He had lovingly walked her to a non-descript Crown Vic and then drove her away. He drove an hour from her home and then handcuffed her to a chair deep inside a barn in the middle of Newark, Delaware. She hated him for that, and was glad that that was one of the reasons that the agent was warehoused in the federal detention center like the rest of the criminal cretins. Jean-Mary was a fiesty woman, born in the North, and to experience that was not a thing that hurt her; it made her mad. And she wanted revenge.
She snatched up her glasses and looked at the TV screen. It was horrific as she painfully watched the entire tri-state area media converging on the jail that housed her grandson and the monster that had kidnapped her. She was confused that Andre had decided to act out with his trial date just two days away. She surmised that he was stressed, scared and perhaps he was looking for a way to get away from the obvious: long-term imprisonment. The way she viewed things was that he deserved some time in a federal penitentiary. She was his grandmother, but she was a realist. She believed that you reaped what you sow and Andre had some owning-up to do. Promoting a prison riot was a stretch and if she knew her boys, that was not an Andre Bezel exclusive plan. Kareem Bezel was written all over it. When he brought his narrow tail into her home, she planned to get to the bottom of the current episode of “All My Inmates.”
Earlier that night, Jean-Mary had made her favorite home-made biscuits and with the family coming, she put on a fresh pot of coffee. She was a jovial, light hued woman in her mid-sixties, and she had pumped the boys full of caffeine since elementary school. Preparing a shot of coffee was imperative for the night to flow smoothly. Jean-Mary had raised those boys, and she knew what her babies liked. Her house was the family head quarters, and she had prepared for a business meeting. The elder woman of the family knew that when they all arrived, it would be all business and no play.
CHAPTER 7
Like a lot of seasoned criminals, Kareem Bezel was on top of his criminal game. But he was not playing a game. Everyone wanted to play, but he didn’t want to. He had a lot on his plate and worked to clear it off. First, the vegetable, then the starch, and then the heavy red meat.
Kareem did not visit Wyneva Street often. As he pulled onto Jean-Mary’s block and parked, he once again hated that she refused to leave. Toi sat in the passenger seat reading a book on her Kindle E-reader. The Germantown section of North Philadelphia was not the roughest, not the worse, but it wasn’t the Upper East Side of Manhattan where he had lived for four years. He lived in the penthouse of his building for two years and despite his long-term girlfriend Latoya Eala bringing another man into his home, he loved her and was still with her. Kareem looked over at Toi with his chestnut-brown eyes and licked the full pinkish lips set on his dark-skinned face. He leaned over and kissed her.
She stopped reading, and Kareem had no doubt that she was prepared to offer whatever she could to solve the problems that they faced. This was not just a Kareem and Andre problem. This was all of their business, as everyone played a role in spending the money, so everyone had better be prepared to get out of this quagmire that Andre faced. In fact, it was designed that way.
Before Andre had turned himself in to the government and agreed to a no-bail situation, Kareem and their attorney, Ravonne Lemmelle, met with the United States Attorney assigned to the case. The deal was that Andre would be indicted for possession of a weapon while being a convicted felon, distribution of crack cocaine, and murder. It was no surprise that the Bezel Brothers and their attorney had a plan, and on Monday it was show time. Time to see if all that they had worked for would pan out in their favor.
When Kareem had completely parked, he hopped out and opened Toi’s door. Toi had an unblemished golden-rod complexion wrapped tightly around a statue that mirrored a work of art at the Philadelphia Art Museum. She was half Filipino and half Black, and her exotic look was lethal. He closed the car door behind her and they held hands as they walked up the street to Jean-Mary’s home. It was mandatory that he be a gentleman. That was how he was taught to be by Jean-Mary Bezel. And since his father had been in jail serving a LIFE sentence since he was 14, he had learned a lot from GQ and Esquire Magazines. They were his go-to guides to move into being an elitist.
