The Pink Panther Clique

by Wahida Clark

  “You know today Prego’s husband is coming to see her. I wanna be down there to see that shit. I got permission for us to go and clean up visitation. It’s something to do to calm my nerves.”

  Mayhem struck the visiting room. Lieutenant Longwood and Prego’s husband fought. It was crazy. “I knew going down there was a bad idea,” Milla said.

  “No, it wasn’t. Now we know who her baby father is for real. Now, that is some scandalous shit. I can’t believe she lost her baby due to miscarriage, never told her husband, then turned around and got pregnant by the lieutenant. Now, that is some shit right there,” I said, thinking about the whole situation out loud.

  “Well . . . That’s not really what happened,” Eshe said.

  “What do you mean that’s not what happened? We all saw it and heard it with our own eyes.”

  “Sun-Solé, you already know. In prison, we believe only half of what we see and almost none of what we hear. On the way out, she told me something. And I just couldn’t believe it,” Eshe said.

  “What? Tell us.” I needed to know what was going on around here. That is what kept me calm, knowing what was happening in this deranged prison world is what kept me feeling like I had a grip on things. Even if it was just a façade; it felt good. It was just one less piece of control they had.

  “Okay. Well, when they were separating us from helping Prego, she told me that Lieutenant Longwood is not the father!”

  “What? Wait. So that means the husband really is . . .? That doesn’t make any sense. She would be almost a year pregnant! Impossible,” I said, doing the math in my head.

  “Nope, the husband isn’t either. It’s the warden,” Eshe whispered.

  “The warden? You lying, girl!” I said, shaking my head.

  “Nope. Turns out she’s been fucking him too, the entire time. And Longwood has no idea.” I couldn’t believe it. And here I was thinking he liked me.

  “Fix your face, Sun-Solé,” Milla said, laughing. “So what? Your prison boyfriend got somebody pregnant. You’re married.”

  “Shut up, girl. There is nothing wrong with my face. I’m just shocked.”

  “Well, I just hope you didn’t do nothing with him too. Did you?” Milla asked.

  “And if she did? So what if she did. It’s not a big deal.”

  “What do you mean ‘no big deal’? Of course, it would be a big deal. She’s married.”

  “Oh, I forgot. I’m talking to a preacher.”

  “Whatever!” Milla said.

  “First of all, I’m just saying. If she wanted to handle her business to further the cause, we can’t judge her. That’s all I’m saying. You don’t think if H could get out tomorrow by banging his case manager, he wouldn’t?” Eshe said.

  “Girl, you know how men are. He probably would,” I confirmed. I was no fool. H and I had our share of marital issues like all couples. But it was never anything big enough to tear us apart. When you dealt with a king, females always tried your hand. It didn’t matter, though. He always proved his loyalty was to me. And our tribulations just made our love that much stronger. “Look, I love my husband, and I had no intentions on getting busy with the warden. I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is crazy. If this ever gets out . . . boy, oh boy.”

  “Well, whatever. It’s not our problem. We got bigger things to worry about. The drop should have happened by now. So let’s call your people, Sun-Solé, and see how it went,” Milla said, changing the subject. The three of us walked to the payphones and waited for her to make the call. She hung up in two minutes. Then she sank down to the floor.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Eshe asked me.

  “No good! He said no good! When he got to the supermarket, there were already police there. Everywhere. And they had the black Malibu surrounded. My guy left just in time, but something still went down.” The feeling in my stomach was hard to explain. It felt like I was going down a roller coaster, and the tracks just snapped. Impending disaster!

  It didn’t take long for us to figure out what happened. Prison news traveled just as fast as news on the outside—if not faster, in some cases. The warden, assistant warden, captain, and lieutenants came on to our unit and ordered an emergency lockdown. A man in a suit, undeniably an FBI agent, walked straight over to Kiera’s room, and they escorted her out.

