The Pink Panther Clique

by Wahida Clark

  “You expect me to believe that?” the detective stated calmly.

  “I really don’t care what you believe. My story is not going to change, and we’re not going to talk about anything else until my attorney gets here. So, please, stop wasting my time.”

  “Your boys, they already rolled over on you. They already told us what we need to know. So you might as well do the same and save yourself the same way they are saving their own asses.” I started to laugh. They didn’t know Jerry or Marcellus like I did. I’d put my life on it that they kept their mouths shut, and they knew it was the same on this end. We moved as a unit. There was no betrayal in this self-made family.

  “Don’t say another word, Eshe. Not another word.” I smiled when my lawyer walked into the room. “I need a moment with my client.” The detective walked out of the room.

  “Eshe, what the fuck is going on here? I’m hearing about a body, an ambush with masked men, and a shootout. Your hotel suite had an IV unit and hospital equipment set up for a man who was handcuffed to a bed. I mean, this isn’t looking good. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

  I exhaled. I didn’t know where to start. “You’re not going to believe this, but this is the 100 percent truth. This guy, the dead one, either worked with or for the Secret Service. He was planting drugs in my office, and I caught him red-handed. I had my gun on me, and I held him hostage until he told me what the hell he was doing. He said the Feds didn’t like my business. Some crap about me making too many blacks rich.” He looked at me as he tilted his head. “I know. I know it sounds crazy. But this is what he said. I had him in the room, and I handcuffed him to the bed railing. He agreed to testify on my behalf if I let him go. Before I could do it, some masked men kicked in the door and killed him. I swear that’s what happened.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No!”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. You expect me to believe that you manhandled a Secret Service agent, and you were able to handcuff him to a bed. All while holding him at gunpoint?”

  “Yes. I made him handcuff himself.”

  “And you mean to tell me that Jeremy and Marcellus had nothing to do with this?”

  “Nothing at all. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” There was a deep silence between us. But lawyer or not, I would never roll on my friends. I wasn’t a rat, and I wasn’t a snitch.

  “Okay, well, that’s the story we’re going with.” He shook his head and got up. He tapped on the window and two detectives came in. They sat down and waited for my attorney to speak.

  “My client hasn’t been charged with anything, so we’re leaving.”

  “Not so fast. She’s being charged with murder.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “These guys can tell you better than I can.” Two men walked in wearing black suits and flashing their badges. Of course, of course. The Secret Service.

  “Well, well, well, I am not surprised to see you again, Agent . . .”

  “Cox. Agent Cox.”

  “Okay, well, the first time I met you, Agent Cox, you were in my office. What day did you say the president is giving his speech? ’Cause I checked, and he’s not scheduled to be around here any time soon. You lied to me, and you had no right to be in my office.”

  “And why do you suppose I would do a thing like that?” he asked.

  “My client doesn’t have another word to say to you. And you have no right to arrest her.” Agent Cox dropped a stack of papers on the table in front of my attorney. My attorney looked at the first word: SEALED. “Why is this a sealed indictment?”

  “You can find out from the judge at her arraignment. Let’s go, Ms. Haller.” One of them lifted my arm from the table, and I snatched it back.

  “I can walk on my own.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he pushed me back down into the chair. “Bring me the shackles.” He put the shackles on my ankles and stood me up. “Now. With your smart mouth—walk!”

  That was my last day of freedom.

  Chapter 13

  MILLA

  * * *

  Things were moving fast with King-G and me. He begged me to move into his place, and I reluctantly agreed. I was an independent type of chick, and I wasn’t really feeling the idea of giving up my own personal space to move in with a nigga. But he was proving himself more and more each day. And his mannerisms, charm, and respect were showing me that he was something different.

  He was very disciplined. Every day he woke up and ran a few miles. Then he went into his backyard and shadowboxed for half an hour with a trainer. Finally, he would come inside and shower and write music. He had a small studio in the crib. All of this was done before eight in the morning. He always had a gift for me too. I mean, every single day he came in the crib with something. If it wasn’t a necklace, it was a watch. Another time it was a painting. I couldn’t wait to see what it would be this morning.

  I liked giving in to him in some ways, but one thing he asked me to do that I refused was quit my job. I was making more than half a mill a year just in commissions. That didn’t include the side money I pulled in. There was no reason to quit. I enjoyed the lifestyle my career afforded me.

  I got up and made him breakfast. He stood behind me and kissed my neck. He had to lean down a few inches because he was so big and tall. His physique was the hardest thing for me to resist. Sexually, the energy was crazy. He could have easily been a football player in the NFL, that’s how ripped he was. But so far, I still held out, and he seemed to think it was funny. He continued to kiss on my neck. His hands wrapped around my waist from the back. I closed my eyes and leaned against him. He moved his hands farther down, slipped them into my panties and whispered in my ear.

  “I see you all wet for daddy.” He found a comfortable place to play and stayed there. This was the least I could do—let him see what awaited him if he continued to act right. “Got-damn, baby!” he said. “I see you got that wet-wet. You really trying to make me go crazy.”

