by Carl Weber
When the trunk opened, a few bags fell right out onto Lanier’s feet. We’d had that trunk stuffed to capacity. Hey, we might have been independent black men, but who doesn’t take laundry home to Mama when visiting from college?
“Lang, will you shut up?” Tony snapped.
“Listen to your friend, kid. You’re not making this better,” Blake whispered as we watched Lanier kick the bags out of his way.
He pulled a Louis Vuitton and a Ralph Lauren bag and dropped them carelessly to the ground. The dog started pacing around the bags.
“What the fuck, man? That’s my bag! That shit is worth more than you make in a week.” Krush yelled. He was about to stand up, but Blake placed his hand on his holster.
“I’d calm down if I were you, young man.”
“But that’s my shit,” Krush snapped angrily.
“Let the Sergeant complete his search so you boys can get outta here.”
“Chill, Reem,” I said, looking up at Blake. I could feel the anger in all of us intensifying, but we fell back and let Lanier continue without interruption.
When the trunk was empty, he’d pick up one bag, unzip it, and throw it to the ground so the dog could sniff it. Then they would move on to the next. He looked up at us, laughing as clothes and groceries spilled on the ground.
When he threw one bag, Tony went to make a move, but I held my arm out, halting him. “Don’t do it, man. My pops is going to handle this. You best believe that.” I said it loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is Staten Island. We don’t need another Eric Garner.”
“What was that, college boy?” Sergeant Lanier cupped his hand around his ear, daring me to repeat it.
I bit my tongue and tightened my lips, refusing to speak the words again. He was going to get his real soon.
“Thought so.” He let out a snicker and then continued digging through the trunk.
I tucked in my bottom lip and bit down to keep myself from crying. I was so heated that tears of anger were starting to form in my eyes. The last thing I wanted was to stand there crying on the side of the road like a little bitch. My boys would never let me live that down. This would all be over in a little bit. I just had to keep my composure and hold on for a while longer.
“Satisfied now?” I asked when he’d gone through all our bags and the trunk was empty. “You gonna put our bags back in the car?”
Sergeant Lanier looked defeated, but not done. “Come on, Princess. Up, girl.”
I couldn’t believe it, but that fool had his dog jump up in my trunk and start sniffing around. I glanced over at Tony, who was shaking his head, but I shifted my attention back to the car when I heard the dog scratching and barking in my trunk. Lanier turned to us with a satisfied grin as he escorted the dog out of the car and back to his truck. He then walked back to my car and submerged himself in the trunk. After a few tense seconds, he popped back out and strutted over toward Officer Blake, carrying a cloth bag. He said nothing, just simply opened it up wide for Officer Blake to peek into.
The expression on Officer’s Blake face did more than concern me. It downright scared me. Something was wrong. That was evident from the way the two cops were ogling the bag.
The fellas and I shot each other questionable looks. Our eyes silently demanded that whoever knew what the two cops had found so interesting should speak up. But no one said a word as Sergeant Lanier placed the bag on the hood of his car. The next thing I knew, he was taking out a rectangular package wrapped in grey duct tape. What the fuck was that? I watched as he used his keys to cut it open. He dipped his index finger into it and tasted the contents of the bag right before a sinister smile took over his face.
“I told you I have a sixth sense about this kind of thing,” Lanier bragged to Blake.
“You certainly do, Sarg,” Officer Blake replied. The look on his face was a mixture of anger and disappointment. He’d tried to give us a break, and now he had just been humiliated in front of his superior officer.
“Now, would anyone like to ’fess up to this?” Sergeant Lanier asked, holding up the brick of drugs. Nobody said a word. “That’s what I thought.”
Desiree
8
“Girl, put your records on, play me your favorite song. . . .”
I woke up to loud, off-key singing coming from the bathroom. I rolled over onto my side and blinked my eyes in an effort to focus. Bright sunlight streamed through the blinds and created a prism design on the wall, causing me to realize it was much later than I thought. I glanced over at the clock radio.
Shit. I overslept.
I stood up, taking a moment for my body to get adjusted to shaky legs. Where the fuck were my clothes? I spotted my skirt and blouse laying neatly on the back of a chair in the corner of the room, but I didn’t see the lace bra and thong I had worn under them. A flashback of hands slipping the lace from my shoulders, then lips exploring my breasts, filled my head and gave me a hint of where I might find the lingerie. I tossed the duvet and sheets back and ran my hands through them. Bingo! I’d found the bra, but where were my panties?
Think, Des, think. I couldn’t believe I had allowed this to happen. I was going to be late again—the third time this week. I grabbed my cell phone off the desk and called my brother. There was no answer. I called again. This time, it rang once and went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. I know I screwed up, but I need you to cover for me. I’m on my way. I’ll just meet you all at Klein’s office in half an hour.” I ended the call.
“Good morning, sunshine.” The bathroom door opened.
“Don’t good morning me. Why didn’t you wake me up? You know I should’ve gotten up when my alarm went off the first time.” I shook my head as I pulled my skirt over my hips without underwear.
“I did wake you up . . . then I put you back to sleep.” She laughed. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that I’m gonna get cussed out and maybe fired,” I explained, reaching for my blouse.