  Turns out that we made an enemy. Kiera! Kiera went to Ms. Cheiders and told her that she would turn us all in if she didn’t get her due halfway house. She told her she knew about her taking bribes. Ms. Cheiders, being the slick bitch she is, told Ms. Downing that she was swamped and needed her to pick up a package from a friend at the supermarket. And she told her she could use her car. It was no big deal since they car pooled anyway.

  On her lunch break, Downing went to the supermarket just like her friend asked her to. She cluelessly accepted the package, but it was from an undercover. As soon as she got back in the car, the Feds surrounded her. She was arrested for accepting the money. When everything finally got ironed out, Cheiders blamed the whole scandal on Downing. Of course, they believed it. Why not? Cheiders was white. Downing was black.

  It was horrible, and all three of us felt like shit. An innocent woman went down. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for the corruption in the system to begin with. It was ripe for exploitation, and Cheiders was just one of many who played on the needs of inmates to get back to their families. The entire setup was criminal in and of itself.

  Chapter 30

  Eshe

  * * *

  After every inmate who ever dealt with Ms. Downing had been questioned over and over for months, she got hit with five years. Ain’t that some shit? Even though she was innocent. I’m sure it shook other staff members to the core. At the end of the day, it was easy to go from wearing blue to green. Or blue to khaki. Becoming an inmate was just as easy as it was to become a widow or a person in debt. It could happen to anyone. So it was important to treat others the way you wanted to be treated because you just never know what might happen.

  The count had just cleared, and they called us to get mail. Ever since our song dropped, they had to bring up a separate mailbag just for the Pink Panther Clique. Our song was bringing attention to the injustices that took place in prison. People were paying attention, wondering who these chicks were that were locked up. Did they really deserve all that time? When my name was called, I went up and grabbed my mail. I could recognize those typed letters from anywhere:

  UNITED STATES FEDERAL COURT

  221 CADMAN PLAZA

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

  I didn’t know what to expect. When I opened the letter, it said that I had another hearing for the murder charge. I tried to push that reality to the back of my mind throughout my bid. I figured that if I didn’t think about it, it would somehow go away. But that’s not how it worked. I had to be in court in just eight days. That meant that I was going on a trip.

  “Milla, this stuff is for you to hold. And Sun-Solé, put all these clothes up, please.”

  “What? You got immediate release or something?” Sun-Solé asked.

  “Nah. Not at all. I wish. I never talked to you guys in detail about it, because I try not to think about it, but you know I got that pending murder charge of a United States Secret Service agent. I didn’t do it and neither did my team. My bros are all my codefendants in the case. But here’s the deal . . . If it looks like they are going to charge Jerry or Marcellus, I’m going to take the rap for it.”

  “Girl, hell, no! Are you crazy?”

  “Nah, just loyal. It’s my ship, and they were trying to set me up, not them. So I would never let them go down for something I did if I can help it.”

  “That’s noble and all, Eshe, but at the end of the day, husbands have tried to save wives, mothers have tried to take the hit for sons, but it doesn’t matter. The Feds don’t work that way. Once they’ve got their eyes on you, it doesn’t matter what anybody else says. You’ll just have to fight. Good luck, sis. We’ll hol
d your property for you.”

  What Milla told me was true. She was right. The Feds had their eyes on pinning this murder on all of us, and that is exactly what they would try to do. Two days later, I was told to pack out my belongings. I was going on a writ to court. A writ simply meant that another court had demanded my presence. It was cool, and I figured that I would get picked up by the marshals. But that’s not what happened. I was catching a plane ride. On the lovely, most coveted airlines: CON-AIR!

  I was taken down to R&D, where I was stripped out and told to change into blue skips, superloose fitting khakis, and last but not least, I had to remove all of my pride. I’d never been on Con-Air before, but I heard horror stories about it. Once I was good and shackled from waist to ankles, they were ready to drive me to the airport. It was a sight I’d never seen before. There were about twenty Greyhound-sized buses, full of men. Thousands of men, it seemed. A large plane was sitting far off at the airport, and all these buses surrounded the plane, leaving only enough space for the airplane to back out. I was told to step out of the van. The cold breeze made the iron and chains around my body feel like knives. The weight of the cold metal on my ankles stung.

