by Pat Tucker
My mind couldn’t take in what she’d said. Images of Richards and police officers as they came to haul me away entered my mind and it suddenly became real for me too.
I risked everything for someone who’d had the balls to drop me when a new piece of ass came along, and the thought made me feel stupid.
My back was to the yard as I listened to Edwards and Bishop tell the story about what had happened to Sanchez. Mid-sentence, Edwards stopped talking.
When I turned to see what had stolen her attention, DaQuan was steps away from me.
Instinctively, my legs went weak; the air became so thick and so electric. I was mad at my body for the way it reacted to him, despite me being mad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHARISMA
“You got two kids with him, so we know you’ll say anything to try and protect him. We know you wasn’t with him like he’s saying.”
His thick fist connecting with the desk made me jump like I’d just touched a fence that was electrified.
“Don’t lie!”
The light seemed extra hot and I was hungry. The room they had me in was small and I was sweating like I never knew possible. My wrists hurt too; the handcuffs felt like they were cutting into my skin.
But I was too scared to ask them to loosen the cuffs or take them off.
They must’ve thought I might try to escape because they kept me cuffed to that table for the longest. I was so tired of sitting, it felt like my butt was replaced by only a bone. I was also tired of crying and tired of being questioned.
“We’re getting the surveillance video and we’re gonna see him on it. So, I’ll ask you again. Was Corey McCray with you the night in question?”
Spit gathered at the corners of his mouth as he talked to me.
“You bet’ not lie to me again!” He was so angry.
I swallowed what felt like a real big hair ball trapped in my throat.
The detective leaned over me, and got all in my face. His breath smelled like stale coffee and old cigarettes.
“Let me remind you. Perjury is very serious. It’s a crime. You could go to jail yourself, lose your kids and he’ll become a ward of the state.”
His threat made me gasp. Before he made another one, thoughts of my kids being taken away popped into my mind. I hated Corey for getting kicked off the football team, dropping out of school, hanging out, getting caught up with his loser friends, and doing whatever he had done to make the cops question me.
We had stayed in Waco after we both had dropped out. We were there and together for like six years, working and living. Then I got pregnant again.
It wasn’t that big of a deal because I was twenty-four. Baby number two came at twenty-five; money got real tight and Corey started selling weed.
“Do you love that crook so much you’re willing to go to jail for him?”
I was sick of Corey and sick of the drama he had brought into our lives. When Corey went to jail for two years, I moved back to Houston to be closer to family. By then, family only consisted of Lena and Lance. I was never close with my aunt or our grandmother.
Even back at home, for a long time, I was scared the police would come after me.
“Ms. Jones, you are under arrest!”
When the cold, hard metal touched my wrist again, memories of that long-ago day in the interrogation room came back in a flash.
This time I was the one going to jail. And this time, I couldn’t pin it all on Corey. I needed to take the blame myself.
The phone rang, waking me up, and I left the past and that horrible time of my life back there. It was DaQuan.
“Say, ma, what’s good?”
He made me so happy. It would’ve been better if he was free, but outside of that, he was as close to perfect as I could hope for in a man.
“Hey, daddy.”
I giggled into the phone. We did lots of little talk before we jumped into business and I liked that about him.
“How the fam doing?”
“Everybody is fine. I’m so glad to have you in my life.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
He didn’t say anything at first and that scared me. But soon he said, “Yeah, I’m glad we met too.”
Then, it was time for business.
“So peep this. My people got the address and ya should see a few of them between tonight and tomorrow. With that Sanchez shit, I gotta remind these fools who’s running the show. Listen, ya got that number I sent over, right?”
“Yes. I have it right here.” I scrambled to find the paper I had jotted the number on.
“Call him on three-way.”
I dialed the number for DaQuan.
After a few rings, I was about to give up, but all of a sudden, a deep voice boomed into my ear. I quickly connected the call and the three of us were on.
“E-Dawg!” DaQuan yelled.
“Sup’, Dee. Listen, I ain’t takin’ no charge, so don’t try to play me.”
“Playboy, my lady is on the line, so I’ma need ya to check yo tone.”
The guy let go a nervous-sounding chuckle.
“Okay, bet that,” he said.
It made my heart sing to hear DaQuan call me his “lady,” until E-Dawg responded.
“Say, what’s up, KenyaTaye?”
Horror gripped my heart, and I couldn’t speak.
“Nah, Dawg, that’s Charisma,” DaQuan corrected him and jumped right back into the conversation. “Now that situation with ol’ boy.”
Yes, E-Dawg had just called me by my nemesis’s name. I didn’t know what to say, so I held the phone and listened.
“Dee, you ain’t gon’ put that one on me. Don’t try to dirty me; we been making magic for years. I say you check your team, especially when you changing players after every inning.”
“Dawg, don’t start buggin’ out. This is my jail. Ya understand that? I’m dead serious. I make the final call in this jail. Ya don’t worry about the players on this end. I got this.”
I felt odd as I held the phone, while those two went at it. But I knew better than to say a word when DaQuan was handling business.
“I need you back on schedule. That’s it.”
