Sammy grabbed some black leather gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on his large, rough hands. “So, who is this broad?” He lifted a black Walther P22 from his waistline, and screwed on the GemTech sound suppressor that he had just bought.
“Her name is Dana, supposed to be one of Mox’s broads.” Mikey answered.
Sammy cocked the weapon. “Dana, huh?” He put his ear to the door and then backed up. “You know, I been hearin’ a lot about this Mox character. Heard he took a bullet in the face, who the fuck he think he is, the Terminator?” Sammy chuckled. “Aye, knock on the door.”
Mikey tapped on the door three times.
Sammy cut his eyes at him and shook his head. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Are you serious? Mikey… you got a pair a balls in your pants or a goddamn pussy cat? Knock on the fuckin’ door already.”
Mikey balled his fist and banged on the door three more times.
“Who is it?” Dana yelled from behind the door.
“It’s maintenance!” Sammy smiled and peeked at Mikey.
They could hear her footsteps getting closer and then the sound of a lock being unlatched, and then another.
Sammy firmly gripped the weapon with his index finger placed lightly on the hair-trigger, ready to fire.
When the door opened, Dana was standing there with the biggest smile on her face, until her eyes dropped down to Sammy’s hands. “I though—”
The shots sounded like three small balloons being popped and then Dana’s body just collapsed to the floor.
Sammy tucked the pistol in his inside jacket pocket. “A message from Vinny… don’t fuck wit’ the Telescos!” He spit on Dana’s corpse.
“Them niggas been up there for a minute right, what you think we should do?” Six was anxious.
“Be easy, we jus’ gon’ play it cool for now, see how this shit play out.” The rain started to slow up a bit, so Tyrell let his umbrella down. “Madda fact, I’ma run up the back staircase to see if Dana’s upstairs. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
When Tyrell made it to the fifth floor, he could hear chatter coming from atop of him on the sixth. He took the steps two at a time.
The hallway was packed.
Someone yelled out. “The police said they’re on their way!”
Police? Tyrell nudged his way through the speculating tenants.
He saw a trail of blood leaking out of one of the apartments. “Excuse me.” His heart sped up and a cold sweat came over him. “I know that ain’t…”
He felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to turn him around. “Tyrell, c’mere baby, don’t go over there.” the soft voice warned, but it was too late.
The crowd split apart and Tyrell saw Dana, his first cousin, slumped in a river of her own blood at the entrance to her apartment.
He forced his way back through the crowd and ran to the hallway window.
In the midst of the teeming rains, Tyrell could see the two gunmen hurrying out of the building.
He balled his fist and pummeled the thick glass window trying to get Six’s attention. “Yo! Yo! Six! Yoooooo!”
Six stood in the rain, oblivious to Tyrell’s cries of vengeance from six flights up, as he watched the two suited men get into their car and drive away. By the time he did look up, the hallway was full of people.
The backdoor slammed, Six turned his head and Tyrell came flying down the steps.
“Fuck!’ He screamed loud enough to be heard for miles as he watched the Town Car speed away. He turned to Six with fire flaring in his eyes. “You ain’t hear me fuckin’ bangin’ on the window!?”
Six was stumped. “Nah, I ain’t hear nothin’. What happened?”
He didn’t need an answer once he took a good look at Tyrell’s face.
The tears explained it all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Amongst the ramblings, laughter, shifting of chairs, arguments and orange suits, Priscilla could barely remain seated in her chair. Nervous, anxious, and afraid of the truth; focused on the Caucasian woman’s eyes across from her as the words began to spew from her mouth.
“It’s gonna be hard Priscilla. I suggest you take the plea.”
“A plea? And where does that leave me?”
“Well, first off, they’ll lower the charge from a D felony to a B misdemeanor. That alone keeps you from seeing any state time. What happens then is, once you accept the offer, the judge will more than likely sentence you to ninety days jail time.”
Priscilla crunched her brows and turned her lip up. “Ninety days?” she shook her head. “I can’t do ninety days. I can’t do another hour and you’re sitting here tellin’ me to take ninety days? I have to get my daughter.”
The veteran lawyer took a deep breath and tried to be cordial. “Ms. Davis, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you getting your daughter back anytime soon is far from a reality anymore. You screwed your chances when you fractured that guys jaw. You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.”
Priscilla got angry, made a fist, and pounded the small table. “Ain’t nobody gon’ stop me from getting’ my daughter back! Not you, not them… nobody!” she shouted. “She’s mine!” the tears came down rapidly. “That’s my daugh—ter…” she almost couldn’t get the words out through her cries.
“Everything alright over here?” A tall, fair skinned C.O. asked.
The lawyer responded. “Yes, everything is good. Sorry sir.”
Priscilla buried her face in her arms and sobbed.