  “Remove your shoes one at a time!” a female marshal said to me. I had to somehow maneuver my foot out of my shoe while shackled. The woman felt the inside of my shoe thoroughly. She then felt my socks and tossed my shoe back on the ground. She repeated the same act, and then told me to turn around and look at the ground. It was so humiliating. I could feel that I was being watched, but I didn’t want to turn around. Six armed men carrying assault rifles surrounded the area as well.

  “If you move the wrong way, look the wrong way, or even think to get out of line, one of these air marshals will shoot. And when I say shoot, I do mean shoot—to kill. So remain quiet and follow our orders. Do you understand?”

  There were a few “yes sirs” from some of the bitch-ass men that were scared of these clowns. But I remained stoic. I refused to give in to the slave masters. I happened to look up, and a man standing directly across from me caught my eye. I knew I wasn’t supposed to look at him, but I couldn’t help myself. His beauty was captivating. His long dreads were pulled back into a ponytail, and his goatee was perfectly lined up. The white, government-issued T-shirt barely fit him. His muscles protruded through his shirt, and he was covered in tattoos. Fine was an understatement. I stared at him, and when I caught myself, the marshal caught me too.

  “Is there something about what I said that you didn’t understand? I thought I made myself clear earlier. Do not look at the men. That’s an order. Try me again and you’ll be wearing a box, you understand?” he asked, screaming in my ear. I looked back down at the ground. “Oh, so you’re deaf?” he asked. Then he looked at the other marshal. “We got us a deaf one over here. Maybe she needs some special attention!” What the fuck did that mean? I didn’t move. I heard more footsteps coming up behind me.

  “You must not speak English, Aisha Haller. You think you’re special?” I hadn’t even done anything. Why were they fucking with me? I could see them loading people onto the plane. I just wanted to get to my destination and get away from these people. “Hello!” the marshal said, angry that I was ignoring him.

  “Ay, yo! Why don’t you back up from the lady? Y’all some real bitch-ass muh’fuckas to be picking on a girl.” I looked up, and the guy with the dreads was speaking up for me. I couldn’t believe his boldness. It immediately made some private places throb. All the attention was now on him. I was told to get on the plane, but I was concerned about him. What were they going to do to him? Just that fast, there were ten marshals all up in his grill. I was pushed up the steps and told to sit in the fourth row. The first three rows were reserved for BOP officials and Air Marshals.

  I was able to get a window seat. There were hundreds of men out there. A sea of them being carted and hauled like brown parcels. I searched for him. And I saw him standing his ground as they put the black box on him and tightened his cuffs. It didn’t seem to faze him as they led him to the plane. A minute later, he was walking past me. I could smell the testosterone leaking from his pores. He was all man. When he walked past me, he winked. I smiled, not caring about their rules. He was taken to the back of the plane and a marshal sat next to him.

  After takeoff, I had to use the bathroom. The bathroom was in the back, and I knew I would have to walk past him. That was really my true motivation for saying I had to pee. He mouthed his number to me. His federal identification. The last three numbers were 037, which meant he was from Baltimore. I nodded and mouthed the words, “thank you,” letting him know I’d gotten his number, and I’d also appreciated him standing up for me to the bullies. He was fearless, and his boldness was obvious. His actions seemed to say: nothing they could do would ever faze me.

  By the time I got to court, my lawyer was already waiting for me. He came to see me in the bull pen, and he advised me to take the plea. They were offering ten years on a conspiracy to murder charge. I didn’t want to take it, but when he told me the alternative, I knew I had to really think about this. “And what about my brothers? What are they offering them?”

  “Don’t worry about them. You need to worry about yourself. It’s my job as your attorney to advise you as such. And their lawyers will be advising them of the same.”

  “Well, that part of your advice is not necessary. Would you abandon your family in a crisis just because it would warrant the best result for you?” He didn’t answer. “My point exactly. So like I said, what’s up with my brothers?”

