“Y’all can beat it, ya feel me? Ain’t nobody scared of y’all ’cause y’all got a badge and a gun! Everybody in the hood got a gun, even me! So, get on with it and do what y’all gonna do!”
As if matters couldn’t get any worse, one last sign that JoJo shouldn’t have been drinking jumped off as he violently vomited all his stomach’s contents on one of the officer’s shoes. The foul-smelling mixture slid down the front of his expensive jersey as well when they body-slammed him down against the concrete pavement, face first, checking the wild youth for any weapons or drugs. Struggling with the police officers for a good solid minute or so, JoJo was easily outnumbered and overtaken by the two cops. Finally, he was wise enough to stop resisting. Dizzy and out of breath, Yanna’s son was handcuffed and thrown head first into the back of their maroon unmarked vehicle. Infuriated that a struggle had to even take place, the cops quickly whisked JoJo off to the local precinct.
No sooner than they arrived at the station, the wild youth, still defiant, drunk, and pissed off, used his feet to repeatedly kick the car’s rear window until it cracked. Fortunately for him, as luck would have it, the desk sergeant on duty recognized JoJo from cutting his yard in the past. That was the only thing that stopped his officers from any roughhouse retaliation that was sure to follow. JoJo was seconds away from really getting his ass handed to him, and he was much too drunk to realize it.
After logging in most of the young man’s property that was on his person, the sergeant took notice of one particular item he wasn’t used to seeing in JoJo’s straight-laced possession: a few pills that seemed to be Ecstasy. Those pills were becoming increasingly popular with the youth the officers had encounter recently. It was damn near reaching an epidemic status in the city.
“And just what are these pills here?” he firmly inquired.
“Aspirin,” JoJo wisely fired back, not so drunk he couldn’t come up with a lie. “I have migraines real bad.”
“Oh, yeah. Migraines, huh? Is that a fact?”
“Yeah, it is.” With his lip split and his nose bleeding, JoJo stood his ground.
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sure looks like Ecstasy to me,” the desk sergeant fired back as the youth he’d just given a break to tried playing with his intelligence.
“Wow,” JoJo mocked as if it were a joke, “you must be CSI or something like that! I seen dudes like you on cable and whatnot.”
Having had just about enough of the cat-and-mouse game he was playing with the arrogant teenager, the sergeant led a still-heavily inebriated JoJo over toward the black desktop telephones. Making his one phone call, which was, of course, to his mother since he was legally still underage, a dizzy JoJo could hardly get the words out that he was arrested and being held at the tenth precinct.
Yanna was pissed. Immediately she started screaming at the top of her lungs. Holding the telephone receiver as far away from his ear as he possible could, JoJo closed his eyes, wondering how his life had gotten so far out of control in such a short time. Listening to Yanna’s voice, which was filled with rage and contempt for her son interrupting her evening plans, made him want to throw up again. It seemed to JoJo that, between now being totally responsible for paying all the various household bills and giving his great-auntie Grace money to take care of his younger sister while his mom ran the streets trying hopelessly to recapture her youth, he was losing his mind.
Finally hanging up the phone, JoJo was glad to go to the holding cell where he dumbly believed he could lie back and hopefully sleep off the sickness in his stomach and massive headache he was suffering. He needed to get himself together before Yanna showed up and all hell broke loose.
Another police officer who escorted JoJo to his temporary home away from home was not as friendly or as reasonable as the desk sergeant. He, like the two cops who arrested him, had no problem whatsoever manhandling the teen. Practically dragging JoJo down the long, dark, mildew-infested hallway, it was business as usual with him. The officer didn’t know or care about the reckless youth and his problems. To the Detroit Police Department, Joseph Lamar Banks Jr. was just another out-of-control juvenile throwing rocks at the penitentiary. They were there to administer a quick show of hard-core act right before a detainee moved on to the next step in their incarceration or bailed out.
