Dear Summer (7 page)

quirt was in his cell reading his Bible. He had sworn to God that if he got out of this one, he would get a job and spend more time with his son and his baby’s mother. He thought about all those nights when he ran the street and never spent time with Sheniqua, or his little boy. He looked up at the aluminum bed and read the words etched in the bed—
This is Hell.
He had to agree with whoever authored the phrase. This was hell, and he didn’t want to be here. He remembered the white arresting officer saying, if ever he wanted to help himself, give him a call. He knew the man meant snitching. He couldn’t do that, nor would he ever do it. It went against his morals, unless somebody was a child molester or cold-blooded killer, but even then his life or his kid’s safety would have to be in direct danger. He hated being in jail and it seemed as if ever since he was 16 years old he’d gone to jail at least once a year for one thing or another. But now he was twenty-three, and he had gotten caught with nine ounces of crack cocaine. With his record, this could give him ten years. If the feds picked up the case, he could get life.
God, please don’t let the feds pick up my case.
If the feds got the case, he knew he was bound to be gone until his two-yearold son was about to finish high school, and he didn’t want that. He pulled out the pink paperwork with his charges on it. When he did, Jessie, an old con, walked into the cell. Jessie was 46-yearsold with graying braids in his hair.
The two men made eye contact before Jessie said, “Put that

“Nigga, there’re a lot of snitches dying to look at your paperwork to get out of jail.” Jessie’s face hardened. “Remember that.”
Squirt knew Jessie was telling the truth, because he’d been to jail before. He folded his paperwork. “There’s nobody in here but us.”
“I don’t wanna see nobody’s paperwork, because I don’t want to even see mine.” Jessie sat on the edge of the desk. Then he pulled out a carton of lemonade that was left from lunch. He opened it and took a sip. “This shit is the pits. Ain’t it, man?”
Squirt sat up on the edge of his bed. “I was just thinking, man, if I ever get out of this one, I’m finished with this shit.”
“Yeah, I know what ya mean. I’ve often promised God over the years, too.”
“Jessie, I know you don’t want to hear about my case, but I have to get somebody’s opinion.”
Jessie sat the carton down and took a deep breath. “Listen, man, I really don’t need this shit. I got my own shit to worry about, and believe me, my shit is far worse than a petty-ass drug case.”
Squirt looked surprised. “How do you know I have a drug case? I haven’t told anybody.”
“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that you’re in here for a dope case. Most of these young boys in here are, and you ain’t no different.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jessie stood, took off his orange jumpsuit, got his deodorant and toothpaste and soap. “Man, I have to get in the shower before they lock down.”
“We got an hour.”
“Yeah but everybody is going to want to take a shower at the same time.”
“Jessie, I do have a dope case and I think somebody set me up.”
Jessie looked Squirt square in the face. “You set yourself up, young buck.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It mean you thought you could make a living off that shit and it only takes one time for the cops to get you and it’s over. Did you really think about the risk?”
Squirt thought hard. He hadn’t ever thought about the risk. He didn’t care about the risk. He thought about the money he needed, his son needed, his baby’s mother needed, but he knew what they needed most was him. “You right, Jessie.”
Jessie walked toward the door. Before he could open it, Squirt asked, “How many people in here are for drugs?”
“I would say, out of the 54 people in here, 45 are in here for drugs. There’s a couple of child molesters in here, too.”
Squirt put his hand behind his head as he lay back on the bed. “Jessie, what you in here for?”
Jessie stepped back inside the cell, closed the door tightly and looked Squirt directly in his eyes. “I’m in here for murder.”
Squirt’s eyes grew, but he didn’t say anything.
“Yeah. A motherfucker raped my 14-year-old daughter and I took him out.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I admitted to it. I mean, my lawyer and the DA understands it. I am trying to plead temporary insanity.”
“How much time does it carry?”
“I can probably get fourteen because my record is fucked up.”
Squirt took a deep breath. “I know what you mean,” Squirt said, thinking of the two prior drug convictions he had on his record. Though he had never been to prison, he had been sent to boot camp, once, for ninety days.
“I have to get in the shower,” Jessie said.
“Please listen to my story.”
Jessie looked at Squirt again. His facial expression said he really didn’t want to hear what Squirt had to say, but he sat on the edge of Squirt’s bed. Squirt handed him the paperwork.

