Criminal Minded (14 page)

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Authors: Tracy Brown

BOOK: Criminal Minded
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close encounters
1995
The CO unlocked my cell and threw some papers at me.
“Let’s go, Michaels,” he snarled. “Today’s your fuckin’ lucky day or sum’in.”
I smiled. January 7, 1995,
was
my lucky day. Parole had been granted. Grandma may have been right after all. She told me to pray—said that God answers prayers. I doubted her words and I think she sensed that. So she said, “Curtis, baby. Trusting yourself and not asking God for His help is what landed your behind in that cell. Don’t make the mistake of not talking to God from now on. Pray, Curtis. And when you pray, have faith in your heart, and do not doubt Him. He will work it out. Trust me, He will.”
I tried it. Just because I had nothing else to lose. And there I was being escorted past all of my fellow inmates on the cellblock—some looking indifferent, some looking envious. But one looked downright ecstatic. Rock. Rock was the nigga that took me under his wing and showed me the ropes of the system when I entered it as a shorty in ’89. He was doing twenty-five to life for a double homicide during a drug deal gone bad. Rock was originally from Staten Island—West Brighton, to be exact. He took to me because I was from his hometown and because I was a shorty—just sixteen years old—incarcerated with grown-ass men, hardened criminals with nothing to lose.
On countless occasions, I kicked it with Rock. Told him how Shaolin had changed, what clubs were still open, which stores had shut down, who died, who was locked up, etc. In return, Rock explained
to me how his hunger for money had left him with no future. He was going to spend the rest of his life in jail. But he said that I didn’t have to have the same story. I didn’t have to spend my life in jail. I listened to him because he seemed sincere. He was no saint, but the nigga was real, and I respected him. Rock told me that I didn’t belong in prison. And now I was leavin’. I held my fist in the air and across the dorm Rock did the same. He smiled and nodded his approval.
I was going home.
Papa picked me up at the gate outside of the jail. I was never so happy to see anyone in my life. He smiled from ear to ear when he saw me.
“Boy, look atcha! Done grew all up. Got a little swagger in your step.” Papa hugged me, then turned me around to face the fortress that had been my prison. “Don’t ever come back here, Curtis. Walk away from this place and don’t ever look back. You hear me?”
I nodded and got in the car. Papa got behind the wheel and we were on our way.
“Curtis, you’re gonna be so proud of your cousin when you see what he’s doin’ with himself.”
I smiled. I was already proud of Lamin. “I read all the articles in the magazines Grandma sent to me. Lamin is doin’ big things, and ain’t nobody prouder than I am.” I told Papa about how I bragged to COs
and
inmates about my cousin, the big-time hip-hop video producer. “My mom told me he’s working on a full-length movie now. Somethin’ about the hip-hop industry behind the scenes.”
Papa nodded. “Yeah, he’s lookin’ at a couple scripts. But I don’t know if he settled on one yet.”
My thoughts wandered off for a minute. I had missed so much. Olivia was grown and gorgeous. Lamin was famous. But some things never change. My moms was still working her fingers to the bone. She didn’t even take the day off to pick me up from the facility. My first order of business was to get enough paper to let my moms quit her job once and for all. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it. But I would make a way.
Papa and I drove for another two hours, reminiscing on old times and catching up on new shit. When we got to Shaolin, I was excited like a little kid. It seemed that very little had changed. Papa drove to Park Hill, and I assumed we were going to his house on Vanderbilt Avenue. But, instead, he pulled up at a big parking lot on Targee Street where abandoned stores stood inside of a small shopping plaza. I saw camera crews, trailers parked nearby, and crowds of people standing around. I looked at Papa, confused. He smiled at me.
“A rapper from Park Hill named Prince Don just got signed to a record deal and Lamin is filming his first video,” he explained.
