Crazy Summer (11 page)

      The final destination was the high-rise county jail, Danté felt even more disgusted now because he was there. One hour later, he was processed and sitting alone in a four-corner room starring at chipped paint on the wall. The wooden square table was scarred. One of the loose legs made it unsteady. There was a knock at the door, and then it opened. The guy who entered the room was Detective Allen. He stood 5’9” and had a medium build, with salt and pepper hair that had been neatly combed. He extended his hand to Danté, but he didn’t shake it.

      “Y’all gonna let me call my lawyer?” he snapped.

Detective Allen held both hands out toward him, with his palms facing Danté. “Calm down, son. I’m trying to help you here.”

The cool air blew from the vents. The room was at a good temperature, but Danté was still sweating. He tried to relax himself by taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his T-shirt.

“I need to talk to my lawyer.”

“No, you need to talk to me,” Detective Allen said, slamming his fist onto the table.

Danté sucked his teeth as if he’d just lost interest in anything the police had to say. The Detective said.

“Twelve ounces of crack cocaine, Danté,” the detective said, shaking his head as if to say,
You fucked up
. “Can you afford to leave your kids for five to ten years?”

“Ain’t got no kids,” he lied with a nasty attitude.

The detective’s eyebrows bunched together. “No? Well, what about the little lady who was in your black Cadillac, with twins and an infant.”

Danté fanned himself with his hand and then turned around with his hands behind his back, as if telling the detective to cuff him. He didn’t want to answer no questions.

“Trafficking cocaine and possession of a firearm.”

“Who house you found it at?”

“I ask the questions, muthafucker.”

Danté sensed an urge of power start to flow through his body. He could’ve responded back angrily, but then he knew he’d be falling into the detective’s trap. Politely, he sat down, rubbed the palms of his hands on his pants, and shrugged.

“You wanna talk? Let’s talk.”

Now the detective gave an acquired stare, figuring a mind game was about to start. He laughed a laugh that wasn’t real, and Danté caught it as if a pitcher had just thrown him a slider. The detective left the room, and Danté figured he’d won.

*****

When Summer got home, she went straight into the kitchen, while the twins ran upstairs. Carrying Lil’ Danté in her arms, she went into the fridge and pulled a wine cooler from a four-pack container. Lil’ Danté started up like the sound of a motorcycle, and she knew his cries were on the verge of getting louder. She rocked him side to side and took a quick trip upstairs. Inside of her bedroom, she laid him down on his back and unstrapped the shitty diaper. Just then, the phone rang. Luckily, the baby had stopped crying. She answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Summa.”

“Where you at?”

“Fo’ o’ one.”

She frowned. “Whatcha down there fo’?” she asked, while putting a fresh diaper on Lil’ Danté.

“Look, call my lawyer. His business card is stuck on the mirror in the room.”

“What to tell him?” She was nervous and excited all at once.

There wasn’t an answer from the other end.

“What to tell him, Danté?” she asked again.

Still no answer

“Danté!” she called out again and waited for him to respond.
Something’s gotta be wrong wit’ tha phone,
she thought.

Finally, she heard a busy signal and hung up. Now she was anticipating the call from Danté. She didn’t need him to be locked up. She needed him there…at home.

“Call back dammit,” she said while staring at the phone. She sat down on the bed, cradled her baby, and kissed his lips. He smiled a toothless smile. Her mind was on him, but within a few seconds, she was back to worrying about Danté. “What was he locked up fo’?” she asked herself.

The phone rang, and she answered quickly.

She felt relieved until a voice from the other end said, “This is the Narcotics Division, and we’re calling all numbers from Danté’s cell phone. Who am I speaking with?”

Her heart fell into her gut. She was speechless, and the first thought that jumped into her head was to hang up. She sat with the baby, her eyes closed. She was feeling stressed out and completely drained.

Call my lawyer,
she remembered Danté saying.
Call my lawyer.

So, she did.

When the rain began to fall, Summer instantly thought the party she’d planned for her brother coming home would be canceled. She walked to the patio door, watching as the rain fell relentlessly across the green lawn that covered the fenced-in yard. The rain slapped against the door, and the gray, gloomy sky made her feel dull.
At least the grill is covered,
she thought. All the food had been bought: steaks, ground beef, shrimp, and lobster. And Danté planned to cook on the grill, which is something she really wanted to see.

She laughed to herself while watching the falling rain. Last year, it rained like this when Danté took her and the kids to Disney World in Orlando. He brought seven keys of coke back with him, also. She basically remembers how the sprays of water landed on them when they walked along the beach together. A smile appeared on her face as she noticed the rain had slacked up until finally it stopped completely.

