Dear Summer

by Elliott, K.

  Country nodded his head in agreement then drank his water. He really didn’t care for margaritas. He always figured they were for girls.

  Seconds later, a thin waitress appeared at the table. Her name tag read Meagan. She smiled a bright smile and asked, “Are you guys okay? Do you need anything else to drink?”

  Q pulled out a wad of money then pointed to the two black women on the other side of the room. “Here is a hundred for you…” He lowered his glasses and beamed in on her name tag “…Meagan, and I want you to take this other hundred to the women across the room. Tell them that I’m covering their drinks for the rest of the evening.”

  Meagan put the money in her apron. “Thanks a lot.” She disappeared to the other side of the room. She told the women what Q said. Both women waved and smiled.

  Q held his cool and winked.

  The two women walked over to the table and introduced themselves. The lighter skinned woman offered her hand. “Hi. My name is Summer and this is my friend Tonya.”

  Q held her hand for a long time. He looked at her face and realized Country was right. This was Tommy’s girlfriend. Damn. This bitch is bad, he thought.

  “I’m Quentin, and this is my boy, Country.”

  Country smiled at Tonya but she turned her head.

  “Have a seat,” Q offered.

  When Summer sat down, she crossed her legs, and Q couldn’t help but stare. He wondered how in the hell did a fat ass like Tommy have a woman like this. Then he realized it had to be the money. His mission was to show them that Q had money too. He held his platinum Rolex watch up for a long time, wanting everybody to look at it, before finally saying, “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “It’s only six,” Tonya said.

  “It’s late for me because I’ve been working all morning.”

  Summer smiled then asked. “What is that you do?”

  “Music business.”

  “Rapper?”

  “No, executive. I have two artists and I just inked a multi-million dollar distribution deal.”

  “With who?” Tonya asked.

  Q looked at her with suspicion. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He knew a lot of those groupie gold-digging chicks knew about music and record companies. “I don’t understand your question.” Q stalled for time.

  “Who is your distribution deal with?”

  “Hood America Records—a subsidiary of Virgin.”

  Tonya shook her head. Her face said she didn’t believe him but she simply said, “Impressive.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So can we be in a video?” Summer asked.

  Q’s mind went straight to the gutter. Oh yeah you definitely can be in my video, he thought, as he pictured himself sexing her from behind with his video camera going.

  “So, do you have a boyfriend?” Q asked Summer.

  Summer shrugged her shoulders. “Kind of.”

  “How can you kind of have a boyfriend?”

  Summer put her hands over his lips. “Shhh. Let’s not talk about him.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Country turned to Tonya who was looking like she was bored.

  “So what ya’ll got planned for the evening?”

  Summer toyed with her hair then wrapped her full lips around the straw in the margarita glass. Q’s dick stiffened as he thought of her giving him head.

  “Nothing; we’re just chillin’…having a few drinks.” “Where are you from?” Q asked.

  She smiled. “Texas…but I have been here for about four years.”

  “I can tell you weren’t from here.”

  She frowned. “What you trying to say? I’m country? This ain’t hardly the city.”

  “No I ain’t trying to say you country. Calm you nerves. I’m just saying you sound different.” Q massaged her hands and looked into her eyes. “I like it actually.”

  Tonya turned and laughed. “She don’t like nobody calling Texas the country.”

  Q strategically placed his hands on the table so the women could look at his canary yellow diamond ring, then he faced Tonya, who was looking down at the table. “So, you feeling my man Country? Because he was the one that spotted ya’ll… particularly you.”

  “Why can’t he talk for himself?” Tonya asked.

  Country had always been kind of clumsy around women. Q was the ladies’ man. He had the talk and the game. He had always been responsible for Country’s girlfriends. Country wasn’t an ugly guy, but he had no talk… no game, and women didn’t like the fact that his conversation was whack.

