A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (28 page)

“Detective Morgan?” I called out. I had to at least put the icing on the cake.

“Yes, Taylor, what is it? Have you changed your mind?” He sounded hopeful.

My next statement dashed his hopes. “No, I haven’t. But I wanted to say thank you for everything even though we can’t be intimate. You revealed so much today through your candid conversation. You’ve been very enlightening, and I appreciate it,” I said. He had no idea how true my statement was.

“Well, I’m glad I could help. I’m going to go ahead and get out of here. If you need anything or have any second thoughts, just give me a call.” He walked out, closing the door softly behind him. I quickly got up and locked it before letting out a sigh of relief.

Without missing a beat, I walked over to the sofa and reached under the pillow. I pulled out the recorder I’d hidden prior to Morgan’s visit. It was still recording. I pushed the
STOP
button and rewound. I played back the conversation; everything he’d said was loud and clear. I went to the TV stand and pressed its
POWER
button. The TV was actually a high-definition camera that had filmed the whole scene. I was impressed by the electronic gadget. The sales rep had bragged about how great it was, and he’d been right. Now I had to see my baby Stacks. I knew he was worried about me. First thing in the morning, I’d head down to County.

I
sat at the visitation booth waiting to see my man. Although he’d only been in jail for three days, it seemed like a year. We’d never been apart for any real length of time since we’d been living together. Visitation at County was the worst because they had a thick Plexiglas partition that kept us from touching each other. They made visitors feel like they were seeing an animal instead of a loved one. When they brought Stacks in, my face lit up like a kid with a bag of candy. “Hey, baby, how are you holding up?” I asked.

“Babe, I’m good. I’m in here maintaining. I hate that I’m not out there taking care of you. You know I love you, right?” he asked. He already knew the answer.

“Of course I know you love me,” I said. “Don’t be stressing yourself about things out here. I did like you asked. I called the
meeting, gave everyone their expected post, and laid out the things to be handled.”

“I heard that, li’l momma. I also heard you had to pimp-slap Zoot. What was that all about? I never expected him to go against the grain. When I get out, I’m going to have a word with him,” he stated.

I decided to switch the conversation. I could sense him getting angry and wanted him to stay focused. “Baby, I got Zoot in check. He knows his place with me. The money is coming in real nicely. Before I came here, I collected what was out. Every last penny was accounted for. I’m going by today to retain your lawyer. I have an appointment with your parole officer this afternoon at two. I’m trying to get her to agree that if the judge grants you a bond, she’ll lift the parole hold. You might be out by next week. If you agree to go home on the monitor, I think they’ll grant you house arrest.” I was hoping this little bit of news would cheer him up.

“What did I do to deserve you? You’ve always had my back, even when times got rough. I can always count on you. I’m lucky to have you in my life.” As he spoke those words, I could see tears forming in his eyes. Now Stacks ain’t no punk. I’d only seen him cry twice in my life. The first time was when his grandpa, Mason, died. Mason was the only father he’d known. The other time was when his best friend, Steelo, Jetta’s big brother, was shot and killed. Some say the bullet was meant for Stacks. No one knows if that was true or not. What I do know is, Stacks took his death really hard. It was almost two years ago, and anytime anyone mentions Steelo, Stacks’s whole demeanor changes.

“Why are you getting all sad on me?” I asked. “We deserve each other. Of course I got your back, and you got mine. You took me off those cold lonely streets and showed me nothing but love. You’ve been a provider, a protector, and the love of my life. Now, I know you’re feeling like your back is against the wall. But I want you to remember this, ain’t nothing too hard for God. We might
not be perfect and I know we ain’t living all the way right. But God takes care of his own. I might have lost my momma but you gave me more family. He gave me you. I’m not gonna lose you to the streets, jail, or no bitch. You feel me?” I asked him. I wanted to make sure he understood me.

He looked at me in amazement. “Baby, you gotta believe I ain’t fuckin’ around with no females. Yeah, I’m a G but I’m not stupid.” He was pleading his case.

“Stacks, don’t you think I know that already? You’re a man. And a powerful one at that. Yeah, I know females try to sway you. I don’t blame them, not one bit. I got your phone. I see the text messages. I’m not concerned about all that. I know you know where home is. If you forget, trust me, I know how to remind your ass.” I put my fist up to the glass and smiled to let him know that although I meant it, I was still being lighthearted.

