Entangled (12 page)

Dream was awake before dawn, Jamal was still asleep. She smiled as she stared at his muscular body. She was glad he was back with her.
Back where he belongs, right back with Mama,
she thought. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him. She had grown to love him in just a short period of time. She loved everything about him—his caress, the anticipation of his sex. She liked his chest against her breasts and the salty taste of his mouth. She smiled again before reaching down and shaking him. “Jamal, wake up. Would you like me to cook you something to eat?”

Jamal rose from the bed. “Naw, that’s okay. I don’t want you to go out of your way for me.”
She leaned to him and kissed him on the forehead. “Nothing is too good for you. You’re back where you belong.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you see in that stripper in the first place?”
Jamal sighed. “I don’t know. I was just passing time at the strip joint relieving frustration.”
“I could relieve your frustrations.”
“Yeah?”
Dream started dancing teasingly and seductively. She then took off the T-shirt she was wearing, exposing her perfect breasts. “Hell, if you pay me, I’ll fulfill all your fantasies.”
“Really?” Jamal asked.
“If the price is right,” she teased.
Jamal’s eyebrow’s rose. “What about a threesome?”
“A threesome?”
“Yeah, me and you and another woman.”
“Hell, no!” Dream frowned. “What do you think I am, some floozy?”
“Well, you’re the one that said if the price was right.”
Dream folded her arms across her chest. “Jamal, I was only joking. I guess I ain’t enough woman for you.”
Jamal pulled her closer. “Baby, you know it ain’t even like that. I don’t need to have a threesome. It’s just a fantasy.”
“Believe me, we won’t go there,” she said adamantly.

In early October, maple leaves in beautiful shades of orange, yellow, and red decorated the neighborhood lawns. Dream loved the fall. It was her favorite season. She liked teaching during the fall because of all the activities that went on at the school, especially the football games and dances. The feeling she got was nostalgic, and it made her reminisce about her high school days, which was another reason she liked teaching.

Dream pushed a cart containing an overhead projector and several workbooks. She had just left her third-period World history class, and she was headed to her U.S. history class, which was located on the third floor of the school. She got in the crowded elevator and as the door was closing the intercom sounded. “Dream Nelson please report to the office.”

A short, burly white boy with red hair reiterated what the intercom had just said. “Ms. Nelson, they called for you to come to the office.”

He smiled. “I sure hope you ain’t in no trouble, ’cause whenever they call me to the office, I’m always in some kind of trouble,” he said.

“I think I’ll be okay. I appreciate your concern,” Dream said before pulling the cart off the elevator and moving in the direction of the office.

When she got there, the school secretary presented Dream with some balloons and twelve yellow roses. The card read: THANKS FOR BEING YOU. LOVE, JAMAL.

“Looks like someone cares a whole lot about you,” the secretary said.
“Yeah, I’m fortunate to have a good boyfriend.” Dream smiled.
“Those are high-dollar roses,” the secretary said in a very country accent. “I sure wish my husband would send me something every now and then to let me know he appreciates me.”
Dream didn’t respond. She just inhaled the scent of the roses and relished the moment.

When the school day was over, Dream called Jamal and immediately thanked him.
“Listen, I’m tired of you thanking me for everything. You’re my woman, and I’m supposed to do little things like that for you.”
“Yeah, but sometimes I feel like you go too far.”
“Since when can’t a man buy his woman some flowers?”
“Silly, you know what I mean. What do you have planned for today?”
“Actually I’m supposed to meet this Nigerian attorney today, and he’s supposed to show me this loft that he has for rent.”
“Can I come along?”
“I was going to ask you to.”

The Arlington was the tallest high-rise complex in downtown Charlotte. It housed about five hundred tenants. Guests were required to check in with security before seeing a resident.

When Jamal and Dream arrived at the security desk, they paged Nigel Ojukwu and he invited them up.
“I’m Jamal, and this is my girlfriend, Dream,” Jamal said after they entered the apartment.
Nigel was a tall man with a very dark complexion and a large head. He was wearing a gray, pinstriped Armani suit and a crisp white shirt. Jamal shook his hand, and Nigel showed them around the loft. The bedrooms were spacious, and the view was even better than the one Jamal had at the place Dawg had rented for him. It had two full bathrooms, and everything was in excellent condition.
“I love this place,” Dream said as she looked onto the huge terrace.
“It’s nice, except I don’t really like the brown carpet,” Jamal said.
“It’s one of the best, if not
the
best high-rise building in the city,” Nigel said.
“How much are you asking?” Jamal asked.
“I just want the mortgage, three thousand a month.”
“What about some new carpet?” Jamal asked.
“I’ll have some put in if you get the apartment. Now what was it you said you did for a living?” Nigel asked curiously.
“I’m a concert promoter,” Jamal answered quickly.
Nigel looked at Jamal then glanced over at Dream. “I just got one main rule: No drugs in my apartment.”
Jamal’s face became curious. He wondered whether he had a look on his face that said he was a drug dealer. He knew the guy was a lawyer, and he wondered if Nigel had done a background check on him. “Mr. Ojukwu, why did you put so much emphasis on that statement?”
“Oh, no reason, I just know how some of you concert promoters are, having those wild parties with the stars and all.” Nigel placed his arm around Jamal’s shoulder. “It’s a joke, man. Don’t be so uptight.” He laughed.
Jamal smiled weakly while looking at Nigel suspiciously.

