The Pink Panther Clique

by Wahida Clark

  We were hit with two separate indictments. The first one was for murder. But after searching our office and going through our files, we got hit with a few money crimes: bank and wire fraud. We were up shit creek without a paddle.

  After months of fighting, we were up for sentencing on the white-collar case. A Chase Bank official had just got sentenced to probation, and the amount involved in her case was $250 million. A quarter of a billion dollars. And the sentence was probation. Wow! So with my little $20 million case, I was sure I’d get the same or better. At least, that’s what I told myself. The only difference between her and me is that she’s ten years my senior, white, and it’s about oh . . . 200 million more involved. I should get a slap on the wrist for making a few clients appear to be worth more than what’s in their bank accounts. Nobody lost a penny. Nobody got robbed or duped. Just a little white lie on paper where the end justifies the means. No big deal, right?

  It was my turn next to go before the judge for sentencing.

  With my head held high, I walked into the courtroom and nodded at my family. Everybody was showing so much love. The presence of my great-grandmother really moved me. She smiled that beautiful ninety-five-year-old smile at me. I stood in front of the judge and listened to them talk about me as if I wasn’t even there. My attorney tapped me on my shoulder and snapped me out of my trance.

  “He wants you to say something,” he whispered. I nodded.

  “All I ask is that you have mercy on my staff. Marcellus and Jerry never did anything that I didn’t ask them to. So if you have to give somebody time, give it to me,” I said to the judge. I looked him dead in the eyes and spoke from my heart. I meant it too. I didn’t want to see them go down. They were offered no jail time at all, if they would just cooperate against me. But they refused. Just like I knew they would. We were all facing twenty years. The crazy thing is, the murder charge didn’t carry as much time as the fraud charge. They were two separate cases, and here we were being sentenced on the fraud case first. I was told I’d be called back out on a writ from prison to deal with the dead Secret Service agent situation. This was all some bullshit.

  “That is noble of you to take responsibility. But it doesn’t change the fact that they acted in collusion with you, Ms. Haller. Regardless, today is the day we deal with you and—” The judge was interrupted.

  “Your Honor, I just want to remind you that Ms. Haller here was the boss. Had this been a drug case, she’d be getting the kingpin charge. So with that being said—”

  “Don’t interrupt me again!” the judge warned. “I know the details of this case. I know the facts.”

  “Of course, Your Honor, of course. My apologies.” The presence of a black queen always unnerved muh’fuckas. He was worried because my statuelike presence and the confidence in my voice struck a nerve with the judge. I didn’t scare easy. Prison was just something I would have to get used to.

  “Okay, Ms. Haller, I’ve decided that an appropriate sentence will be 126 months. Ten and a half years in prison. I don’t feel that you are remorseful for your wrongdoings. And the aggravating factors associated with this case don’t sit too well with me. Best of luck!” I wanted to give him the finger. Best of luck? What type of shit is that when you just sentenced me to a decade in prison for some bullshit? I badly wanted to speak on how that agent got caught planting dope in my office. But if I did, it would give motive for his murder. It would create more problems than it would solve. So I decided not to say anything and take it like a G.

  I walked into Danbury Federal Prison ready to be processed. I still had my $3,000 weave in my head, and I didn’t plan on taking it out right now. They stripped me out and were sending me up to the unit. I almost made it out of R&D . . . until this black CO chick called me. “Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am!” I didn’t answer to that shit, so I just kept on walking. She jogged over to me and stood in front of me. “Who processed you?”

  “One of your friends. I don’t know y’all names.”

  “Well, whoever did it didn’t realize you have in a weave.” Damn! Always has to be one. “I need you to take that out.”

  “Can’t I do it in the unit?”

  “Technically, you can’t even go in there with your hair weaved. It needs to come out now.”

  “What if I refuse?” Then she reached in her back pocket and pulled out a pair of sharp scissors.

