Abuse of Discretion

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “I have a lot going on at the moment.”

  “Look, Dre, you’re the one who brought up moving in together in the first place. If you’ve changed your mind, you need to tell me now. I don’t want to waste any more time looking for a place if—”

  “Hey, young lady, hold your horses,” I say with a chuckle. “I haven’t changed my mind. I just have a few things I need to handle first.”

  “What few things?”

  “Nothing I have time to explain right now. Can we talk later?”

  I let the silence linger. Angela’s a classic Type A. Impatient, proactive, always in control. She hates being in the dark about anything.

  “Dre, if it’s about money and you don’t have your half of the deposit, I can—”

  “It’s not about money, babe.” My tone hardens. “Give me some time to handle my business. Okay?”

  Strong women dig strong men. Whenever I toughen up, she goes soft. But only temporarily.

  “Okay,” she says hesitantly.

  I rush her off the phone and head back into the living room.

  “Like I was saying,” Apache starts up again, “first thing we need to do is show him you ain’t running scared. Let’s step to his bar and let his peeps know that Shep’s the one who needs to be watching his back cuz Dre got people in the joint who can make things happen.”

  “But he don’t,” Mossy points out.

  Apache puffs out his chest. “I got connections to all kinda dudes who can get the job done.”

  Mossy moves to the edge of the couch. “Hold up. Whatever we do, we need to be smart about it. The more people involved, the more potential for problems.”

  “You’re underestimating me, my brutha,” Apache declares with a crooked smile. “Need I remind you that I’m the only one in this room who ain’t never seen the interior of the county jail, much less a prison? There’s a reason for that.”

  I smile to myself. Mossy has no comeback.

  “I like the idea of showing up at Shep’s bar,” I say. “Let’s do it tomorrow night.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Gus

  I’ve been sitting in a hard-ass chair outside the principal’s office for almost 15 minutes now, getting more and more irritated. I don’t know why, but something doesn’t feel right.

  What the hell did Graylin do?

  I tried calling him, but got no answer. He must have his phone on mute since they aren’t allowed to use it in class.

  The door to the principal’s office opens and Mrs. Keller shows me inside.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Graylin?”

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Alexander?”

  I sit down, but I’m still on edge. “I need to know what’s going on with my son. Where is he?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we received an anonymous report that Graylin had an inappropriate picture on his cell phone.”

  “What kind of inappropriate picture?”

  “A photograph of a female classmate.” Mrs. Keller swallows. “Naked.”

  I’m momentarily taken aback. My son’s no angel, but this isn’t something I would’ve expected from him. But then again, in this day and age with everything kids are exposed to and all this technology mess, who knows what they’re up to. I start to breathe a little easier. A naked picture of a girl isn’t the end of the world.

  “Okay. I’ll handle it. Who took the picture?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Well, what did Graylin say about it?”

  “He denied having it.”

  “Did you see the picture?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know he has one?”

  “As I said, we received an anonymous report.”

  “Did you check his phone?”

  “No.”

  I’m not one of those parents who thinks my kid is an angel, but this sounds like something blown way out of proportion.

  “So what you’re telling me is that you don’t even know if the allegation is true.” And that’s all it is as far as I’m concerned. An allegation and nothing more.

  “You have to understand that when we receive a report like this, there’s a certain protocol we have to follow.”

  I exhale. This is a bunch of crap. I can’t believe I had to drive all the way down here for this bull.

  “I’ll talk to him. Where is he?”

  “He’s being interviewed by the police.”

  “Police?” I shoot to my feet so fast the chair topples backward, banging into the wall. “Like hell he is! The police can’t talk to my son without my permission. Take me to him. Now!”

  I hear yelling coming from the door to my right. Before the principal can stop me, I burst through it.

  “What the fuck!” My son is in handcuffs, a white cop gripping him by the forearm.

  “Dad! Dad! Please help me!” Graylin cries. “Dad, please don’t let them arrest me!”

  I charge up to the cop holding Graylin. “What are you doing to my son?”

  “Sir, you need to calm down,” yells an Asian cop. He extends his right palm toward me while his other hand grazes the butt of his gun. “Please back up, sir!”

  I defiantly stay put. “I asked you what you’re doing to my son. You can’t interrogate him without my permission.”

  “I told you to step back!” the Asian cop yells, twice as loud as before.

  When I still don’t move, he snatches his Beretta from its holster and points it at me. “I said back up! Now!”

  “Oh my God!” the principal cries. “Please, Mr. Alexander. Please step back!”

  “Dad, Dad, please go back!” Graylin’s sobbing hysterically now. “They’re going to shoot you. I’m okay! Please, Dad, go back! Please!”

  The only reason I take two small steps backward is because the cop’s hand is so unsteady I fear he might actually shoot me. But I’m way madder than he is nervous.

  The cop lowers his gun but doesn’t return it to the holster.

  Heat stings my face. “What are you doing to my son?”

  “Sir, you need to lower your voice,” says the cop restraining Graylin.

  “You can’t talk to him without my permission.”

  “We don’t need your permission,” the white cop says.