Shoving JoJo into a small bullpen with several other men would normally have scared Yanna’s naïve-to-the-streets son to death. Up until recently, the only type of contact JoJo was used to having with the police or criminals was watching episodes of Law & Order on television. If it weren’t for that bottle of Rémy still flowing through his system and him wanting to throw up again, the wannabe-tough teen would’ve been screaming for his mother. Instead, JoJo manned up and let more of that liquid courage kick in.
Taking a seat in the corner on a hardwood bench, he tried to shake off his awful case of nausea. As he sat there trying to keep his composure together, JoJo wrung his hands repeatedly. Paint peeled from the walls. To pass the time, JoJo read the various names that were scraped on the wall of the holding cell; but soon he was approached by a familiar face.
“Well, I’ll be damned! What you doing in here, young blood?”
“Oh, hey.” JoJo didn’t know the older guy’s name for sure, but he was used to seeing him all the time with Byron. “What up, doe? What’s good?”
Smelling the youngster’s breath made the man the streets had nicknamed Keys take a couple of steps back. “That’s what I was about to ask you. The last time I saw you over my people’s house you was looking like a schoolboy, all tight and whatnot. Cutting grass and drinking lemonade and shit.”
“Yeah, school,” JoJo slurred. “Forget school. I’m on to something else right now.”
Confused, Keys shook his head. “Oh, really? You on to something else, huh? Well, dig this shit right here. I heard you got all that special lawn equipment and whatnot out the back shed at my people’s crib.”
“And what? I didn’t do anything wrong.” JoJo still felt a bit of liquid courage aggressiveness lingering that he needed to get off his chest. “A lady at the house said I could have it. I didn’t steal it! I swear I didn’t.”
“Yo, fall back, killer.” Keys laughed at the young teen who barely filled his jersey, which was torn and stained with blood and vomit. “My sister Jasmine told me what was jumping off over there that day after my manz got murdered. I ain’t mad at you at all; believe that. All I’m saying is you looked like you done stepped your game way up. How that ‘equipment’ been working out for you in them streets? You good? You look like you been getting a lot of yard work in.”
JoJo calmed down, knowing Byron’s friend meant him no real harm. Far from being a fool, JoJo easily gathered that Keys had to know about the duffle bag and its contents he’d found that afternoon. “My bad. I’m just going through some stuff right now.”
“What you doing in here anyhow? Why you get knocked? And who laced they shoes up on your young ass?”
“I ain’t do shit. The police was bugging, trying to hold a black man down for nothing. All I was doing was trying to get somebody to buy me another bottle, and then the police showed up tripping.”
“Oh, is that all?” Keys made two guys who were sitting on the bench ear-hustling move to the other side of the cell. “I thought it was that equipment that had you hemmed up. But naw, you straight gangsta now. Dig that!”
Realizing the kind of clout Keys had with the prisoners in there made JoJo relax. He started to feel as if he could spend the night, no problem, if his mother decided to teach him a lesson as she had threatened on the phone. “Yeah, that’s all.” He acted like he hadn’t heard him mentioning the equipment once more. “My mother said she’s coming to get me when she leaves the casino, so—”
“Your mother.” Keys smiled. “I wish it were that easy for me to call my mother. Boy, you don’t know how good you got it. My moms been dead ever since I was nine. I done got kicked out of three foster homes, spent a year in juven
ile, and now I’m about to jail it this time for at least a twenty piece if not more.”
“A twenty piece?” JoJo was lost on what Keys, obviously a seasoned criminal, meant.
“Twenty years. A twenty-year bid, fool,” shouted out one guy who was obviously still listening to their conversation.
Keys mean-mugged the dude, daring him to say another word. “Listen up. I ain’t nobody’s daddy or nothing like that, but somebody needs to put you up on some game and kick some real knowledge to you. And since my manz Byron is gone and since you was his people, I’ma keep it a hundred with you.”
JoJo leaned back, paying attention, seeing that Key was done playing.
