Dear Summer (15 page)

cooter was doing about 72 miles-per-hour in a 65 when he got pulled. The cop, a young white guy, clean shaven and about 22-years-old, was looking at Scooter’s license. “I’m going to need you to step out of the car.”

Scooter knew what that meant from years of experience. He knew they were going to search his car. He was dirty, of course, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle; only 25 pairs of counterfeit Nikes and some handbags. “I don’t understand, Officer. What did I do?” Scooter was trying his best to be polite.

“Just step out the car, Mr. McKintosh.”
“I don’t understand?”
Seconds later the K-9 unit came, and a couple of plain-clothes

of ficers.
“I know y’all motherfuckers don’t think I’m no drug dealer,”
Scooter said.
A big black cop with a bald head ordered Scooter to step away
from the car.
Minutes later, they had his backseat on the street. The young
cop handcuffed Scooter, throwing him to the ground, scuffing his
white T-shirt and crisp Air Force Ones.
“This is some bullshit!” Scooter yelled.
“Mr. McKintosh, I smelled marijuana in your car,” the young
cop said. “We’re going to do a quick search. If nothing turns up,
you can go on about your business.”
“How the fuck you gonna smell marijuana and I don’t even
smoke?”
“We will see.”
“You wasting your fuckin’ time.”
“Mr. McKintosh, could you just relax until we complete the
search?”
Scooter frowned. “You can’t tell me when to relax.” “One more word out you, we’re going to take you downtown
for disorderly conduct.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Scooter said.
The big cop with the bald head then stood Scooter and placed
his hand underneath his chin, cutting off his blood circulation. He
slammed him to the highway pavement as a car whisked by
Scooter’s head in excess of 65 miles-per-hour.
The K-9 officer was a red-headed man wearing a blue
Charlotte Mecklenburg police coverall suit. His name tag read,
Manning. He held tightly to the German Shepard as the dog
explored the vehicle. The third row—25 boxes of Nikes and
some knock off handbags. The rookie cop pushed that to the
side. They would explore that later.
After searching the back and the front seat, the dog turned
up no drugs.
“Mr. McKintosh, you were right. There are no drugs here,” the
rookie cop said.
“Why the fuck would I lie?” Scooter said.
“But what we did find was these counterfeit Nikes and some
Western Union receipts to China.”
“So what? I ordered some things off the Internet. Big fuckin’
deal.”
The bald guy stood Scooter up again.
“Yeah, counterfeit. This stuff is illegal,” the rookie cop said. Scooter looked the man in the eye. “So you gonna take me
down for this bullshit?”
“It’s illegal, Mr. McKintosh,” the black cop repeated. He then
walked Scooter to the squad car.
Scooter couldn’t believe that these cops were this fanatical
over some damn Nikes. He thought about the Western Union
receipt. He had sent thousands of dollars to China for counterfeit
goods during the past three years. He knew that if they checked
thoroughly, they would find it was not just an Internet buy, but a real illegal business that he had organized. He vowed he would never sell drugs again after he was released from the feds, and he had made thousands of dollars in the counterfeit goods game. He had sold knock-off cell phones, golf clubs, guitars...never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be going down for this.

At the police station Scooter was in a familiar place—the interrogation room. He had been there many times before from the age of fourteen. He sat across from two detectives, a black and a white. He knew the routine so well. They would play against each other to get the results they needed. The white cop wore a plain white shirt with jeans, and had identified himself as Myles. The black cop wore jeans as well. He was a light skinned man; well built. He didn’t identify himself, nor did he smile. Myles started the conversation. “So you’re in the shoe business?”

