In Love with a Thug (21 page)

“T
his year's America's Next Top Model is…Tiffany,” said Tyra Banks as I lay in the hospital bed snacking on some crackers that the nurse had brought me. My mother was asleep in the chair next to the table so I kept quiet because I didn't want to wake her.

At first, I didn't understand why I was in the hospital but the nurse told me that I'd had a nervous breakdown and I could go home today.

“Are you okay?” my mother asked as she squirmed from side to side in the chair. I could tell that it was uncomfortable by the look on her face.

“Oh, Mom, I'm sorry if the television was up too loud. I didn't mean to wake you,” I said, still snacking on the crackers.

“It's okay, honey. I really couldn't sleep well in that chair,” she said, getting up and walking over to me. She rested her hand on my arm.

“Baby, how are you really feeling?” she asked again.

I continued to chew the crackers before swallowing so I could speak. “Mom, I'm fine, really. Where's Anthony?” I asked, popping another cracker into my mouth.

My mother looked at me with tears in her eyes. She knew that Anthony and I had been friends for the longest. I stopped chewing the dry piece of cracker as I watched her reaction to my question. My tears fell instantly as my mother grabbed me and held me.

“Sweetheart, did you know that Anthony had AIDS?”

“Yes, Mommy, we just found out.”

She came over to me and rubbed my face with her soft, delicate hands.

“Baby, Anthony's blood pressure was high and on top of the AIDS, we found out that he had type-2 diabetes.”

My heart fell to my feet as I thought of my best friend lying in the hospital with tubes up his nose again. I couldn't stand it. I took a deep breath and looked my mom dead in the eyes.

“Is he gonna be okay?” I asked with a shaky voice.

My mother came over and grabbed me. The tears started running down my face. I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was that I wanted to see Anthony now. My mother held me tighter as she rocked me back and forth as we both cried.

“Sweetheart, Anthony is with God now. He didn't make it.”

O
n the day of Rob's funeral I was awakened to a hearty meal made by my one and only. I was grateful to have a man by my side at this time when it seemed as if all had failed.

Bryant came into the bedroom fully dressed in all black, waiting for me to dress so he could escort me to the funeral. He came and sat down on the side of the bed where I lay with my back against the headboard. He grabbed my hand as he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of my hand gently.

“I love you,” he said exotically as if I didn't know.

“Bryant, I love you, too,” I responded. He let my hand go and turned to face the window.

“You know, at this time, I really want to be honest with you,” he said, looking down at the floor, then back at the window. “I'm a scared brother. You know I may walk around here acting all tough but, really, I'm scared. I have my whole life ahead of me and I'm scared. I want us to start going to church, you know?” He looked up at my face.

“I want to go to college and make something of myself. There's something else I want to be honest with you about.” He turned to face me. “And I don't want you to love me any less because I did this.”

“Bryant, what did you do?” I asked in anticipation. He took a deep breath and began to talk.

“I killed Melissa myself,” he said without holding back. My heart raced. “I wanted to tell you that because in order for us to start out on the right foot, I thought you needed to know everything about me.” He then turned to face the window.

At this time I became scared right along with him. I loved this man and was so sure that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

“Baby, you're right. We need to know about each other's pasts. I've been wanting to tell you something about my dark past for a long time.”

He turned around and looked me in my eyes. “What is it?” he asked with a serious look on his face.

I sighed as my eyes began tearing. “Before you and I started dating, I had a boyfriend named Darnell and he was very greedy for money. So he came up with a plan for us to rob a bank downtown and, at first, I wasn't with it but then…” Tears started to roll down my face. “Once my parents disowned me, I didn't have any money so he asked me to help him rob a bank and we would live comfortably together. So I did,” I explained as I cried uncontrollably.

He looked at me with heated eyes, similar to the look he had when he was kicking my ass in his grandmother's basement. His eyes also began to swell with tears.

“Did anyone get hurt?” he asked firmly.

“I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt,” I cried, now trembling and shaking at what he was about to do.

“I asked you a fuckin' question,” he yelled with a tight fist. “Now, did anyone get hurt?” he asked again but this time he said it more calmly.

“Yes, Bryant. A few people got hurt.”

“A few people, huh?” He stood up from the bed and turned around to face me. His eyes widened. “Who?”

“Bryant, I never knew their names. I didn't know those people,” I explained.

“You didn't know those people but you know whether they were males or females,” he yelled. He rushed over to me and gripped me by my neck. “You fuckin' faggot. Tell me who you hurt.” He let my neck loose just enough so I could breath and tell him who had gotten hurt.

“Three people were shot. Two males and one female,” I yelled as he knocked me across the bed with his fist. I yelled as I held my throbbing face and I began to cry all over again.

