Die Later

by Rahiem Brooks

  McKenzey tore open the letter and noticed that it was not on the United States Attorney’s letter head, but a sheet of loose-leaf paper wrapped in a plain white piece of printing paper. His eyes skipped the letter, and went to the closing signature. It read: Sgt. Justin Ashburn.

  It had been a long time since McKenzey had this wide a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER 11

  Isolation in a prison was a weird thing to experience. Inmates locked in solitary confinement could communicate with other inmates by yelling to them. Inmates could even play chess by tearing up milk cartons from breakfast and labeling them rook, king, queen, pawn, etc. Next, they drew a chess board on the back of an inmate request slip and labeled each square with consecutive numbers. During play, each inmate yelled out of their cell a chess piece and the square number that they wanted that piece on. Hell, there could even be a wager. In the end, the game had removed the inmates’ minds from being trapped in a cell. That was not possible for Andre Bezel.

  Andre was housed in an observation cell that was not on the the North or South SHU wings. It was in the middle of the two wings, right in front of the Correctional Officer’s (CO) office. The room was much larger than a cell in the event officers had to get in there and move around to restrain an inmate, or to strap them to the concrete slab in the middle of the cell instead of up against the wall. Andre had been stripped of his orange jump suit and donned a hospital gown. He had been downgraded to a paper bag meal plan, and that sucked because dinner was a meat loaf roll, filled with everything under the sun just wrapped up together.

  If that wasn’t enough, there was a 1,000-watt light bulb on the ceiling and a CO sat right outside the door to monitor Andre’s actions. Every 15 minutes, there was a log entry of his actions and conversations with the CO. After an hour, he had finally lain down to make an attempt at sleep, despite the blinding light and staff presence. His sleep was interrupted by the light tap of a pen on the cell door.

  “Mr. Bezel,” a soft voice said. “It’s Dr. Baldwin, the psychologist.”

  Music to my ears, Dre thought and lay there without moving.

  “Are you awake? I need to speak with you, Mr. Bezel.”

  Andre was not given any sheets or blankets so he was not covered. He just lay on his back with his forearm covering his eyes. He shook his head up and down and said, “Talk.”

  “Could you come over to the window? I need to see your face.”

  “Come on, Bezel. Get over here, and stop the foolishness!” Officer Daniels shouted.

  Still in the bed, Andre said, “See Doc, tell Officer Daniels to mind his got-damn business and this conversation will be a lot smoother.” He sat up and said, “But if he continues to mind our,” he pointed his finger at the doctor and then at himself, “business, I assure you that, he’s not going to like the mess that he has to clean up.”

  Dr. Baldwin looked at the CO sternly. It was a look that meant absolutely nothing to all parties involved. The CO knew that the doctor would never make such a command and mean it. But so did Andre. It was all a game of protocol. That was what the prison system was all about, he had learned. Just a bunch of lies and deceit designed to spin the next man. Andre had been around the prison horn and it was high time that he did the spinning, but first he had to master being an artful bullshitter to a higher degree than the staff. The prison flooding was just the beginning of his wave of spins. He had a buyer beware sign on his forehead for anyone that bought any of the things that was prepared to come out of his mouth too.

  The CO backed up away from the cell door and gave Andre a hard stare in a cheap game of bad CO and good psychologist. He then got up off the bed and then walked to the cell door and asked, “What do you want?”

  “How about you tell me what you want, sir. I am here for you.” The doctor was smooth and serene like a seasoned psyche. Andre was unimpressed.

  “Life in the hell hole is not about me. It’s about the staff. This self-hating breed of the public’s rejects. And I don’t just mean the prison staff here. My statement goes beyond the Bureau of Prisons and extends right on up the fucking food chain to the half-breed up there in the executive branch. My president ain’t the hell black, he’s mixed!”

  “Ok, Andre,” the doctor said and scribbled on a note pad. “What’s your problem here?”

  “What have you heard my problem is?”

  “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Nothing?” Raised eyebrow.

  “Well...”

  “Come clean, why don’t you.”

  “You wanted to see your lawyer.”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s not it.”

  “It’s not?”

  “You had the entire jail refuse to be locked in their cells and flood the tiers. This is much bigger than an attorney visit.”

  “Really, doc?” Andre stroked his goatee, which had grown to two inches long. “Are we going to play? They.” he said and pointed at the CO’s office, which was filled with officers and other prison staff trying to get a handle on the mayhem that has been bestowed upon the FDC. “They are over there playing and you’re over here playing. It seems that no one is serious and I promise consequences.”

  “Is that a threat?” Very calm. Eerily calm.

  “You don’t seem pressed. I am not either.” Big smile and he backed up to the back of the cell.

  “You start trial Monday.”

  “Rumor.”

  “Rumor, huh. You start trial on Monday. Tomorrow to be precise. Is that troubling you?”

  “And even if it was, you’re going to do what about it? Certainly, not give me an antidepressant that can get me out of trial and the end result. Besides, anything that you can prescribe me will render me incapable of participating in my trial and after they bamboozled me out of a lawyer, I need to be as alive and focused as possible.”