  I didn’t answer him. I was just enjoying the feeling. I felt myself about to climax right there in the kitchen. He was working magic. And then he pulled his fingers away.

  “Nah, sweetheart. If I’m not getting none, you’re not either.” Then he backed away from me, laughing.

  “Whatever!” I said. “Very funny.”

  “Baby, can you take off today?” he said as he sat down to eat his breakfast.

  “I’ve got a bunch of closings. I can’t.”

  “But I’m going on tour, and I don’t want to be away from you for two long months and not get to spend the day with you.”

  “I know, but there is no way I can get out of work. I’ve gotta go. But I will try to get off early. I promise.” He kissed me on my neck and rubbed his hands across my breasts.

  “You know you want it,” he whispered. I did. I couldn’t front. But I made a vow to myself that I planned on keeping. It wasn’t easy, though. Not when you had a fine-ass specimen like KG walking around half-naked every day.

  I walked into my office ready to get busy. I had money on my mind. Not that I couldn’t get whatever I wanted from King-G, but I liked getting my own. “Milla, you have a call on line 5; someone named Cedrick.”

  “Thanks, Brit.” I answered the phone.

  “Yo, Milla Winfrey. What-up!”

  “Big Cedrick. How are you?”

  “I just wanted you to know that I’m gonna be able to pay back half that loan on Friday. Your boy King-G is doing better numbers than I thought. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out. You put Platinum Records back on the map, baby. I owe you big time!”

  “Nah, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

  “As a matter of fact, I guess I don’t. I just happened to introduce you to your future husband.”

  “Future husband?” I chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far. But he is a nice dude. So, yeah, you’re good. That was a nice tip.” We both laughed. I ended the call, feeling good.
He proved to be responsible, and it really made me look good, getting an early payment like that. Plus, I only charged him 11 percent interest. The bank was lucky to get that. Those other numbers were crazy.

  Brit Arat was back in my office with one of those gossip magazines.

  “Hey, Milla, did you see the InLife magazine today?”

  “No, I told you for the hundredth time, I don’t read that crap.”

  “Well, you’ve gotta see this article.”

  “What article?”

  “It’s about King-G.”

  “There are a million articles about King. His album just went double platinum.”

  “Well, this is a little different. I think you need to read it.” I waved her in, frustrated, of course, that she was interrupting me with this crap.

  “What’s so different about this one?” I asked.

  “What is King’s real name?” she asked in almost an accusatory tone.

  “Kino Grafton. And why are you asking me that way?”

  “Just curious.” She wore a suspicious look that I didn’t like. “I don’t know. This here says something different about his name,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re his girlfriend; don’t act like you don’t know.” She dropped the article on my desk.

  It read:

  WHO IS THE REAL KING-G?

  An unknown fact about America’s favorite rapper is that his real name is Kino Gomez. His father, don Santiago Gomez, a Mexican immigrant, was the leader of the Gomez cartel. He moved his family to New York in 1985, during the heart of the crack explosion. He was a major supplier of cocaine and heroin. Santiago Gomez disappeared in 1995 when the Feds were looking for him. King-G’s mother, an African American woman, also disappeared shortly after her husband. A concerned neighbor, Michelle Grafton, took Kino and his sister Nikita in, then eventually adopted them. It is believed that King-G is still tied to the Gomez cartel and . . .

  I put the article down. This was some bullshit. Even if this was true, that didn’t mean he was connected to the cartel. He was just a kid. Brit stood there watching my expression closely as I read the article. So I purposely didn’t react. She folded her arms as though she was waiting for something.

  “Boss wants to see you, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  I got my answer soon enough. When I walked into his office, two other men were sitting there. They must have been from corporate.

  “What’s up, Mr. Darding? What can I do for you?”

  “Milla, have a seat.” His face was scrunched, and his arms were folded across his chest.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” I asked as humbly as I could. I hated not being in the know.

  “These are Agents Black and Yikes from the FBI. You’re being indicted on charges of money laundering.”

  “Money laundering? What are you talking about?” I asked. Agent Black interrupted.

  “You’ve been investing and washing money for your boyfriend, who has just been arrested for trafficking heroin and cocaine. Please stand and place your arms behind your back!”

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!

  Chapter 14

  Sunny-SolÉ

  * * *

  There was something about being locked up that heightened your senses. I could hear the birds chirping, and I could smell the rain. I was on the yard all by myself, exactly how I liked it. It was foggy and gloomy. Nobody came outside when the weather was like this. Well . . . nobody but this bitch Chalk, of course. She didn’t speak, just stared most times. She damn near followed me all day. When I picked up my food tray, she lined up behind me. When I had to use the bathroom, so did she. When I went to laundry, Chalk’s pale ass was right there. It drove me crazy.

  It started raining, but that was fine with me because Chalk took off running back inside. Good riddance! I don’t feel like being bothered with none of these chicks today. This whole environment is for the birds. County jail sucks. The food is unidentifiable, and it comes in these five-compartment trays that sit on top of other five-compartment trays. The whole setup is on some low-grade, dirty shit. I absolutely hate it.