  Q smiled and then pulled his Versace sunglasses from his pocket and placed them over his eyes. Again, this was done purposely. He knew they wanted getting-money type niggas. “My boy has his mind on his paper, that’s all.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” Summer said.

  “I can talk for myself,” Country finally said.

  “Do you like what you see?” Tonya asked.

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Let’s go back to my penthouse,” Q said.

  “We don’t know ya’ll like that,” Summer said.

  “Listen, baby, I ain’t no serial killer. You are safe with Q.”

  “Is that what they call you?”

  Damn. Q didn’t mean to let his nickname slip out. He knew she was Tommy’s bitch and if ever Tommy discussed him, it would be easy to realize who he was.

  “Yeah some people call me Q, but I prefer the ladies to call me Quentin because that’s what my mama calls me.”

  “You a mama’s boy, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Yeah, that nigga’s a mama’s boy. His mama still cooks for him. She prepares his food for the week,” Country said.

  “Ah, how sweet,” Tonya said.

  “That’s a good thing. It means you respect women,” Summer said.

  I wouldn’t say all that, Q thought. He glanced at Summer’s toned calves. He pictured himself fucking her on his balcony, pulling her hair and smacking her ass.

  “So, can I call you?” Q asked her.

  She blushed and then said, “I don’t know. It depends.”

  “Depends on what?” Q asked. He knew he had more money than Tommy, and he knew he was more charming and good looking. What the hell could it depend on? he thought.

  “If you’re a player.”

  “You have a boyfriend, ma. What you talking about?”

  “I don’t exactly have a boyfriend.”

  “First of all, that player shit ain’t me.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said, smiling.

  “Seriously. That’s old and I’m about to be thirty next year.”

  Summer pulled out her cell phone, smiled politely and asked, “Quentin, let me have your number. I think it will be better that way.”

  “I understand,” Q said, then he spit out his digits.

  Chapter 11

  Squirt was in his cell reading his Bible. He had sworn to God that if he got out of this one, he would get a job and spend more time with his son and his baby’s mother. He thought about all those nights when he ran the street and never spent time with Sheniqua, or his little boy. He looked up at the aluminum bed and read the words etched in the bed—This is Hell. He had to agree with whoever authored the phrase. This was hell, and he didn’t want to be here. He remembered the white arresting officer saying, if ever he wanted to help himself, give him a call. He knew the man meant snitching. He couldn’t do that, nor would he ever do it. It went against his morals, unless somebody was a child molester or cold-blooded killer, but even then his life or his kid’s safety would have to be in direct danger. He hated being in jail and it seemed as if ever since he was 16 years old he’d gone to jail at least once a year for one thing or another. But now he was twenty-three, and he had gotten caught with nine ounces of crack cocaine. With his record, this could give him ten years. If the feds picked up the case, he could get life. God, please don’t let the feds pick up my case. If the feds got the case
, he knew he was bound to be gone until his two-yearold son was about to finish high school, and he didn’t want that. He pulled out the pink paperwork with his charges on it. When he did, Jessie, an old con, walked into the cell. Jessie was 46-yearsold with graying braids in his hair.

  The two men made eye contact before Jessie said, “Put that

  paperwork up, young buck.”

  “Why?” “Nigga, there’re a lot of snitches dying to look at your paperwork to get out of jail.” Jessie’s face hardened. “Remember that.”

  Squirt knew Jessie was telling the truth, because he’d been to jail before. He folded his paperwork. “There’s nobody in here but us.”

  “I don’t wanna see nobody’s paperwork, because I don’t want to even see mine.” Jessie sat on the edge of the desk. Then he pulled out a carton of lemonade that was left from lunch. He opened it and took a sip. “This shit is the pits. Ain’t it, man?”

  Squirt sat up on the edge of his bed. “I was just thinking, man, if I ever get out of this one, I’m finished with this shit.”

  “Yeah, I know what ya mean. I’ve often promised God over the years, too.”