“I know all about that duffel bag you found, kid. That bag you was blessed with was nothing. Me and my crew get down like that all the time; that’s why we let you keep your little come up. Trust, we had other things on our plate to deal with after Byron got murdered.” Keys grinned looking directly in the teenager’s eyes, sensing fear. “We let you bang, schoolboy, because I thought you was trying to get college fare up or something; but you out here getting tangled up. You wanna run in our world, eat how we eat, bang how we bang.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Your mother about to come get you; and, when she do, make sure you don’t end up back in here with the rest of us clowns. Trust me, being locked up like an animal for that simple-ass bullshit you could easily avoid is the wrong move to make.” Keys cracked his knuckles thinking about the various crimes he’d committed over the years. “Go to school and be a lawyer and come help me get up out of here. You still have a chance to change, young’un.”
Tired of hearing all of the “you need to change” speeches, JoJo was relieved when an officer finally came, calling out his name.
“Yo, remember what I said.” Keys walked him to the front of the cell. “And hold up. What size shoe you wear?”
“A ten,” JoJo answered while wondering why.
“Oh, yeah, me too.” Keys placed his hand on JoJo’s shoulder. “Before you go, I’ma need those new Jordans you rocking. I was locked up fighting this case when they came out. So, run ’em. You don’t mind, do you? You free. You can always get another pair.”
JoJo wanted to tell Keys to kick rocks, but he knew he owed him at least that much for not letting the other guys in there beast him out, possibly taking more than his new sneakers.
Before stepping on the other side of the cell, JoJo turned back, facing Keys who was towering over him. “Hey, what you about to do twenty years for anyhow? I mean, a twenty piece?”
“For killing the dude who killed Byron. Not only was he my nephew’s father, he was my best friend and, trust, good friends is hard to come by.”
“What?”
“You heard me, li’l nigga. Now, remember what I said earlier! Don’t let me see you back on this side of the wall again!”
Before another word could be spoken, the officer yanked JoJo by his shirt, leading him out the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Less than an hour and a half later, a seemingly concerned Yanna Banks pulled up in the police station parking lot. With a designer purse on her arm, her neck full of gold jewelry, and her nails perfectly manicured, she stormed through the doors of the building, yelling out obscenities and cursing. “This don’t make no kind of fucking sense! All the crime going on in this city! The police need to be out looking for murderers or these carjackers out here, not arresting kids who had something to drink!”
“Can I help you, miss?” one annoyed officer asked.
Approaching the main desk with a serious attitude, Yanna boldly demanded to see her son and the officers who arrested him. They had all caused her to leave the casino earlier than she’d planned and she was heated. “Yeah, I’ma need y’all to release my son, Joseph Banks Jr., and I wanna see the bored cops who ain’t have jack shit better to do to earn that city paycheck my taxes go to!”
It was obvious to the officers on duty that Yanna Banks was the young boy’s mother, because that apple definitely didn’t fall far from the tree. He was rude, disrespectful, and obnoxious earlier, just like she was behaving now. How they saw it, she and the boy both needed some sort of counseling or family therapy in their lives. The desk sergeant shook his head. He was still amazed, after all his years on the job, how some so-called parents acted when their children broke the law. It was as if they were mad at the system for catching the little heathens rather than being mad at their child for being one.
“Yes, are you Josephs Banks Jr.’s mother or legal guardian?” the sergeant knowingly inquired.
“Yes, I am. Why else would I be down here asking about his dumb ass?” she loudly and bitterly stated. “Where’s my son at, and what exactly did you pick him up for? ’Cause I know it couldn’t be because the boy took a drink.”
“Well, there are several charges pending against him: public intoxication, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, destruction of police property, and drug possession.”
“Oh, naw! All of that?” Yanna frowned as he went down the long list she knew her baby wasn’t guilty of. “Not my son. I don’t believe it!”
“Sorry, miss, but he is facing serious charges, and his bond is rather high. Do you often allow him to drink? You know he’s underage!”