I was buggin’. I went from a cellblock to the set of a music video in just a few hours. How crazy is that? My feet seemed glued to where I stood. I didn’t move because I was so overwhelmed. I heard the beat blaring from big-ass speakers and saw the rapper lip-synching his lyrics while grillin’ the camera. There were girls all over the place dressed in booty shorts and little tops despite the fact that it was a thirty-degree day in January. The girls were freezing, but they still smiled and danced around the rapper and rubbed his hair, licked their lips at him, and I felt my dick gettin’ hard. I had not had sex in years, and these bitches had me hard as a rock.
I turned my attention to the people on the sidelines. I saw a few familiar faces, but I couldn’t recall names since it had been so many years since I was home. One girl had her back to me, and I couldn’t help noticing her fat, juicy ass. She was tall—just a little shorter than me—with long hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore a tan bubble jacket with a hood and matching skintight pants. The jacket was only waist length so her behind sat out for all to see. She had some knee-high black boots on and her thighs were thick and firm.
She must be gorgeous,
I thought to myself. Just as I got ready to step to her, she turned around and I nearly fell out. Olivia! My woody disappeared immediately.
When she saw me, she ran over to me, threw her arms around my neck, and jumped into my arms. I swung her around, and she laughed, kissing my face over and over.
“Curtis! I’m so glad you’re home!”
I hugged her tight and put her down. “Look at you, girl! Wow. I was checkin’ you out from the back until you turned around and I realized it was my baby cousin.”
She laughed. “I ain’t a baby no more, boo.”
I nodded, still amazed. “I see. But why you gotta wear your pants so tight, Olivia?” I tried to pull her jacket down to cover her bubble, but she slapped my hand away.
I heard a voice behind me. “She’s hardheaded. Don’t even waste your breath.”
I turned around and smiled at the sight of Lamin. “Wassup, cousin?” We hugged as Papa looked on proudly.
Lamin punched me playfully on the arm. “I see you got your weight up, nigga! Now you can help me fight the dudes off Olivia.”
I laughed and turned back in Olivia’s direction. “I can see that you got your hands full keepin’ a leash on this one.”
Olivia rolled her eyes and took Papa by the hand. “Papa, come help me pick out the wardrobe for the ‘pimp’ in this video. You know all about that old-school flava!”
Papa smiled. “Yeah, baby. Papa was a rollin’ stone back in the day.” We all laughed as they walked off toward one of the trailers.
“What’s Olivia doing picking out wardrobes?”
Lamin sighed. “The girl was drivin’ me nuts gettin’ money from niggas …”
“Word?”
“Hell, yeah. Had them buyin’ her cars, takin’ her on trips and all kinds of shit. I couldn’t stop her, so I gave her a job as the stylist for the company. Olivia don’t have no office skills or no shit like that. But she got a natural flair for fashion. She dresses the artists for the videos, and I pay her more than any other stylist in the business. Just to keep her from beggin’ niggas for dough.”
I nodded my head. “Sounds like you got shit under control, cousin. She’s beautiful. Niggas must be knockin’ down her door.” I lit a cigarette, blew out the smoke. “Wassup with them broads over there?” I nodded in the direction of the video hos.
Lamin smiled. “I got you, Curtis. Come with me.” Lamin led me over to a director’s chair with my name stitched in the fabric. I felt like somebody important and sat in the chair, which gave me a bird’s-eye view of the honeys. The smile on my face reflected my joy.
“First, let me wrap production here, then I’m gonna take you shoppin’, and we’ll go out tonight,” Lamin said. “Lucky’s friend Veronica owns a lounge uptown so we can go out there and celebrate your homecoming. Guarantee you’ll be wakin’ up next to some fly girl tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good to me. But I ain’t no charity case, and I ain’t takin’ no handouts, Lamin. You ain’t gotta take me shoppin’.”
Lamin laughed. “Yes I do. Look at them jeans you got on, nigga!”
“Fuck you.” I laughed, too. “At least let me pay you back then.”
He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. It’s part of the company budget. As a member of the Shootin’ Crooks staff, you must be laced at all times.”
I frowned, confused. He explained. “Since you got all this muscle and shit, I wouldn’t want nobody but you to be head of security. The very sight of you would scare off most niggas. The job is yours if you want it.”