“I’m telling you, man, I ain’t have nothing to do with your man going to jail,” Tommy said. He and Q were at a booth in the back of the Waffle House. It was 3:00 am and the restaurant was full of patrons from the strip clubs and other night spots.

Q stared at Tommy straight in his face. He was trying to see if Tommy was afraid, but Tommy didn’t bat an eye. He wanted to believe Tommy, but all he knew was his man had gone to jail because of the car.

“Q, I don’t have a case. What do I need to set your boy up for? And furthermore, that ain’t my style.”
“Do you know this is his third offense, Tommy?”
“Why the fuck do I need to know that? I mean, that’s the risk when you deal, nigga. I mean, that’s
your
boy. You better be worried; not me.”
“It’s your car, nigga.”
“No, it’s Squirt’s car,” Tommy said with a serious face.
Two strippers walked by wearing tight fitting jeans and heels. Q grabbed the shorter of the two’s ass and the woman turned around and said, “Motherfucker…” She stopped in mid-sentence and smiled. “Oh. Hey, Q.”
“What’s up Diamond?”
“Not much. Will you pay for me and Passion’s food?”
Q tossed her a hundred. “Wait for me in the parking lot. I want to hang out with you tonight.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
Q slapped Passion on the ass too. “I want you to hang out with us.”
Passion didn’t respond. She just followed Diamond.
Q leaned across the table. “Tommy, how did you come home so fast from the feds?”
“I did my time.”
“Nigga, you were a kingpin.”
“Yeah, and what is that supposed to mean?”
“You should have got thirty.”
Tommy’s face became hard. “Q, what the fuck are you trying to say?”
Q looked away. The waitress dropped two plates of walnut waffles on the table.
“Q, what the fuck are you trying to say?”
“I’m just asking, Tommy. No need to get uptight.”
Tommy poured some syrup on his waffles. He knew that there were some people on the streets that thought he was an informant because he’d had so much money and he had gotten out of prison early. He really didn’t care what they thought, as long as he knew he had done the right thing, and the right thing to him was sticking to his morals and never snitching on his boys. Now that he was out of prison he didn’t know if he could go back on a drug case. That’s why he chose to stay away from drugs.
“Listen, Tommy, man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Q, I’m really offended man. I mean, my case was publicized. Yeah, I testified on a DEAofficer—the bitch that sat me up. That’s how I got out of jail. Never did I tell on anybody that did anything with me.”
Q drank his orange juice slowly. “I know. I remember hearing about the case.”
“Well, why in the fuck did you ask me did I have your boy fucked up, Q?”
“All I know is my man is in jail and he said it was because of your car.”
“He said my car caused him to go to jail?”
“Yeah. Said the paperwork wasn’t right.”
“I have nothing to do with the paperwork.”
“You sold us the car. Right?”
Tommy put his hand over his mouth. “Shh. Quiet.”
“You sold us the car.”
“Listen, nigga, I don’t even know your boy’s name, so how in the fuck am I gonna set him up?”
Q was quiet. Tommy had brought up a good point. Diamond tapped on the window. When Q looked up, Diamond licked her lips. He held up his hand indicating he wanted her to hold on for five minutes.
“Q, man, you gotta believe me. I didn’t have nothing to do with this.”
“I hope not, Tommy. I like you. I like you a lot, but if I find out that you did, I’ma have to put in work.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Q stood, tossed $100 on the table and said, “Tommy, I hope this shit is not what I think.”
Tommy stood. He’d made up his mind he had to be ready for war, because nobody was going to threaten him; nobody was going to make him out to be a snitch. He wasn’t scared of Q, or anybody else for that matter.

