In Love with a Thug (13 page)

“You know what, Juan? Some people in here need to mind their fuckin' business,” he yelled as he swung his fist into the back of Rob's head.

“What the fuck…,” yelled Rob when Jeff hopped on him and he fell forward into my desk, causing it to push back as Jeff continued to wale on Rob's head and back with his foot.

“Get the fuck out my office,” I screamed as Rob tried to gain balance to get up from the floor. When he finally did, he began to reciprocate on Jeff as they both knuckled up in my office causing the desk to turn over with my monitor from my computer falling on the floor. Rob threw Jeff against my water cooler causing my painting to pop from the wall.

Keisha and Kya ran into my office as I yelled for someone to call the police. Rob had Jeff penned against the floor as he continued to wale on him.

“Get the fuck off me, bitch,” yelled Jeff in between taking Rob's licks. Each time the word
bitch
came from Rob's mouth the more times his fist met Jeff's face. I ran over to grab Rob's arm to lighten up the blows to Jeff but I wasn't helping. Rob began to squeeze Jeff's neck as an encore before he would let go.

He then pushed Jeff's head with a mighty force a final time before letting go and leaving the room. Jeff continued to lie on the floor in a comatose state.

“Rob, you have to leave because when the cops get here they're gonna lock you up,” I said.

“No, fuck that…that bitch swung on me first. I was just defending myself,” he said, placing his hands on his hips and trying to catch his breath.

Within minutes the police were entering my shop for the third time and Ché Mystic had only been open for a month and a half.

“Sir, what seems to be the problem?” asked a Caucasian cop, chewing gum and coming toward me with his right hand on the handle of a pistol that was tucked by his waist.

“Two of my employees were fighting,” I said breathing heavily. The phone rang.

“Keisha, could you get that please?” I yelled.

“Who started the fight?” asked another officer as he walked around the perimeters of my overturned desk. This officer was black. “Get an ambulance here,” he said on his walkie-talkie.

“Well, I was about to terminate the employee that is lying on the floor. After I questioned him about some missing items in my shop, he then got violent,” I said.

“So what you're telling me is…the guy that's lying on the floor started the fight?” asked the black officer. I then looked up at Rob to make sure that we made eye contact.
You got my back and I will have your back.

“Yes,” I said as I watched Rob who still seemed to be breathing heavily.

“I can't breathe,” said Jeff to the white officer as he gasped for air. The paramedics rushed their way into my shop that I called a salon. Keisha's and Kya's clients sat in their chairs astonished. The people who stood out front looking in were disappointed when I closed the door to block their view.

“Juan, Bryant wants you on the phone,” yelled Keisha. I ran over to Rob's station and picked up the cordless.

“Hey,” I answered cheerfully.

“J, what the fuck is going on there?”

“The manager and one of my employees got into a fight, that's all,” I explained.

“You aiight?”

“Yeah, I'm fine but my office is a mess. What time are you comin' through?” I asked, trying to drown out the sound of the paramedics as they began to carry Jeff out.

“I'll be there around eight, I'll call you later,” he said, hanging up the phone before I could respond. I pushed the “end” button on the phone as the white officer came over to me to make a statement.

Once everything was done I walked back into my office to a mess of disarray. Papers that were very important to me were lost in a pile of ruckus. My desk was overturned with water spilled through the grains of my cherrywood panels. I couldn't deal with what was set in front of me at that second.

“I'm going out to lunch. Look after the shop,” I said to Rob as I grabbed my man bag and walked out of the salon as if nothing had happened. My stomach was empty because I was hungry; not for a meal from McDonald's but for what the person who stood in front of McDonald's had in their stash.

I stopped by the ATM on Broad and South and withdrew four hundred big ones. When I got back to the shop, I was gonna be full from what Rob's connect had in store for me on this day—guaranteed.

“Y
o dawg, check it. How much you got?” asked a tall light-skinned gentleman that Tony had made connections with. He stood about six-one of pure solid muscle. I could tell that he must've recently gotten out of jail because he had that look—clean cut with black, shiny waves flowing through his head like an ocean.

His hairline flowed into sideburns that connected so gracefully to his beard, which lined up so well with his mustache. He stood posted up on the side of the McDonald's wall wearing a pair of tan khakis rolled up at the bottom with a pair of black Air Force Ones sporting an oh-so-fresh wife beater. He handled my money very delicately when I placed the entire four hundred in the palm of his hand.

“Here's four hundred dollars but I'll bring you back a little more later. What can you give me for this?” I asked, turning around to the streets to see if anyone I knew spotted me. I couldn't believe that I was doing this in broad daylight but after what had just happened I needed a lift.

“I got you, hol' up,” he said, taking my money and stuffing it into his pocket. I waited on the side of the building while he walked around in the parking lot to his car. After about fifteen minutes he returned with a small brown paper bag full of all kinds of goodies and treats for me.