Summer was doing damn good for herself. She was almost twenty-one years old, her mentality had matured, her body was still shaped to perfection, and her hair was cut in a bob style, one side longer than the other and covering her left eye. She wore baggy white sweats and a tight-fitting halter-top that stopped just below her ribs.

Hearing a sound behind her, she turned around. It was Danté coming toward her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, while wrapping his arms around her waist.

She drew herself to him and wrapped her arms around him, also. “We can’t throw no cookout if it’s raining.”

Danté glanced at the time on his stainless steel and gold Rolex. It was only 8:25 a.m. He softly kissed Summer and said, “Everything will be okay. Trust me.”

She smiled. “Okay.” 

“We should be back before four.”

They kissed again before he left. Summer then called Mrs. Diane to let her know Danté had gone to pick up Rodney. She wouldn’t be at the cookout because the stroke she suffered nearly eighteen months ago had paralyzed the right side of her body. She could still walk, though, but with a cane. After Summer hung up from talking with Mrs. Diane, the phone rang.

“Summa,’” the voice said from the other end.

“Yeah?” she answered. “Who is dis?”

“Cam,” the voice replied.

Cam was one of Danté’s friends, a serious business associate who was loyal to Danté.

“Oh…hey,” she said.

“Is Danté home?”

“No, he jus’ left to go pick my brotha up.”

“Damn…”

“You can call his cell if it’s important.”

There was a short moment of silence.

“You know what time he’ll be back?”

Summer was beginning to get agitated. She wasn’t the type to answer many questions, especially the ones that involved her boyfriend. So, she politely switched up the conversation just enough to end it.

“Did he tell you about the cookout?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, it’ll start at three-thirty. See you then.” 

She hung up and looked around to see what she needed to do next. She stepped into the living room, which was L-shaped and connected to the dining room. It was decorated in the usual hustler furniture consisting of a leather sofa, loveseat, and fine black art. Thick carpet was in every room.

She slid her feet into a pair of new Air-Max Nikes and grabbed her keys from off the top of the big-screen TV. She walked through the house and out into the garage where her burgundy J-30 Infinity sat. She pressed the button on her keychain, causing the alarm to chirp and the rear lights to blink quickly. It was disarmed. She got in, started the car, and pressed the garage door opener clipped to the visor. After the wide garage door had risen completely, she pulled out and pressed the button again to close it. When she got to the end of the driveway, she stopped to check the mailbox. She threw the few bills and junk mail in the passenger seat and pulled off. The new subdivision where they lived now was more upper class than where they lived a year ago. They lived on Tobacco Road. The twins’ elementary school was in walking distance, but Summer always picked them up. As she drove further up Tobacco Road, the sun peeked from behind the clouds. She knew the streets would be completely dry by the time she got back.

It didn’t take fifteen minutes for her to make it to her first destination, a small plaza on Windsor Spring Road that held four privately owned businesses. There was one store that a Chinese couple ran, which sold cell phones and pagers. Next to it was a black-owned seafood restaurant; it was small, but the food was good. On the other side of that establishment was a small hair and nail salon that had only six stations. This business was owned by Summer. Danté hadn’t paid more than fifteen thousand for everything, and the rent on the building wasn’t much either. Also, next to the salon was a small carwash that had slow business.

She parked her Infinity at the front door, stopping only a few inches from a yellow painted slab of concrete that read
Owner
in block letters. She stepped out and walked through one of the double glass doors. A light bell rang, indicating someone had entered. The smell of hot curlers filled the air; she’d smelled it so much that it didn’t bother her.

Summer headed to the back and inserted a key in the wooden door, which had a sign that read
Private
. Inside the room were a small wooden desk and a swivel chair that squeaked every time it moved. A small picture of Lil’ Danté sat on the desk. The twins were part of a recreation football team, so there was a group photo of them hanging on the wall.

Summer sat down and checked her watch. She knew Ann wouldn’t be in until around nine-thirty or ten o’clock. She picked up her office phone and called her at home. Ann answered the phone, and her and Summer talked for ten minutes. She informed her of the cookout for her brother who was coming home today. Ann was excited and told her she’d be there. Summer was anxious, probably more than anyone else except Rodney.
This will be his day,
she thought.

An hour and twenty minutes later, Danté whipped his white Lexus Coupe into the parking lot of Johnson State Prison located in an extremely small county of Georgia called Wrightsville. Danté rode around, and from what he could see the large prison was surrounded by so much barbwire that everything looked silver. He pulled up in front, left the car running, and stepped out. A guard, who emerged from a small brick booth, looked at Danté before his eyes drifted to the Lexus.