Heartbreak of a Hustler's Wife: A Novel (5 page)

“Good idea,” Des agreed. He loved his mother-in-law; she was the one that had come up with the information that was ultimately used as leverage to get him out of prison.

“Yeah, but she turned me down.” When Yarni looked at Des, she saw something else on his face besides concern for her mother. “What’s on your mind? Is there something I need to know?”

“You mean besides getting shot and the church being robbed?” he joked.

The slight hesitation and uneasy glimmer in his eyes confirmed Yarni’s suspicion.

“Okay, baby, what is it? Spit it out and get it over with.” She looked at him skeptically.

“My mother told me that I may have another child.”

“Come again?” Yarni put her hand up to her ear. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Look, I am just as surprised as you are.”

“I’ve never known you to be stupid, Des, so don’t play now. The only way you may have a child, as you put it, is if you’ve been putting your dick where it doesn’t belong. Or you somehow got the millennium Virgin Mary pregnant.” Yarni was floored. Not in a million years would she have expected this.

“It’s not like it sounds, baby.”

“Then how is it, Des?” she mocked. “Just tell me exactly how it is.”

He began to tell her everything he knew. “The child is eighteen years old. I kicked it with her mother in North Carolina before I ever met you. I never even knew this kid existed until this evening.”

Yarni sat outdone as he told her how the child’s mother must have kept contact with his mother, Joyce, but made her promise not to tell him about the possibility that he was a father—until now.

Yarni interrupted Des’s explanation as if she was making an objection in court. “And your mother just kept this secret to herself?” Before he could respond, Yarni further dissected his excuse. “When has Joyce ever held her mouth closed long enough to keep a secret? When, Des? Really, when has she ever kept a secret? Tell me one time?” She put her finger up. “Oh, but I keep forgetting that when it comes to her family, the secrets are endless. As a matter of fact, that shit is like the Mafia.”

Yarni was getting so worked up Des cut her off. “Look, baby, I’m just finding out about this too. I’m just as surprised as you are. I came in the room earlier to tell you as soon as I got off the phone with my mom, but you looked like you were having a pretty intense conversation with your own mother. And then the police came. After Slim left we came up here. You went and got Desi ready for bed. And I took a shower.” Des threw his hands up. “This is the first time I’ve really gotten a chance to talk to you.”

“The story is not quite making sense to me. I understand me and your mother don’t always see eye to eye, but why now?” she wanted to know. “Why tell us now? Why not eighteen years ago? Why today?”

“The girl’s boyfriend got himself shot up and her mother thinks she may be in some type of trouble and someone might be trying to kill her.”

“Well, damn, ain’t that a chip off of the old block? Like father, like daughter, huh?” she quipped.

Des ignored the sarcasm coming from his wife. “Her mother thought it would be wise to get her out of town for a while,” Des explained. “Baby,” he reached out and took her hand in his, “I really don’t know if this kid is mine or not. That’s the truth.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But she could be.”

“What’s her name?” Yarni asked, thinking how could this be happening?

“Desember,” he said. “That’s what my mother told me. But there’s something else.”

“How can you possibly top that?” Yarni asked.

“My mom is with her now and is driving her back here. She will be arriving in town tomorrow, and I said that she could stay here with us.”

With her hands on her hips, Yarni shook her head. “Well, got-damn, when it rains it pours. I just hope your ass took out flood insurance.”

What’s Done in the Dark … Will Come to the Light

The recent declining state of the economy pounded the stock market almost into submission while the housing market was buckling at the knees. And employment was harder to come by than the highly coveted seats at President Barack Obama’s inauguration in Washington, D.C. The prices at the local supermarket were through the roof.

Strange as it may seem, through all of this financial uncertainty, the murder rate in Richmond, Virginia—a city that was once known for one of the highest homicide rates in the country—had also plummeted, to a fraction of the reckless and lawless bloodbath numbers it had a history of putting up in the nineties. In fact crime as a whole was down. It was enough to make some people wonder: if the crime rate was declining in
the city, then how come the rate of people going to prison was at an all-time high? The state of Virginia, in conjunction with the U.S. government, spent upward of three hundred million dollars on a brand-new state-of-the-art Federal court facility amongst blighted storefronts and struggling businesses on Broad Street in downtown Richmond. If the deficit had swelled to astronomical figures, trying to revitalize the economy, why would this type of money be wasted on such a grand piece of architecture that wasn’t needed? It may not pay to break the law, but it’s a known fact that crime paid, and it paid well. And as long as they were building courts, Yarnise Pitman-Taylor, Esquire, would always have employment.

All hell had broken loose in Yarni’s personal life, and while a part of her wished she could crawl under a rock and hide, that wasn’t the reality of the superwoman that she was.

Des had promised his congregation that he’d make everything all right, that he’d make them whole again, which meant he’d replace whatever was stolen. If Des was nothing else, he was a man of his word. The church had an insurance policy, but there was no telling what it would and wouldn’t pay. Whatever the case, Yarni knew this incident could possibly send them into the poor house, but she wasn’t going to let that happen if she could help it. So she was ready to pitch in by taking on a day of saving the world and her clients.

The lobby of the circuit court building was brimming with activity as folks of all walks of life—hustlers, prostitutes, robbers, pedophiles, lawyers, police and any- and everything in between—filled the open space. “No cell phones, cameras, Bluetooths, Ipods, combs, brushes, nail files or clippers or anything
of that sort is allowed inside this building! If you have these items take them back to your car now!” Deputy McCall made the routine announcement in a firm, clear, no-nonsense voice. A twenty-year veteran of the sheriff’s department, he’d been at John Marshall Courts Building for the past twelve years.