  “Jessie, I know you don’t want to hear about my case, but I have to get somebody’s opinion.”

  Jessie sat the carton down and took a deep breath. “Listen, man, I really don’t need this shit. I got my own shit to worry about, and believe me, my shit is far worse than a petty-ass drug case.”

  Squirt looked surprised. “How do you know I have a drug case? I haven’t told anybody.”

  “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that you’re in here for a dope case. Most of these young boys in here are, and you ain’t no different.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jessie stood, took off his orange jumpsuit, got his deodorant and toothpaste and soap. “Man, I have to get in the shower before they lock down.”

  “We got an hour.”

  “Yeah but everybody is going to want to take a shower at the same time.”

  “Jessie, I do have a dope case and I think somebody set me up.”

  Jessie looked Squirt square in the face. “You set yourself up, young buck.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It mean you thought you could make a living off that shit and it only takes one time for the cops to get you and it’s over. Did you really think about the risk?”

  Squirt thought hard. He hadn’t ever thought about the risk. He didn’t care about the risk. He thought about the money he needed, his son needed, his baby’s mother needed, but he knew what they needed most was him. “You right, Jessie.”

  Jessie walked toward the door. Before he could open it, Squirt asked, “How many people in here are for drugs?”

  “I would say, out of the 54 people in here, 45 are in here for drugs. There’s a couple of child molesters in here, too.”

  Squirt put his hand behind his head as he lay back on the bed. “Jessie, what you in here for?”

  Jessie stepped back inside the cell, closed the door tightly and looked Squirt directly in his eyes. “I’m in here for murder.”

  Squirt’s eyes grew, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah. A motherfucker raped my 14-year-old daughter and I took him out.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I admitted to it. I mean, my lawyer and the DA understands it. I am trying to plead temporary insanity.”

  “How much time does it carry?”

  “I can probably get fourteen because my record is fucked up.”

  Squirt took a deep breath. “I know what you mean,” Squirt said, thinking of the two prior drug convictions he had on his record. Though he had never been to prison, he had been sent to boot camp, once, for ninety days.

  “I have to get in the shower,” Jessie said.

  “Please listen to my story.”

  Jessie looked at Squirt again. His facial expression said he really didn’t want to hear what Squirt had to say, but he sat on the edge of Squirt’s bed. Squirt handed him the paperwork.

  ***** “I’m telling you, man, I ain’t have nothing to do with your man going to jail,” Tommy said. He and Q were at a booth in the back of the Waffle House. It was 3:00 am and the restaurant was full of patrons from the strip clubs and other night spots.

  Q stared at Tommy straight in his face. He was trying to see if Tommy was afraid, but Tommy didn’t bat an eye. He wanted to believe Tommy, but all he knew was his man had gone to jail because of the car.

  “Q, I don’t have a case. What do I need to set your boy up for? And furthermore, that ain’t my style.”

  “Do you know this is his third offense, Tommy?”

  “Why the fuck do I need to know that? I mean, that’s the risk when you deal, nigga. I mean, that’s your boy. You better be worried; not me.”

  “It’s your car, nigga.”

  “No, it’s Squirt’s car,” Tommy said with a serious face.

  Two strippers walked by wearing tight fitting jeans and heels. Q grabbed the shorter of the two’s ass and the woman turned around and said, “Motherfucker…” She stopped in mid-sentence and smiled. “Oh. Hey, Q.”

  “What’s up Diamond?”

  “Not much. Will you pay for me and Passion’s food?”

  Q tossed her a hundred. “Wait for me in the parking lot. I want to hang out with you tonight.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  Q slapped Passion on the ass too. “I want you to hang out with us.”

  Passion didn’t respond. She just followed Diamond.

  Q leaned across the table. “Tommy, how did you come home so fast from the feds?”

  “I did my time.”

  “Nigga, you were a kingpin.”

  “Yeah, and what is that supposed to mean?”