Scooter looked the man in his eyes. “Yeah, I sell shoes sometimes; a few pair here and there.”
“The Western Union receipts were totaling about $30,000 this month.”
“What’s your point?” Scooter said.
The black cop still didn’t say anything. He placed a yellow legal pad on the desk. Then he placed his pen there. Scooter noticed that it read Drug Enforcement Agency. Scooter made up his mind, right there on the spot, that he wasn’t saying shit.
Myles asked, “Do you know selling counterfeit goods is illegal?”
“Yeah,” Scooter said, not a hint of nervousness in his voice. He’d been in the interrogation room for far worse crimes then this. They weren’t going to break him.
“Yeah, it’s a federal offense.”
Scooter looked confused. “Yeah, but it’s not a serious charge.”
“Anything federal is serious.”
“Yeah, but it couldn’t carry much time—maybe none at all,” Scooter said confidently. The first time he was locked down he had been caught with two kilos of coke. He would gladly march into federal court for a few pair of counterfeit Nikes.
The black cop finally spoke. “So, you’ve researched the guidelines?”
“No…”
“Okay. Well, let me tell you, if this were your first offense, you would be right. But guess what, it’s your third and we can consider you a career criminal.”
“Who are you?”
“I am with the DEA.”
“What the hell are you doing here anyway? I don’t sell drugs.”
The man laughed, dug into his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope then set it on top of the notebook.
Scooter said, “I don’t want to see no pictures. I don’t know nobody.”
“You want to do thirty years for some Nikes?”
“I’m not telling you shit.”
“Your problems are more serious than some stolen Nikes,” Myles said, smiling.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Myles pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his drawer—Pall Malls. He lit one then offered it to Scooter who turned it down.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Scooter asked again.
“That nice Escalade of yours has been reported stolen.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Scooter said.
“Who sold you the car?”
“Hey. I don’t want to talk,” Scooter said, knowing the car was stolen.
“Tommy sold you the car, huh Scooter?” said the black cop.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I watched him sell you the car.”
“Watched who sell me what?”
“Tommy Dupree sell you the Escalade.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Agent Mark Pratt of the DEA.”
Scooter asked for a cigarette. Myles gave him one and lit it.
“So you want to help us, Scooter?”
He didn’t say anything. He just breathed heavily and blew two large smoke rings out. He wondered if Tommy had given him up. Had he set the other guy up? Scooter had talked to Tommy about knocking Q off. He wondered how much of this the feds knew. Scooter reached for the ashtray. Pratt picked up his pen. “So, you know how it works; the first one comes forward with the information gets the best deal.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you knew that the car was stolen why didn’t you bust us then?”
“I didn’t know what was going on. I actually thought it was a drug deal.”
“So what do you want to know?” Scooter said.
“I want you to help me get Tommy.”
“Get him for what?”
“Anything. I want to know what he’s up to…is he selling drugs or what?”
Scooter stubbed the cigarette out. “I don’t know anything.”

Scooter’s bail was set at $20,000. He bailed out. He had sixteen voice messages—fourteen of them were from J-Black, who wanted the money for the jobs he had completed. Scooter listened to the last message. “Yo Scooter, this is J, man. Y’all niggas are playing with my motherfuckin’ money. I’m telling you, man, if you don’t answer your phone, I’ma pay your mama’s house a visit and when I leave it ain’t gonna be good.” Scooter called Tommy.

“Yo. What up, Scooter?”
“Long night.”
“What happened?”
“I went to jail, nigga.”
“For what?”
“I need to talk to you in person, man.”
Seconds passed by. “Is it serious?”
“Yeah it really is.”
Tommy sighed. “Okay. We can get together later tonight, maybe like nine.”
“Cool. Also, that nigga J-Black been calling the shit out of me.

I mean, I think he might have completed the job. He’s making threats and all kinds of shit about his money.”
“Okay, bring him with you when we meet.”
“Okay, I will.”

“Summer, this is bullshit and you know it,” T onya said, wheeling her BMW in and out of traffic. They were headed to the mall.
“What’s bullshit?”
“This shit talking about you not liking Q.”
Summer didn’t say anything. She just continued to flip through an
Essence
magazine with Nia Long on the cover.
“Shit sounds like it’s getting serious to me.”
Summer looked up from the magazine. “I mean, he’s just a booty call.”
“But you like this booty call.”
“You know what I like? I like his confidence.”
“Yeah, and I know it don’t hurt that he’s a bad boy, too.”
“Well, you know I like a little thug in them.”
“What’s up with Tommy?”
“The last time I talked to him he was pretty upset that his pops had stolen some money from him.”
“Wait a minute. I thought his pops was rich…thought he had inherited some money or something.”
“No, he was paid some money because he was falsely imprisoned.”
“What happened to the money?”
“Tommy said he’s on drugs.”
“It’s a damn shame to see black people come into money then don’t know how to act when they get it.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Tonya turned into the mall parking lot and put the car in park. When both women were out of the car, Tonya asked, “So, is it over for you and Tommy?”
“Over? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
They reached the door of the Nordstrom’s department store. Tonya stepped inside first. When Summer was inside, she said, “We were never together.”
“Yeah, but he was kind of like ya man.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was the closest thing you had to a man, that’s what I mean. He was kind of like ya man.”
“I guess so,” Summer said. She walked to the women’s department and picked up a pair of black skinny jeans. She liked them, and wondered if Q would too.
“So, you know Tommy likes you.”
Ignoring Tonya’s last sentence Summer said, “Do you think these jeans will make my butt look big?”
“Get a size smaller,” Tonya said.
Summer put the jeans on the rack and grabbed a size 6. She was really a size 8.
She always wanted to make sure her ass looked spectacular, even if it meant being a little uncomfortable.
“Summer, what are you going to do about that man’s feelings?”
“That man has a live-in girlfriend.”
“I know he does, but he still considers you his girl.”
“I don’t belong to nobody but Bobby Lee and Veronica, and they live in Missouri City, Texas.”
“You know what I mean.”
Summer flagged a salesperson and asked to be let into the dressing room. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about Tommy. She stepped into the dressing room and stepped out with the jeans shellacked to her ass. “What you think?”
“I like them,” Tonya said.
“Yeah. I need to pick out a blouse and a nice pair of heels to wear with these.”
“So, which one of your men are you trying to dress up for, Tommy or Q?”
“Why you keep talking about Tommy?”
“Because you know that man love you, Summer. And it seems like it’s started to get serious with this Q guy.”
Summer knew Tonya was right, and she knew that eventually she would have to tell Tommy about Q. She remembered the last time he visited and how she had to warn him not to show up at her apartment. He had acted a little suspicious. “So what do you think I should tell him?”
“Summer, do you think this Q guy is better for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think that he’d do the things that Tommy has done for you? Do you think he’d be the kind of friend Tommy is?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you like him don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Summer said, walking over to a rack of blouses. She wondered could she really depend on him. Tommy had proven himself time and time again.