Rain fell lightly when Jamal and Dream stepped out of the lobby of the building.
“Did you really like it?” Jamal asked Dream after they were in the car.
“I loved it, but I don’t really see the logic in paying that much money for something that’s never gonna be yours. Have you ever thought about buying a house?”
He opened the glove compartment, pulled out some papers, and passed them to her before firing up the ignition. “This is gonna be our future home.”
The papers were the house plans Dawg had sent him during the five years of his incarceration. The plan showed a two-story, twobedroom home with a huge children’s activity room and a formal dining room; a three-car garage, a home theater, and his-and-her bathrooms attached to the master bedroom.
“I like it. When are you gonna have it built?”
Jamal pulled his Mercedes through the exit gates. “I don’t know. Right now, it’s gonna be hard to put it in my name because I don’t have a job, which is one reason I rent.”
“Jamal, have you ever thought about taking some of the money you make and going legitimate?”
He glanced over before wheeling the Benz carefully onto the slick street. “I have, but honestly, I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dealing so long.”
Dream felt sorry for him. She knew he was smart. She knew if he applied himself to something legitimate, it could very well work out for him.
But what could he do?
she wondered. He had no marketable skills.

It was 5:00 A.M. when Jamal received a call from Angelo. When he saw the number on the Caller ID, Jamal immediately answered the phone. He knew it had to be important for Angelo to call so early. “I got bad news,” Angelo said.

“What happened?” Jamal asked as he sat up in his bed. “The girls got busted.”
“How did this happen?”
“Connie called me about an hour ago. She said the DEA agents

“Can’t nothing good come out of that,” Jamal said as he stood and began to pace with the cordless telephone to his ear.
“Make sure you tell Ruff. Connie said she ain’t told the cops shit, but she don’t know about Jennifer. As soon as they took them to the jail they separated them.”
“Well, what do you think she’ll say?” Jamal asked.
“To be honest with you, Jamal, I don’t know,” Angelo said.
Jamal appreciated Angelo’s honesty, but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Well, if you hear anything else, give me a call,” Jamal said before hanging up.

Mark arrived at his office shortly before eight o’clock. He had three messages on his phone—two from his father urging him to call home because he hadn’t heard from him in a while and one from Agent Don Gonzales of San Diego.

“Good morning to you, sir. My name is Mark Pratt, a DEA agent with the Charlotte, North Carolina Division. I received a message from you stating that you had some info that might be helpful to me.”

“Yeah. We made a bust at the airport yesterday. Two young, African-American women headed in your direction. They had four kilos of cocaine on them. One of them cooperated immediately. She said she was heading to Charlotte to meet a guy by the name of Jamal Stewart. When I called, I initially got another agent who said you were investigating this Stewart fella.”

“Yeah, that’s right; I’ve been watching him and his little organization for a few months now. In fact I infiltrated, and I’m now hanging out with Jamal’s right-hand man.”

“Well, this girl says she is willing to do anything to save her skin. If you’d like, I can have two agents fly both of them out to you to see if you can get some statements from them.”

J
ENNIFER
P
HILLIPS WAS A
very pretty girl with light skin and delicate features; she looked to be in her early twenties. She was kind of shy and reserved at first, and she kept biting her fingernails in the interrogation room. She just looked at the floor while Mark, Jeremiah, and U.S. Attorney David Ricardo asked her questions.

David Ricardo’s friends considered him a nice man, but he was well known for his bulldog questioning tactics. “When did you first start coming to Charlotte?” David asked.

“I started coming around the second week of June,” she answered without looking at him.
“How much cocaine did you bring on your first trip?”
“I brought two kilos and Connie brought two.”
“Do you know this man?” David asked as he held up a picture.
“No.” She shook her head and looked up briefly at David.
“What about this man?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, that’s Dawg,”
“What about this man?” David asked.
“Jamal,” she said.
Mark smiled at David. They were definitely onto something. They questioned Jennifer for the next two hours, and she told them everything she could think of about Jamal, Dawg, and Angelo. When they were finished questioning her, Jennifer looked Mark in the eye for the first time. “Am I gonna get out to see my babies?”
Mark was caught off guard by the question. This was the part of his job he didn’t like. He hated seeing people separated from their children, especially young women. Looking at her, Mark didn’t expect her to have babies, but he should have known. Usually the women with the children were the first to cooperate. “I don’t know, but I certainly will make a recommendation that you receive a bond since you have been helpful to us.”
“I see,” she said, dropping her head again.

