Abuse of Discretion

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “I get it,” my mom says, folding her arms. “Going to counseling would take too much time away from your little slut.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Oh, so you’re not denying it this time.”

  “I’m not denying it because it doesn’t do me any good. Think what you want to think.”

  I don’t believe my dad is having an affair. He isn’t like that. Sometimes my mom overreacts to stuff. Like when she cursed out my sixth-grade teacher for saying it would’ve been better if we’d made homemade cupcakes for the bake sale rather than buying the expensive ones from Sprinkles.

  They’re both quiet now, staring at each other like two frozen statues. I don’t want to be like other kids at my school who have to go back and forth between their divorced parents like ping-pong balls.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” my dad says. “Please have a seat.” He pats the space on the couch next to him.

  “Oh, so you’re finally going to admit that you’re having an affair with that little Mexican slut.”

  “I’m not having an affair! For Christ’s sake! Will you please sit down?”

  My mom takes the armchair across from him.

  My dad starts rubbing his palms together. He always does that when he’s nervous.

  “I want to come home.”

  I knew my dad was a good man and this proves it!

  My mom softens like melted ice cream. “Why now? Is it because of what happened to Kennedy?”

  My dad rubs his hands together again. “I do want to be here for Kennedy, but I want to be upfront with you. The governor is about to appoint me to the Superior Court bench. They’re going to be examining every area of my life. It’d be better if I didn’t have to explain the state of my marriage and it wouldn’t look good for my daughter to be in the middle of a criminal case.”

  My mom’s mouth gapes open, but no words come out.

  “So can you do me this one favor? Just let the D.A.’s Office handle this without our active involvement.”

  When she’s super mad, my mom doesn’t raise her voice. Her next words are extra soft. “Sounds like you want to come home for your benefit, not for your daughter’s and certainly not for mine.” She leans back in the chair and crosses her legs.

  My dad doesn’t say anything and lets my mom keep talking.

  “I couldn’t care less about you being appointed to the bench. As soon as you’re confirmed you’re going to run off with your little slut. We might as well just end this charade now. I’m contacting a divorce attorney tomorrow. I’m done.”

  “C’mon, Simone, can’t we—”

  “And for the record, in addition to taking you to the cleaners, I’m going to make sure that boy gets put in jail for as long as they’ll have him. Then I’m suing his family in civil court.”

  “That’s a waste of time. They probably don’t have a dime.”

  “I don’t care if we never recover a penny. I want to make a point.” She stands up. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

  My dad slowly gets to his feet. “I want to see Kennedy.”

  “She’s asleep and I don’t want to wake her. Please leave.”

  I go back into my room, tears streaming down my face. My mother is right. My dad only cares about himself.

  As I sink onto my bed, my phone chirps. I pick it up and read the text from my best friend LaShay. When I hear screaming, I don’t even realize that it’s me.

  My parents rush into the room, nearly tripping over each other in the doorway. My mom throws her arms around me. “What’s the matter, baby?”

  I can’t speak, so I hand her my phone.

  “Oh my God!” she shrieks after reading the text, then shoves the phone into my dad’s face.

  When my dad reads it, he looks like he wants to scream too.

  “Now are you ready to fight for your daughter?” my mom yells at him. “Or is everything still all about you?”

  CHAPTER 26

  Dre

  It’s around dinnertime when Mossy and I walk into Craps. The place is nearly empty. An older couple is sitting at a cocktail table in the back while two young dudes are loud-talking each other at the bar. What we’re about to do is pretty ballsy. I’m glad there won’t be much of an audience.

  We ease into a red leather booth near the entrance.

  “You cool?” Mossy asks.

  I smile. “As a cucumber.”

  I’m lying. My guts are doing somersaults and my underarms are damp with perspiration. The Shepherd wants me dead. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have someone take me out right here? But after Apache caught that dude casing my sister’s house, he left me no choice but to go rogue.

  I persuaded my sister to take Brianna and move in with a girlfriend in Lancaster, about an hour away. Donna initially balked, but after I told her about the guy in the black Escalade, she freaked and was packed up and on the road three hours later.

  Donna’s reaction only heightened my reluctance to come clean with Angela. She won’t just freak, she’ll run as far away from me as possible.

  Mossy orders a cognac and Coke. I ask for a Pepsi straight, which causes the waitress to raise an eyebrow. It’s been years since I’ve had a drink. During my dealing days, I made the decision to never partake of any substance that alters the senses. If you’re a drug dealer, a good one, you need to be mentally alert at all times. I need the full use of my faculties right now.

  “What’s the latest with Graylin?” Mossy asks. His eyes conduct a 360-degree review of the club.

  “A bunch of craziness.” I explain the situation Graylin’s facing and how the cops pulled a gun on Gus right there in the principal’s office.

  “Man, he’s lucky that cop’s trigger finger didn’t slip. I can’t believe they arrested Graylin just for having a naked picture on his phone.”

  “That ain’t the kicker. They’re charging him with possession of child pornography.”

  “You serious?”