She knew that it was Tommy’s live-in, Angie. She wanted to hang up in the woman’s ear, but she didn’t.
“Who the hell is this?” the voice repeated.
“My name is Summer,” she said as she laid across her bed. She could hear pain in the woman’s voice.
“What the hell are you doing texting Tommy?”
Summer contemplated. She hadn’t text Tommy in a while. Tommy must have had old messages on his phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Just to let you know, Tommy is mine and he ain’t going no where.”
Who did this bitch think she was? She certainly didn’t intimidate Summer. She wanted to laugh in the woman’s face but she kept her cool. “Tommy’s your man…really?”
“Yes, my fiancé.”
Though Summer was now sleeping with Q, she became furious, not because what Angie said, but because it was obvious Tommy had been promising that he was going to marry this woman.
“Yeah. We’re getting married next year.”
“Congratulations.”
“Who are you?”
“Just call me the side bitch,” Summer giggled.
“Leave him the fuck alone.”
“Who the fuck are you to tell me to leave anybody alone?” “I’m his future wife.”
“Hmph. That ain’t what he told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He ain’t tell me nothing about you, that’s for damn sure.” “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Tommy doesn’t love you, he loves me and I will prove it to you.”
“How?”
“Hey, just stay on the phone and be quiet,” Summer said. She felt bad for even entertaining this broad, but she had to let this chick know she was not number one, even though she was no longer sure she wanted to be with Tommy. She dialed Tommy on the three-way.
Tommy answered on the first ring. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What were you thinking?” Summer said. She felt like she was betraying him but she just couldn’t get Angie’s words out of her head.
“I was thinking about us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t spoke with you in a while and I was wondering how you are doing?”
“What are you talking about? You were over my house last week… remember? You were telling me about your father and his drug problem.”
Tommy sighed. “Yeah.”
“So what’s going on with him? Is he doing okay?”
“Yeah. I guess. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Why not, Tommy? He’s your father.”
“I know, but I have a lot of other shit on my mind.”
“Like what, Tommy? You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know. That’s why I like you.”
“Tommy, I’m sorry about what happened the other night.”
“Yeah. What was that all about? You ain’t never trip before when I came over to see you.”
“I know. It’s hard to explain. I mean, I was kind of emotional, you know? My period was about to come on.”
“Whatever, man. You just snapped on me for no reason.”
“You think I really snapped on you?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Tommy, let’s not argue. I want to talk seriously for a minute.”
“What you want to talk about?”
“I think you were out of line when you came over the other night.”
“What? I thought you were sorry about what happened the other night.”
“Tommy, cut the bullshit. I’m a woman. I’m an emotional being.”
“This shit don’t make no sense to me. I mean, you blame your actions on your period and now you are bringing the same bullshit up.”
“I know you don’t understand. You wouldn’t.”
“So what’s this all about?”
“I want to date other people.”
“What the fuck. Where did that come from?”
“I do, Tommy. I mean, you got your woman, what’s her face…” Summer said. She knew Angie’s name, had heard all about her, but she couldn’t let Angie know she had actually given her a second thought.
“Who are you seeing?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Yo, that’s really fucked up.”
“Tommy, where could me and you possibly go in this relationship? I mean, you aren’t going to leave your woman.”
Summer heard Angie breathing on the phone. Tommy probably heard it too but he would just assume it was Summer.
Tommy said, “You don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re not going to leave her. If you were going to leave her you would’ve left her by now.”
“It’s not that simple, Summer.”
“I know.” Summer paused and thought. She really wanted to make Angie mad, but how?
“Me and Angie got a lot of history together, Summer.”
“Yeah, I know. And me and you are moving in two different directions.”
“How so?”
“Tommy, I want to get married one day and I just don’t think you’re the right one. I mean, I don’t think that you want to marry me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Tommy, do you love me?” Summer said, wondering if Angie had dropped the phone a long time ago. She’d hoped that the bitch was reduced to tears. She could picture tears rolling down those sweet little cheeks.
“Tommy, are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“I asked you a question.”
“I know you did.”
“And what is your answer.”
“Summer, you know I love you.”
“Tommy, what the fuck did you just say!?” Angie interjected.
“Who is this?” Tommy asked, but he already knew. It sounded like Angie, but how? Why? How much had she heard? Tommy terminated the call.