EAagent Mark Pratt walked into the interrogation room. He waited ten minutes in the cold room, with only his legal pad in his hand. He looked at the suspect’s jacket. Jerome Miller was a 22-year-old black man. He’d had two prior drug cases—nothing substantial. Pratt figured he was a petty criminal and he knew that Miller might want to save his own ass once he knew the case was going federal. Cooperating with the feds in this case might save the young man seven years. Miller walked in a tad shorter than the 5'6" height indicated on his arrest record. The Mecklenburg County jumpsuit swallowed his thin frame. Pratt offered his hand.

Miller didn’t shake it. He sat down across from Pratt. “Yeah, who are you?”
Pratt pulled out his DEA badge. “I’m with the DEA.”
“Okay. What do you want with me?”
“Your case is going federal.”
Squirt looked surprised. “Nine ounces is going federal? What, are you crazy?”
“You had a gun and the ATF will be seeking an indictment.”
“Come on, man. Are you serious?”
Squirt cracked his knuckles. He was nervous, but he tried his best to remain calm.
“So, what you want from me?”
“Just wanting to know if you wanted to help yourself.”
“You want me to tell?”
Pratt shrugged his shoulders and said, “That’s totally up to you. You’re facing thirty with the gun and the dope, so if you want to get out before you rot in prison…”
“I ain’t got nothing to say.”
Pratt dropped his pen on his pad. There was a long silence in the cold room. He stared at the young man across from him. His eyes were sincere; he would never tell. He was the kind that made Pratt’s job harder. He had seen many kinds of criminals over the years and he had become pretty good at sizing them up. He knew there was no use in pressing the issue.
Jerome cracked his knuckles again and then looked away from Pratt and stared at the bright yellow wall as if he were contemplating. Pratt figured the walls were closing in on him.
“What ya thinking about?”
Jerome turned and faced Pratt. He started to speak but hesitated. Finally he said, “My little boy.”
Pratt picked up his pen and scribbled a squiggly line to see if the pen wrote. It did. Maybe he’d been wrong about Jerome. Maybe he would cooperate after all. “You have a family, huh?”
Jerome looked irritated. “Of course I have a family.”
“They deserve you to be there for them.”
“I know.”
“How old is your son?”
“He’s two.”
“I have a newborn.” Pratt smiled proudly.
“Congrats.”
“Thank you.” It was an odd moment; two men talking about their kids. At that moment, both men were proud parents—not cop and bad guy.
“You love your son a lot. Don’t you?”
Jerome hesitated before answering. Again he stared at the walls. The room seemed colder and the chill bumps gathered on his arms. This was the kind of room that could break a man down. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just asking.”
“Of course I love my son.”
“Well do it for him.”
“I want my son to be proud.”
Pratt smiled then pulled out a picture of his son. A little boy in a sailor suit with blue blocks that spelled baby. He handed Jerome the picture.
Jerome smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Charles.”
“Charles? That name is for an older person.”
“I know. My wife’s father’s name was Charles, so we went with it.”
Jerome passed the picture back to Pratt.
Pratt dropped the pen on the pad again. “Are you going to help yourself?”
“No.”
“What about your son?”
“I want him to be proud.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want him to know that his pops stood for something.”
“You’re a dope dealer.”
“I made a mistake…okay?”
Pratt stood up, grabbed the pen, put the top back on it then placed it behind his ear. He picked up the pad. “You have a good day, Jerome.” He turned to walk out of the room.
“Agent Pratt…” Jerome called out.
Mark turned and faced Jerome. They stared at each other for a while until Jerome broke the silence. “Did Tommy Dupree tell on me?”
Mark squinted his eyes. He’d heard the name before but he couldn’t remember where he knew the name from.
Mark shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know who the informant on this case was, and if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”
Jerome stood. Then a black female correctional officer walked in to escort Jerome back to his cell. “Pratt, you know I’ma find out who did this to me.”
Mark didn’t say anything. He just looked and wondered why the name Tommy Dupree seemed familiar to him. And when Jerome was gone, he remembered. Tommy Dupree was an ecstasy dealer whom he’d investigated six years ago; he was sentenced to prison.
Was he out?
Mark wondered. The yellow walls closed in on him.
*****

Tommy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He continued to stroke, trying not to break the bed. He held the bed rail. Angie looked up at him with anticipation. She moved her body with Tommy’s. It had become hard because Tommy had no rhythm. She kissed his neck. “Baby, right there…that’s my spot!” she screamed.