  “Yep. We gotta stick close to Gus, man. I think he’s close to the breaking point. I remember how hard it was to keep it together when they snatched Brianna. He’s going through the same thing. Except it ain’t some pimp messing with his kid, it’s the system.”

  “Have you told Angela about your situation yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “Man, your girl needs to know what’s going on.”

  “I don’t want her all stressed out about it. I’ve been staying at her place at night and she’s in a busy office building during the day. So she’s good.”

  “You better hope so.”

  When the door opens and Apache steps into the club, Mossy grimaces. “Man, you sure you want your crazy-ass cousin in on this one?”

  “I wouldn’t even know about The Shepherd’s threat if it wasn’t for him.”

  Before Mossy can protest further, Apache slides into the booth across from us.

  “What up, cuz? Moss man? Y’all ready to get this show on the road?”

  “This ain’t no show,” Mossy says. “We’re here to deliver a message. That’s it.”

  “Don’t worry, I got this,” Apache says.

  “Who’s running this place?” I ask.

  “A dude named Buzz. I’ma go tell the bartender we wanna talk to him.”

  Apache trots over to the bar, says a few words to the female bartender, then returns to the table. “He’ll be over in a minute.”

  “Let me do the talking,” I remind him.

  “This is your show, cuz. You’ll be happy to know I already started putting my plan into action.”

  “And what plan is that?” Mossy asks.

  Apache hurls a hurt look at me. “C’mon, cuz, you didn’t tell him?”

  “Didn’t get the chance. Apache came up with a plan for us to take The Shepherd o
ut from behind bars without any fingerprints leading back to us.”

  “Wow,” Mossy says facetiously, “I bet his plan is brilliant.”

  “Actually,” I say, “it is. So brilliant, in fact, I wished I’d come up with it myself.”

  Before I can explain, a rotund man in cheap slacks and a white shirt walks over to us. “One of y’all wanted to see me?”

  “You Buzz?” Apache asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you take a seat?” I say.

  “I’m working.” Buzz’s eyes dart to the left where a bouncer is now leaning against the bar. He must’ve warned the guy that something might go down.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m not here to cause any problems. I need you to deliver a message to the man who owns this place. The Shepherd.”

  “This is my bar.” Buzz’s bloodshot eyes blink several times. “And I don’t know nobody named Shepherd.”

  Before I can respond, Apache jumps in. “C’mon, man, we ain’t tryin’ to hear no bull. We both know—”

  I give my cousin a silencing look and he flops back against the booth and sulks.

  “If that’s the company line you need to recite,” I say, “so be it. But like I said, I have a message I’d like you to deliver to The Shepherd.”

  Buzz ain’t no poker player. His eyes flash bravado, but I see nothing but fear seeping through. If the cops knew The Shepherd was associated with this place, they’d shut it down, confiscate everything in it and throw Buzz in jail too.

  “My name is Dre Thomas. I hear Shep’s got a target on my back.”

  I pause to wait for the man to plead lack of knowledge again. When he doesn’t, I continue.

  “Tell Shep that I’ve also got a target on his back. I know he’s enjoying life in the safety of that federal penitentiary outside Dallas, but I know people on the inside. So if anything happens to me or my niece, my peeps will be coming for him. That’s it.”

  Buzz struggles to keep his game face on. “Like I told you, I-I, uh, I don’t know nobody named The Shepherd or Shep or nothing like that. This is my place. And I don’t like people coming into my establishment threatening me. You need to leave.”

  “Ain’t nobody threatening you,” I say calmly. “I’m threatening Shep, a man you supposedly don’t know.” I hold up my Pepsi and flash him a smile. “We’ll be leaving as soon as we finish our drinks.”

  “I want you to leave now,” Buzz says.

  Apache sets his 9mm on the table. “We’ll leave when we’re ready to leave.”

  “Aw shit!” Mossy says under his breath.

  Buzz stares at the gun, then over at the bouncer. “We don’t allow weapons in here. Get out!”

  By the time the bouncer reaches our table, Apache is on his feet, his gun pressed to Buzz’s head. The bouncer points his glock at me and Mossy.

  “Apache!” I yell, holding out my hands. “Cool it, man!”

  “I don’t like the way this dude is talking to us.” Apache’s gun is pressed so deep into Buzz’s temple the man’s right ear can almost touch his shoulder. “You need to show your customers a little more hospitality.”

  Buzz’s false teeth start chattering. “Look, y’all, I don’t want no trouble!”

  “Neither do we,” Apache says. “That’s why you need to let Shep know he needs to back off from messin’ with my peeps.”

  “Leave!” the bouncer commands, his gun still on us.

  Mossy and I stand up and start backing out of the club. Once we make it to the door, Apache shoves Buzz forward and calmly sticks his gun inside his waistband.

  “My name’s Apache,” he says, before turning to leave. “Make sure Shep gets our message.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Angela

  Jenny and I spend most of Monday morning at her Echo Park office preparing for Graylin’s arraignment and detention hearing.

  We interview Graylin’s minister and two of his teachers by phone and review every report card and accolade Gus could find. We scour Graylin’s Snapchat, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr accounts, as well as his laptop and emails. Without his phone, however, we can’t check his text messages. We find nothing that could come back to bite him at the hearing.

