by Mike Sanders
I sat back down on the bed, closed my eyes, and buried my forehead into my hands, trying to think of anyone I knew that may have had a way to contact Joy. The only person I could think of was my girl who was still lying comatose in that hospital bed. And Sapphire’s mother had recently gotten her number changed so I was clueless.
Joy had told J.T. to call her back, so that meant he had her number, and maybe it was somewhere in the house. With this thought, I immediately began searching the bedroom.
After putting on one of J.T.’s oversized shirts I started combing through his drawers, searching through the pockets of his clothes, which were hanging in his closet, and looking any and everywhere I thought he would keep something he didn’t want me to see. I tore that room apart like a Tsunami had been through it and still found nada.
However, this didn’t deter me from continuing my search. I left the bedroom, went into the kitchen, and checked all the drawers. I went through all of his bills and scrap pieces of paper to see if maybe he’d scribbled Joy’s number down and forgotten it. I found several numbers with names, but none of them were Joy’s. I even checked the living room and came up empty. This nigga was good!
I was getting frustrated. I went back into the kitchen and walked over to the wall phone and dialed the first four digits of J.T.’s cell number, ready to wild out and see what the hell was going on! But I stopped myself and thought for a second, trying to come up with another alternative. After a few short seconds, I realized that there was still one room I hadn’t checked.
His office!
I was sure that office would be the place I’d find Joy’s number along with a lot more stuff he didn’t want me to see. I hung up the kitchen phone and proceeded to head to the one room in the house I’d never been in.
I ran up the winding stairs until I reached the top. Winded, I hurried to the office door and tried the knob. As expected, it was locked. I stood before the door contemplating on what to do. I was wondering if I should’ve just calmed down and waited for J.T. to get home and let him explain what was going on, or if I should’ve tried to enter the room and find out on my own. True enough, I trusted J.T. and didn’t think he would hide something that concerned me.
I thought, Maybe I’m trippin’ for nothing and over reacting.
As I stood before that door I had to take a deep breath and let it marinate for a minute because I was sure my blood pressure had probably risen. But the longer I stood at that door the more my anger rose because Joy’s message was replaying over and over in my head. I was becoming anxious as hell to find out what was going on.
The fact that I knew Joy was a scandalous bitch that would do damn near anything for a dollar had my curiosity at peak level. A million scenarios swirled through my mind as I tried to justify J.T.’s reason for even dealing with a low-level, bottom feeder like her. I was thinking that maybe Red had done something to her and maybe she was also blaming J.T. because the two were cousins and known to be together frequently. But any way I looked at it, that bitch had mentioned me and my brother’s names and in any case, I had to find out what that had been about!
Anger overpowered rationality and before I knew it I was beating on that door like I was trying to break that bitch down. I pounded on that door until my hands were sore and beet red. I soon tired myself out and realized what I was doing was fruitless. I turned my back to the door and slid to the floor with exhaustion. I had to get into that room and it looked like I definitely wasn’t going to knock the door down, so I had to take another approach. I went back downstairs and called my brother, using my cell.
“What up, sis.”
“Hey, you know Joy?” I asked.
“Phire’s cousin?”
“Yeah. You know how to get in touch with her?” I was rambling through J.T.’s kitchen drawer again.
“Nah. You know I’on’ fuck wit’ that gutta bucket,” Monk contested.
“Well, look, I need some help. You remember when we were little and you used to try to teach me how to pick locks?”
“Girl, what choo up to?” Monk was laughing.
“Just walk me through it right quick, okay?” I responded without explaining to him what I was up to because I knew Monk and how quick his hair-trigger temper was. I was gathering the tools I needed for the job as I spoke.
“You at that mark J.T.’s house?” he asked curiously.
“Yeah, but he ain’t here right now,” I replied while heading back upstairs towards the office.
“I kinda figured he wasn’t there,” he said sarcastically. “J.T. gonna kick that ass for fuckin’ wit’ his shit, ’cause I know your sneaky ass is up to no good.” Monk was laughing again.