Prior to moving to New York, he was a fan of Philadelphia Magazine, too. He recalled his very first date with a young banker. He had searched the Philadelphia rag for a good day spa and enjoyed a massage, manicure and pedicure for the first time. Afterwards, he made a trip to Neiman’s and brought a Prada suit. Decked out in his sharp clothes, he picked up his date and took her to The Bronze, a five-star restaurant in downtown Philadelphia. Of course, that night he made love to her and she taught him everything that he needed to know about the banking system. She had no idea that she was teaching him how to commit crimes that he should be on trial for.
“I see she has hired a gardener?” Toi said and admired the landscape of the six feet by six feet lawn.
“Nope, she has been getting out there with her neighbors. Look at all of their lawns. They’ve been working together. Supposed to be planning a block party and as you can see, they want to show off.”
“Oh, ok that sounds like fun. So are we going home tonight? I had enough of Philadelphia, and with the trial starting Wednesday, I need the next few days to rest up.”
“Yes, we can go home tonight,” he said and stuck his key into the door. He opened it, and said, “But I want to be back here in Philly early Monday, because I want to be there for the jury selection in case he needs my help with the selection process.”
“Well, I thought that was what his lawyer was for?”
“True, but remember that I told you that Ravonne technically only represents me. They made Dre get a court-appointed attorney because although I am an unindicted co-conspirator, I am still on the case and we can’t have the same attorney. And he couldn’t hire one unless we let them know about our financial livelihoods. This is very complicated,” Kareem said and was greeted by Amir screaming his name.
“Uncle,” Amir said and jumped into Kareem’s arms as he walked through the vestibule. “Hi, Aunt Toi,” he said blandly, but with a smile.
“What’s up, baby boy? What’re you doing up this time of night?” Kareem asked.
“My dad was on TV. ”
“Yup, he’s famous, all right. And when you grow up, you’re going to be famous, too, right?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“She’s upstairs in your room. I think she sad ‘cause my dad was on TV.”
Kareem could do nothing but smile. For three, his nephew was very bright and analytical. He was off base this time, but he had made an attempt to understand what was going on.
Amir was full of the life and optimistic spirit that people lived for. Especially people like Kareem who had been born and reared in the ghetto, but was encouraged by a strong woman to do what it took to get out of the ghetto. Jean-Mary wanted the best for Kareem, so she used to drive him a half hour to Upper Merion High School every morning. He did graduate high school at sixteen and attended Columbia University in New York City the same year. He later graduated at the top of his class, but not before working at a bank and embezzling money that the feds could not recover.
A part of his deal for being an unindicted co-conspirator had required that he disclose the whereabouts of all the money that he stole. Not! There was no way that he had proffered with the US Attorney’s Office to give them all of the money that he had stolen. He had given the prosecutor the money that he knew they could find and left the money that he had hidden in remote locations for himself. He had a multi-million dollar life line, and no one knew that, except the bankers who set up the off-shore and foreign accounts, and he intended to keep it that way.
Kareem walked into the kitchen and greeted Jean-Mary with a hug and a kiss. She was wheelchair bound, having had her foot amputated due to complications from diabetes. She also had dialysis three times a week. Strong was her middle nam
e. She forbade Kareem give up his life in New York City to move back to Philadelphia. She had a live-in nurse and was confident that she could do everything herself with a little assistance. Her spirit to live had not changed despite her situation.
Kareem sat at the kitchen table and did what was in for the twenty-first century. He sent Tasha a text and asked her to come to the kitchen so that they could chat. It was an informal thing and very impersonal, but it beat yelling through the house and disturbing every one.
Toi came and had a seat at the kitchen table. She said, “Ms. Bezel, I love the new pot set. And the way you have it hanging adds something to the kitchen.”
“Thanks,Thanks honey. I have no intentions of leaving this home, but I can certainly make it look and feel like I am in one of Oprah’s homes. So how’s the baby coming along?”
