Thugs And The Women Who Love Them (15 page)

I
can't believe that it's close to a month now since Faheem has been giving me the silent treatment. I have to say, though, I've been handling it much better. After he did that shit that night he came by and wouldn't touch me, I've been keeping my head buried in the books. The only time I do something other than study is to see my nieces and nephews or to make my Monday and Thursday runs with Brett. But even that's gonna change soon. Those chemicals are starting to make me sick. I told Brett again that at the end of this semester, I'm out.

It's Thursday. My stomach is cramping but nothing is coming down. No period. I've been stressing too much. I'm tired and irritable. When class is over, I would love to go home and crawl under the covers. Plus, it's pouring down rain. But happy-ass surfer dude Brett said he'll meet me out front. What can I say? A deal's a deal. I reiterate to him that after this semester, the chef is hanging up her apron. He's going to have to find someone else. I got a nice stash. Don't be greedy and you won't get swallowed up. Plus, I've been lucky that Faheem hasn't found out about this.

I only did this as long as I have because I have big plans. My mom and dad want to move back to Alabama with their family. I don't blame them. For their 30th anniversary, I'm going to surprise them with a house down there. Pack 'em up and ship 'em out. They need to get away from all this madness up here. Go someplace where they can retire and die in peace. Leave the house and its problems to all them folks living in it.

Anyway, now I'm talking to all you hustlers. You know how it feels when you out there doing the shit you do to get paid and you get this gut feeling that something ain't right? You can't put your finger on it, but you feel funny and you nix it. Tell yourself it's paranoia. That's how I feel today. Me and Brett are headed toward PA. The scenery is nice and relaxing but he's blastin' a fuckin' Limp Bizkit CD. I would rather listen to what I got—the blues.

We finally pull up to this house with what seems like a two-mile driveway. I grab my change of clothes and we go inside. We're only inside about thirty minutes and I hear cars rolling up.

“Yo, Brett! You expectin' somebody?” He pulls off his rubber gloves, looks out the window and screams, “Oh, shit! It's a fuckin' raid! Dump this shit!”

So we running around pouring, dumping, and flushing shit down the toilet. Them motherfuckers are bangin' on the doors. They got the house surrounded. You know how they roll. FBI, ATF, DEA, local police, sheriff's office, and if the fire department can squeeze in, they'll join the party, too. They break the door in, screaming, hollering, cussing at us, telling us to lie face-down on the floor, hands behind our backs and don't fuckin' move or they'll blow our brains out. Then they're taking me away. This is why I was feeling so weird all day. I should have took my ass home. Playing the game, you never know when, but it's always when you least expect it.

We pull up to a jail in Pennsylvania. I don't know which one it is. For whatever reason, I'm not welcome, and now we're headed to the funky-ass Mercer County Jail in downtown Trenton. I'm disappointed, because at least the Pennsylvania jail looked clean. Mercer County Jail, that's another story. The building looks nice on the outside, but on the inside it looks like something from another century. The jail part, anyhow.

By the time they get me processed, it's almost 2
A.M
. They won't let me use the phone. They hand me a raggedy jean-like nightgown and lock me in my cell. I can't believe this shit!

 

“Taylor! Get up if you need any medication. The pill cart is here. Taylor!” This person is shaking the bars now. Damn. I was hoping that this was a nightmare. “You missed breakfast. It's served at 6:30,” she says as she lets me out of my cell.

“What time is it?” I ask this lady in a uniform with a gigantic butt and ran-over shoes.

“Clock's on the wall,” she says and keeps on going. Damn. It's 9:45
A.M
.

“Can I use the phone? I didn't get my one phone call.”

“Phone's over there!”

“Excuse me, can I get a washcloth, soap and a toothbrush?” The bitch just keeps right on walking.

“Hi, I'm Michelle.” Some white girl, looking like a crackhead, says to me.

“Who gives a fuck,” I answer her.

“You got a cigarette?”

I ignore her and walk down the metal stairs to where the phones are. The TV is blasting and there are several card games going on. Half the place is sleep, but it's still noisy as hell. I dial Faheem.