“First of all, I know how old my son is. I gave birth to him! And, secondly, a bond?” she quizzed, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “Can’t you just release him to me and stay out of the way I raise mines?”
“I wish it were that easy, but unfortunately it’s not.” The desk sergeant looked over his wire-framed glasses. “He has to post bond or stay locked up; simple as that.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t in the mood for any more speeches or impromptu parenting classes, so let’s get on with it! How much is it then?” Yanna fumed as she opened her purse, ready to get out of there as soon as possible and hopefully back to the casino, where she’d been on a winning streak at the blackjack table.
When all was said and done, Yanna, infuriated to say the least, counted out $3,500. Of that, she had $2,000 in her purse. JoJo had $1,000 in small bills on his person, and she withdrew $500 from the ATM at the corner of the block. Waiting an additional forty-five minutes to an hour for the paperwork to be completed, her son, still sick to his stomach, was finally freed. Seeing that his shirt was ripped, he was barefoot, and he had red bruises on his face, not to mention a busted lip, Yanna was irate. Loudly she swore she was going to be pressing police brutality charges on both officers for their treatment of her innocent teenage son.
Settling into the passenger seat of the Range Rover, sympathy definitely was not on JoJo’s side as Yanna read him the full-blown riot act. She informed her son that, by the time she got home from gambling at the casino, she wanted every single penny of the bond money she’d just put up on her dresser waiting, or there was gonna be pure hell to pay.
She’s acting like I didn’t give her that money in the first place or the dough for this truck. But I can’t take hearing her mouth! I swear I can’t! JoJo said to himself. Suffering from a pounding headache, he felt like throwing up again with each pothole Yanna seemed to be purposely riding over, and every corner of the Detroit streets she bent.
“How much was the bond anyway?” JoJo sheepishly asked his mother.
“You owe me twenty-five hundred,” she spat, tossing the paperwork on his lap.
“Dang, Ma!”
“That’s right. ‘Dang, Ma,’ my ass! Twenty-five hundred and trust, like I said, I want every penny back, asap!”
JoJo didn’t even think he had that much money in his stash considering the way he had been blowing his money. I knew I shouldn’t have bought that dang chain two days ago or those new games, he fussed at himself. And especially the new bracelet for her ungrateful ass! JoJo had to think long and hard about how he was gonna get his moms her money back and fast. Most of JoJo’s customers were young kids from the high school, but he didn’t have time to wait around for them t
o come to him. Although it wasn’t something he particularly cared to do, he knew that tomorrow he would have to go up to the high school and push all the pills he could to keep his moms off his back. She didn’t care if he sold the pills to a room full of pregnant females about to give birth. Yanna wasn’t the same loving and nurturing mother she once was. She was a dragon lady, and she wanted hers by hook or by crook.
As he continued to think about where he could get the money, his mind kept flashing back to Keys and the advice or, rather, warning he’d given him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dawn was good and toasted. After purchasing the bottle of liquor for JoJo, she had well over thirty-five dollars left. Having bought a bottle of wine for herself, and having spent the rest on some crack, she was happy. Feeling like nothing could blow her high, she sat back quietly, letting her son tell her all the reasons she was an unfit parent.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop using that garbage?” Tyrus frowned watching his dazed, underweight mother lie across an old couch. “You don’t eat anymore, you don’t bathe, and you ain’t washed your hair in months. It’s obvious you don’t care about me, but at least you could try caring about yourself again.”
“Whatever, Tyrus. Leave me fucking be.”
After going into the kitchen of the sparsely furnished studio apartment they had moved into illegally, Tyrus came back into the room with a bowl of ramen noodles. “Here, Ma, at least eat some of this to soak up some of that cheap wine you got in your system.”
“I ain’t hungry. Now go on somewhere and leave me alone unless you talking about giving me some more money,” she demanded, staggering to her feet.
“That crack got you gone enough.” Trying to force the issue, Tyrus held the bowl of the chicken-flavored poor man’s feast up to his mother’s dry, split lips. “Here, just taste a little bit.”
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