  “Please, Dad!” Graylin cries. “It’s okay! I’ll be okay. Please, Dad! I don’t want them to shoot you! Please do what they say!”

  The Asian cop looks past me at the principal. “We found the picture.”

  Principal Keller gasps and cups her mouth.

  I’m so pissed off my vision is blurry. But it’s my son’s terror-stricken face, not the Beretta still in that cop’s hand that forces me to regain control of my senses. I take a few more steps back, lower my voice, but amplify my outrage.

  “Why is my son in handcuffs?”

  The Asian cop eyes me with contempt. “Because he’s under arrest.”

  “For what?”

  “Possession of child pornography.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Willie

  I’m bringing my new sidekick Bones up to speed on our assignment from The Shepherd.

  “We have to do this thing by the book,” I tell him as we relax in a booth at Craps, nursing two fingers of Jack. “The Man don’t want no mistakes.”

  “You’ve said that three times,” Bones gripes. “I don’t make mistakes. I ain’t no rookie.”

  Indeed he is not. A career criminal who enjoys his work, Johnny “Bones” Battle is neither particularly bright nor inquisitive, which makes him the perfect candidate for this job. Don’t ask, don’t tell, just do. Bones lives by the hour, never looking ahead, not even as far as the end of the day. Where Bones grew up—dirt poor, deep in the backwoods of Alabama—days weren’t promised t
o anybody.

  He leans back and looks me up and down. “Why you always dressin’ up? It’s the middle of the day, and you look like a TV preacher.”

  I flash him a smile with my flawless implants. I appreciate it when somebody notices the care I take in presenting myself to the world. My slender frame is always adorned in the best: Italian suits, silk ties, and cap-toe Oxford shoes. I also take proper care of my temple. I refrain from pork and fried foods, get monthly facials and have standing appointments with my barber and manicurist every Wednesday afternoon. I’m pushing fifty, but people tell me I could pass for forty-five. Bones, by comparison, drapes his bulky body in jogging suits and wrinkled T-shirts.

  “When you look good, you feel good,” I say.

  Bones grins, revealing a spacious gap between his two front teeth. A horseshoe-shaped bald spot rests on the crown of his head, which is as round and brown as a coconut. His pointy, caricature-like ears frame small, oval eyes that are too close together.

  “To do this thing right, we gotta do our research first.”

  Bones scrunches up his face. “Research? What kinda research?”

  “This ain’t gonna be a typical snatch and grab. We need to follow the girl for a few days. Figure out her routine. Then strike when we know it’s safe.”

  “I thought The Man wanted it done right away.”

  “He does, but Sh—” I catch myself. I don’t trust Bones enough to let him know this is The Shepherd’s operation. “The Man ain’t calling the shots, I am. Taking a few more days to do this thing right won’t hurt nothing.”

  Bones nods. “Whatever you say, bruh. Just make sure The Man has my money ready as soon as the job is done.”

  I don’t bother to mention that Shep already transferred the money to my account. I also neglected to mention to Shep that Bones is doing the job for three grand, not five.

  “Dre Thomas lives in those apartments at the corner of Slauson and LaBrea. His niece is in Compton on Magnolia Street.” I hand him a piece of paper with both addresses.

  “What I need his address for? I thought I was just snatchin’ the girl.”

  “After we get the kid, we’re going after him next. We might as well figure out his routine now, so when The Man gives the word, we’ll be ready.”

  “Whoa,” Bones says. “I’ma need some more money for a second job.”

  “How about another grand since I’ll be helping out on that one?”

  Bones is quiet for a minute. I’m guessing he’ll ask for another five hundred dollars, which I’m prepared to pay since I’m getting five grand for that job too.

  “I think I should get half the cost of the first job,” he says. “Fifteen hundred.”

  I grunt like I’m upset. “Okay.”

  Bones smirks, happy because he thinks he’s put the squeeze on me.

  “Oh, yeah, I need to borrow your Escalade. My car is in the shop for a couple of days.”

  This time my frown is real. “How’d you get down here?”

  “Uber.”

  Working with a criminal who has to rely on a ride-sharing company to get around isn’t a good thing. This job better go well.

  “Don’t worry, man,” Bones says. “I’ll take good care of your ride. At least I didn’t ask to borrow your Lincoln.”

  I don’t mind parting with my Escalade, but nobody drives my Lincoln. That would be akin to letting some dude wear my silk boxers.

  “I’ll take you to my place to pick up the Escalade. Start following the girl in the morning. I’ll trail the uncle. In a couple of days, we’ll switch off and I’ll follow the girl and you watch Dre. Once we figure out their routines, we can discuss our next move.”

  “I never had a job where I had to do all this undercover stuff,” Bones complains.

  I take a sip of my drink. “Well, you do now.”

  “I don’t understand why The Man don’t take both of ’em out and be done with it. Having me kidnap that girl and drive her all the way down to Birmingham seems like a lot of work.”

  “That’s because you’re not a businessman. If he ships her down south, he can make some money off of her first.”

  Bones licks his lips. “It’s a lot of girls out there. Don’t make sense to put all this time into this one.”