“Girl, you are so feisty. That’s what I love about you. Ain’t nobody going nowhere. If I have to do these five years—” I cut him off abruptly.

“I just told you you ain’t doin’ no five years. Now you better get some faith. Don’t punk out on me now. That ain’t the man I know and love. Like you told me, ‘Man up, motherfucka.’ ” He laughed so hard the tears in his eyes fell. I knew he loved me more than life itself. I also knew he was worried about everyone but himself. “Time’s up,” the jailer announced. He seemed pleased to break up our happy moment. I looked at the fat motherfucka and rolled my eyes. He had a bad case of the “Booty Do.” That’s when your stomach sticks out more than your booty do.

Stacks noticed the change in my expression and burst out laughing. “Behave, Li’l Momma,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll behave, Daddy,” I said. I blew him a kiss and left the county lockup feeling a hell of a lot better than I had a few days ago. I had a new pep in my step. I knew my baby was coming home. I stopped by the Best Buy and found the sales clerk who’d
helped me with my camera. He was ecstatic when I gave him a two-hundred-dollar tip. It was only a drop in the bucket for me, but for a seventeen-year-old, it meant a pair of Jordan’s, a new handheld PSP, or a PlayStation. I also made sure to write a great letter of recommendation to his general manager. I knew it was the highlight of his day.

I drove over to the Fulton Industrial Parole Office and waited for Stacks’s parole officer. An attractive woman appeared and motioned for me to enter her office. Unlike the precinct, it had a little glam and flair. Of course it had that corny Georgia State seal on the wall, letting you know you were in a government building. However, the people in this branch seemed like they wanted to be at work. From the outside looking in, they all seemed attentive. “Ms. Dixon, you’re here about Mr. Martin, correct?” she asked. Her tone was stern but very gentle. I felt very comfortable.

“Yes, ma’am, I am. You see, my fiancé has been abiding by the conditions of his parole for the last six years. His records show no trouble, not even dirty urine.” I wasn’t sure exactly how he’d passed. Stacks smoked more weed than Shabba Ranks and Bob Marley combined. We teased him that he wasn’t just black, he was a Jamaican.

“Well, unfortunately, Mr. Martin is locked up on a gun charge. He’s a convicted felon, which is an automatic five-year sentence. Judging by the police report, he’s the guilty party. That actually surprised me, he seemed to be following all the rules and regulations of parole,” she said.

“Listen, you and I both know that he hasn’t broken any rules. Why would he actually commit a felony? Don’t you find that odd?” I asked.

Up to this point, we were both standing in her office. “Forgive my manners, Ms. Dixon. Have a seat.”

I sat down, and instead of sitting behind her desk, she sat next to me. She made me feel at ease.

“Ma’am, I have some pertinent information that could free Felix immediately. I haven’t shown it to anyone because I wasn’t sure who to disclose it to first.”

“Ms. Dixon, please call me Carol. I’m much too young to be a ‘ma’am.’ At least I’d like to think I am,” she said in a lighthearted and calm voice.

“Of course you are. It’s just that my mother always taught me manners. I guess it’s that southern hospitality that’s embedded in me. Anyway, I have a tape and video that will show that Felix is not only innocent but that there are some people on the force who need to be brought to justice.”

Carol was all ears now. I played the tape recording first. She not only listened, she took out a pen and started taking notes. When I played the video footage, she turned bright red. She was a sister; we don’t wear our feelings on our sleeve. I could tell she was really angry.

“Ms. Dixon, is that you in the video?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I’m shocked that you put yourself in that situation. You must really love him. Mr. Martin is a lucky man,” she said.

“You’re right. I do love him very much, but I must correct you. I’m the lucky one.”

“Well, in light of this recent discovery, I can’t see why we won’t have Mr. Martin out by his next hearing. This tape is evidence that he was clearly set up. Not only will he get off, but Detective Morgan might be taking his place.”

Carol was upset for three reasons. First, she disliked crooked policemen. Second, she hated when people didn’t believe in giving others second chances because she felt that once a person had served their time, they were free to live their life. Last but not least, she despised cheating husbands. As it turned out, Detective Morgan was her brother-in-law. She explained to me that her sister had married him eight years ago. No one in the family
trusted or liked him. She’d had her suspicions that he was screwing around on her sister. Now she had valid proof. I definitely didn’t want to be in his shoes. She was a boss bitch on the right side of the law. I could tell she wasn’t bullshitting. After giving her duplicate copies of the tape and video, we discussed the strategy for nailing Morgan.