  “Ok, I get that, but what I don’t get is why this bit of madness that you spun into fruition came about.”

  Slow pimp stroll back to the cell window. He was putting on a theatrical production and everything counted. “I don’t know what to tell you about the madness that has spun into effect, or into fruition, as you so eloquently put it. But I can tell you this, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Well, Mr. Bezel. It seems that way, and the rumor mill has begun.”

  A careful thought and a blank stare. “See, this is why the prison staff works here and not at the FBI or any other government agency. They can’t properly investigate. They rely on the word and eyewitness account of inmates. Let’s be realistic here. If I used the prison toilet communication system to orchestrate this, do you think for one second that this would not have leaked to the staff in the planning phase? Come on. There’s more rats in here than in the NY subway. Miss me with the bullshit. There is someone else that orchestrated the things going on on the floors below us. Now run along, sweet heart, I have a nap to get too.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Leaving Philadelphia in an old Mercedes early that morning, Kareem wore a sardonic smile on his face. His Mercedes was a 2010 GLS 550 SUV, but it was August 2011 and it was time for something newer. His spending habits had not been as outrageous as before the pending criminal proceedings. They had matured. Well, he had matured too. He was speeding up I-95N and headed to his Manhattan lair. He had moved from his apartment that had been invaded by the undercover Secret Service Agent who posed as Shimir. Shimir had been trying to take Toi from Kareem and she had the audacity to bring him into their home. In the end, Shimir was resting in peace after he broke into Andre’s Bronx home.

  Kareem looked over at Toi who was in the passenger seat reading on her Kindle. He looked at her stomach and smiled, but continued to question her loyalty. It was a bad thing for him to love her so deeply, but not trust her as much as he should. And now she was pregnant. He surmised that marriage was next. It had to be. He was not having a child out of wedlock. That was not for him. That was for the bragging rights of his child. He wanted to
give his child the perfect life, and he wanted his baby to be able to say that his/her parents were married when they were conceived was just the beginning of that perfection.

  He smiled and asked, “Are you ok?” They were passing the Elizabeth exit at 3:38 a.m.

  “I’m fine. I am nervous about this meeting that I have with the New York Knicks. To be brought in as their African-American Community liaison with the ability to do what I’d like with our back children would mean a lot to me.”

  “I know, beautiful. I’m sure that they will see that and bring you on board,” he said and sped around a slow driving Saab. He actually disliked SUVs and trucks, but was trying to get the feel of carpooling. He anticipated being the greatest dad in the world. Bill Cosby fictional great. “Let me ask you this,” he said and then rested his hand on Toi’s thigh. “What do you really think about what we have decided to do with respect to Dre?”

  Toi continued to touch her Kindle and turned to the next page and seemed to have paid his question no attention. “Kareem, I am going to support you in all that you do, and you know that. I have no real thoughts other than what I learned at your grandmother’s kitchen table.”

  “I need you to have thoughts, Toi. This is and always has been about us. This has to go smoothly in order for Dre to get out with as little more time as possible and I don’t join him. The problem is that this dance with the devil could be a ruthless one. I agreed that they could not arrest me for the crimes that they were aware of and they made a list of those crimes, which they outlined in a plea agreement. What about the crimes that they may learn about that I have not agreed too? They are fair game. Them sons of bitches are waiting to find a crime that I didn’t confess to to get me in that box.”

  Toi was frozen and did not have much more to add. She just wanted the whole thing to be over. Only one thing concerned her. “If they do find a way around you getting away scott free, what am I supposed to do Mr. Bezel?”

  Here the fuck we go, Kareem thought. She was always ultimately concerned with what was going to happen to her. How would the universe affect her? What about me sitting in a jail cell rotting and going crazy like Dre. While the throwing of the shit was all an act. It complimented what my brother had been truly experiencing in that place. I hate for me and I certainly hate it for me. Yet all she is concerned with is herself, which I just don’t get. This has reminded me of the era when I worked at the bank—which I robbed daily—and interned at GQ. During this epoch, I also was spearheading my own high fashion street wear empire. And not only did my girlfriend complain that I was too busy, but she had a romantic affair with an undercover agent who worked for McKenzey. And once again, here she is wondering what the fuck is going to happen to “her” in the event of our arrest and not “us”.

  “Foremost, since when do you address me as Mr. Bezel?”

  “When I am upset.”

  “And you’re upset because?”

  “The thought of you leaving me and my child fatherless is a bit much too bear. Do you think I want to take weekly trips to a jail or prison to visit you with a child who needs you out here as his father? No, but I wouldn’t have much choice in the matter.”

  “Did you say his?”

  “Yes, his. We’re having a baby boy. Two of them. And when did I find out? At the doctor’s when you were out chatting with a Philadelphia lawyer via Skype.”

  “That was one time, Toi. I missed one appointment. I thought that you would have a heads up when the doctor would do an ultrasound. You know that I would not have missed that.”

  “You should not miss any,” she said, and dug into her Chanel bag. She pulled out ultrasound photographs of the babies.

  Did this bitch just hand me pics of my children nearly a week after she had them taken? This bullshit has to stop. “Toi, I know that you’re stressed. I know that these criminal proceedings and the pregnancy has you messed up, but it’s not cool for you to not share with me that I am the father of twins and show me the pics a week later. What kind of shit is that?”