  “Then I’ll use these and cut it out.” She smiled. A devious, devilish smile that showcased her rotten-ass teeth.

  “Give me something to help get it out,” I said. I didn’t want this chick touching me. The door clicked, and three more chicks entered the holding cell. I looked up at them.

  “What-up?” one of them said.

  “Hey,” I said as I searched my head for the start of a track.

  “You need some help?” one of them asked.

  “I’m good,” I said sharply. I wasn’t in the mood for making friends.

  “Come on, let me help you,” one chick said.

  “Yeah, I’ll help you too,” the other one added. “My name’s Shelly.” A pretty black girl with jet-black skin offered.

  “And I’m Milla.” An almond-toned, bright-eyed woman who looked well put together introduced herself.

  Milla and Shelly sat behind me and started cutting my weave out. It took them about half an hour. The CO stood in front of the cell watching. I hated being watched.

  “Thank you!” I said as I imagined what a hot mess I looked like. My hair was cornrowed. “CO, let me get a comb, please.”

  “My name is Officer Hayts. That is how you need to address me. And . . . you’ll get to buy a comb on commissary. Let’s go. And give me that hair so I can throw it away.” Three thousand dollars’ worth of hair in the trash. What a tragedy. I was steaming that the bitch wouldn’t even give me a comb. I was worth millions of dollars just a few months ago, and now I was walking into the prison looking like a wild-headed jungle woman. Milla put her hand on my shoulder and shook her head.

  “You’re still a beautiful chick. Fuck all that hair. You don’t need it,” she said confidently.

  “Thank you. I guess I needed to hear that.”

  “It’s all good. But I understand. Trust me. I just happened to take mine out a few days before I got knocked.”

  “How long you have?” I asked.

  “I hate to even say the words.”

  “Can’t be worse than me. I got a decade.”

  “I got a decade plus two and half,” she said sadly.

  “Damn!”

  “Drugs?”

  “White collar. Money laundering—that I didn’t even do.”

  “Damn, mine is white collar too. They burned us.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “All right, ladies, enough with the chitchat. Pick up your bedrolls and let’s go. You gotta get to your unit.” She gave us our bed assignments. Our numbers were one digit off from each other, so hopefully, that meant we’d be sleeping close. Milla seemed to have a lot in common with me. Except her hair was laid, and mine looked like a bird’s nest.

  The next morning on Saturday, we were told to stand up for ten o’clock count. That same correction officer with the rotten teeth walked onto the unit to count us. When she walked past me, my mouth damn near hit the floor. I tapped the chick Milla, who happened to be my side bunkie, and pointed.

  “Yo, is this bitch serious right now? This can’t be legal. Who does that?” I said with my face screwed up. The right side of my mouth lifted, and I grilled her. Milla sat up to look, and she fell out laughing.

  Yeah, this was definitely going to be a long-ass journey. The bitch, Officer Hayts, was rocking my weave!

  Chapter 16

  Milla

  * * *

  “Can I borrow that comb, please, if you don’t mind?” I asked one of the ladies in D-Dorm. That’s where we’d be living for about three days until we got assigned to a cubicle. No doors, no real privacy. Some shit I had to get used to. She pa
ssed me a comb that was full of gray hair strands. Gross. I planned on going straight to the bathroom to wash this shit out.

  “You can keep it,” the woman said. “Nice to meet you. My name is Beedie.” I shook her hand. She was an older white woman with salt-and-pepper gray hair, who had to be about sixty years old. She wasn’t the only one. I saw another woman who had to be at least eighty. What the hell could she have done? I planned on asking her too. I turned my attention back to Beedie.

  “Where do you want to work?” she asked.

  “I have to work?” I asked with disappointment written all over my face.

  “Everybody does. I’m one of the mentors here. I’ll tell you all about this place and help you get set up.” I handed Eshe the comb when she walked up so she could stop having a fit and fix her hair. Then I went and sat back down with Beedie.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked her.