“Collect from Jaz.”

“Hold on. I have a collect call from, what did you say, ma'am?”

“Jaz.”

“From Jaz. Will you accept?”

Dial tone.

“Sorry, ma'am.”

“No he fuckin' didn't!” I dial again. This time he won't even answer. I want to cry, but I can't look like no punk in here. I don't want to call my mom, so I call Kyra. Fine fuckin' time for Faheem to not be speaking to me.

“Collect from Jaz. Will you pay?”

“Jaz?” It's Marvin.

“Jaz. Will you pay, sir?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Hey, Marvin.”

“What's up, Jaz? You just missed Kyra. She went to school.”

“I need a favor. I'm down here in the Mercer County Jail. I need you to call Faheem and tell him where I'm at.”

“Damn, baby sis. You all right?”

“No. Tell Faheem I need a lawyer and to get me the fuck outta here. I also need somebody to get the key from Faheem and get my car. It's still parked at school.”

“I'm on it, baby sis.”

“Thanks, Marvin. I really appreciate it.” I hang up. Fuck Faheem. He don't have to worry about me calling his black ass again.

“Jaz! Hey, Jaz!” I turn around to see Melissa. She is my brother Darien's “baby mama.” She's a professional booster and paper hanger. “I thought that was you,” she said, trying to squeeze me to death. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Wrong place, wrong time, girl. How you doing?” I can't tell her my business. She talk too much. I'll let her read it in the papers. I try to change the subject.

“How's my niece Myesha?” I asked her. She's talking, but I'm not listening. My mind is foggy. This is the last place I want to be.

“Jaz!” She's looking in my face.

“I'm listening.” At least Melissa takes care of her daughter. She's just addicted to her hustle. I don't even ask her what she's in here for. She's still yapping.

“Melissa!” I try to shut her up. “I can't get the guard to give me shit. I need a washcloth, soap, toothbrush, comb. Look at me.”

“Come on.” She pulls my arm. “I'll get you hooked up.” After about twenty minutes of haggling, she sure does get me hooked up. I have everything, even a new pair of panties and some shower shoes. I still feel like shit, though, and I'm hungry as hell.

By the time I shower, it's time to get in the lunch line. I can't believe what's supposed to be lunch. They give me a small metal cup with a metal spoon and tell me not to lose it. The cup has some watered down Kool-Aid in it. One gulp and it's gone. They give us a metal tray, divided into sections. One section holds four cold French fries, one holds a dried-up hot dog and the other has what I guess is chocolate pudding. I sure did take the free world for granted. I can't eat the hot dog, because no one's sure if it's pork or not. I do eat the four French fries, but I'm scared to eat the chocolate pudding. I walk over and sit down at the metal table and stool that are bolted down to the floor. Melissa is eating.

“Where's your hot dog?” she asks.

“It was hog, so I gave it away. Why, you wanted it?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope you don't be feeding my niece that shit.”

She shakes her head, but I know she's lying. That's one of the reasons I plan on building a boarding school. Bring these kids up right.

“Look over there,” she tells me.

“Where?” I ask her, and she points to these two ugly, black, troll-looking, bulldaggin' twins.

“That's Marla and Darla,” she says. “They head up the welcoming committee.” One of them is playing with this Mexican girl's ponytail and the other one is picking up her food tray and metal cup, instructing the girl to come eat in their room. The girl gets up like a dummy and goes into their room. They cover up their cell with a blanket. After about an hour, the girl comes out looking like she seen a ghost. Melissa sees me staring at the girl and starts laughing.

“You're the newest kid on the block. They'll be coming after you next.”

“Bullshit! Just make sure you don't let them jump me.”

“I got your back.”

“You better have it.”

Just then about ten guards come running on the tier.

“Lockdown, ladies! To your cells!” They keep screaming it over and over.

“Something must have gone down with the men,” Melissa says as she hurries toward her cell. I take that as a cue and hurry to mines. Now I know why the white crackhead was trying to start up a conversation. She's my cellmate. They keep us locked down until dinnertime. As soon as they crack the gates, I run to the phone.