  Jenny already has a Snapchat account. I create one too so I can familiarize myself with how the app works. We spend over an hour sending pictures back and forth. You can set the picture to disappear anywhere from one to ten seconds after a Snapchat message is opened.

  “When do you think we’re going to get a look at the picture and Graylin’s phone?” I ask.

  Jenny found out that the case is assigned to Deputy D.A. Miguel Martinez.

  “Some prosecutors like to play hide-the-ball with the evidence,” Jenny says. “The fact that Martinez hasn’t returned my calls isn’t a good sign. And I’m a little worried because he filed the possession charge as a felony. It’s a wobbler, so he had the option to file it as a misdemeanor. I put a few feelers out and they came back mixed. He hates putting away kids for sexting, but he thinks juvenile court is beneath him.”

  My brain needs a break. I walk over to the window, which looks out onto busy Alvarado Boulevard. Echo Park used to be predominantly Latino. Now it seems as if every other brown face had been replaced by a hip, young white one. The bodegas and taco stands are now coffee shops, art galleries, health food stores and vintage clothing boutiques.

  “You live near here?” I ask.

  “Yep. I have a condo two blocks away. It’s nice to be able to walk to work.”

  “The neighborhood sure has changed. How much are condos around here going for now?”

  “I got mine for five. A guy who moved next door about a month ago paid seven.”

  “Seven as in seven hundred thousand?”

  “Yep. Gentrification at its finest.”

  “The same thing is happening in South L.A. It’s sad because the people being forced out of their apartments to make way for condos could never afford to buy one.”

  “I bought my place years ago.” Jenny’s tone is defensive. “Long before it became trendy to be here.”

  “I’m not judging you. I was only making an observation.”

  “Sure, you’re judging me. Most of the long-time Echo Park residents seem to resent whites moving in.”

  I shrug. “They’re just concerned about preserving the culture of their community.”

  Jenny chuckles. “No, they’re being just as racist as the whites who try to keep them out of their neighborhoods.”

  “I don’t think it’s the same thing. They—”

  “Why don’t we change the subject?” Jenny snaps.

  I stand up and start gathering my papers. She’s right. Taking the conversation any further would be a mistake.

  Forty minutes later we’re back at juvenile hall sitting with Graylin. We have Gus on speakerphone.

  “We want to explain what’s going to happen at the arraignment and detention hearing tomorrow,” Jenny begins, looking Graylin in the eyes. “It’s going to be like a mini-trial. Even though there won’t be a jury, you need to understand that the judge is the jury. So sit up straight, don’t make any faces and respond clearly when the judge asks you a question.”

  Graylin begins to fidget, thumping his fingers on the desk. “What are they going to ask me?”

  “The judge is going to read the charges against you and ask if you understand them.” Jenny pulls out a piece of paper. “The first charge is possession of child pornography. Do you know what that means?”

  “Um, yeah. Child pornography is having naked pictures, right?”

  “Yes, of someone under the age of eighteen. The judge is going to ask whether you admit or deny the petition? You need to respond deny. I’ll give you a signal when it’s time to say that.”

  “Is deny the same thing as
not guilty?”

  “Exactly. And the second charge is making a criminal threat. You’re going to say deny to both.”

  “Can I tell the judge that I didn’t write that note and that Crayvon set me up?”

  “No,” Jenny says. “We’re still looking into that.”

  “What’s Crayvon got to do with this?” Gus’ voice booms through the phone.

  “Nothing that we’re sure of yet,” I say.

  “Ms. Jenny, if they’re charging me with having a naked picture on my phone, how do I get off since I did have a naked picture?”

  Graylin is indeed a smart kid.

  “You leave that to me. The only issue the court is going to deal with tomorrow is whether your home is a suitable place for you to be while your case is pending.”

  Jenny expresses surprise that the Probation Department hasn’t contacted Gus yet and tells him to expect a call sometime today. “They’re going to ask you a bunch of questions about Graylin’s home life. You must show that he’ll be under twenty-four-hour supervision.”

  “My mother will be home with him while I’m at work. My sister’s going to help homeschool him.”

  “I can’t go back to school?” Graylin says, crestfallen.

  “No, not until your case is resolved.”

  He folds his arms and slides down in his chair.

  Jenny points a finger at him. “You can’t do that in court tomorrow. Please sit up. If something happens that you don’t like, you have to ignore it. I know this is hard on you, but I need you to follow my instructions, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “C’mon, Little Man,” Gus says. “Everything’s gonna be fine. You gotta do what your attorneys say.”

  “Is Kennedy going to be there?” Graylin asks.

  “I doubt it. I’ve never had a victim show up at a detention hearing, but you never know.”

  “Everything’ll be fine,” I say. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll get to go home tomorrow.”

  The instant my words are out, Jenny purses her lips and rolls her eyes. I did it again. Telling Graylin something I don’t know for sure. I’ll apologize to Jenny later.

  We spend the next hour taking Gus and Graylin through mock questioning. After Jenny lobs all the softball questions, I play the role of prosecutor and take them through the wringer.