by Joy, E. n.
He swiftly moved his hand to his holster and pulled out the extra clip that was located on the side of the holster. He pressed the release button on the 357 and the empty clip dropped to the ground. He reloaded and quickly aimed at the Caprice in case the guy with the gun tried to fire at him. The car then sped away erratically down the same street just as the car that had caused the entire mayhem to begin with had done. Kemo figured that the guy with the gun was one of those individuals who carried a gun, but didn’t have the guts to use it. Kemo imagined his friends were yelling at him at that moment, “Why didn’t you shoot?”
Kemo wanted to relax, take some deep breaths and collect his thoughts after seeing the car flee, but he quickly thought of Jasmine. He snapped his head to the right and saw that she was already looking at him with a bloody nose and a look of astonishment. Kemo rose up off the ground, picked up his empty clip, and walked up to Jasmine. He lifted her up, and then they both got in their car and drove home... hurt, but alive.
For weeks Kemo wondered if the police knew what happened. Did the driver go to the hospital and tell the police everything? Or did the police arrive at the scene that night and discover the shells on the ground? Would it be traced back to him? Kemo would eventually get his answer.
For the first couple of months after the incident, Kemo didn’t carry his gun. After more time passed, though, he started carrying it with him again. One hot afternoon though, because he was wearing a tight wife beater, he decided to remove his holster, along with the gun and clips, and place them under his seat.
Kemo was fidgeting with the radio as he drove. Kemo looked far ahead up the road and saw that, even though the light was green, several cars in the lane next to his were stopped. Kemo paid it no mind and continued driving. As his car came a few feet from the intersection, Kemo looked to his left and spotted some kids illegally crossing the street. Kemo, nor the kids were able to see each other because of the cars that had stopped to let them pass. Just in the knick of the time, one of the kids spotted Kemo. He jumped back, yelling to warn his friends. And it had to be the grace and mercy of a higher power that kept Kemo from running over them with his car.
“Whoa!” said Kemo as his heart jumped from the sudden spook. The kids seemed to have come out of nowhere. They stopped in their tracks and allowed Kemo to pass, but not without giving him the finger and yelling out obscenities.
As Kemo continued driving, he looked in his rearview mirror at the stunned kids. Kemo then returned his focus back to the road. But a few seconds later he was forced to look at his rearview mirror once again as a cop car switched its sirens on behind Kemo. Kemo pulled over and rolled down the window. The officer stepped out of his vehicle and approached Kemo.
“Step out of the car, son,” ordered the cop.
“Why?” Kemo asked.
“For failing to yield to pedestrians,” the officer informed Kemo.
“What? Ah come on. I couldn’t even see ’em. It wasn’t my fault,” Kemo tried to explain.
The officer opened the car door for Kemo. Kemo stepped out and the officer then said, “Put your hands behind you’re back. I’m detaining you for now while I look through your car.”
Once upon a time Kemo might have thought that what the officer was doing was illegal; that he had to have some type of grounds to search his car without permission or probable cause. But the officer was exercising the Three Way Search Clause.
Kemo knew better than to try to protest anyway since he was still on probation. The cop was free to do whatever he wanted with him as long as he was still on probation. The officer was just exercising the power that was given to him when Kemo gave up his rights by agreeing to probation. He knew Kemo was on probation by running the plates on his car. The car was under Kemo’s name.
The officer sat Kemo on the curb and then began searching his car. Kemo prayed that he didn’t look under the seat. That was the first place the officer looked. He lifted the holster, gun, and clips out then walked towards Kemo.
“You wanna tell me something about this?” asked the officer.
“It’s registered to my girl, sir,” replied Kemo.
“Doesn’t matter, you’re still going to jail for it, buddy,” said the cop with a grin.
Not again, thought Kemo.
Kemo then instantly remembered the shooting incident at the train tracks that had gone down almost six months prior. He wondered what the outcome was going to be this time around as he sat in the back of the patrol car. He knew that he might very well be facing attempted murder charges if they matched the bullets that he fired that fateful night with his gun. He tightly closed his eyes as he hoped and prayed they didn’t.
The intake process was almost exactly the same as his first time, except for a few new faces. The only thing that did remain exactly the same was the horrid stench in the holding tank. Days later, after being shuffled around from court date to court date, the judge sentenced Kemo to three months in county jail and five years felony probation. Kemo had earned himself his very first felony. Kemo was just glad that they hadn’t brought up anything related to the shooting he was involved in. He had no clue the effect that felony would come to have on his life.
Throughout his three month stretch in jail, he did what most inmates do; read. He read several novels and instructional books. One story he read inspired him to write a story himself, not because the story was good, but because he felt it wasn’t. If they could do it, so could I, thought Kemo. Kemo was a huge movie enthusiast, so he decided to write a short screenplay with the help of a book he read that instructed readers on how to properly write a screenplay. He finished the script in a week.