I was back at the office door in a matter of seconds, ready to receive instructions from my brother in Lock-Picking 101. I stuck the tiny tweezers in the lock and listened to Monk as he walked me through the process. After about fifty attempts to manipulate the lock I finally had the door open.
“Got it?” Monk asked, sounding a little frustrated with me because it had taken me so long.
“Yeah. Thanks lil’ bruh. I’ll hit ya’ back.”
“Aiight. And Justice...be careful, ’cause I know you up to something,” Monk stated with genuine concern.
“I will be,” I told him and we ended the call as I stepped inside J.T.’s private office. As I looked around I noticed that this room was nothing special. There was a large oak desk in the center of the room with a computer which was repeating, “You’ve got mail.”
The only other item on the desk was a small CD player which sat next to the computer. A small, portable refrigerator sat in one corner and a burgundy lounge chair occupied the opposite side of the room. The walls were decorated with paintings of two older women whom I recognized as his mother and grandmother along with a family portrait of him and his mother when he was a young boy. There was a closet near the back of the room, so I walked over and tried the knob.
It was unlocked.
I twisted the knob and when the door was opened I saw a large safe. Just as I’d figured, this was where he kept his money. Why niggas don’t put their money in the bank is beyond me, especially if it was being made legitimately. The safe was one of those with a digital combination and it was locked. But a sistah had to try anyway.
After trying every combination of numbers under the sun, I finally gave up. I closed the closet back and walked over to the desk and started rambling through the drawers. I expected to find some sort of business material like payroll stubs or time sheets from his businesses; instead, I found a stack of photos. I flipped through the stack and noticed he had a lot of flicks of naked women in compromising positions.
“Freaky ass nigga,” I mumbled.
Halfway through the pile I saw three pictures of the bitch that had just left that nasty message on J.T.’s answering machine.
It was Joy!
She was sprawled out naked on a sofa that looked very much like the one that was downstairs in J.T.’s living room. In each of the photos she was being penetrated with a large dildo that was being held by someone else. As I took a closer look I saw the tattoo on the right wrist of the man who was screwing Joy with the toy.
It was J.T.’s hand!
Evidently he was the one who was taking the picture.
J.T. and Joy!?
I couldn’t believe it! At that instance, I thought about the time the condom had broken when J.T. and I were once having sex. I immediately became worried because there was no telling what I might’ve contracted if he was screwing all of those girls, especially Joy’s dirty ass.
I threw the photos onto the desk and stood up; ready to leave the room but another photo caught my eye. Beneath the stack of photos of women there were more photos of J.T. and his boys. On the back of the photos was J.T.’s handwriting, noting where the photos had been taken along with dates. He had pictures of himself with a few guys I’d seen only in passing, but I didn’t know any of them except Red until I got to the last few pictures, t
hen I saw a real familiar face.
The final few photos had me stunned! I couldn’t believe who was in some of the pictures with J.T. and Red. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me or maybe the dude just bared great resemblance to someone I knew. My mind was somersaulting as I flipped the photos over to see the names. The first one read The Turner Boys—Club Stir June 6th. The next was a photo of J.T. and the familiar looking guy by themselves. It read Me and lil’ cuz--R.I.P. July 3rd. I flipped the picture back over, stared at the face again, and knew without a doubt that the guy I was seeing was indeed someone I knew.
There were a few more pictures of J.T., the guy, and Red at different clubs in Charlotte, Atlanta, Miami, and D.C. and all of them bared the same label The Turner Boys—Fam’ 4 life!
I looked at the pictures again and noticed how much J.T. and this guy resembled and it dawned on me that these men were some kin. I dropped the photos to the desk and let out a loud sigh.
What in the hell is this man up to? I questioned silently just as I seen what looked like a pamphlet inside the drawer where the photos had been.