Toi was stuck. She was not prepared for that question. Hell, she had no idea that Jean-Mary even knew that she was expecting. Tasha had walked into the kitchen just in time to hear Jean-Mary’s unexpected question.
“Say it ain’t so?” Tasha said and had a seat at the table.
Jean-Mary said, “Why do you seem so shocked, Toi? Was that a secret?” Inside Jean-Mary knew that she was pissed. I mean, does she really think that my grandson would not share something like this with me? I am closer to him than his parents. Of course he told me.
“Well, I am four months now, and I guess we’re going through with it,” Toi said and smiled.
“You don’t seem excited,” Tasha said.
“No, I am. I was just afraid that Kareem had so much going on that he would not be able to handle me having a baby. I mean there is a lot going on with his company and him working towards his master’s degree and this trial. I know how stressful life is now, and a baby is just an added layer.”
“We will be fine, baby,” Kareem said and wrapped his arms around her. He rubbed on her stomach and smiled. “This is the heir to my throne in here.”
“Um. What if it’s a girl, sir?” Jean-Mary asked.
“She’ll be the heiress to my throne,” he said and chuckled. “Now that we all are here, let’s chat a bit.”
“Let me pour coffee and I prepared biscuits too,” Jean-Mary said and sat coffee cups in front everyone. She poured everyone a cup of joe, and said, “Get your own creamer and sugar.”
Everyone at the table settled into their seats and sipped their coffee and let their thoughts percolate. No one but Kareem really knew what was happening and they all relied on him to keep them abreast of Andre’s legal dealings. All parties at the table were responsible for him being in jail, and they all knew that he sacrificed his freedom so that they could have theirs.
“So, here’s the situation,” Kareem said and everyone looked at him hard. When he spoke people listened and that was the way that he wanted it. “Dre has not lost his mind.”
“Um, he threw shit at a cell window. He sat his ass on a toilet, released his bowels, dug his hand inside a toilet and gripped up shit. Yes, he has lost his mind,” Tasha said and bit her biscuit. “I was disgusted by that.”
“And he had the audacity to throw it at a window in a cell that he is locked in. Can you imagine the smell?” Toi asked and frowned. “He’s turning into a mental case.”
“Ah, babe, you’re right and that is the theme of his act. If Casey got off from killing her child using the insanity defense, so can my bro.”
“This is bananas!” Tasha said. Tasha had a jasmine hue and doe-like, jade-colored eyes. She was beautiful and brainy, although she had not worked since Andre was arrested. In high school though, she doubled as the head cheerleader and a member of the Math Counts team. And she was Andre Bezel’s boo, the girl of the star running back of the Upper Merion High School football team.
“Get the hell out of here,” Jean-Mary quickly added.
“Now, I am not the smartest woman on Earth, but I thought that his insanity had to be predicated during the time that the offense was committed and not now. I mean, he’s been in jail...”
“Yes, locked in a cell 23-hours a day and for no reason other than they think that he is some sort of mob boss. Agent McKenzey worked very hard at mentally controlling us. Or at least that is our story. There is no way that we are going to bear all of this and let him get off very easily because he is one of them. I assure you all that this has been well thought out and we have prepared for this by thoroughly researching case law and the past rulings of the Third Circuit Court of Appeals, the Supreme Court and even the District Judge assigned to his case. We have hired the best law professors out of the University of Pennsylvania’s law program to assist with this.” He took a breath and sipped his coffee before adding, “There’re a few other things that will be in play and trust me when I tell you, this trial will be one to remember. Casey Anthony has nothing on what is about to transpire in the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.”
Tasha dropped her face into the palms of her hands. “Kareem, I need Andre home. Amir needs his father home. I love everything that you do to be there for my son, but he needs his father. Chicanery like this just does not seem like it is bullet proof. Why can’t he just plead guilty and do his time? Work out a neat deal to get him home?”
“No, I am not having that.” That was Jean-Mary. “Now I know that my babies are not innocent of all charges, but to plead guilty is not what a man does if he has a fighting chance.”