  After being outside for forty minutes, it was time for me to shower. I slipped on my shower shoes and stepped inside. I was happy to see I was the only one because the shower is communal with no dividers and six showerheads. I turned on the water and tried to go as fast as I could, as I did every day. I wanted to be in and out before anybody . . . damn! I talked too fast. Chalk, this too skinny little white girl from Albany, decided to shower as well. What the hell is wrong with this bitch? I turned my water off and started to dry.

  “What does that tattoo mean?” she said.

  “First of all, why are you even looking at me, Chalk? I don’t need no bitch that I don’t know looking at the tattoos above my ass.”

  “Sorry, I just—”

  “You just what? Girl, focus on washing your own damn ass, please.”

  “Fine. Whatever!” I had no privacy in this damn place. The toilets didn’t have dividers either. I saw more than a lifetime’s worth of dirty pads being changed. And nothing was worse than two bitches taking a shit and having the time of their lives chilling on the toilet. Jail life was just different than anything else I ever imagined.

  I stepped out of the shower and immediately sneezed. It’s always cold because the air-conditioning runs on full blast all day long. They say it’s to keep down the germs, but I know it’s really because they just want to torture us. There is no reason I should see my own breath whenever I exhale. Especially indoors. What type of Antarctica shit is that?

  I’m waiting to be sentenced. My last two dates were cancelled. I was pissed because this county shit was about to make me lose my mind. I knew I’d eventually be moved to a federal prison, but this was the slowest six months of my life. For this to be New York, it certainly was a hick town. This town was no place that any black person should ever feel comfortable walking around at night or being alone. No wonder some people only considered the “real” New York to be the five boroughs and Long Island. They couldn’t pay me to live around here. The deer definitely outnumbered the people.

  There were about fifty girls in the jail and only three of us were black. I wanted to hurry up and get sentenced to get this shit over with. My husband ended up getting transferred back to the Feds. Everything just went all wrong. My charge was bribery of a public official. I could get up to five years. All I could do was hope for the best. I didn’t want to lose my house or my cars, and it was bad enough that all of this started because those FBI agents stole so much of my money. Every day I exercised and did my best to keep a strong mind. I wouldn’t let them take my sanity as well. But being here, that was a daily struggle.

  Seeing crackheads was one thing; that was a daily thing growing up. But these meth heads made the crackheads in my hood look like supermodels. They had no teeth, deteriorating skin, and slumping figures. Those chemicals were no joke, and it appeared to have been burning them alive from the inside out. It seemed like all the meth addicts in Upper New York had been gathered up and dumped right here in the pod with me. It was sad to see people on this level. They were in a zombielike state. This wasn’t the place for them; they needed help.

  “What’s that smell?” I asked Linda, my bunkie.

  “I don’t know. But it stinks.”

  “Every morning around the same time, I smell that shit. It’s horrible,” I said, frowning up and shaking my head.

  “That’s Jenn. She’s got chicken grease, baby powder, her meds, commissary painkillers, lemon juice, and some alcohol pads all in a bowl in the microwave.”

  “What?”

  “She’s heating it, then she’s gonna roll it in the lettuce we got for lunch and smoke it.”

  “Knock it off, Hot Sauce. Stop lying.”

  “I swear. She does it all the time.” I knew I was in the Twilight Zone for real now. I took a nap, trying to sleep the time away. I bought three blankets from some of the other ladies. I wasn’t
with this cold shit. It felt like as soon as I had dozed off, someone was tapping my bed. What now? A flashlight was beaming in my face. I squinted and blocked the light with my hand.

  “Solé! Pack out!”

  “Pack out? What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  “To get sentenced.”

  “At two in the morning?”

  “The Feds are here now. So you’re going with them. You got twenty minutes to get all your possessions together.” I didn’t plan on taking none of this shit with me. I gave it all away to the other ladies. I gathered up my things and walked out of the pod with the CO. Chalk stood there crying her eyes out. Yeah, this bitch is definitely loony.

  My nerves were all over the place. I was handcuffed and shackled and placed in the back of an all-white unmarked van. We stopped at six other counties, picking up eight women in total. By the time they finished picking people up, it was close to five in the morning. Then we headed to Brooklyn, where I’d be going to court. I was taken into the bull pen. I’d been in here many times before. The shackles were taken off. I stood before the worst judge in the district, Judge Marvin Kramps, appointed by George W. Bush. My lawyer patted me on the shoulder and told me to relax; everything was going to be good. The plea I signed was for five years, but judges weren’t bound by that. So all I could do was pray.

  After going back and forth for about thirty minutes, finally, I was told to stand and was asked if I had anything to say. I only spoke about my son. I asked the judge to please take him into consideration. He was only one.

  “Mrs. Solé, your case is one of a kind. I thought long and hard about an appropriate sentence, and I find that two years is sufficient for your crimes,” Judge Kramps said.

  I had to focus all my attention on my mouth, to keep it from curling up into a smile.

  Chapter 15

  Eshe

  * * *