“Ayo, what's ya name, dawg?” he asked me while looking dead into my eyes.

“Just call me J.J.”

I took the bag and walked quickly toward my car. I hopped in and sped off down Broad Street. I rode all the way until I got in the back of the Wachovia Center where all the concerts are held. I remember one time when I was in high school I took some dude in the back of the building and sucked him off real nice. He was the star of our high school basketball team and almost every time I saw him in school he would wink at me.

Well, even though he was dating one of the baddest honeys in school, she wasn't giving him what I could give him and he knew it. He made it his business to meet me in back of the Wachovia Center every Thursday after seven in the evening. I could feel the precum rising to the forefront of my dick just thinking about it.

I pulled all the way around to the back where other than someone emptying a bag of garbage, no one would see me. I pulled over to the side of the car where the sun had gleamed down on the top of my head, causing my activator to shine more. I opened my bag of goodies and smiled as I sniffed the contents containing so many biohazardous materials to get me well on my way. I took out the first lump of white grain wrapped in Saran Wrap and opened it to watch the substance take a breather of the fresh air.

I got my hands on a crispy twenty-dollar bill and twirled it ever so tight until it was as tight as I could get it. I always watched movies where people had done this and once in a while I'd see Bryant do it before our sexcapade. I lined the sweet candy on the front of my makeup mirror and, without any hesitation I sniffed the entire line of the bill as each substance glowed through my nose straight to my membrane.

“Aww” was the sound I made as the candy shot up my nose to my brain. My head bounced back onto the headrest with a little snot still hanging from my nose. I wiped my nose on my sleeve with the back of my hand. I sat in my Lexus coupe with my head down. The wind blew through my window as my car stood still. I was in my zone. I overheard the birds chirping along with the whistle of the trees. I felt the burning sensation in my brain.

Just that fast, all the uncontrollable bullshit that had gone on today was controllable. Everything was okay. The man who shot me out of his dick was now dying of cancer but that was okay. Everything was okay. The mess that I left in my office wasn't so bad that it couldn't be handled. I felt very sleepy. All I wanted to do was rest. I grabbed my cell phone from my man bag and called the salon. Rob picked up on the first ring.

“Ché Mystic, how can I help you?” he greeted.

“Hey, Rob, it's me, Juan,” I responded in a slurred tone.

“Where are you? That muthafucka is talking shit. Talkin' 'bout he gonna bring his cousin up here to kick my ass. Where are you?” he yelled.

“I was calling to tell you to close the shop tonight. I won't be able to make it,” I said, hoping that I could get off the phone without him having further questions.

“I will but I'm telling you now, that piece of shit better not come back here with no dumb shit or she's gonna get knocked.” Before he could go any further I closed my phone. I then opened it to give Bryant a call.

“Yeah, what's up,” he answered.

“Hey, Bryant, it's me.”

“Me? Who the fuck is me?”

“It's me, Juan. What, you don't know my voice?”

“Fuck no, nigga, you sound fucked up. Where are you?” he asked as if he were laughing.

“I'm about to go home. I was letting you know that I'll be there instead of the salon.”

“Aight, I'ma come through like eight or nine. What you got for me tonight? What's so special that you must see me tonight?” He sounded like someone was trying to get his attention in the background.

“I wanna go see a play with you tonight; that's all. Who is trying to get your attention?” I asked, getting a sense of where he was.

“Naw, that's my bull. I'll be at your crib lata. Aiight?”

“Bryant, I…”

“One,” he said before hanging up the phone.

I put the key in the ignition and fired up my Lex with the hopes of going home to get prepared for my evening with Bryant.

By the time I got home it was already a quarter after five. I took the stairs to my apartment because the elevator was on the outs. By the time I reached the top, the effects of my candy were wearing away. So after opening the door of my apartment, I stormed in the kitchen to catch another buzz. But this time I decided to take two of the little green pills that were also in the bag and, instead of snorting my candy, I smoked it.

I sat on the couch in my boxer briefs feeling lovely. I put the table fan on rotate so that it could rotate my high all around the room. I sat the Dutch in the ashtray and lay back on the couch.

Bang, bang, bang.
“Open up, it's the police,” yelled the officer. I jumped up from my couch in complete darkness and immediately looked over at the clock that read 12:55 a.m.

Bang, bang, bang.
“If someone's in there
open the door,
if not we will force our way in.” I ran over to the door in my boxer briefs and opened the door.

“Okay, now step away from the door,” said the officer who I could not see due to the bright flashlight in my face. “Have a seat on the couch,” he said, walking in slowly with about ten officers following behind being escorted by two dogs.

“Is there a light in here?” asked one of the officers.

“Yeah, right here,” I said, turning on the switch from the lamp that sat on the end table next to the couch. “What's the matter, officer?”

