by Leo Sullivan
When I met Sunday, I was hustling and she was a schoolgirl: innocent, pristine with college ambitions. She was into her schoolbooks and Makita was into both while hitting more licks than me. They were actually close friends until the street life called Makita when her father was murdered. Until that moment, she was a straight A student and then she got caught up with a bunch of chicks that was doing all kinds of illegal shit. Once, while I was at her crib, chilling, some nigga pulled up and shot up her mom’s crib behind some shit that she had started.
It became clear to me that Sunday was who I needed to be with. She was not just more laid back and beautiful with a big ass, but she was a chick that knew how to let a man be a man; as long as I didn’t fuck shit up. She was a rider who had faith in me as long as I continued being a man worth holding down. After moving on with Sunday, I slowly built my empire, one ounce of coke at time, but I was safe with it, unlike Makita. She was making major money, but she was moving fast and reckless.
When I was driving around in a box Chevy, Makita was driving a candy-red AMG Benz convertible. Her crew was running the streets, pulling capers and making more money than they could spend. It was all good until they caught a body in an elaborate scheme. A sophisticated jewelry store heist went terribly wrong. The manager, a Jewish man in his late 50s with an appetite for young Black girls, met one of Makita’s girls, Dayja, at a Days Inn hotel for sex. The crew was waiting in a closet and as soon as he took his clothes off, he was ambushed and beaten with a hammer, and forced to give them all the security codes to the store and combinations to the safes.
They had got away with over nine million in jewelry and cash but when the body of the store manager was found floating in a lake, the data inside his cellphone lead authorities to Dayja, who had some of the jewelry stashed in her home. Eventually, the entire crew of girls were arrested, except for Makita, the mastermind. At the time, Makita was enrolled at Florida State University studying criminal law, so she had covered her ass properly with the perfect alibi.
“They haven’t allowed you any visits outside of me?” my lawyer asked sternly with an arched brew.
“Nah, and no calls either. They got me in segregation. This is the ‘hole’; no visits, no TV, no books to read. Nothing.”
“Under the 8th Amendment of the U.S. constitution, you have the right to a phone call and a visit. I’m on it,” he said sternly as he rose. After gathering his papers and depositing them back into his briefcase, he walked over and banged on the door, asking to speak to the sergeant on duty.
I was escorted back to my cell by two burly Black ass officers, one of them had an attitude but the other was cool as shit. I noticed both of his ears were pierced and his arms were tatted, he looked barely in his twenties. His name tag read, ‘Officer Jones’.
Not even an hour later, Officer Jones arrived in front of my cell wheeling a cart with a phone on the top. Since I was in segregation, I wasn’t allowed to use the phone outside my cell like everyone else. Opening the tiny slot on my cell door, he pushed the receiver through and propped it open so I could dial on the keypad.
“Here you go, Mr. Shields. Just holla at me when you’re finished. I get off work at five o’clock,” he said with a hunt of a smile and began to walk away.
“Am I able to get visits now?” I asked sincerely.
“Definitely. I’ma make sure to check on that now. I just wanna tell you that I know who you are. My brotha and I got respect for you. I heard a lot ‘bout you and the John Doe Boys,” he beamed with a broad smile as he wiped at the sweat on his forehead.
I ignored his statement, I wasn’t impressed. At the end of the day, he was a cop as far as I was concerned. I had a good vibe about him, but I still kept my mouth shut.
Moments later, I was able to check in on my moms, happy to hear that she was clean after the drug issue that she’d dealt with for years and all during my childhood. As much money as I’d made, she never asked me for shit other than a grandbaby so that she could have a second chance at being a mom.
Next, I called Makita. When she first answered, I heard a nigga in the background but that was none of my business. Even though she felt that I was obligated to be with her if I ever made it home, she was a free agent at the moment.
“I’m in Atlanta and I want you to come see me. I was granted an evidentiary appeal and I like my chances. If possible, bring me something. It’s been a minute since I’ve been able to hear a friendly voice,” I said, discreetly asking for her to bring me a burner phone.
“You lyin’! Where you at?” she screamed.
I could hear the patter of feet like she was running around the house. Then there was a deep baritone voice in the background that I briefly heard again but couldn’t discern what was being said.
“I’m at the United States Penitentiary on 601 McDonough. The Feds holding me here until I go to court tomorrow. I’m comin’ home like I told you. No cap,” I bragged with a smile, waiting for her to respond.
Suddenly, the phone got silent.
“I’ll be up there, but I also have to tell you something.”
I frowned, hearing the grimness in her voice.
“What? Listen, I know you got a nigga and I ain’t sweatin’ that shit. Just let me tap that ass one time and I’m good.” I was joking and I knew she was about to hit me back with some slick shit.
“Like hell! As long as I been waiting, you’ll be doing more than just tapping this. I need a ring on my finger,” she said, giddily.
I couldn’t help but smile. Some things never changed. Makita stayed with the smart-ass comments.
“That’s a tall order,” I responded.
“Then fill it, nigga.”