I picked it up and stared at it. It was an obituary. The same familiar face on the obituary stared back at me as I read the name under the picture aloud, confirming my speculation, “Croshawn Cross Turner!”
What type of game is J.T. playing? First, he’d fucked with nasty ass Joy, then he hadn’t ever mentioned the fact that he knew Cross, let alone that they were family!
Thoughts swirled through my head like a cyclone and it made my temples throb.
I sat back in the large chair and closed my eyes while massaging my aching temples, then I began to think back to the day we’d found out about Cross’s murder. No wonder J.T. had almost ran off the road when I told him about Cross getting shot at Sapphire’s. He never meant to say “Ross”; he knew all along that I’d said it was “Cross.” And Joy!? That skinny ass barfly. Damn! This nigga was trifling as hell!
After not finding anything else in the office, I placed the photos back inside the drawer just as I’d found them with the girls on top of the pile. Then as I closed the drawer and headed for the door, I glanced back and took one last look at that closet where the safe was hidden. I stepped out of the room and made sure the door was locked before I headed back downstairs to the bedroom so I could think.
I plopped back down on the bed and started trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. Joy’s message was playing in my head like a CD on repeat and I began to analyze her every word.
“I wants my money nigga,” but money for what?
“Tell Lil’ Joe and Supreme and nem what really happened.” What happened with what?
“If Justice and Monk knew the truth…” What truth?
I thought long and hard, trying to decipher what she had been talking about as I lay back on the bed with a pillow over my face.
Joy, Red, J.T.? What the fuck did they do? And how does Cross fit into all this? Cross? Cross? Cross?
After about ten minutes of brainstorming I suddenly snatched the pillow away from my face and sat up on the bed as straight as a board. Finally, realization hit a bitch like a speeding Mack truck!
“OH, HELL NO! I know he didn’t do that shit!” I screamed as my voice echoed throughout the entire house.
“Cross, two more niggas, and a female did it, it wasn’t me.” I heard my brother’s voice speaking in my head as if he was standing right next to me. Now I really believed him. Tears began welling up in my eyes and I commenced to cry for the two hundredth time in the span of a month. I thought about the crazy ass twist my life had just encountered. I hoped all of this shit was just me misconstruing things, but everything was starting to add up too perfectly.
I needed to call Monk to tell him what I thought was going on. I struggled with weak, wobbly knees to make it to the dresser where my cell phone was at. I reached for my phone and glanced down at the dresser where my tears were falling and noticed the jewelry box where J.T. kept his jewels when he wasn’t wearing them. I had never messed with his jewelry or any other personal items he’d ever left laying around, but something inside told me to open that box.
I lifted the lid off the wooden box and glanced at his platinum jewelry, which was sparkling with diamonds. His barrel link chain with the diamond encrusted J laid amongst his Patek Phillipe watch and platinum bracelet, along with a few other pieces I’d never seen him wear before.
I dialed Monk’s number as I continued to browse over all of the ice that was staring back at me. I listened to Monk’s phone ring and just as I was about to close the box my eyebrows wrinkled as one of the rings inside caught my attention. I picked it up and lay it in the palm of my hand.
“Well I’ll-be-damned,” I muttered as I looked at the diamond ring with ruby and onyx settings.
I picked through the rest of the jewelry and saw a custom-made Invicta watch with Lucky Charm diamonds in the band and two more custom made rings that I had only ever seen one other person floss before. I picked up the watch and the rings and inspected them to make sure I wasn’t trippin’. After looking over them, there was no doubt in my mind as to whom this jewelry belonged to. Just then, my brother answered his phone.
“What the bizness is? You finished wit’ yo’ lil’ B&E,” he joked.
I wiped my eyes and ran my hand under my nose as I sniffled, “M-Monk, I know who robbed Mark.”
“Fuck you mean you know who robbed Mark? Cross did that shit.”
“I meant, I know who else was with him,” I reported as I cried into the phone.
“Who?” Monk was sounding anxious and angry all at the same time.