I knew that Morgan would have hell to pay. I’d done my duty for the day. Both Stacks and his parole officer had all the 411 they needed.

My next order of business was to see Zoot. I hit Jetta on his cell and made arrangements for him to meet me at my boutique. Once I gave him the formal update, I figured we’d pay our respects to Zoot. It was time for him to pay the piper.

We arrived at Spondivitz in Hapeville at approximately eight o’clock. That’s a spot where all the D-boyz and ballers hang out. The food was banging. Spondivitz is on Virginia Avenue, not far from the Hartsfield International Airport, the largest airport in the world. At first glance, one would think it was some ole bullshit. But as they say, never judge a book by its cover. It’s one of the best, if not the best, seafood restaurants this side of the Mississippi River. It’s known for strong drinks, delicious food, and high-ass prices. Ballers took their best bitches there when they wanted to impress. Hos knew that if they were there for a date, it was definitely going on their pussy tab. Stacks and I love Spondivitz. He’d gotten so cool with the owner, we’d come and have him open during off-hours. That, of course, would set us back a pretty penny but we had it to spare.

Zoot was sitting at the bar drinking a strawberry daiquiri. To me, that’s a bitch drink. Real niggas drink cognac, bourbon, and vodka. I knew this nigga was a pussy.

“What’s poppin’, Zoot?” I asked in a cheerful voice. Everything was going as planned, and he was the final piece of the puzzle.

“Ain’t too much shaking. I’m sitting back sipping this drink and checking out some of the lovely ladies,” he said.

“You call that a drink? That’s a bitch drink. Real niggas don’t drink syrup and whipped cream unless they about to eat some pussy,” I teased. “Bartender, bring us three shots of Patron, chilled and with salt.” The bartender hurried away and came back with the shots.

“Damn, baby girl, you doin’ it like that? Okay, I’m with you, let’s get these shots out of the way.” His voice was unsure. He wasn’t a drinker, he was a smoker. I knew that but I didn’t give a shit. I wanted him to get real toasted. We threw our shots back and I motioned for the bartender to bring us another round. I knew Jetta could hold his own, and I wasn’t worried about myself. I can drink the average man under the table. Patron was one of my favorite beverages. I knew Zoot wouldn’t be able to handle his liquor, but I didn’t give a damn. We placed our food order and I quickly checked on Zoot. The two shots of Patron had him tipsy as hell. He was trying to be hard and maintain his cool. Jetta and I had to hide our amusement. Little did he know, he had a long night ahead of him. Then his weed hunger must have kicked in, because he completely cleaned his plate. I guess he was trying to soak up some of the liquor he’d been slurping. Unfortunately, I wasn’t letting him off the hook. I kept the drinks coming. His sick ass was going to pay. Toward the end of dinner, I could tell he’d entered the twilight zone.

My iPhone was beeping, letting me know the second phase of the plan was about to occur. I texted Moet back to let her know I was at the back of the restaurant. When she approached our table, Zoot’s eyes lit up. He’d secretly had a crush on Moet for years. Sometimes he’d stop by Magic City on a slow night just to make it rain on her. He thought that would impress her, but she wasn’t fazed in the least. For her, it was always money over niggas. She knew that as long as she was stripping in the club, she’d never
have a serious relationship. She considered Zoot a loser who was trying to hang with the big boys. When I’d told her about the situation with Stacks and how Zoot had become a snitch, she didn’t hesitate to be part of my deceitful plan. I’d offered her a pretty penny for her help, but out of loyalty and obligation to Stacks and me, she refused it.

“Hey, Taylor. What’s up, Jetta and Zoot? Nice to see y’all here. Especially you, Zoot,” she said seductively. Moet has a way with men. Jetta and Zoot had been locked at attention since she’d approached the table. Like I said earlier, I’m pretty easy on the eyes, but Moet puts me to shame. She has a rosy complexion, with beautiful, almond-shaped hazel eyes. Her lashes are long, thick, and full. Her body is shaped like a Coke bottle. That bitch is bad. She’s 5′10″, bowlegged, with long, natural, sandy-brown wavy locks. I could see why dudes spent their money on her. She was the truth. I kicked Jetta to bring his ass out of his daze. Noticing the stern look on my face, he popped back. It’s funny how men can be so weak. Pussy is powerful, and we women know it.