“We will see about all that.”
“I’m on my way up there now with what you asked for. And then... we also have to talk about some other things.”
The tone of her voice bothered me. I wanted to know what was so serious that she needed to speak to me in person. I hoped she wasn’t serious about me making her wifey because that wasn’t about to happen. I owed her and she had put in a bunch of work—more than I could have ever expected anyone to do, especially a chick. However, the fact still remained, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, my heart was still with Sunday.
An hour later, Officer Jones came to the cell and he was all excited.
“King, you got a visit and, boy, you really broke the mold with her,” he gibed.
I knew he was talking about Makita big butt, sexy black ass. He handcuffed me and escorted me out the cell. I did a replay as my mind continued to churn.
What was it she needed to talk to me about?
I was headed for visitation when I spotted the orderly, Keith, mopping the floor outside the officer’s station. I dipped my head to greet him.
Throwing up the deuces, he smiled, “I got you.”
I walked away, feeling light-hearted, relieved and hype about finally seeing a familiar face. However, nothing could have prepared me for what Makita had to tell me but once it was out, murder, rage, and destruction ravaged my brain. I was ready to kill a lot of people.
6
King
* * *
I was escorted into a small booth, about the size of a closet. There was a big plexiglass window and a metal chair attached to the wall in front of the window. Adjacent to it was a phone that looked ancient, like it dated back to the 1940. The graveyard-gray walls were peeling paint. A sordid smell of cheap disinfectant and piss in the air heavy my nostrils.
Strangely, it was quiet. The first thing I did was look for security cameras. There wasn’t any as far as I could see but that didn’t mean they weren’t there watching. I waited for Makita as I drummed my fingers on the metal desk in front of me, then hopped down and did a bunch of push up.
The hell did she need to tell me? my mind wondered.
When Makita finally made her appearance, she blew my mind. She was dressed in a white tight dress Prada dress made out of some type of cotton material t
hat clung to her figure. It was low-cut, her sensuous breasts were nearly exposed. I couldn’t help but stare at her nipples the size of strawberries as they protruded forward, bouncing animated with her every step. Her hair was coiffured and long, with some type of reddish tint at the end as it elegantly cascaded over her left shoulder down to her supple breast.
Then she smiled with radiant splendor. It was faint but enough to display her perfect ivory teeth. She had high cheekbones and chatoyant eyes that could both captivate and mesmerize. What was must stunning about her was her walk. It was more like a gyrating strut, with a lot of oomph. She was provocative and sexy with a fat, round ass and hips that seduced men.
“Hi, Knight. Long time no see,” I hinted at with humor.
This was still a business meeting, sort of anyway. I just needed to keep everything in prospective, even though she was chick I used to smash many years ago and I know she had expectations of us. I know that would never be happening, I just didn’t’ have the courage to tell her, even though anything could happen in the future.
“Good to see you, King,” she said in a sultry voice as her eyes traveled over me chiseled chest and arms.
“The feeling is mutual.”
“You still calling me ‘Knight’, I see.” She smiled.
“So, tell me what’s up. What were you talkin’ ‘bout on the phone?”
Her eyes darkened somberly as she lowered her head, as if forlorn. For some reason, she could no longer look at me.
That day, Makita nearly crushed me when she told me that Sunday was in the hospital, pregnant and fighting for her life, along with her fiancé, Caesar. The grim details threw me off but then she told me that the streets were saying that The John Doe Boys, under my command, were responsible for the attempted hit on them.
To make things worse, I also learned that several of our trap houses had been robbed and that Gunner, my childhood friend and a person I would lay my life on the line for, was possibly responsible for the robberies. My second in command, Shotti, was robbed for millions in product and money, and everyone inside the trap was killed but him. The shit seemed suspect to me, but I couldn’t be sure.
But what was really killing me was what she’d told me about Sunday.
It felt like my soul melted.
“Damn,” I muttered as my heart sank to the pit of my gut. I hunched down in my seat like the air had been let out of me.
“Whoever did it tried to make it look like a robbery. It may have been, but it was just too brutal. It made national news, even went viral. They been posting her pictures all over the media.”
Silence.
I racked my brain for moment as the clamor of institutional noises enveloped us.
“What happened to the baby?” I finally asked as I massaged my temples. My head was suddenly throbbing with a headache.
“They may have to deliver it early. Sunday isn’t responding to anything. Word is, if she were to live, she would more than likely be a vegetable.”
“A vegetable... That’s fucked up,” I groaned.
As I mopped at my faced with weary hands, I felt my heart beating hard in my chest. This was too much to take in and I was unable to continue hiding it. Why should I? I had spent nearly eight years of my life with Sunday. The entire time I had been languishing in prison, I dreamed about her and envisioned her—us—in love, like we used to be even while confined in my concrete hell. My dreams about her and the moments we shared was the only thing that made my time bearable.
“I know you still love her,” she pressed, trying to pick me for information.