“Yes, Tash. Trust me, I agree with you and I wish that things could be very neat, but the government attorney’s is not having that. They are out for blood and want to see my brother locked away for the rest of his life.”
“Or for a time period that seems like his life,” Toi added. “We have to trust, Kareem and Andre, Tasha.”
“Toi, don’t say too much. You have your man and your unborn child will have a father, seeing that Kareem conveniently kept himself outta jail while my son’s father is locked away throwing shit around.”
“Are you kidding, Tasha?” Toi asked.
“Ladies, we’re not here to argue,” Jean-Mary said. “We are past that bridge Tasha and there was a decision made by Kareem and Andre and I am not going to argue to disturb it. My thing is, I don’t really understand it either, but what can I say, if I do not know every single element, and I doubt that you do either. Besides, you’ve been kept out of jail as well.”
Everyone sat silent for a moment. Jean-Mary had always had a way with words and this time was no different. When she spoke, people listened.
“Listen, I get it. I am just so stressed. Kareem you’re not allowed in the jail. You can’t begin to understand what it’s like to board a secure elevator and be shot to the 8th floor of a building to see your fiancé in a small room behind glass and talk to him on the phone. The closest thing to touching him is placing our hands at the same place on a see-through glass window an inch thick.”
“Toi, this is hard on you, I know. And Amir too. But you must know that this is just as hard on me. That is my brother and I have known him my entire life. Do you think I am not as emotionally attached to this as you?”
“No, it’s not that, Kareem. I need you all at this table in the worse way. Living in that big house all alone is very hard on me.”
“Tasha, you can stay here with me.”
“Yes, we are all here for you, Tasha,” Toi said. “You can call me any time.”
“I know. I am just so alone. It’s painful.”
“Sorry, Tasha,” Kareem said and then hugged her. “We never intended to hurt you sis. I am very sorry that it has been this way, but trust me on this. We are going to get Kareem out of there.”
Tasha looked deep into his eyes and asked, “You promise?”
“I promise. Just wait ‘til they get a load of Kareem and Andre Bezel. What they have seen thus far, is nothing more than the appetizer. They want no part of the entree.”
CHAPTER 8
Not many svelte women were decorated with plentiful breasts that mirrored Roxanne’s. She laid flat on her
back on her bed wrapped in a chenille robe. The belt was loose. The lapel created a perfect V and allowed her cleavage to spill out and bounce vivaciously each time lewd licks from the man between her legs touched her wet spot. Her flat stomach showed feminine cuts each time she wiggled. Her vagina was so deeply impressed by his vibrator-like tongue that it had became soaked and moist. It developed a devilish, sagacious little mind of its own. A mind prepared to manipulate and dominate the average man, and Antoine was average. He typically thought with the head between his legs, which made it bad for him. He was doomed.
Roxanne had a cafe au lait hue and deep dark eyes. Her body could grace the cover of Vibe Vixen Magazine. Without paint, her beauty was alarming. With it she was sinful.
Having come thrice, she pushed the man aside. After a quick shower she glided to her dresser and lost her robe along the way. Antoine’s almond-shaped chestnut brown eyes stared at her. He had a cappuccino complexion, slim manicured nose, and soft, full pinkish lips. To women he was flawless. He raised the question as to whether God really deemed no human perfect. He watched her rake her fingers through her hair once. Twice. Three times. And placed her hair into a pony tail.
Antoine raised from the bed and held Roxanne from behind. In the mirror she looked at the tattoo emblazoned across his appetizing chest. It read: Take or Get Taken. The deep cuts in his arms held her tightly. He brushed his lips across her ear before he asked, “You love me, right, Mo?” Her full name was Roxanne Monique Street.
At a little after noon, it was hardly time to ask that question, considering the time he had brought his ass home the night before.
“I do, Ant,” she said and turned to face him. She rested her hands on his pecs and he grabbed her ass, pulling it closer.
Die Later Page 3