  “You don’t need to know all the hows and whys. The Man wants to mess with their heads. Terrorize ’em.”

  “Whatever,” Bones says, draining his glass. “Just have my money ready the minute I dump that kid down south.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Graylin

  Possession of child pornography?

  “What?” I cry out. “I don’t have any child pornography!”

  Principal Keller looks just as shocked as me and my dad. She’s hugging herself and rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  This is all your fault! Why’d you call the police on me?

  My dad backs up all the way into Principal Keller’s office and Mean Cop finally puts his gun away.

  “Please, Dad, don’t let them take me to jail!” My face is wet with tears and snot. “I swear I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear, I didn’t!”

  My dad’s fists are clenched tight, which is how I know he’s really, really mad.

  “I can bring him down to the police station,” he says. “You don’t have to arrest him.”

  Officer Fenton pulls me past my dad into the main office. Once we’re outside in the hallway, it seems like half the school has lined up for a parade. As the cops march me toward the front entrance of the school, everyone stares and points at me.

  “What happened?”

  “What did Graylin do?”

  “Graylin’s too smart to get arrested.”

  I glance back over my shoulder and I’m relieved to see my dad following us.

  They tug me down the steps to a police car parked in front of the school. Officer Fenton opens the back door, palms the top of my head like a basketball and pushes me into the seat.

  My dad moves toward me, but Mean Cop grips the butt of his gun. “You need to stay back, sir, and let us do our jobs.”

  I’m crying so hard I feel like I might throw up.

  “Where are you taking him?” My dad’s voice sounds muffled through the thick car window.

  “Eastlake Juvenile Hall,” Officer Fenton says. “They’ll call you.”

  “Can I go with him? He’s just a kid. He’s only fourteen.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  The two cops climb into the front and slam the doors. As I stare up at my dad, the unbelievable sight in front of me sends a chill through my whole body. Tears are streaming down my dad’s face. I’ve never seen my dad cry. When my Uncle Diddy got shot, I thought my dad was going to cry, but he didn’t. Not even at the funeral. So I didn’t think my dad could cry.

  As the car pulls away from the curb, he starts jogging alongside it.

  “I’m coming to get you!” my dad yells. “Don’t talk to them! Don’t say nothing to nobody!”

  CHAPTER 9

  Simone

  I can’t wait to show Kennedy the new cell phone cover I bought her in New York. I’m certain she’ll be the only eighth grader at snooty Marcus Prep with real diamonds on her phone.

  As soon as the plane touches down at LAX, I unbuckle my seatbelt. I love flying first-class. It’s not just the extra attention from the flight attendants, the superior food or the cushy seats. I simply despise sitting in the back of the plane with the common folk.

  The minute I take my phone out of airplane mode, it starts pinging with texts and emails—all from work, of course. I’m the only black V.P. in my division at AT&T and I love my job.

  The flight attendants open the doors and I’m the first one to step into the jetway. I’m reading a text from my assistant when my phone rings.

&nbs
p; “Hello, Mrs. Carlyle. This is Gloria Keller. From Marcus Preparatory Academy.”

  I stop cold, forcing the man behind me to swerve left as he curses under his breath.

  “Oh my God! What’s the matter? Is Kennedy okay? What happened?”

  “Kennedy’s fine.”

  I instantly relax, a little embarrassed about my panicked reaction. She’s probably calling about the spring fundraiser. “You don’t have to ask,” I tell her. “We’re good for five grand.”

  Percy and I have donated close to twenty thousand dollars to the theater program at Marcus Prep. Little good it did us. Despite our generosity, the principal did absolutely nothing when I complained about Kennedy not getting the lead role in Beauty and the Beast.

  “Mrs. Carlyle, I’m not calling about the fundraiser. We’ve had an incident.”

  The click-clacking of my pink Jimmy Choos on the airport tile abruptly stops. “What do you mean by an incident?”

  I hear Keller suck in a gulp of air. “We received an anonymous report that one of our students had an inappropriate picture of Kennedy on his cell phone.”

  For the next few seconds it’s as if someone has pressed a mute button, silencing the airport’s background noise.

  “What kind of inappropriate picture?”

  Keller waits several beats. “Well, um, a naked picture.”

  “What? Is it true?”

  “According to the police, it is. They’ve arrested the boy.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I’m not at liberty to provide that information. He’s a minor and—”

  “I don’t care. If some boy is sending naked pictures of my baby all over that school, I have a right to know his name. Is he some peeping Tom? Did the school fail to secure the girls’ locker room?”

  “Please, Mrs. Carlyle, calm down. The report only mentioned one picture, not multiple pictures. And we don’t have any information that he sent it to anyone.”

  “I don’t care if it’s one or ten. I bet it’s all over the internet by now.”

  “The police will be conducting an investigation. I’m sure—”

  “What kind of place are you running down there?” I drop my professionalism and use words that more accurately convey my disgust. “I put my child in that school because I didn’t want her exposed to a bunch of ghetto-ass hood rats. And you let this happen? I’m suing that little bastard, his parents, and the school.”