  “You should have got thirty.”

  Tommy’s face became hard. “Q, what the fuck are you trying to say?”

  Q looked away. The waitress dropped two plates of walnut waffles on the table.

  “Q, what the fuck are you trying to say?”

  “I’m just asking, Tommy. No need to get uptight.”

  Tommy poured some syrup on his waffles. He knew that there were some people on the streets that thought he was an informant because he’d had so much money and he had gotten out of prison early. He really didn’t care what they thought, as long as he knew he had done the right thing, and the right thing to him was sticking to his morals and never snitching on his boys. Now that he was out of prison he didn’t know if he could go back on a drug case. That’s why he chose to stay away from drugs.

  “Listen, Tommy, man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Q, I’m really offended man. I mean, my case was publicized. Yeah, I testified on a DEAofficer—the bitch that sat me up. That’s how I got out of jail. Never did I tell on anybody that did anything with me.”

  Q drank his orange juice slowly. “I know. I remember hearing about the case.”

  “Well, why in the fuck did you ask me did I have your boy fucked up, Q?”

  “All I know is my man is in jail and he said it was because of your car.”

  “He said my car caused him to go to jail?”

  “Yeah. Said the paperwork wasn’t right.”

  “I have nothing to do with the paperwork.”

  “You sold us the car. Right?”

  Tommy put his hand over his mouth. “Shh. Quiet.”

  “You sold us the car.”

  “Listen, nigga, I don’t even know your boy’s name, so how in the fuck am I gonna set him up?”

  Q was quiet. Tommy had brought up a good point. Diamond tapped on the window. When Q looked up, Diamond licked her lips. He held up his hand indicating he wanted her to hold on for five minutes.

  “Q, man, you gotta believe me. I didn’t have nothing to do with this.”

  “I hope not, Tommy. I like you. I like you a lot, but if I find out that you did, I’ma have to put in work.”

  “What the
fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Q stood, tossed $100 on the table and said, “Tommy, I hope this shit is not what I think.”

  Tommy stood. He’d made up his mind he had to be ready for war, because nobody was going to threaten him; nobody was going to make him out to be a snitch. He wasn’t scared of Q, or anybody else for that matter.

  Chapter 12

  DEAagent Mark Pratt walked into the interrogation room. He waited ten minutes in the cold room, with only his legal pad in his hand. He looked at the suspect’s jacket. Jerome Miller was a 22-year-old black man. He’d had two prior drug cases—nothing substantial. Pratt figured he was a petty criminal and he knew that Miller might want to save his own ass once he knew the case was going federal. Cooperating with the feds in this case might save the young man seven years. Miller walked in a tad shorter than the 5'6" height indicated on his arrest record. The Mecklenburg County jumpsuit swallowed his thin frame. Pratt offered his hand.

  Miller didn’t shake it. He sat down across from Pratt. “Yeah, who are you?”

  Pratt pulled out his DEA badge. “I’m with the DEA.”

  “Okay. What do you want with me?”

  “Your case is going federal.”

  Squirt looked surprised. “Nine ounces is going federal? What, are you crazy?”

  “You had a gun and the ATF will be seeking an indictment.”

  “Come on, man. Are you serious?”

  Squirt cracked his knuckles. He was nervous, but he tried his best to remain calm.

  “So, what you want from me?”

  “Just wanting to know if you wanted to help yourself.”

  “You want me to tell?”

  Pratt shrugged his shoulders and said, “That’s totally up to you. You’re facing thirty with the gun and the dope, so if you want to get out before you rot in prison…”

  “I ain’t got nothing to say.”

  Pratt dropped his pen on his pad. There was a long silence in the cold room. He stared at the young man across from him. His eyes were sincere; he would never tell. He was the kind that made Pratt’s job harder. He had seen many kinds of criminals over the years and he had become pretty good at sizing them up. He knew there was no use in pressing the issue.