“Damn, your pussy is so wet.”
“You like this?” Angie asked with her fingernails on his back. She clawed his back. It was very painful for Tommy, but at the same time he liked it.
“I love this shit,” Tommy said. He was trying to keep up the pace but he was out of shape and it was starting to show.
“Keep hitting this pussy.”
Tommy let go of the bed rail and wiped his face. The sweat was streaming down his face into his eyes and lips. It was salty and his eyes burned.
She bit on his neck and played with his nipples. He liked when she did this.
“Baby, I want to cum inside this pussy.”
“Don’t cum inside me.”
Tommy started to breathe heavy and she tried to push him off her but he was too heavy.
“Tommy please don’t cum inside me. I don’t want to get pregnant.”
His whole body jerked. He came inside her. He was out of breath. She managed to push him off her. “Damn it, Tommy… why the fuck did you do that?” Angie ran to the shower. She would shower fast. Her mother had told her that if she showered soon after sex it would cut down on the chance of a pregnancy. She didn’t know if she believed that or not but she knew it was worth a try.
Tommy stood, walked into the steaming bathroom to grab a towel from the closet then wiped himself off. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
She pulled the shower curtain back. “Fuck you, Tommy. You trying to get me pregnant?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with it, nigga? What’s right with it?”
Tommy wiped himself off. “I’m offended. You act like the worst thing in the world is to be pregnant by me.”
“Tommy, you’re still out there hustling.”
“I’m not selling dope.”
She pulled the curtains back again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not going back to jail.”
“You don’t know that.”
The thought of going back to jail made him say a prayer.
Tommy sat on the toilet seat and held his face in his hands. He knew she didn’t want his child and this made him sad.
“Tommy!” she called out.
He didn’t respond. He just sat there wondering would he ever give his father a grandson. Would he ever have a child of his own?
“Tommy.”
He finally looked toward the shower curtain. She rinsed herself off and hopped out of the shower, walking right by him. He didn’t make eye contact with her. She got a large pink towel and began to dry off.
“So why don’t you just admit it, Angie?”
“Admit what, Tommy?”
“Admit you don’t want kids with me.”
“Not right now, Tommy.”
“So, what’s the point of this relationship?”
She held up her hand. “Tommy I don’t see a ring on my finger. You haven’t asked me to marry you.”
Tommy stood up from the toilet, stepped back into the bedroom and put his shorts on.
“Tommy, why the hell are you avoiding that question?”
“Marriage has nothing to do with babies.”
“Tommy, I don’t want to be no damn baby’s mama.”
“Is that what this is all about? Marriage?”
She walked out of the bathroom, still butt naked; body glistening from baby oil. Tommy looked at her ass but then turned away. He was mad and he had to remember that. She opened a drawer and got out a white G-string. From the top of the closet she got some sweatpants then sat on the edge of the bed. “Tommy, I want to get married one day. What girl doesn’t?”
“I wanna get married, too.”
“Why haven’t you asked me?”
“I’ma ask you when I want to ask you,” he said, looking away. “Well, just like your pops keep asking you when you going to have some kids, my mama keeps asking me when we are going to get married. She says I’m twenty-eight, like I’m a old-ass maid.”
“I’m not ready to get married yet.”
“And I ain’t ready to be nobody’s baby’s mama, either.” Tommy reached for his pants on the floor. Angie grabbed his hand, trying to keep him from putting on his pants, but she couldn’t. He removed her hand from his wrist then put his clothes on and left.