“Shit!” All of them are turned off.

“Excuse me,” I say to the guard. It isn't the same sister from this morning. This guard is ghetto fabulous. Long, flashy nails, crimped hair standing tall on top of her head, tight-ass uniform with plenty of cleavage.

“They'll be on shortly.”

“When?”

“They'll be on shortly,” she repeats.

“Jaz!” That's Melissa, calling me to get in line to get our dinner tray.

“When do you think they'll turn the phones on?” I'm desperate.

Melissa looks like she's almost six feet. She swings her ponytail back, looks down at me and says, “When they damned well feel like it.”

I let out a sigh. We get our trays and sit down. It's the same watered-down Kool-Aid, a fish patty, carrots mixed with peas, two slices of white bread, what looks like mashed potatoes, and again that chocolate pudding. I'm starving. No sooner do I put some ketchup on my fish patty and dump the salt and pepper packets on my vegetables, that Melissa kicks me under the table.

“It's show time,” she says.

The troll twins are coming our way. I ignore them and start to eat.

“What's your name?” The ugliest one says and begins running her hands through my hair.

“You have nice hair.”

“Don't touch my hair,” I tell her, still eating like a savage. She stops.

The ugly one picks up my tray.

“Come eat with us,” she says. That must have given the other one courage, 'cause she starts back playing in my hair. I look at the one who's rubbing my hair and then I look at the one who's carrying my food. I'm still hungry as hell. I grab Melissa's tray and decide to go after the one with my food. I bang her over the head with all my strength. I keep hitting her like I'm in a frenzy. I hear clapping and whistling. Her twin sister doesn't even try to help her.

The next thing you know, I'm lifted clean up in the air and carried to my cell. They literally throw me inside. I bang my elbow against the stale toilet bowl. It seems like twenty or so guards are in there yelling, screaming bowl and locking everyone down. Since they don't have a hole for the women, they keep me locked in my cell. They don't even bother to do nothing to the ugly twins, and they don't bring me another tray of food. I'm pissed.

It's Friday, so that means I'm stuck in this dump for the entire weekend. They give me phone restriction as a punishment and I'm not able to take another shower until Sunday morning.

I'm in a depressed funk. I sleep and cry the whole weekend. I miss my bed. I miss Faheem. I miss everything that I took for granted. I try to figure out what Faheem probably said when he found out I was locked up for drugs. I'm pouring salt all over my wounds. I had been able to keep this hidden from Faheem for almost two years, but after this, I might as well give up on us getting things back the way they were.

About 7:00 Monday morning, the guard with the ran-over shoes tells me to get all of my belongings.

“Am I being released?” My heart's pumping fast.

“I don't know. Where's your belongings?”

“I don't have anything.”

They give me back my clothes and tell me to put them on. The clothes feel good. Then two brothers with U.S. Marshal jackets ask my name and some more questions, then handcuff my feet and wrists. They're real cordial, and make sure nothing is too tight. Now I'm in Federal custody.

“Where am I going now?” I ask them.

“To the Big Apple,” says the one who looks like he's been partying all night.

The clock says 12:20 when we pull up to New York's MCC, Metropolitan Correctional Center. They transported me in a van. I got to listen to WBLS and they brought me some Burger King. I had to eat it with the handcuffs on, but I managed.

They put me inside a holding cell with a phone and unchained me. I was so thankful for that.

I call Marvin and Kyra collect again. Kyra gets all hysterical, wondering what I got myself into. After I finally convince her I'm all right and she calms down, she tells me that my bail was set at $200,000. That means we gotta come up with $20,000 in cash. She makes sure to tell me that Faheem is very pissed. He said he had no idea of what the fuck I was doing behind his back. He said he don't know what to expect next from me. He wants to know what other skeletons are going to come out the closet. That shit hurts me bad, him saying that.

But Kyra also tells me that Faheem did go pick up my car and parked it in front of the house. He got me a lawyer and gave Angel the $20,000 cash for my bail. Kyra says that my bail hearing is set for tomorrow and that I should be out by then. I'm so glad to hear that.