A Good Dude (18 page)

The only problem with this freedom was the catty squabbles women cramped in such close quarters were bound to have. Candace didn’t make a lot of friends, and rumors were flying about her showers and her pudgy belly. She told them she wasn’t pregnant, but no one wanted to leave it at that. Did she miscarry? Did she have a crack baby? Did CPS have her baby? Why does she take so many showers? Did she have the baby in the shower?

“They ask me about it all the time,” Neci told her once. “I told them you didn’t have a baby, but these bitches is nosey.”

Candace only half believed her cell mate. Why would the other women know specifics, like the CPS involvement, unless Neci planted the suspicion?

Another issue Candace found harder and harder to contend with was the availability of outside contact. There were four pay phones mounted on the wall near the guard station. These phones did not take money. When you picked up the receiver an automated voice instructed you on how to place your collect call. The only call Candace knew to make was to her parents, but she refused to make that call from jail. Every time she called them her situation was worse.

So Candace watched the others. They talked to their lawyers and mothers and brothers. Mostly they talked to their husbands and boyfriends. Some of the roughest women you’d ever want to meet stood there with their back to the wall, one leg propped up. They would smile and gaze out into nothingness and twirl a finger in their hair like they were in high school.

* * *

Days turned into weeks.

After two of them, Neci dragged Candace into their cell for a little heart-to-heart. She directed Candace to sit on her bed, which was generally taboo. Neci sat down right next to her, which was equally uncomfortable. “You still not ready to call your parents?”

“It hasn’t been a month.”

“What you’re doing is stupid, Candace. You need to call them. They can get you a lawyer. If it happened like you say it did, you can probably beat it.”

“I’m not calling them from here.”

“You need to let go of that pride.”

“It’s not pride.” Candace shook her head. “I’m not proud of anything I did.”

“Whatever it is, it’s
stupid
. You know they can help you.”
“Neci, I’m going to get out. They’re trying to put a case together, and when they do, it’s going to fall apart.”

“And you’re just going sit in jail—like you don’t care?”

“I do care. I hate it here, you know that.”

“But you not taking it seriously.” Neci’s face was distorted in frustration.

“Neci, I’m going to get out. I still have two weeks. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

“You’re waiting for the police to prove you innocent! That’s not what they do. You got the stupidest plan in here, Candace. You need to quit acting like a baby.”

Neci got up and marched into the dayroom.

* * *

But stupid or not, it was Candace’s life and her story to play out. And Neci didn’t think it was so stupid when Candace got a visitor a few days later. As the guard led her out of the unit, Candace expected her court
-
appointed attorney or possibly even Trisha. But she wasn’t surprised to see Detective Judkins waiting for her in an interrogation room. She sat across from him with her hands cuffed behind her back.

“How you doing, Candace?” he asked.

“I never sold drugs to anyone,” she said.

“I know,” he said, and Candace felt like she would float right out of her seat. “If you’re willing to testify against Raul, I’ll drop the charges against you.”

“When can I get out?”

“In about two hours.”

Again Candace swooned. “Where’s my baby?”

“That’s not my deal,” the detective said. “I can give you the number to CPS, but you have to go through them to get your baby. I just want to put Raul in prison.”

“But you’re going to tell them I didn’t do anything so they’ll give her back, right?”

“I’ll tell them we dropped the charges against you, Candace, but they know about the drugs we found in your apartment. I don’t know what process you have to go through to get your baby back.”

“All right,” Candace said. She hadn’t shed a tear since the first time she saw this drug-fighting cowboy, but she cried like a baby in that interrogation room.

It was a good cry.

* * *

Candace walked out of the front doors of the Overbrook Meadows County Jail at 9:34 on a bright Wednesday morning.

FAMILY MATTERS

Candace stepped out into the bright sunlight wearing a shirt with two and a half weeks worth of funk and a pair of jeans that were visibly filthy. It was mid-June now, seasonably temperate in great cities like New York, but June in Texas is like something out of a hellish nightmare. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead within seconds. She couldn’t wait to get under an air conditioner.

But that was the thing; Candace didn’t think she had anywhere to go to. The last time she saw her apartment, it was filled with cops, and the front door was smashed in. The manager would have fixed it, but she might not let Candace back in. Especially if the police told her Candace was a big-time dope dealer.