“Make two lines,” he continued after observing a few people pat their pockets, turn and walk out with frustrated grimaces just thinking about having to go back out in the below-freezing temperatures. “One in front of each of the two X-ray machines, and place everything in your pockets into the tray when it’s your turn.”

Yarni, bundled up in a long full-length fur coat glided past the two long lines. With the swagger of a woman who was clearly used to VIP treatment, she walked straight to the express lane that was designated for court workers, police officers and attorneys. McCall’s voice instantly transformed from stern to familiar and polite. “How are you this morning, Mrs. Taylor? Cold enough for you yet?”

Yarni couldn’t help noticing his toothy smile, dingy from years of smoking. She removed her butter-soft, calf-skin gloves, revealing her perfectly manicured minx nails. “I’m doing fine, Fred,” she said, “thanks for asking. It’s plenty cold all right. So cold I wasn’t sure if I should wear my boots or my ice skates this morning.” The two of them shared a slight chuckle, but Yarni kept it moving because she was running late. Traffic had been ridiculous and the clock was working against her this particular morning. The line for the elevator was at least two loads deep, so Yarni used her time wisely, since she didn’t have much to spare. She took the steps.

Not many people had believed she could achieve the level of success that she had. With her own checkered past it was only by the grace of God and a lot of hard work that Yarni was a working member of the judicial system. Who could have imagined? After all of the trials, tribulations, perils and pitfalls, cat fights and tightropes that Yarnise Pitman-Taylor had been through that she would have made it to this stage in life?

Like the R&B singer Monica, she was still standing. She had definitely come a long way, she thought as she ascended the two small flights of steps to reach the bull pen where her client was being held until she saw the judge. Lawyers had to log their names and times before being allowed to the holding area.

“Hey, Riley,” Yarni said to the deputy sitting at the small desk. “How are you? I need to see Tangaleena Londers.”

Riley took a glance at his watch and reluctantly shook his head. “It’s a few minutes past cut-off time and my boss is back there. I would if I could.”

“I understand,” Yarni conceded, knowing that his hands were tied. But she was in a tight spot because this was her first opportunity to speak with her newest client. Yarni had taken the case at the last minute, after receiving a desperate-sounding phone call from the client’s mother. Mrs. Londers didn’t have many details about the actual crime to pass along to Yarni, but she knew that the magistrate had refused to give her daughter bail. After Yarni agreed to take on the case, it seemed as if within minutes Mrs. Londers had arrived with a portion of the retainer fee.

“I hate being unprepared.” Yarni sighed, putting her notes in her purse while Riley looked at his own.

“Well, Mrs. Taylor, it’s only a bond hearing it says here. You
can handle that. It’s a piece of cake for a seasoned attorney like you,” he said with an assuring smile.

The compliment brought a smile to her face; still, she was disappointed. “But I don’t like taking anything for granted. If you don’t mind, let her know that I’m here and they will be calling us shortly.”

“Anything for you.” Riley winked.

Yarni pushed up one more flight of stairs to the lobby of the third-floor courtroom. She caught sight of Tangaleena’s mother in her work uniform, pacing back and forth.

“Hi, Mrs. Londers.” Yarni reached out to shake the woman’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it.” Mrs. Londers’s palms were moist from nervous perspiration.

“Yes, of course. I would never miss something this important. I know it looks good for the judge to see that she has a mother who loves her and cares enough to be here for her. I’m waiting for Dougie, that’s Tangi’s guy friend. He’s said he was going to be here early to bring you more money to go toward the retainer.” She leaned in closer. “I want him to give you as much money as possible so that you can be extra-motivated to give my daughter your best work.”

In a strange way Mrs. Londers reminded Yarni of her own mother. Though they shared no resemblance at all, they both loved their daughters immensely. “What I do is not about the money. Understand, I want to be paid,” she said with a slight smile, “but when I take on a case I’m either all in or I don’t take it. So please don’t worry, Mrs. Londers, I will do my best on Tangaleena’s case,” Yarni assured her as she looked into the eyes of a woman who wore much worry, hurt and pain across her face.

“Thank you, dear. I believe you will, but I want you to get your money first thing.”

“If you insist.” Yarni changed the subject. “Do you know if your daughter has any priors?” Normally, Yarni would have this information at hand, but with all the drama going on, time had gotten away from her.

Mrs. Londers took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m afraid so. She has quite a few, but nothing in at least four years. She used to fight a lot.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “She’s been known to pull out a can of whip ass at the drop of a dime. But over the past four years, since she’s had her daughter, she hasn’t gotten in any trouble. Not a drop.”

“Okay, so she’s a mother?” Yarni knew that would help in showing stability and could be a good factor in why this woman deserved bond.

“Yes,” she smiled, “and that little girl means the world to her.”

“I bet she does. Well, let’s go in there and try to get the two back together, where they belong.”

“God bless you, Mrs. Taylor.”

Yarni gave Mrs. Londers a comforting pat on the shoulder, then headed for the courtroom.

Inside, Yarni quietly sat on the hard mahogany wooden slabs most courthouses used for seating.

She wasn’t yet concerned about the actual charges—assault and possession of a gun after being convicted of a felony. But she was slightly worried about Tangaleena’s priors becoming the focal point of this bond hearing and how that might affect the outcome.

Yarni grimaced at the fact that Judge Fairchild was presiding on the bench. Sometimes this particular judge’s decisions were not always as fair as her name may lead one to believe. But over the last few years, she and Yarni had developed a somewhat decent working rapport. After watching the judge rule in more than a hundred cases, Yarni was familiar with her tactics. She felt even better after seeing that Judge Fairchild was in a decent mood.

“Who do we have next?” she asked her court clerk, who had a head of white hair and a long pointed nose holding a pair of huge glasses.