  “Oh, just a couple of months, but staff likes me, so they gave me this decent job.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Beedie, what are you here for?”

  “Well . . .” she hesitated.

  “I don’t mean to pry. You just don’t look like a criminal.”

  “Neither do you,” she said, smiling. “I’m a retired lawyer. I’m really here because of one of my clients. But it’s not a big deal. I only have about four months left. I got a year and a day.”

  “What’s up with the day?” I asked, confused.

  “When you get sentenced to just a straight year, you are not eligible for good-time. But anything over a year, you get good-time credit.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “How much time did you get?”

  “Twelve and a half years!”

  “Oh my! That’s awful, honey. I will pray for you because that breaks my heart. I hate to see so many young women getting so much time. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Yes, it is.” I tried not to talk about my time because it was so painful. But it made no sense for me to run from it, because it was my new reality.

  “Town hall!” the officer yelled out. I left the D-Dorm and walked into the main area. It was the first time I got to see all the women I’d be living with up in here. Everybody was staring at me and whispering. I stared right back. What the hell are they looking at? Aren’t they all in here just like me?

  “What’s going on?” I asked Beedie. Eshe stood next to us combing her hair.

  “Town hall. The warden is going to speak,” Beedie whispered.

  A man walked in and stood next to the CO and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Okay, listen up. My name is Warden Havick.” The way the ladies stared at him you would have thought they were at a male strip club, and he was the main attraction. I walked up toward the front to get a better look, and dayuuum! He was fine as hell. Now I could see what they were all looking at. He stood about six foot three. His physique showcased a well fit body, and he rocked a perfectly tailored suit. He appeared to be about thirty-five. A young dude. He looked to be either mixed or Hispanic. But he was all of fine. Eshe walked up to me and whispered in my ear.

  “Yeah, I see it too. He’s all right. But he’s still the police,” she said as she rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.

  “You got a point.”

  “You ladies know what I expect from you. Honesty, integrity, and self-control. Treat the other ladies here with respect, and most of all, yourselves. We’re looking for a few volunteers to clean R&D, visitation, and . . . my office. If you are interested.” Before he could finish his sentence, about fifty hands went up. Thirsty bitches. I looked around in disbelief. He smiled devilishly. He was eating this bullshit up. “Put in a cop-out and you’ll be considered. Also, I want to bring up what happened last night. Unacceptable. And once I find out who was responsible, you will answer directly to me. Have a good day, ladies.” He then walked away. The unit was wide awake and in full effect.

  I now officially knew two people, Eshe and Beedie. “What happened last night?” I asked Beedie.

  “Somebody threw boiling hot honey on a girl’s face.”

  “What?” My mouth flew open in shock.

  “Yeah, her face damn near melted off!”

  “Why?”

  “Girlfriend drama. Come on, let me show you the TV room. You can hang out here until count time at four.” Eshe joined us, and we walked into the TV room to chill. We were still being watched. The two new kids on the block. Three chicks followed us in there, and my eyes followed them. They sat right beside us.

  “You new?” one of them asked me.

  “Yeah.”

  “My friend seems to think you are Milla, King-G’s girlfriend.”

  “Nah, you got me confused,” I said, smiling. Then I turned back to face the television. I didn’t feel like talking about it, and I didn’t know these chicks from a can of paint. Then, of course, as if on a timer, the news came on featuring a story about Milla Davison, the girlfriend of King-G, reporting to prison to serve her twelve-and-a-half-year sentence. My face flashed across the screen. And now I was looking like a liar.

  “I told you that was her, Mecca!” the other one said.

  “Ay, yo, ma,” Mecca said, tapping me again. She was a stocky, dark-skinned girl who wore straight back cornrows. I turned around and gave her my meanest ice grill face.

  “You ain’t gotta front to me or my girl. Ain’t none of us trying to get your autograph. You just a regular bitch up in here.” I was about to say something, but Eshe must have read my mind. She stood up.