A week before he was scheduled to be released, he began thinking a lot more about his murdered neighbors, his family, and on how to get them out of the gutter they lived in. Obviously, carrying a gun to protect them was only tearing him away from them. The money that he and Jasmine brought in wasn’t enough to help them relocate. He thought about it several times a day while his time to be released drew closer.
On one of those days, as Kemo thought about his family while watching T.V, he began hearing several inmates yell.
“Don’t even play like that, dog,” yelled out one inmate.
“Get down before you fall down,” hollered another.
Kemo slowly turned around to see what was happening. Kemo noticed everyone looking up towards the upper tier. A new arrival to the jail had stood on top of the upper tiers railings threatening suicide. There was a terrified look on the young guy’s face.
He’s not gonna do it, Thought Kemo.
Just then, the guy leaped off, head first, on to the hard waxed floor beneath him. Several blends of emotional reactions were then heard from many inmates. Kemo wasn’t able to understand any of those reactions. They all drowned each other out. But what he did hear, and wouldn’t be able to ever forget, was the sound the guy’s head made when it landed on the hard surface.
Almost instantly, all the T.V’s were shut off and every door to every cell was opened. “Lock it down, gentlemen. Lock it down,” the technician instructed over the speakers. A few guards then came in yelling the same thing as they walked towards the suicide victim. All the inmates slowly walked into their cells, staring at the dying man on the floor. As soon as they stepped inside, they stood next to the fence and continued staring at the unfolding incident.
The deputy tried to communicate with the injured man, but got no response. His eyes were pointing upward, while his entire body seemed to make involuntary motions. His hands were in a tense claw like position, while his right foot jumped sporadically. Everyone then began to notice what looked like black liquid begin to slowly stream out of his ears. He then started moving his jaw in an odd manner, as if he were trying to detach it from his own body.
A medical team arrived and immediately began working to save his life. They attached heart monitors to his chest and attempted to lift his body on to a gurney. A fraction of a second before they began to li
ft him, his heart gave out and the monitor flat lined. They began performing CPR with the assistance of a tool that helped introduce air into the dead man’s lungs, but weren’t able to bring him back. Seconds later, they gave up. They recorded the time of death and covered his body with a white sheet. As Kemo looked down at the now deceased prisoner’s covered body, he thought, I don’t know what he was feeling to bring him to that fateful decision, but I would never want to die a prisoner.
A few days later, Kemo began reading a book on the Italian Mafia. In it, they spoke of several crimes. Most Kemo was already familiar with, except one; counterfeiting. It said that counterfeiting was the most profitable crime of all. Even more than drugs. That made a light bulb pop on inside of his mind. He continued reading the book and learned the techniques used to counterfeit money. When he was done reading, he learned that he needed to familiarize himself with computers in order to venture in to the world of counterfeiting. He found an instructional book on computers that proved to be very helpful. He learned the inner and outer workings of those complex machines just before he was scheduled to go home.
The morning of his release, Kemo sat on his bunk, anxiously waiting for his name to be called. He stood up and walked over to the restroom area as everyone else slept. The only thing that could be heard was his jail house sandals slightly slapping the floor as he walked, along with a few snores coming from some of the slumbering inmates. When he made it to the restroom, he walked over to a urinal and began using it. At the same time, he heard the door to his thirty man cell pop open. He thought it might have been a guard coming for him, but he then heard the sound of someone dragging a thin plastic wrapped mattress. That’s when he realized it was just a new inmate arriving.
When Kemo was finished, he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He then splashed some water over his face a few times. Behind him, he heard the same sounds every inmate made when walking; the sandal slaps. But they were at a much faster pace. Kemo quickly turned around and spotted a skinny guy running directly towards him.
“Man! I gotta take a major dump!” said the skinny guy as he made a turn towards the toilets. He even knew which toilet to use. Kemo then knew that he had probably been in there before, maybe even several times.
Kemo only smiled as he saw the guy swiftly pull his underwear and pants down and almost jump on the toilet seat. The skinny guy then made a sigh of relief. Seconds later, he began talking to Kemo. “What you doing up so early?”
“Waitin’ on my release,” replied Kemo as he checked himself out in the mirror.
“I wish I was in yo’ shoes.”
“You will be. I was in yours three months ago. Just don’t kill yourself like some cat did a few days ago.”
“What? Fo’ real?”
“Yeah.”
Just then, Kemo heard the technician call out his name through the speaker. Then he heard the door to his cell pop open once again. “It’s about time.”
“A'ight then, playa. Stay up, mang,” said the skinny guy as he drew a wide smile. Kemo instantly noticed his gold teeth. He could also see what looked like a four letter word that was carved out on his four upper teeth. “What does yo’ grill say?”
“EAST,” replied the skinny guy. “East side Roble all day, feel me?”
“Oh, a'ight. Well, I gotta get goin’ dog. Don’t even trip. You’ll be out soon enough.”
“That’s right,” were the last words Kemo heard from the skinny guy as he walked towards his bunk to pick up his belongings and finally go home.