“Ms. Davis, there’s something else,” The lawyer pulled out a stack of papers that were stapled together and placed them on the table. She tried to explain the situation to Priscilla. “Since you faulted on your attempt to regain custody of Brandi, someone else has stepped in.”
Priscilla raised her head immediately. “What? What are you talkin’ about, someone else?”
The lawyer ran her finger down the piece of paper, looking for the name. “Oh, a Ms. Anna Mae Davis is now an approved applicant for custody of Brandi. It says here that she’s your mother, is this correct?”
Priscilla’s heart skipped a beat, dropped to the floor, broke into tiny pieces, and withered away.
“My mother?” She was visibly on the brink of destruction. “I swear to God on every bone in my body, if that woman touches a hair on my daughters head, I’ma kill her wit’ my bare hands.”
“Ms. Davis you need to calm down.”
Priscilla stood up out of her seat. “Calm down, my ass! Bitch you must think I’m stupid. You think I’ma let them take my baby away from me, you’re fuckin’ wrong!”
Two C.O.s rushed the table and surrounded her. “Have a seat Davis!” one of them advised.
When she ignored the direct order, the taller C.O pulled his cuffs off his waist and his partner grabbed Priscilla by her arms. They forcefully escorted her back to her cell block.
A feeling of discomfort suffused her entire body as she was being dragged off like an animal. “Nooooo! Please don’t let them take my baby!” she dissolved in tears. “Please don’t let them take her from me!”
3 Days later
“Davis! You got a visit!” The C.O. screamed from the bubble.
Priscilla got up from her bunk and walked into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair, and changed into some fresh oranges.
The past three and a half weeks she’d spent at the Valhalla county jail had been a living hell for the first time offender. Despite all the wrong she had done throughout her travels, this had been the only instance where she had been in real trouble. The county jail wasn’t too much a far cry from the shelter, but the structure was totally different. There was no option to come and go as you please, and the thought of being told what to do and when to do it didn’t sit well with Priscilla.
Her cell was freezing, the food was disgusting, and the inmates were filthy, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Priscilla had to bear the brunt, suck it up and make the best of a bad s
ituation.
She walked up to the C.O.’s bubble.
“Don’t go down there startin’ no shit today, Davis. They were easy on you last time; next one won’t be so nice.”
He handed her a pass and she waited for an escort to walk her down to the visiting room. When they got there, Priscilla was the only inmate awaiting a search to enter the visiting area, so she got through in a hurry.
“You’re at table nine, Davis.” The C.O. directed.
While she slowly walked towards her table, she could see that her visitor was a female by the way her hair hung past her shoulders.
I hope it ain’t this lawyer bitch again. She thought as she got closer.
When she came around the table and saw who it was, she didn’t know whether to smile or to cry, so she did both.
“Oh my God, Jennifer!” Priscilla spread her arms and the two friends embraced for the first time in months.
“Girl, you lookin’ good.” Jennifer complimented.
They took their seats at the table.
“How did you know I was in here?” Priscilla asked.
“I was here the other day visiting my punk ass baby father and I saw you wild out on that lawyer chick.” Jennifer laughed. “What happened, how did you end up in here?”
Priscilla sighed. “Jen, I done been through so much bullshit since I left the program, it’s crazy. I was stayin’ at the shelter for a minute, and I even had a job working at Stop & Shop in Mt. Vernon.”
“So, what the hell you do to get in here?”
“This lil’ bitch at the job was droppin’ slips on me, sayin’ I was threating her. So on my day off, I get a call from one of the managers and he tells me he needs to talk. I go in there and this self-centered muthafucka fires me, not givin’ a fuck about my situation and the fact that I needed the job in order to get my daughter back. So I punched him right in his goddamn nose.”
“Wow, so what happened wit’ Brandi?”
Priscilla dropped her head. “They got her in the system, Jennifer. I need your help.”
Jennifer was stunned. “The system? How— never mind,” she reached over, lifted Priscilla’s head and held her hands. “Listen girl, I told you when we was in that program that if you needed anything, all you had to do was say it. I meant that, Priscilla.” She let go of her hands and sat back in the chair. “I don’t have many friends, but I do consider you one of the few, and a good one at that. Whatever you need me to do, I got you.”
Priscilla smiled and got up to give Jennifer a hug.
“Davis! Sit down!” the C.O. yelled.
“Thank you so much, Jennifer.” She said, taking her seat.
“No problem girl. How much longer you gotta be in here?”
“I go to court on Monday, that’ll make it a full month I been in here. If I accept the plea and get the ninety days, I’ll have a month left because you only have to do sixty days out of the ninety.”
Jennifer nodded her head. “Okay, so that’s not too bad. Well, tell me what you need me to do, so I can get on it.”
Priscilla went into detail about what she needed from Jennifer, and stressed the importance of how much she appreciated her help.