“That lady your boyfriend killed was my mother,” he screamed from across the room as he came running toward me like a raging bull. Before he got the chance to get to me, two police officers came out of nowhere and pulled him away while my heart continued to beat rapidly.

“It's okay now, we got 'em,” the Caucasian officer said, pulling Bryant away from me.

“You stay right there,” he said, pointing to me. “Come on, Mr. Thompson, you did a great job,” he added.

As the officer walked Bryant out of the room, three more officers came in; two white and one black.

“Hey, Mr. Jiles. I thought we would never get you to admit to the murders and the robbery, but now we have your confession on tape,” said the white officer who held the cassette recorder that was once planted in Bryant's pocket.

“Get up slowly and put your hands behind your back, you fuckin' fag,” said the black officer as he pulled his handcuffs out to cuff me.

 

Three months later

City Hall

Downtown, Philadelphia

 

“Please state your name for the court, please,” said the African-American judge who sat on the bench during my trial.

“My name is Michelle Smith,” stated the young lady whom I had seen before. I sat on the side of my attorney trying to figure out where I had seen her. The prosecuting attorney took his place on the floor. The bailiff swore her in before she sat down.

“Ms. Michelle, were you present at the bank during the robbery and the shooting of John McCants, Darnell Rhodes, and Beverly Vaughn?” he asked while walking in a circular motion.

“Yes, I was
working
in the bank at that time, sir,” she answered in a sweet tone.

“Okay, Ms. Smith. Why aren't you working there now?” asked the prosecutor.

“Currently I am on maternity leave. I recently gave birth to a baby boy,” she stated. I sat still in my seat as I revisited that day in my mind.
The bank, the gun, the girl—the girl was the pregnant teller. The girl—the teller—the same girl that hugged Bryant at his victory party. I was set the fuck up the entire time.

I turned around to see Bryant, Loretta, and Ms. Bernice in the courtroom. She didn't look at me, not once, but Bryant kept his eyes on me the entire time.

“Can you point out the perpetrator in the courtroom, Ms. Smith?”

“Yes, I can.”

“By all means, ma'am, please do so.” She pointed her index finger straight at me.

“I thank you, Ms. Smith, you may step down. Your Honor, I would like to call my next witness for the drug-trafficking charges. She is currently being held at the Delaware County Prison for aggravated assault to her daughter but we brought her here today to testify against Mr. Jiles.

“The Commonwealth calls to the stand Ms. Melissa Childs, Your Honor.” Two sheriffs brought Melissa from the chambers, sporting her county reds and then she took the stand.

“Please state your name for the courts, please.”

“My name is Melissa Childs,” she stated as she stared me up and down as if we were still on the streets and she wanted to fight me.

“Bailiff, swear her in, please,” said the cocky prosecutor. Melissa raised her right hand.

“Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?” said the bailiff who looked not a day over ninety.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Okay, Ms. Childs, we're going to keep this thing simple. Did you actually see Juan Jiles take kilos of cocaine and other substances into his apartment?” the prosecutor asked.

“Yes,” she lied again.

“Okay, Ms. Childs, is Juan Jiles in the courtroom today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you point him out?”

“Yes, I can, he's sitting right there in the blue suit,” she said.

“Okay, that will be all, Ms. Childs. I'm done,” he said, walking over and taking his seat behind the desk. Melissa then got up and walked with the sheriffs out of the courtroom. I felt Bryant piercing the back of my head as I turned around.

The judge then gave Robert Datner the floor.

“Is there anything you would like to add before sentencing?” the judge asked before delivering his theme. Mr. Datner stood up next to me.

“My client is throwing himself at the mercy of the court, Your Honor,” Mr. Datner said.

“Okay, would the defendant please rise?” I stood up and cupped my hands to the front of me, still turning around to get one last glance at Bryant as the judge began to speak.

“As the defendant throws himself at the mercy of the court, this court hereby sentences Juan Jiles to five to ten years in a state correctional facility for armed robbery and conspiracy to commit murder.” The court gasped as Ms. Bernice started to sob. Bryant placed his arm around her as the judge banged his gavel.

“Quiet in this courtroom. I hereby sentence Juan Jiles to an additional five years in a correctional facility for drug trafficking along with a five-year stint for rehabilitation. That is all, thanks,” said the judge before he banged his gavel again.

Mr. Datner had gotten me off good because I could've been spending more time for the murder of the security guard but Datner made it seem as if Darnell had shot at him first. Plus some of my time would be cut in half because I was using the drugs instead of selling them.
Thank you, Robert Datner.

 

“Mail call,” yelled the dark-skinned guy pushing the mail cart. “Here, you faggot. Someone wrote your stinking ass a letter.” I looked at him and turned my nose up as I snatched the letter from his hand.

“Pussy,” he said as I went back into my cell to read my letter. It didn't have a postmark where it came from so I opened it…