“I dunno, Dee.”
“E-Dawg, the game may be rigged, but ya can’t win if ya don’t play.”
“Yo, you ain’t even right, Dee. You ain’t gotta threaten your boy. But I hear ya!” E-Dawg said.
“Good. So hit yo people and let them know we good to go. That’s where Charisma comes in. I told her to expect a few people to come through. The first should get there in about two hours.”
“Got it!”
“Yo, Charisma. Lemme’ get ya address,” E-Dawg said.
It took a second to realize they were actually talking to me. And when I did, I rattled off my address and DaQuan told me to hang up.
Then he called back and once we were on the phone alone, DaQuan told me I needed to brace myself for the workflow.
“We gotta get shit right again.”
“Yeah, but, you not even a little worried about the situation up at Jester?”
“Ma, when ya ride with a boss, ya ain’t got time for fear. Let’s make this money; ya’ feel me?”
Twenty minutes after our call ended, I walked outside to get something out of my car and nearly passed out.
“What the fu—”
All four tires were slashed and the car was carved with every name but one for a child of God. I didn’t need security video to tell me who had struck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
KENYATAYE
Being inside the building made me feel sick. Everything seemed different now that I wasn’t leading DaQuan’s team. I hated everything about work: the rank smell, the gloomy walls, and the constant chatter among the inmates. It was never quiet.
Things went from worse to disastrous for me faster than I could understand. One day I was that chick right next to the bossman; the next, I was invisible, worse than a bottom bitch. I couldn’t figure out what I hated
more: everything about the Jester unit, or the fact that there was nothing I could do to change my new reality.
“Yo, Dunbar! What’s what wit’ you?” C.O. Sheppard shuffled up to the guards’ booth. She stopped in the doorway and smacked her fist into her palm.
“You know it’s been tight around here since Sanchez got popped, right? But I got three smartphones, with charges, a couple bags of weed and…” She shuffled some more. “Drum roll, please!” Sheppard then wildly waved jazz hands and screamed, “Some Henny Beyotch!”
I couldn’t believe her stupid, tacky ass. I turned my back on her antics, and Edwards got up and approached the poor chile. It was a good thing Edwards jumped on it, because I wanted to straight punch Sheppard in the throat. She knew good and well we were all on high alert after Sanchez had gotten caught bringing in contraband.
“And, I ain’t have to stuff nothing up my coochie!” Sheppard stopped and stepped closer. “I heard that’s the way most of these females roll around here. Putting all kinds of ish up their twat! But not me. I know how to use my…” She pointed toward her head.
I was disgusted with her.
“Yeah, and my shit works too! It’s like top of the line, so I’ma need top dollar!”
As she went on about how much she’d be willing to accept for the contraband, Edwards took her by the arm and steered her around the corner somewhere. But once I was alone, depression settled in as I thought back to my last conversation with DaQuan.
“Since ya don’t come or answer when I call, I wanna let ya know we ’bout to change up some thangs,” he’d said.
At first, it felt good knowing he was vexed by the fact that I had ignored him.
“Oh, is that right? Like what kind of thangs?”
I had served up much attitude because he needed to know he couldn’t treat me any way he wanted.
“Jones is taking over the day-to-day operations. I’ma let ya know what territory ya can handle. But from now on, she and R.J. got it covered.”
The smirk probably melted right off my face. My heart had started to thud, and panic had flooded my nervous system. I wasn’t ready.
“You ain’t shit! You know that, DaQuan? You ain’t shit!”
It had taken everything in me to swallow back the tears that threatened to burst through. The idea that he’d replace me never crossed my mind. How could he?
“Maybe that’s true, but ya needed to get hipped. Since ya went M-I-A, I made other arrangements. This bitnez, shorty.”
His news had hit me like a large bulldozer. But I’d pulled it together, mustered up my straight face and listened while he talked. He’d had my full attention. With a dismissive shrug, he’d added, “I’ma let ya know when somebody’s gonna come by to get the car.”
That’s when my heart had dropped.
“What? Get my car? Why the hell would anybody come get my car?” A few tears had escaped despite how hard I’d tried to keep them in.
He had cut me deep.
My mouth wouldn’t work. Shots had been fired, and I couldn’t think of the right words to throw back at him for the way he had just hurt me.
DaQuan didn’t care that he’d broken my heart into a billion pieces. He was just a low-life, hustling user, who tossed people out when he was done with ’em. And it was my turn to be set out by the curb like used-up trash.
My finger had jabbed my chest harder than I’d wanted. “So, me, your pregnant chick, is supposed to do what; catch the fuckin’ bus?”
His eyes had moved down to my stomach. When the radio sounded, I snapped back to my present shitty situation.
“Say, Dunbar!”
I whipped around in my chair. It was an inmate and not a C.O. who called my name. What was he thinking?
He wasn’t even someone I recognized. I looked around to make sure no one had sent him just to fuck with me. I approached the doorway and even managed to force a smile to my face. I couldn’t believe he was being bold enough to step to me like we were equals.
And while I planned to watch his face melt after I threatened him with a violation, it was my face that dropped when he spoke.