I smiled. Lamin was the best. The man was giving me a job on my first day home. “Yo, Lamin. Thanks so much, man. Of course I want the job.” I gave him a pound and a firm hug and he went back to the set to finish the day’s production.
That night, Lamin came by my mother’s house to pick me up. My moms had prepared my favorite meal—fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, corn bread, collard greens, and Papa’s peach cobbler for dessert. Lamin shook his head.
“Curtis, I told you we were going out to eat and look at you sittin’ here stuffin’ your face!”
I laughed. “Nigga, I got an appetite that you would not believe,” I said, talking with my mouth full. “This is the first real meal I’ve had in years.”
“Sit down, Lamin. Don’t act like you’re a stranger in my house.”
Moms was refilling my glass with soda. “Curtis, Lamin comes by all the time to eat up all my food. He took good care of me while you were gone.” She turned to Lamin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you were no replacement for my baby.” My moms smiled at me. It was obvious that she was thrilled to have me home. I missed her, too. Yet it seemed odd to be living with her after so many years of living among men. I had left her house as a teenaged boy and returned a grown man with a lot of years of hardship behind him.
Lamin sat down and helped himself to a slice of peach cobbler. “Aunt Inez, I know just what you mean. I’ve met a lot of people since I got in the industry. But nobody could ever take the place of my cousin.”
I shoveled the last of my food into my mouth and sat back, full. “Ya’ll make a nigga feel so loved.” I smiled and looked at Lamin. “Wassup with Aunt Nadia?” I knew that Lamin looked out for my mother while I was up north. But he never talked about his own mother. I had never been close to her, but family is family. Or so I thought. The room got quiet as if I had asked the wrong question.
Lamin took a sip of his soda. “Nadia Michaels is still the same. All she cares about is Nadia Michaels.” He continued to eat his peach cobbler.
My mother spoke up. “Lamin, I told you that your mother loves you. She just doesn’t know how to express that. She has too much pride to say that she’s sorry, but she is. You should go over there and see her since you’re in the neighborhood …”
“Nah,” Lamin said. “You don’t understand—”
“No, Lamin.
You
don’t understand.” My mother was serious. “You kids don’t realize that parents are not around forever.”
I wondered if that remark was meant more for me than for Lamin.
My mother continued. “We raise you the best way we can and sometimes we make mistakes. But we’re still your parents. And the Bible says, ‘Honor thy mother and thy father and thy days will be long upon this earth.’ You need to remember that, Lamin.”
“With all due respect, Aunt Inez … if she’s so easy to forgive, how come you still don’t speak to her?”
My moms looked stuck for a minute. “I will, Lamin. If you go and see her today, I will call her tomorrow and make amends with her myself. Deal?”
Lamin shook his head. “Why? Why all of a sudden are you so determined for me to forgive her?”
“Because I’ve been thinking about Nadia a lot lately. I bet she really needs you right now, Lamin. Go see her. Your grandmother said that she’s been depressed lately.” My moms was layin’ it on thick.
Lamin sat silent for a moment. “Olivia said the same thing.”
“What’s she depressed about?” I asked. “Aunt Nadia was never like that before.”
Lamin shrugged. “I don’t know what her problem is, Curtis. She got this nigga stayin’ with her that uses her as a punching bag. Maybe that has something to do with her being depressed all the time.” Lamin was being sarcastic but I could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke those words. I always knew him better than anybody else.
“You know you’re worried about her,” I said. “Stop actin’ so fuckin’ tough and go see about your mother. You’ll feel better after you do it. Then we can go have some drinks with Lucky and her crew and take our minds off all the drama.”
Lamin stared at me. “You had to start this conversation, didn’t you?”
My mother laughed. “Lamin,” she said. She reached for his hand. “Go see your mother.” She touched my hand as well. “I got my son back today, and I’m the happiest woman alive. Maybe your mother will feel the same way if you go see her.”
We finished our food and headed over to my aunt Nadia’s house.

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