I sighed and leaned forward. She was testing my patience. I wasn’t concerned with any of this jealous chick shit that she was on after what I’d just learned that Sunday was going through. However, in that moment, I was in no position to piss her off. I needed Makita’s help. So instead of going off on her, I expelled a deep sigh and placed my elbows on the metal table between us.
“So, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you still love her? Because this ‘ride or die’ shit I’m doing, holding you down while you do a bid, ain’t no charity shit. I’m tryna be that bitch you consider for putting a ring on her finger, babies out her womb, buy a big ass house in the suburbs in Buckhead, all that shit. I lost you before, I ain’t trying to do it again,” she said with so much passion I had to look at her twice.
“Prison taught me a lot. It taught me to always be there for the ones who have held me down and you’re one of those people. I’ll always appreciate that, and I’ll always look out for you. But you can’t be pushing me to put no rings on your finger when we both know you got a man at home waiting for you.”
She bowed her head and cut her eyes away from mine. For a quick moment she was caught off-guard, but she recovered pretty fast.
“How you know I got a man? How you know I haven’t been saving this pussy for you?”
“Fuck outta here,” I chuckled and then gave her an even look. “Women who look like you don’t go long without being piped down but I’m not holding that against you. A real nigga doing time can’t ask a chick to be stronger than him, and if I was out on the bricks, I would be dicking hoes down.” I shrugged because it was true. I was just being honest and that was one of the things Makita always liked about me.
“Just don’t get pregnant and don’t fuck none of my enemies, that’s all I’ve ever asked you. But you can fuck a friend though, because that means they was disloyal and wasn’t really a friend to begin with. For niggas like that, a bitch always gets them killed in the end.”
She looked skeptical. “I don’t understand that.”
“Ok, that’s on you. All I ask you is to just keep it one thousand with a nigga.”
A nervous expression covered her face before she spoke again. “Right before you caught this case, you made a trip. We spoke about this before… I think I can flip that work that you got for you.”
The offer was tempting because I knew she was good for it and could definitely flip it better than any nigga in the streets could. However, my gut was telling me that wasn’t the move to make. Plus, I had a good chance that I would be released. If that happened, I could flip it on my own.
“Nah, I’m good over here. So just forget all about that. There is no need to mention it again.”
“But there is a chance that you won’t make…”
She stopped short of her statement, but I knew she was talking about the very real chance that I wouldn’t make it back out. The chance I would die or be executed in prison.
I nodded and simply replied, “Real niggas take chances every day. Some of them you live with and some you die with.”
Leaving that topic hanging, we continued with small talk until Officer Jones came to take me back to my cell. To be honest, I was more than happy to go. After hearing about Sunday, the only thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts.
Later that evening, Kevin slid an ounce of Loud under my cell door that he said Makita had stashed in the women’s bathroom for me, along with the burner phone. I couldn’t help but laugh because she knew me so well. I hadn’t smoked weed in years and you would have to be a smoker to really realize just how appreciative I was to have some after hearing the news about Sunday. I had something to get my mind right, and I was thankful for that, because the next day was going to be a living hell. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for what happened next.
The Loud should have help relieve the stress, but I couldn’t seem to get Sunday off my mind no matter how hard I tried. And to think someone had started the rumor that the John Doe Boys and myself were behind it the treacherous shit that happened to her and her fiancée. Yeah, I didn’t like that nigga and I would have bitch slapped him if he ever ran up on me, but I wished no man ill will over a chick. I couldn’t help but wonder, was I being set up by the same people who murdered Tonie Span, his wife and my goddaughter?
After stopping up the vent in the ceiling that blew out air as well a
s the crack under my door to mute the smell of Loud, I lit the blunt and took a long puff. My mind was all over the place. I needed to get out. I needed to see Sunday. I needed for this to all be over with.
I quickly tried to push Sunday out my mind and focus on what I would face the next day, but it was hard—really hard. The evidentiary hearing was going to be my last chance at freedom. It was the first step to getting my life back, redeeming myself and possibly starting over; maybe even with Sunday if she could somehow make it out the hospital. I knew it was a long shot but again, I had a chance. There was hope and that was all I had.
The next day after I had showered, I stashed the leftover weed and burner inside my mattress and waited for what felt like eternity, until it was time to leave. Finally, the guards came to get me. They showed up twelve-deep, led by a redneck lieutenant with a heavily starched white shirt and a gold badge as he barked orders.
Hours later, I was dressed in a carrot-orange jail jumpsuit, seated in front of the judge with my lawyer right next to me. To my shock, the courtroom was packed. Nearly every seat was filled with a member of the John Doe Boy gang. They were deep, wearing their royal blue colors, and so was the security; the cops were wall-to-wall like they were expecting something to jump off. There was also a handful of media. I recognized some and a few even spoke to me. In their eyes, I was the infamous hood gangsta, known as King Banks.
I saw Makita dressed to impress, seated right behind me at the defense table. My mom and other family were there, including my little sister, Nikki. We had not spoken in nearly a year after her boyfriend had fabricated lies against me to get a time cut, but since then we had made up. At the end of the day, she was my sister and I loved her.