“J.T., Red, and Joy.” Tears were now pouring.
“Where you hear that at? How you figure that?” he questioned skeptically.
I looked down at my hand and returned, “’Cause I’m lookin’ at Mark’s jewelry.”
Monk was quiet for a moment. The silence was awkward until I commenced to relate to him how I’d put it all together, starting with Joy’s message, and then with the pictures, and finally the jewelry.
“Give me directions! I’m on my way!” Monk was ready to come to my rescue but I stalled him. I thought about how J.T. had been playin’ me like a fool. I thought about how he had me thinking he wasn’t a street nigga while the whole time he had been knee deep in the game. I had to make this nigga feel me for trying to play me like that. I told my brother, “Don’t worry about J.T., I’ma take care of him.” “Nah, where you at Justice? Tell me where that nigga live.” I assured Monk that I’d be okay, but he was still ranting and raving as I disconnected the call. I should have let Monk touch that nigga a long time ago, but now I concluded that this would be one situation I would handle myself. I’d been used and this man had basically destroyed my life. My best friend was on her death bed; my brother and I were in hiding and running for our lives. All because of the man whose bed I’d been sharing for the past few weeks. A man I’d fallen head over heels for. J.T. had played me all the way out, but it was now my turn to play the game. And nobody plays the game better than a bitch that has been scorned!
A few minutes after I’d ended the call with my brother, I heard J.T.’s truck pulling up in the driveway. I hastily put the jewelry back inside the box like I’d found it, then looked into the mirror and wiped my eyes for the last time. There would be no more crying, and no more pain for me. I was all cried out.
My reflection had showed that the glow in my eyes had faded to black. Just that quickly, all the admiration I’d had for this man had transformed into straight up hate!
When I heard his key enter the lock in the front door I took off his shirt and headed to the bathroom to hop into the shower. I wanted to wash away all of the physical and emotional distress I’d accumulated while I’d been sleeping with the enemy!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CARLOS
Lemme get that, Los,” Winkie asked with a crooked smile. His teeth were brown and his breath smelled bad enough to gag a skunk. “Get what?”
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“That roastbeef. You know you ain’t gonna eat it,” he replied.
Winkie was a recovering crack addict who was only in rehab at the time because he had no choice but to be, considering where he was at. His appetite was humungous as hell because he was making up for all the meals he’d missed while chasing that “glass dick.” He wasn’t letting anything get pass him. I guessed he was trying to get his weight back up.
Looking down at the plastic tray I was holding, I decided that Winkie had been absolutely right; I didn’t want any of that shit.
“Here, you can get all this shit,” I told him while handing him the small tray.
Watching Winkie devour the meat that looked as if it had hues of green, pink, and blue in it made me realize where I was. I took a look around at all the niggas dressed in orange jumpsuits and flip flops, and it made me heated all over again. I was in the Charlotte Mecklenburg County Jail on some bullshit!
Those bitch ass homicide detectives had stepped their game up and ended up playing dirty with a nigga. Since they’d had such a hard time trying to pin bodies on a nigga in the past they’d decided to bring in reinforcements. They enlisted the ATF to try to rope a nigga off.
For the past month, I’d been sleeping on that hard ass slab of steel they called a bunk, having wet dreams and federal nightmares! They wouldn’t give me a bond, stating that I was a “flight risk,” meaning that once out, I’d probably disappear. So I was stuck!
They knew they’d never get me head up, so they decided to come at a nigga sideways by sending a woman at me. The more I thought about Janeka, or better yet “Agent Janice Waters” it made me feel as if molten lava was coursing through my veins. I had slipped with her because I should have followed up on her background. I should have also peeped the warning signs with her that was more than obvious. She had never told me the name of the salon she’d supposedly worked at nor had I even thought that maybe she’d lied about her job with Wells Fargo. That skunk had rocked a nigga all the way to sleep and when I’d finally woke up I was too far gone. Her words still rang in my head like the Liberty Bell.