An hour later, she left the visit, feeling assured that Jennifer would do the right thing and stay loyal to her word. Her friend’s helping hand had assisted Priscilla in easing her mind and focusing on the time that she had to do. Being stressed out in prison would only lead to more problems.
__________
Sweat continued to fall from Cleo’s face as he kept a steady pace while jogging on the treadmill. He looked down at the timer and it read, 7 minutes. “This shit ain’t no joke Chris. I don’t think I can last for three more minutes.”
“If you want it, you gotta work hard for it, Cleo. Keep pushing.” Chris encouraged.
After Cleo murdered Billy Telesco, he needed a safe haven. Being the good friend, Chris let him crash in his basement until he figured out his next move.
Chris owned a country style two bedroom townhouse that was stashed away in the woods somewhere in Rye, New York. Located a few minutes off the Cross County Parkway, it was hidden in a secluded area, so being spotted was the least of his worries.
Besides that, Cleo had begun to shed some weight due to his excessive cardio training. His overall appearance had taken on a change in the last few weeks. His facial hair had grown, giving him a rough, edgy look and the 30 pounds he dropped had him feeling and looking like a new man.
The treadmill slowed to a stop and Cleo jumped off. “I feel like Tyson in his prime right now.” He bounced on his toes and threw a few jabs at the air. “These niggas can’t fuck wit’ me!”
He looked into the 6 foot wall mirror that leaned against a heavy bag and marveled at himself. He was finally feeling like a leader; doing what he wanted to do whenever he wanted to do it. Living life on his terms, and his terms only; calling the shots, making decisions. Being a boss. But deep within, he feared the truth, the truth of the real him and those unforgotten memories that will forever be embedded in his brain.
As he stood gazing into the mirror, his mind brought him back to a place that he was reluctant to visit. He thought about the neglect, abandonment and malice of his birth mother, and still till this day, Cleo couldn’t understand how a person who held a child inside of them for nine whole months could do such a horrible thing.
He closed his eyes and remembered the day Sybil told him the truth about his mother.
__________
“Cleo!... Mox! Stop that goddamn fighting in my house!” Sybil yelled at the two rumbling youngsters.
“He started it!” Cleo squealed as they got up from the floor.
“Stop lying Cleo! You jus’ mad because I beat you at your own game.”
Cleo was embarrassed. “Shut up!” He sucker punched Mox in the stomach and ran off to the back room.
Sybil saw what happened and darted out of the kitchen to catch him, but the room door slammed before she could get there. “Cleo, open this damn door!” she yelled, turning the knob.
“No!” he screamed back.
She ran back into the kitchen and found a butter knife in the drawer. “You must think I’m playin’ wit’ you boy.” She fidgeted at the lock with the knife, trying to get the door open. Seconds later, she got it.
“What I tell you about puttin’ your hands on your cousin?” Sybil scolded.
Cleo sat at the edge of the bottom bunk, crying and holding an envelope.
“What the hell you cryin’ for, what is that?” She snatched the envelope from his hands and when she saw what it was, her bottom lip dropped. “Oh God, Cleo did you read this?”
He didn’t answer; he just wiped the tears and looked up at her with a face full of anguish.
“I’m sorry, Cleo,” Sybil sat next to him on the bed. “Listen, your mother’s not a bad person, she just happened to make some not so good choices in life.”
Cleo’s voice was low. “So, it is true?”
Sybil took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to tell Cleo the truth. “Listen Cleo, your mother and I were the best of friends back when we were in high school. We did everything together, and when I say everything, I mean everything. Your mother was gorgeous. She just had that look; tall, petite and extremely beautiful. All she ever wanted to do was be a runway model. That’s all she ever talked about. Day in and day out, every conversation had something to do with modeling. She dreamed of making it big and moving to Paris somewhere. We joked a lot, but that was one thing that she was truly passionate about.”
Sybil gathered herself when she felt her emotions starting to build. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and patted the tear on her cheek.
“When we were in high school, there was this guy named Michael Brown who was the star of the varsity basketball team at the time. Well, all the girls in the school were dying to get a piece of Mr. Brown, but Michael had the biggest crush on your mother. He would’ve gone to the end of the earth for her if need be.
Whatever she asked for, she got, but the only problem was; your grandfather was not having it. He could never accept the fact that the Brown family was from the projects. He hated the Brown family. For what reasons, I don’t know, but what I do know is that your mother and Michael secretly got together and a few months later, she ended up pregnant. Boy was your grandfather pissed.”
Cleo sat quietly, listening to Sybil. He was trying to absorb every word she was saying.
“At first, he tried to make her get an abortion, but she wouldn’t do it and he couldn’t force her to, so he acted as if everything was okay. Then he played on your mother’s dream of becoming a model and made her believe that having a child would destroy her body and she would never get the chance to walk the runway. She believed him, and two days after she gave birth to you, I got a knock on my door.
The Union II Page 9