When Connie entered the interrogation room, she seemed to be a lot more relaxed than Jennifer. Mark saw experience in her eyes. She even asked Jeremiah for one of his cigarettes.

“You didn’t come in here to smoke, you came to answer questions,” Jeremiah said.
Connie nodded. “What do you want to know?”
David held up a picture of Dawg. “Do you know this guy?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Next he held up a picture of Jamal. “What about this man?”
“No,” she answered.
“How is it that your friend knows these guys and you don’t?” Mark asked.
“She got her people that she deals with and I got my people,” she answered.
David looked her in the eye. “Well, do you want to tell us about your people?”
“So what are you going to do for me?” Connie asked.
“It all depends on the information you have. If you give us something helpful, we can definitely get you a lighter sentence, or perhaps let you go.”
“Really,” she said, nodding.
“Tolliver give her a cigarette,” David ordered.
Jeremiah pulled one of his Camel Lights from his pocket, lit it, gave it to her, and placed a small paper cup on the table to be used as an ashtray.
“Let’s talk now,” David said. “Do you wanna help yourself or not?”
Connie took a drag from the cigarette. “I want to help.”
Jeremiah sat beside her. He held a yellow legal pad. “Tell us about your people. Who are they?”
For an hour and a half Connie filled them in about a man named Tyrone Anderson, who she said lived on Seventh Street. She said that she had brought multiple kilos of cocaine to him over a six-month period. According to Connie, she had made more than sixteen deliveries.
“Can you get him on the phone?” Mark asked.
Connie stared at him avoiding his eyes. “Probably not . . . I mean, he knows I’ve been busted now.”
“What’s his address?” David asked.
“It’s 2892 Seventh Street.”
Mark looked at her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
Connie flicked ashes in the small cup. “I’m certain.”
“What about Angelo?” Mark said.
“What about him?” Connie replied.
“Is he your connection?”
Connie rolled her eyes and took another drag from her cigarette. “Did I say he was my connection?”
Mark looked her straight in her eyes. “Why are you being difficult?”
“I’ve told you my story. Can I go now?”
After the Marshals transported Connie to the county jail, Mark, David and Jeremiah accessed the information. Mark and Jeremiah both came to the conclusion that Jennifer had valid information and that Connie was lying. David was adamant about seeing if there was any substance to Connie’s story. “We’ve got to check out all information received. I’m going to the federal magistrate to get a search warrant to check out this Tyrone Anderson guy on Seventh Street.

At eight o’clock the next morning. Mark, Jeremiah, and ten other DEA agents kicked in the door at 2892 Seventh Street.
“What the hell is going on here?” a lady asked, looking at the DEA officers in her living room.
“We got a search warrant for this residence. Does a Mr. Tyrone Anderson live here?”
“Yeah, he lives here,” the woman replied before a husky, fullbearded black man appeared. “I’m Tyrone, What do you want?”
“We’ve received word that you are involved in the drug trafficking and we have a search warrant for this house,” Mark said.
Jeremiah cuffed Tyrone and ordered him to sit on the sofa. “I ain’t no drug dealer. I’m a hotel manager at the Days Inn.”
“My husband might be a lot of things, but he is definitely not a drug dealer,” the woman said.
“This is procedure. We have to search, but if we don’t find any evidence of wrongdoings we’ll leave,” Mark said.
They searched the house for more than an hour, finding no evidence of drugs or drug paraphernalia. Finally, in the bedroom closet, Jeremiah found a matchbook with Connie’s name and a phone number written on it. He quickly presented it to Tyrone. “How do you know this lady?”
Tyrone looked at the matchbook and trembled. “I met her at the hotel.”
“Why did you get her number, and how did she know where you lived?” Jeremiah asked.
Tyrone looked at Jeremiah then turned to his wife who was looking on curiously.
“Answer the man,” she said.
“I ain’t a drug dealer. I done told you I work hard every day to provide for my family. You guys should have checked my criminal record before you came busting up in my house. I ain’t never even had a jaywalking ticket in my life,” Tyrone screamed, in tears.
“Give us an answer. At this point we don’t have anything to hold you for, but we can detain you until we find further information,” Mark lied.
Ty rone turned from his wife. “Like I said, I know her but it’s not what you think. I just met her. She and her friend come to the hotel every week from California; I believe that’s where she said she was from. I met her at the hotel bar one night and we kind of hit it off. She’s a real nice girl,” Tyrone felt foolish as his wife looked on coldly.
“How did she know where you lived?” Mark asked.
Ty rone closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I brought her here while my wife was at choir rehearsal one night.”
Total silence permeated the room as Tyrone’s wife stared him down with furious eyes.
“Take the cuffs off of him,” Mark said. He felt Tyrone was telling the truth. Tyrone had escaped the grips of the Feds but still had to face an interrogation from his fuming wife.