but nobody he really fucked with like that. They gave him a few nods of acknowledgement, and he did the same in return. After assessing the niggas in the cell with him and not detecting any real threat, Mike began to make his way over to the filthy toilet that a heroin addict had just finished throwing up in so he could take a piss.

  That’s when he spotted him… A pussy ass nigga he had robbed a few months back named Turk was sitting on the cement slab against the wall. Turk was a wanna-be pretty boy nigga from out of town that wore a lot of fake Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Prada. It was rumored that Turk liked the boys just as much as the girls. He was the type of clown ass nigga that had a habit of bragging about how many bitches he was fucking, and how much paper he was stacking. This made him a prime target to get his dumb ass robbed.

  He had tried to play the
tough guy role but that pistol in his face made him bitch up and started crying. He literally begged Mike to let him keep his worthless life. Feeling sorry for him, he just took the couple thousand dollars he had on him and his jewelry, which had turned out to be fake. Then Mike had made him strip butt ass naked and run down the road in front of the whole projects, where he was supposed to have been getting money.

  Now, as Mike bopped his way over to the toilet, he could feel Kirk staring at him as if he actually wanted to try him or something! Mike stopped, and immediately addressed the situation. “Nigga, you keep lookin’ at me like somethin’ wrong wit’ yo’ muh’fuckin’ face, or somethin’. There a problem, nigga?!”

  The entire holding tank got quiet, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Everybody waited for Turk to respond.

  “Nah, son, everything good,” said Turk unconvincingly.

  “Nigga, you know yo’ pussy ass ain’t even built like that, so I’d advise you to stop lookin’ all mean, like you done killed somethin’!”

  In his heart, Turk was a straight coward. He really didn’t want any problems with Mike, or anybody else for that matter. But at the same time, he couldn’t just let Mike talk to him any kind of way in front of the rest of those niggas, so he stood up as if he was going to confront Mike.

  As soon as he got to his feet, Mike started hitting him with a flurry of lightning quick punches to the face. At first Turk tried to fight back, but the ferocity of Mike’s attack overwhelmed him. After a hard right to his chin, Turk dropped to the ground and balled up in the fetal position, covering his face as Mike kicked and stomped his ass into the cement. “Nigga, I’ll kill yo’ pussy ass!”

  Turk whimpered and screamed for the guards at the top of his lungs. The rest of the holding tank just stood back and watched. It was a pitiful sight.

  Suddenly the door to the holding cell swung open, and in rushed five heavily padded guards with an electric shock shield and restraints. In seconds, they had Mike on the ground, and in handcuffs and shackles. Two of the guards grabbed him by his shackles, and dragged him out of the cell. Once out of the cell, they picked him up and transported him to the S.H.U. (Special Housing Unit). There, they commenced to choking and beating him before throwing him into a 5’x7’ cell with no windows. There was nothing in there to look at but concrete walls. At least it was clean though, thought Mike.

  The S.H.U. was in the new jail, which had just recently been built, so it still had the scent of freshly painted walls in the air. But a cell was still a cell, and those particular ones had been designed to break down the most violent violators of the jail’s rules and regulations. A psychologist made her rounds on a daily basis because so many had cracked under the pressure of the S.H.U. and attempted suicide. A few had succeeded.

  It was a common occurrence for one to go to sleep, and wake up with the stench of someone else’s feces in the air because that particular individual had smeared shit all over themselves, and their walls. Since all the ventilation was connected, a man could often find himself holding his breath as he tried to get his food down. That was no place for the weak.

  “Yo’ nigga, what’s up” somebody yelled through the vent from the cell to Mike’s left.

  “Ain’t shit… who ‘dat?” asked Mike. The voice sounded familiar, but it was a little distorted coming through the air vent. There was no telling who it was.

  “Nigga, this Monster. What’s good, homey?”

  Monster’s real name was Christopher Wilkins. Back in the day when Chris was younger, the kids used to pick on him and call him Eddie Munster because he had a unibrow like the television character. But as Chris got older, and his crimes became more savage and brutal, everybody dropped the Eddie, and the Munster turned into Monster. He’d been convicted of everything from manslaughter, to assault and battery with the intent to kill, to distribution of crack cocaine to a minor. His rap sheet read like a short story. But somehow he always seemed to catch a skid bid, and be right back out on the street within a matter of a few years. The word on the street was that the nigga was telling, but nobody knew for sure. It really didn’t matter this time though. After all the publicity his last crime had received, the only way he’d be seeing the streets again anytime soon was if he could tell them where Bin Laden was.