“Is this your apartment?” he asked with the flashlight still shining in my face.

“Yes.”

“Are you a drug dealer, sir?” asked the officer who looked as if he could be a redneck.

“No, sir.”

“Do you run drugs for someone?” He looked down at the brown paper bag that sat on the coffee table that I'd brought in earlier.

“No, sir, I don't deal with drugs,” I lied. He walked over to the bag as my heart thumped with every step that he took. He picked up the bag and sniffed it before looking in it to see the contents.

“You lied to me. That's not good,” he said before turning around to face the other officers. “Let the dogs loose,” he demanded as two of the other officers did as they were told. I sat on the couch shaking as the dogs ran loose throughout my apartment with the cops following them.

“So do you use drugs, sir?” the redneck-looking officer asked me as he handed the brown bag to an officer who seemed to be of higher rank. The other officers flooded my apartment with their bodies.

“Can I go put something on?” I asked the officer.

“No, you stay right there. Is there anyone else in the apartment with you?”

“No, I'm here alone,” I responded, hoping that this was some type of misunderstanding.

“Does anyone else live here with you, sir?”

“No, I stay here alone.”

“We found something,” yelled an officer from my bedroom. “We found something in the closet.” The dogs began to bark loudly as I sat on the couch, shaking from the hallway draft.

“You wait right here with him,” said the redneck to another officer before he and the captain walked toward my bedroom area. I sat on the couch, dazed and confused about what they could have found in my bedroom.

Three officers walked from my bedroom and into the kitchen and threw about four shopping bags on top of my glass table.

Boom!
I heard the bags as they hit the table. I tried my best to stretch my neck to look but I could not see anything. The redneck came from the kitchen and back into the living room where he was removing his handcuffs from his pouch.

“Please stand up and put your hands behind your back.” He grabbed my arm to help me stand.

“Am I being arrested, officer? What am I being arrested for?” I said as chills started to creep down my spine. Never in my life had there been a time when I was placed in handcuffs. The dogs and the other officer came walking from my bedroom and now were going in and out of the hall closets.

“You're being arrested for possession of cocaine and marijuana, drug trafficking with the intent to distribute,” said the redneck, tightening the metal cuffs.

“What? Sir, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have any drugs here.”

“Yeah, well, a few kilos of cocaine and marijuana bags on your table tell us otherwise.” He pushed me toward the door as the other officer and the residents who lived on my floor watched. I was being taken out in my underwear without any clothes. I had never in my life been so humiliated and embarrassed.

“May I ask where you're taking me?” I said with the redneck rushing me down the hall.

“You're going to jail.”

“
Jail!”
I yelled. “For how long? I have a business to run.”

“Well, tonight you're going down to the police station and you have to have charges officially brought up on you. Then you will be booked and you will go in front of a judge first thing in the morning and he will set bail.” He literally dragged me onto the elevator, out of the door, and threw me into the car. Tonight of all nights had a cool chill in the air and me not having on any clothes didn't help me get comfortable.

I recollected my thoughts. Bryant and I were supposed to go out tonight so that meant he never called.
How did the drugs get into my house and who the hell put them there? It must have been Bryant and he must have done it while I was sleep.

“Can I make a phone call?” I said to the redneck once we got to the station. I was about to have my picture taken and be fingerprinted.

“In a little while,” he said. My feet were as cold as ice as I sat on the cold bench admiring my heels ash up. I was in desperate need for some lotion. I sat in the cell and laid my head back onto the cold wall. The cell was no bigger than my bathroom. I would say maybe eight-by-ten feet. I didn't know what was in store for me at this point. Maybe I was set up. Maybe the drugs were always there even before I had moved into the place.

“Mr. Jiles,” the officer said.

“Yes.”

“We're ready to start the booking process now,” he said, taking one of his big metal keys and unlocking the cell door.

“Can I ask you a question, officer?”

“Sure.”

“I know that you said that drugs were found in my apartment but where specifically where they?” I asked.

“They were in the floorboards in your closet. You should know, you put them there,” he said sarcastically.

“No, I did not put them there.”

“Well, look, don't say it to me, tell it to the judge.” He closed the cell door and grabbed my arm and walked me toward a camera.

I held up a blackboard in front of me that stated my name and birthdate along with a few other numbers beneath my chin. He took about five pictures, one from each angle, then led me to a table to be fingerprinted.

“Can I make my phone call now?” I said after the fingerprinting process was over. He led me into a little room that had a wood chair and wood table with a phone on it. I sat in the chair.

“You have five minutes,” stated the redneck before closing the door. My first call was to Bryant's cell phone.

“Yerp,” he answered in a sly tone.

“Hello, Bryant. It's me, Juan,” I said quickly before the phone went dead. Astonished by what had just happened, I hurriedly dialed his number again.

“Yerp,” he repeated.