  “The kind that you started. I used to beg you to stop what you were doing and you didn’t. Now look at the mess that we’re in.”

  Kareem fumbled in his arm rest for $8 to pay to get through the Lincoln Tunnel. He was upset and needed the distraction to understand what she had done, and why? He could not imagine why she would wait a week to tell him that he was having twin boys. “Life is stranger than fiction” was an adage that he did not think would creep into his life because he thought he had it all under control. That revelation was right up there with his night with Antoine. What the fuck is happening to me? Twins? I can’t even be excited because she withheld that information. But why? There has to be something else to this that I am missing.

  “I’m going to grab gas. Do you want anything baby?” he asked, and hopped out of the truck. They were two lights away from the tunnel and since gas was considerably cheaper in New Jersey than New York, he had to take advantage of that.

  Toi said, “No, my stomach is already turning from the coffee. You know that I don’t need things that will upset my stomach. In fact, please get me a green tea ginger ale.”

  Kareem grabbed his cell phone and walked across the gas station lot toward the inside of the mini-mart. He told the gas station attendant to fill-up his tank. That was the one thing that he liked about New Jersey. They had gas attendants who had to pump the gas, it was the law. Inside the store, Kareem decided that he wanted to ruffle some feathers. Hell, his were plucked, so he wanted to transfer that to the next man. He pulled out his cell and called Antoine. Kareem was prepared to shake up the man’s night.

  CHAPTER 13

  After three short rings, Antoine answered Kareem’s cell phone. Roxanne was sprawled across his chest and he pushed her off him. He slowly walked to the bathroom before he said, “Hello.”

  “Did I wake you?” Kareem asked and smiled. He reached for the soda container and grabbed Toi’s soda. “Well, I was calling just to be sure that you’re on board that flight Tuesday. It’s imperative that you are.”

  “Man, I don’t know. Where’s my money? Waiting for you in Tampa along with your job.”

  “I don’t have a fucking job!”

  “Whoa. Don’t talk to me in that tone. I am not here to bother you. I am here to help you prosper and you don’t have to run from the law and kidnap innocent people with this line of work.”

  “Come on, man. All crime has the possibility of arrest. I’m sure you know about that?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kareem asked as he paid for the soda.

  “I watch the news, Kareem Bezel. Nice to meet you. I have actually followed your story in the news for some time. Even rooted for you to get away.”

  Kareem was knocked off guard for a very quick nanosecond. That revelation was not unlike any other roadblock he had encountered. He shuffled for a second, but never let on that he was confused. He always responded before the other party observed his discomfort. He said, “Well, I forewarned you that I was a criminal and had just as much to lose as you. So now that you know, you’re on board to get this money?”

  “Yeah, but under my terms. The stakes have been raised now.”

  “Oh really?” Kareem asked and dipped back in the mini mart and looked at the chips on the far aisle. He was suddenly intrigued by the conversation with Antoine and ready to give it a go.

  “You’re just an ordinary thug like me.”

  “I told you that. Only difference, my range and reach is much greater than yours. Which is why I need you on my team. I have a few situations that need to be handled.”

  “Are you a magician?” Kareem asked and raised an eyebrow. He was not going to expose much on the phone, but he planned to give the clown on the other end of the line a heads up as to what he would be doing.

  “For a price.”

  “Money ain’t a thing.”

  “Good. I’ll be in Tampa!”

  “You better be, ‘cause I have plans to deal wit
h you accordingly, if you’re not. And trust me, the fact that you know my name means nothing! You’ll get to ask some of the other people swimming in the Hudson River about knowing my name if you play with me, sir, by thinking you have one up on me because you know my damn name.” His voice was deeper than norman and grave. He was firm in the belief that it wasn’t what you said, but how you said it. “Learn my name. And learn it well. Kareem Jamel Bezel. It rings bells.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Kareem ended the call and smiled. He paid the gas attendant and hopped in the pilot seat.

  He was accosted with, “Who was on the phone? Your bitch?”

  Kareem pulled off and chuckled very sarcastically. That was him, the epitome of subtle arrogance. He lined the Benz up to pay the toll and sat silently. He had to gather the respectful strength to address her comment.

  “No comment, huh?” Toi said and opened her soda.

  “What’s your situation, Latoya?” It was time to call her by her government name so that she knew he meant business. I am very disturbed by your comment, and don’t understand why you would even ask me that.”

  “Since when do you take your phone out of the car to get gas?”

  “Um, since I had to make a call. Why am I explaining this? I am 25 years old and doubt if I need to explain when I use my phone. You’re being a bitch and for no good reason.” Kareem passed his money to the toll booth collector and asked for a receipt. He collected the toll receipts to be sure to file them with the rest of his tax-deductible expenses. He was not concerned with the current state of the American economy. He was thankful, though, that Barack Obama did not cut retirees’ social security checks. That would have been a tragedy.

  “Bitch, do I look like a bitch.”

  “No, you look like my child, I mean, children’s mother, but posing as a bitch.”