“I see yo name written on the wall in that bathroom. You still giving head for hundred-fifty?”
The punk even grabbed his crotch, and shook his package.
Blood actually flashed before my eyes, as they narrowed to deadly slits.
“Inmate, what did you say to me?” I asked through tight lips.
He eased back a few steps, and the smile melted from his face.
Franklin strode past us, but then he quickly doubled back. Deep frown lines creased his forehead as he took a closer look at us. “Everything okay over here?” He glanced at the inmate, then back at me.
“Dunbar, there a problem over here?”
“Yeah, I think there is. This inmate accosted me.”
The inmate’s face twisted.
“Fuckin’ yo! Ain’t nobody accosted you! I was tryna offer you a business proposition. Heard ya pockets might be light these days.” His eyes slowly rolled up and down my body, and he licked his lips. “ ’Sides, all ya had to do was say ya didn’t want the job.”
“Down on the ground now, inmate!” Franklin yelled.
The whole time, from the second the inmate hit the ground to the second Franklin snatched him back up, the inmate looked at me with so much venom in his eyes a shiver shot up and down my spine.
I didn’t feel a single ounce of pity for him as other inmates stood around and watched him being hauled off to solitary.
Maybe that would send a message. I might not be DaQuan’s main chick anymore, but I was still a C.O., the sergeant on shift, and I’d be damned if I didn’t get respect.
All of that commotion was nothing compared to the sucker punch that ricocheted through the right side of my face. It came out of nowhere. By the time I realized she was on me, my face stung and colorful stars danced in front of my eyes.
I stumbled, but managed to break my fall and caught my balance. Jones stood over me like she was Rocky or something.
“Touch something else that belongs to me,” she said.
Edwards and Bishop rushed to the doorway, but Jones shoved her way between them and stormed out.
“What happened in here, and what’s with her?” Edwards asked.
Because my hand held my cheek, they knew I had been hit.
Bishop looked around the guards’ booth. But while she did her inspection, an image grabbed my attention. From the corner of my eye, I saw a group of inmates who watched as another inmate acted out the sucker punch I had just suffered.
I turned my head and saw him swing; then he moved to the other side, grabbed his jaw and stumbled backward. The other inmates doubled over with laughter. It was clear I had become the bona-fide joke of the prison.
“Did that bitch just hit you?”
Too mad for words, all I could do was think about ways to kill Jones and DaQuan.
“Oh, God, she might have a concussion,” Bishop said.
“She can only get a concussion if she hit her head real hard on something,” Edwards said.
“She is right here; she can hear you guys; and she ain’t got no damn concussion,” I snapped.
Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to hide the sarcasm in my voice. All I wanted to do was—kill. Messing up that car was nothing. By the time I was done with her and DaQuan, they’d both know how much I hated them.
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHARISMA
$5,865.54
My eyes focused on the account balance and I wanted to pinch myself all over again. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d had that kind of money in a savings account. And it was all mine.
The account was in my mother’s name, but I had control over it with online access. My name wasn’t attached to that just in case anything happened. The money in that account didn’t include what was in my own checking account. It also didn’t include the $900 I kept in a cash box in my bedroom, or the few hundred I sen
t to my mother and asked her to keep in the house.
I logged off of the bank’s site, closed the case to my smartphone, and eased back in the recliner. I flicked a button and a warm kneading sensation started to pound my shoulders.
“Aaaah.”
But all of a sudden, I thought about the blog. I stopped the chair and reached for my tablet. I typed the name of the blog into a search engine and waited for the connection.
Nelson Barnes’s blog From the Inside was fourth on a page of five other search results.
It began with a brief bio about Nelson and how he was incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit. I scrolled through some of the posts and read a bit. I scrolled through and read a post from Thanksgiving of last year.
It was Thanksgiving morning and I awoke in time to watch the big parade on TV. Holidays generally do not have any serious news stories but I was surprised when I saw ABC network’s ticker tape. It read that Governor Greg Abbott had granted 133 clemency petitions. No other information was given so I figured they were all for people who had minor offenses and had already completed their probation or prison time. A lot of people who had been swept up into the system just wanted their records cleared. For the governor it did not involve any potential controversy or political risk. I left the cell around 9 to get my Thanksgiving Day meal. It was one of the few days in the year that prisoners were fed well. Kitchen workers gave us turkey, pork, macaroni and cheese, and a portion of sweet potatoes and stuffing.At the end of the line I was given yet another tray with salad, cranberry sauce, bread, and a little wedge of cherry pie. Typically prisoners receive visitors from their families on Thanksgiving, but I wasn’t expecting anyone.
I glanced through a few more of his posts, but there wasn’t really anything that held my attention. Just when I was about to bookmark the blog, another post caught my attention. When the phone rang, I reached for it, but put it right back down when I noticed Lena’s number.
She was next to one of the last people I wanted to talk to. I went back to the blog and found a post, not about hooking up with inmates on social media, but something that could’ve caused problems. Although most of what he talked about was his case, this particular post discussed ways that prison life mirrored life on the streets.