  A few months back, one of Chris’ kids had come up missing. The boy was named Trevarus, and he was only five years old at the time. The local authorities had immediately issued an Amber Alert. Once the news media picked up the story, there were people, White and Black, coming from all over the Upstate to help the police and rescue teams search for the young boy. For days on end, they went out searching everywhere for signs of Trevarus, but never found him. Finally, after a full week of searching the Greenline community where he’d gone missing, Chris had led the police deep into the woods behind his house to a spot where there was a fresh mound of dirt between two trees.

  “He’s down there,” was all Chris said. The cops dug the body of five year old Trevarus Wilkins out of his makeshift grave. Due to the unseasonably hot weather, the state of his decomposition had advanced to the point where you could smell his remains, even through the black trash bag he’d been thrown into.

  Monster claimed the whole thing had been a mistake. He said he’d been giving his son a bath, when he had accidentally bumped his head and died. Monster said that he panicked because of his record, and had placed his son into a Hefty trash bag and buried him in the woods behind the house. An autopsy of the young child’s body revealed otherwise. Trevarus had bruises, not only on his head, but also on several other places on his little body that showed a pattern of abuse. Monster was charged with first degree murder, and was being held without bond. Due to the crime being so high profile, he was immediately placed in S.H.U.

  “Ain’t shit good, muh’fucka!” Mike responded, after he realized who he was talking to. After growing up in the system without ever even getting the chance to meet his parents, it was hard for Mike to understand how somebody could kill their own flesh and blood like that. Their own son. That was like killing a part of yourself.

  He wished he could spit on that nigga and lay hands on him. Mike told that muh’fucka how he felt. “Nigga, yo’ pussy ass should’a killed yo’self! If we ever go out on the rec yard together, I’ma show you who the real monster is, nigga!”

  “Aww nigga, you just talkin’” said Monster, like he was cucumber cool. That dude was a mess. He was unaffected by anyone’s opinion of him about that shit. He was what you called pure evil. The nigga had no soul.

  Mike said, “I ain’t got shit else to say to yo’ bitch ass! I’ma show you better than I can tell you. Sick ass muh’fucka!”

  $$$

  A couple of days later, Mike sat on the hard steel bed in his cell trying to eat his lunch through the putrid stench of shit. Some clown up the hall had smeared it all over himself and his walls, probably to protest something, if that made any sense. The smell was suffocating him, so Mike gave up trying to eat and threw his tray against the wall in frustration and anger.

  That damn S.H.U. was beginning to get to him. He got up off the bed and walked over to the stainless steel toilet to take a piss. As he began to urinate he felt an intense burning sensation, so he yelled out in pain. It felt like fire was coming from the head of his dick! He looked closer, and noticed a yellow, pus-like discharge coming from the tip. Mike sat back down on the steel bed, and contemplated who could have burned him. He had been fucking with a few different girls before he got with Nikki, so he wasn’t even really sure.

  Mike thought about the orgy he and Ant had with those strippers. That was probably when it happened. He just hoped he hadn’t passed anything on to Nikki. There was no telling how she would take something like that. He couldn’t even tell her. Mike stared at the wall, depressed about his situation.

  A voice came blaring out over the intercom in his cell, interrupting his pity party. “Smith, pack your shit! Your ass is gettin’ out!”

&
nbsp; “About goddamn time!” Mike exclaimed. The first thing he had to do when he got out was see a doctor. He needed a shot of penicillin, or something. Fast!

  Chapter 27

  Days after she’d awakened from her coma, Ant D finally walked through the doors of Meka’s hospital room in the intensive care unit to see about her. His sister was sitting up in bed with a bowl of soup on a tray in front of her. Meka and Glo were in the middle of a conversation about something, but Ant cut it short. He walked over to his sister and gave her a hug that lasted a lot longer than they would’ve normally embraced. No words were spoken, and none were needed. Neither Meka nor her brother was the type to openly display their affection, so that hug said a lot more than words could’ve expressed.

  Despite the fact that they were fraternal twins, Ant D and Meka shared a love for one another that was a lot deeper and more intense than anyone, including Gloria and Mike, could ever fathom. They were brother and sister, but they were also lovers, and had been for years now. Their relationship was both simple and extremely complex. After so many years of being on their own, and depending on one another for emotional support, their relationship had developed into a love beyond the kind most brothers and sisters shared.

  Meka and Ant wouldn’t hesitate to die, or kill for one another. But that was something that never needed to be said out loud. After all the shit they’d been through it really wasn’t necessary. They both knew what time it was.

  “Damn nigga, you tryna put me back in a coma,” joked Meka, as she let her brother go. “Let me find out you done got all soft on me.”

  “I never thought I’d say this, but damn it feels good to hear yo’ slick ass mouth,” said Ant D, smiling. “The doctor said you might end up retarded, but I told him you was already a lil’ slow, so we was used to that by now.”