  “Hold up with all that bitch shit. She might not want nobody in her business.”

  “And who the fuck are you?”

  “Don’t matter. I’m just saying chill with all the disrespectful shit.” A crowd had gathered at the doorway of the television room.

  “Look, y’all,” Mecca said. “It’s King-G’s bitch, and she got a bodyguard.” Everybody laughed. Then suddenly, everybody backed away.

  “Fuck going on in here?” a deep male voice yelled. He sounded more like a drill sergeant.

  “That’s Lieutenant Longwood. Stay away from him,” Beedie warned.

  “Why?” I asked. But she didn’t answer. His big black ass was right up on us.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, breathing down my neck. His facial expression had, well, no expression at all. He couldn’t be serious. His shoulders were abnormally broad. His skin was as black as the best Iranian oil, and his teeth were as white as drawing paper. His eyes, though, they sat too deep in his head. His nose spread wide like a rumor across his face. And he had the nerve to flare it when he spoke.

  “No, no, Lieutenant. Everything is fine. Is there anything I can do for you?” Beedie asked, brownnosing.

  “Yeah, you can keep it down in this bitch.” I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. This clown couldn’t be serious. His neck snapped around so fast I thought it was going to detach from his body. “Something funny, little girl?” he said. I looked behind me to my left, and then to my right. “Hello?” he said, clapping his hands in my face. “I asked you a question.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were talking to me. You said, little girl, and I was under the impression that everyone in federal prison was an adult.” Beedie’s eyes got beady for real. They looked like they were about to pop out of her head. And he looked like he was about to blow a fuse as well.

  “I don’t care who you are. But you are now property of the United States Bureau of Prisons. And if you ever disrespect me like that again, you will regret it.” He stormed out, and the metal door closed behind him.

  “Wheew! Yaaah!” Everybody clapped and cheered. I looked around, and they were all pumping fists and whistling. Beedie walked up to me.

  “You stood up for yourself to Lieutenant Longwood. He’s a real jerk, and everybody is scared of him. They’re praising you. But now you’re on his radar. Be careful!”

  Great!

  Chapter 17

  Sunny-SolÉ

 
* * *

  The bus pulled into the prison, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell off this thing. It was hot, the air-conditioning had broken down about four hours ago, and the marshals driving the bus only played country music. Torture. Riding around handcuffed, chained, and shackled was like being placed in a barrel and dropped down a waterfall. You just moved around without much control.

  I sat in a cage with one other chick, directly behind the driver’s seat. The rest of the bus was packed with men. There were about eighty men and a total of six females. I had to pee. My bladder was about to explode. And the bumpy-ass road didn’t make it any better.

  “Excuse me!” I said. Neither one of the marshals turned around. “Hel—lo!” I said in a singsongy kind of tone. Finally, the one sitting in the first seat turned around. He screwed up his face and looked me up and down. I guess that was his way of asking me what I needed. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “You have to wait,” he said, immediately turning back the other way.

  “It’s been an entire day. How much longer? We’ve been through five different states. Through sixteen counties. I haven’t washed my ass. I haven’t brushed my teeth. All I’m asking is that I use the bathroom because I haven’t in over six hours. I really have to pee.”

  “And I really need a raise. We all need things.” The driver laughed, and the two of them bumped fists. I wanted to slip my cuffs off and stab them both. Every day I felt the animal side of me wanting to come out more and more. That’s how angry he made me. I sucked up the urge to cry. I didn’t want them to think I was weak. This was inhumane. I looked at the girl next to me. She couldn’t be more than twenty-one.

  “I have to go too!” she complained. “And I don’t think I can hold it anymore,” she whispered, frightened.

  “Oh, hell, no! Y’all need to let us out of here,” I said, yelling.

  The driver looked at the other marshal and nodded. He got up and headed toward the back of the bus. There was a shower curtain type contraption back there. God only knew what was behind it.