“You’re not gonna get fired over this. That’s crazy.”
“Okay, you keep thinking that,” I snapped, searching the room one last time for my missing underwear. “Where the hell are my panties?”
“That sexy-ass thong you were wearing last night?”
“Yes.”
“It’s in here,” Jerri replied, walking over to her night table. She opened it and pulled out my panties.
“What’s it doing there?”
“I wanted a souvenir,” she purred in a sultry voice.
I looked at the hands now holding my black Victoria’s Secret thong and recalled the feeling of those same fingers as they trailed along my collarbone. I snatched my underwear, ignoring both the seductive smile and the sexual tension in the room.
“You’re crazy,” I said, more to myself than to her as I slipped on my panties. “I should’ve never come over here last night.”
“Don’t be like this. Fine, okay, I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up. But you’re not going to be fired. You work for your damn daddy, for Christ’s sake.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? I’m a Hudson. I’m not supposed to miss meetings. This is unprofessional no matter who I work for. It may not seem important to you, but—”
“Des, calm the hell down. You’re always so uptight. I thought I relaxed your ass last night and this morning.” She let out a long, dramatic sigh, like she just couldn’t handle me.
“Jerri, I’m serious.” I slipped my foot into one of the heels.
“I am too. About you, about us.”
Jerri took a step closer to me, and I stepped back, nearly stumbling because I had only one shoe on. She caught me just in time and gave me a smile that I couldn’t resist returning. I stared at her as she stood in front of me wrapped in a towel, beads of water dripping from her short, curly hair onto her neck and shoulders. She was so damn sexy. That was one of the main reasons I was with her. I had never been attracted to a woman before, but Jerri was different.
She was gorgeous even though she really didn’t want to be, so she didn’t flaunt it. There was something irresistible about the way she embraced her sexuality, which included her masculinity.
When we met, she’d had no problem letting me know what she wanted and how she wanted it. What she wanted was me, and she wanted me now. I tried explaining to her that I was a straight woman and happily single, but she persisted. As she pursued me, she made me laugh and think, and I began to enjoy her. It was then that I realized there was a mutual attraction, and before I knew it, I found myself doing something I thought I’d never do: date a woman.
“I’m not doing this. I’m getting ready to leave,” I said, putting some distance between us before I allowed myself to give in to temptation.
“You’re already late, Des. Being later won’t matter.” She touched my neck seductively.
“No, Jerri,” I said, walking past her.
She grabbed me by the arm. “Des, wait.”
I turned around to face her and glanced down at her hand. She released her grip as I asked, “What?”
“Are you coming back later?”
“I’ll call and let you know once I see how my day goes,” I told her.
“What time?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I wanted to cook dinner for us. Netflix and chill, and maybe even if you’re lucky . . .” She stuck her tongue out playfully.
“Dinner sounds nice, but no promises,” I told her. Jerri was an executive chef and an amazing cook. They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but Jerri’s cooking had definitely helped her find her way into mine, that was for sure.
“And you can provide dessert.” She gave me a suggestive look. “Lord knows I enjoyed that tasty treat I had last night. Oh, and let’s not forget this morning.”
“I should’ve never let you go down on me this morning,” I shot back, throwing cold water on her little fantasy. “That’s why I’m late now. I’ll call you in a little while.” I headed out of the bedroom.
“Wait. Does that mean you’re going to spend the night?” Jerri was right on my heels as I entered the living room.
“It means I have to go, Jerri, and I’ll call you later.”
“Can I at least get a good-bye kiss?” she asked.
I turned around, and the simple kiss I planned to give her turned into a minute-long exploration of tongues. That woman could kiss, and I enjoyed it, so much so that I found myself wanting to take off the clothes I had just put on. I ended the kiss, rushed out the door before she could stop me again, and made my way to my Benz that was parked in the visitor space of her parking garage.
In the car, I called my brother Lamont again.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“I need you to cover for me. I’m running late for the meeting, but I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. The meeting’s over. Dad’s headed back to the office, and I’m on my way to see a client.”
“Dammit, is Daddy pissed?” I asked.
“What do you think? Of course he’s pissed,” he replied with no sympathy in his voice.
“Guess I’ll go take my medicine from the High Bishop Hudson,” I said sarcastically and hung up. My mind began working to figure out a lie believable enough for my genius of a father. I prayed for God to send a miracle that would get me out of the mess I would be facing when I arrived at the office.
A call came in from an unfamiliar number, interrupting my brainstorming session. Thinking it was probably one of the pro-bono clients I had taken on, I answered through the car’s Bluetooth.
“Hello.”
“Des.” I recognized the voice but didn’t have a clue why my little brother was calling me from some strange number.
“Lang?” I asked.
“Yeah.” There was a lot of background noise, but I could still hear the distress in my brother’s voice.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m in Staten Island.” There was an uncomfortable silence, during which I could hear my heart start pounding in my chest. “Des, I’ve been arrested, and I need your help.”