There was an easy way to get answers to these questions. When she got arrested, the police let Candace grab her purse. They gave it back to her when she left jail, and it still contained the fifty dollars she had left over from pawning her valuables. This was all she had to her name. Candace was in a hurry to get home, but she knew a cab ride would take half that loot.

She spotted a bus stop across the street and headed that way.
i

The Overbrook Meadows County Jail is located in the downtown area of the big city. This was extremely beneficial for Candace because the public transit system had a central hub downtown. She sat at a random bus stop and the number two pulled up after only ten minutes. The doors swung open, and she was very happy to see a man in uniform who couldn’t tell her what to do.

“Where is this bus going?” she asked.

“I go to the Meadowbrook, Handley area.”

“I need to get to Eastwood.”

“You’re going to want the number, uh, five,” he said. He was a chubby guy. He reminded Candace of Comic View comedian Bruce Bruce. “You can catch that at the transit center.”

“Where’s the transit center?”

“It’s on Eighth Street. The number five goes by every thirty minutes. Come on. That’s where I’m headed.”

Candace hopped on the bus with a big grin. She thanked the driver for the information and took a seat directly behind him. The bus took off, and she stared out of the huge side windows like a kid on vacation. She couldn’t keep a smile off her face. Six months ago she would have scoffed at the idea of riding the
city bus
, but two weeks in jail changed all of that. She would ride in the back of a manure truck to get away from that place.

Jail had her feeling like she was on the
Amistad.

Goddammit! Give us free!
i

She arrived at the transit center five minutes after boarding the number two. She found the bus stop for the number five, and it was already there. Commuters were boarding, and some of them didn’t look too much better than Candace. She wondered if they just got out of jail, too.

Everything was going so smoothly, Candace forgot she gave the first driver her last bit of change. When she pulled out her smallest currency, a ten, the driver for the number five sneered at her.

“I ain’t got no change.” This one was a woman, but it would be hard to determine that from a distance. She sported an asexual jheri curl, wore Stevie Wonder shades, and had a good bit of stubble on her chinny-chin-chin.

“Does anybody have change?” Candace asked the strange faces on the bus. Everyone shook their head.

“Where can I get change?” she asked the driver.

“There’s a store in the station.”

“Are you going to be here for a minute?”

“For a
minute
,” the woman confirmed, but when Candace got back with the finances, the number five was gone. All of the busses were gone.

That was cool. She went back inside to get more quarters for the pay phone. If she had to sit there thirty minutes, she might as well do something constructive with her time.

Her mother answered after two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mama. It’s me.”

“
Candace
?”

“Yeah, Mama. How you doing?”

“My God! Oh, baby! Please don’t hang up the phone.”

“I’m not going to hang up, Mama. I’m not doing that anymore. That’s why I called. I want to apologize for the way things have been going.”

“
No
! No—baby, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Oh, I can’t
believe it
.
I can’t believe it’s you
. I answered this phone a million times hoping to hear your voice. Baby, where are you? Please come home.”

“I can’t come home right now.”

“
Baby, please
.”

“Mama, don’t do that. You’re going to make me cry.”
“We miss you so much. Everybody does. Gerald, too.”
“I know, Mama. But listen: I can’t come home right now, but I want it to be different between us. I miss you,

Mama. I miss not talking to you.”

“
Oh, baby
.”

“I was wrong, Mama. I thought I didn’t need you, but I did. I do. I’m not going this long without talking to you anymore.”

“Let me come get you.”

“I can’t come home right now. Mama, please respect that.”

“Okay, Candace. Okay. Anything. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Candace closed her eyes and smiled. A lone tear fell from her eye. “I don’t need you to do anything, Mama. I just want you to know that it’s not going to be like it was before. I can’t come home, but I still want you and Dad in my life. I’m going to call more. Every week, if you want.”

“
Why
can’t you come home?”

Because I have to stay in town so I’ll be available when my boyfriend goes to court. They want to give him some time in prison, and I might have to testify against him. I’d be the star witness. Detective Judkins said he’ll put me back in jail if I skip out on him. Oh, yeah. Didn’t I tell you I was in jail? Plus I don’t have my baby back yet, Mama. I can’t leave without her, and I haven’t even talked to CPS to see what they want me to do.

“I just can’t,” Candace said.

“You’re going to call, Candace?
Really
? Promise me you’re going to call.”