  “I think you all have been offered the same. I’ll see you inside. They’re ready for us.” He left the bull pen, and I was escorted to the courtroom.

  The judge walked in, of course, expressionless. But it was a great day because a few minutes later, my brothers Marcellus and Jerry entered the courtroom and stood beside me with their lawyers. I reached out my hands to them. I embraced them both and told them how much I loved them and thanked them for being down. But all of that only happened in my mind. I just hoped they were temporarily telepathic, and they could feel what I was feeling inside. Their loyalty was true, and I respected them for it enormously.

  “Have you all decided to proceed to trial? From what I’ve been told, there have been three plea offers. Counsel, have any of your clients agreed?” the judge asked.

  “No, Your Honor. We’re still in negotiation,” my attorney said.

  “Well, let me make it simple for you. The pleas offered are ten years apiece. It’s obvious you all are not going to testify against one another. Let’s make this easy. Thirty years is the combined jail time. I don’t care how you split it up, but I will not go below that amount of time. Not for the death of an agent. An American hero.” I wanted to tell him to shut up. This was so unprofessional. Without any proof, without hearing testimony, or even knowing for sure if there will be a trial, he already pegged us as guilty. This wasn’t justice. This so-called American hero was falsely setting me up, planting drugs in my office. And drugs were chosen because as a black successful company, it would be easy to convince a jury that drugs are the real way we made our money. Not through brains, wit, intelligence, and strategic planning to run a corporation. Only street shit. And that was the insult. As I thought about it, I made up my mind.

  I tapped my lawyer. “Not now!” he whispered.

  “Tell him to set a trial date!”

  “No, you’ll lose.”

  “Just set the date!”

  “Excuse me, Your Honor, my client, Aisha Haller, has just informed me that she’d like to continue her plea of not guilty, and proceed to trial.”

  “My client has just informed me of the same,” Jerry’s lawyer said.

  “Mine as well, Your Honor!” Marcellus’s attorney spoke up. We all nodded at each other. We were sticking together and hoping for the best.

  “Okay, trial is set for six months from now. This court is adjourned!”

  Epilogue

  * *
*

  Eshe and Milla wiped the tears from their faces, only to have to wipe them again. Sun-Solé was leaving. She completed the drug program, which took twelve months off her sentence. Plus, she got a year halfway house. The program was the only way to get out of federal prison early without snitching. So she was on her way to the crib. Her son was in pre-k, and he’d been waiting for her for a while. They knew all of this, but her absence still hurt. They had formed a bond that only people who did time together would understand.

  Nevertheless, Eshe and Milla still had many years to do. There were advantages to having their partner in the street, but they just couldn’t feel it yet. Their bond was too strong, and it felt like they were losing a piece of themselves. When a friend went home from prison, it was one of the most bittersweet moments a person could experience. Of course, you wanted them to be free, but the longing for their companionship was still intense.

  It had been a week since Sun-Solé left, and Eshe and Milla were strategizing their next move. They had plenty of money now, but that didn’t matter. They were still prisoners and could only spend $360 a month, no matter what. Their financial status didn’t catapult them to any levels above anyone else. That is one thing prison did: it placed everyone on the same level, regardless of who you were or where you came from. They still wore a prisoner’s uniform every day, and they were still counted like cattle like everybody else. They quickly learned that, in reality, money was only a small part of freedom. A very small part at that. True freedom came from allowing yourself to be free in the mind. And that was not an easy thing when your environment reflected concrete walls and blue-clad officers telling you when you could and couldn’t breathe. It was degrading. And with Sun-Solé gone, the feeling of loneliness set in for a while.

  Some months later, Eshe found out about the dude she’d met during her Con-Air adventure. She had someone look up his number. Jessie Haller. Coincidentally, they had the same last name. “Yo, Eshe, that’s fate!” Milla said. “I’m telling you. What are the odds of that? It’s God! Jesus!”