Tony
9
I’d been in this closet of an interrogation room in one of the police precincts in Staten Island for what seemed like forever by the time the two white detectives walked in and sat down. One of them was really skinny, and the other one was fat, but both of them were assholes as far as I was concerned. I had felt like I was in a nightmare from the moment I’d been tossed into the back seat of Officer Blake’s car with Krush. Kwesi rode in the back of Lanier’s car, and Langston rode in Collins’ car. They’d probably separated us so we wouldn’t coordinate our stories, and I’m not gonna lie; their tactics were intimidating the shit out of me.
“Anthony, is it, or do you prefer Tony?” the skinny cop asked. I’d heard enough stories from my brothers to understand that these two cops were about to try to play that good cop/bad cop shit on me.
“Tony,” I said weakly.
“Okay, then, Tony it is. My name’s Detective Cutter, and this is my partner, Detective O’Malley. Can we get you a soda? Something from the snack machine?” Cutter was obviously taking the good cop role today.
“Yeah, I’ll take a Pepsi and some chips if they got ’em.” My brothers always told me that if you get arrested and the cops offer you shit, always take it, because you never know when you might see it again.
“Sure, thing, Tony.” Cutter got up and left the room.
“I see you’re wearing your colors proudly. So, when did you get initiated?” Detective O’Malley asked. Maybe I was wrong; maybe he was the good cop. I mean, why else would ask me about my fraternity?
“Spring of 2016. Me and Lang went over the burning sands together,” I told him with pride.
He looked a little puzzled as he sat back in his chair. “You and Langston, the kid driving the car?”
“Yeah, that’s my LB,” I said proudly.
“I’m kind of shocked. He doesn’t look the type, I would have thought maybe the kid Krush, but not the other two.”
“Please, me and Lang brought them in,” I said definitively.
“I see,” he replied as his partner walked in the room and took his seat. “I appreciate your honesty. It’ll go a long way to get you boys outta here.”
“They didn’t have Pepsi, so I got you Coke,” Cutter said, sliding the can of soda and a bag of Wise potato chips across the table. “So, what did I miss?” He glanced back and forth between his partner and me.
“Well, Tony here just verified that all four of them are members of the Bloods and that he and Langston brought the other two into the gang,” O’Malley told his partner.
My mouth dropped open. What the fuck was this guy talking about?
“That true? All of you are Bloods?” Cutter asked.
“Hell, no, that’s not true! This fucking guy is a liar. He’s trying to entrap me. I ain’t no damn Blood,” I stood up and yelled.
“You little piece of shit! Don’t you call me a liar,” Detective O’Malley said, making it clear now he was, indeed, the bad cop. He stood up and pointed at the ceiling in the corner of the room. “You think we’re not recording this interview? We got you throwing your little gangbanging buddies under the bus. Now, sit your ass down.”
We glared at each other for a few seconds before I said, “I am not a gang member—and I’m definitely not a member of the Bloods. None of us are members of the Bloods.”
“Yeah, and neither are your brothers Aaron and Adonis,” Detective O’Malley retorted.
I have to admit he’d caught me off guard with that one. How the hell did he know that so fast?
“Man, that’s my brothers, not me. I’m not a Blood.”
“So, you admit your brothers are both Bloods?” Cutter asked.
“Yeah, it ain’t no secret.” I exhaled angrily. “But me and my friends aren’t.”
“What do we look, stupid?
” O’Malley shouted as he slammed a file he’d been holding on the table. “Your brothers are two of the highest-ranking Bloods in New York City. They’ve been charged with drug trafficking and who knows what else. Meanwhile, you’re wearing a bright red fucking shirt, driving around with two keys of heroin!” He laughed out loud. “I’m sorry, but that screams you’re a fucking Blood to me. You’re all fucking Bloods.”
This guy was on another planet, so I turned my attention to Cutter. “We are not Bloods. We’re members of a fraternity—at a university,” I added for emphasis, “and crimson and cream just happen to be the fraternity colors. Check with the school.”
“Oh, we will,” O’Malley snarled.
The two detectives glanced at each other. I wasn’t sure about O’Malley, but I think Cutter might have believed me. Damn, at least I hoped he believed me. I’d been trying to run from my brothers’ gang affiliation since I was thirteen. If it hadn’t been for my mom recognizing my potential and putting her foot down, I’d probably be down with them right now. But she had, and I was not, thank God. Now if I could just get these cops to believe me.
* * *
An hour went by, and I found myself nodding my head numbly for the millionth time. At this point, I didn’t even know what question O’Malley was asking. The detectives had been drilling me with questions then leaving the room abruptly, during which time I would sweat with anxiety, only to return and drill me with more question. My brain was frazzled. I couldn’t make sense of this entire situation.
“So, are your brothers the ones who gave you the heroin, or did you and your buddies get it all by yourselves?” This O’Malley son of a bitch was getting on my nerves even more than Sergeant Lanier, that black bastard.
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know anything ’bout no fucking heroin from my brothers or any fucking body else, a’ight?” My college vocabulary had gone to visit its cousin in the projects. Stringing my words together properly and using grammatically correct English just wasn’t on my list of priorities anymore. “I done told you the drugs ain’t mine.”
“Okay, then, whose are they?” O’Malley asked.