When Kemo made it through all the doors to get to the outside of the jail, he couldn’t help but think that maybe the police were waiting for him outside to take him back into custody because of the shooting incident he was involved in. For some reason, that situation just had him noided.
When he began walking away from the jail, he only noticed Jasmine and Rain waiting for him in their car; no Five-Oh. They got out and hugged him tightly. That night, Kemo gave Jasmine an overly postponed love making session that ranked at the top of her list.
Later that night, Jasmine hit Kemo with some not so good news. “Your job called you a while back.”
Kemo could tell by Jasmine’s somber tone that her next words weren’t going to be something he wanted to hear. “Oh, yeah? What did they say?”
“Nothing too much; just to let you know that with your felony, they can’t keep you on.”
Kemo sighed and shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.
“What are you gonna do?” asked Jasmine.
“Get another job I guess. I just hope that someone else will hire me. It’s rough out there for a felon trying to get a decent paying job.”
“You’ll get another job, baby.” Jasmine rubbed Kemo’s back. Everything he did, he did for his family. She knew this was a low blow for him. “I’ll help you start looking tomorrow if you want. We’ll get the paper and see what’s out there.”
“Okay,” Kemo replied, not sounding the least bit hopeful.
The next day, Kemo bought a news paper and began going through the job listings. For the next couple of months he had several job interviews, but none of the good paying jobs hired felons. So ultimately he was forced to take a minimum wage job at a warehouse that paid better than what he was receiving with his unemployment benefits.
On his first day of work, he realized just what kind of job he had acquired. He was the only American there. Everyone else was an undocumented worker. The work was grueling. He and his coworkers had to load hundred plus pound carpet rolls on to a trailer. The supervisor there was a very cruel person in Kemo’s opinion. He wouldn’t allow workers to give each other a hand and refused to fix the beltway loading machines, which would have allowed the carpet to be transferred a lot faster and safer. He wanted every worker to load a carpet roll on to their shoulder and to walk it inside the trailer all day.
Kemo had no choice but to keep working there until something better came along.
That something better came in the form of a tax return check weeks later.
“We gotta invest this money,” said Kemo to Jasmine as he held the check in his hands. They were both sitting at the kitchen table as Rain slept in the bedroom.
“How?”
“I don’t know, but we really gotta make some money to get up out of here and maybe open up a little business or something, cuz I hate working for someone else.”
“A business? What kind of business?”
“I don’t know-anything I guess. I just hate working for someone else. My supervisor is a real heartless dude.”
“Okay, but how do you wanna invest it?”
Kemo thought for a few seconds. “I got an idea, but it’s a little illegal.”
“What? Drugs?”
“No,” said Kemo with a frown.
“Why not?” asked Jasmine with a surprised expression on her face.
“Because I tried that before for a minute, and the only way to really make some money is if you’re moving real weight.” He held the tax return check in his hand. “And this check isn’t enough to do that. But even if it was, I still wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the only way to for real make it in the dope game is if you’re very lucky or if you snitch on people. Trust me; you either snitch or get snitched on. That mess employs way too many cops. You should see how many guys were in jail with me over a dope case.”
“Okay, how then?”
“Counterfeiting.”
“You know how to do that?” said Jasmine in shock. She never expected Kemo to know any kind of white collar crime.
“Yeah, we just need to buy some stuff.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I read about it in jail. I know exactly what to do.”
“What do you wanna counterfeit?”
“Money.”
“How much will it cost to get that started?”
“’Bout a thousand.”
Jasmine sat up right, her min
d heavy in thought. She then stood up and began pacing as she replayed Kemo’s words. Moments later, she finally made her mind up. “Okay, let’s do it then.”
“Fo’ real?”
“Yeah. Go cash the check and then go buy what you need. I’ll stay here with Rain.”
“Okay,” said Kemo with a wide smile as he stood up to leave. Jasmine; always the supportive one.
A few hours later, Kemo returned to his apartment.
“What happened?” asked Jasmine.
“I got everything. I just need some sheets to cover the boxes up before I unload them out of the car so nobody can see what we bought.”
Kemo walked to his closet and pulled out a sheet. He stepped outside once again and moments later returned with a large box covered with the sheet. He placed it on his living room couch, and then yanked the sheet off of it. It was a personal computer. Jasmine walked over and began examining the box. Kemo walked outside again and returned with two smaller boxes also covered by the sheet. When he uncovered them, Jasmine saw that it was a printer and a scanner. “Is that it?” asked Jasmine. “Is that all you need?”
“Naw, I got some special printing paper. I also got a spray can of smudge protector so the prints will be waterproof. I got a paper cutter too.”
Kemo went back out to his car and brought in the remaining material to his apartment.
“How much did it all end up costing?”
“A thousand bucks.”
“Okay, hope we don’t regret this,” said Jasmine as she stared at all the equipment, knowing Kemo had basically used his entire tax return check.
“We won’t.”
Kemo began opening the boxes and setting up. When he was done setting up and installing the scanner and printer, he quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small face twenty dollar bill. Print date 1979. He placed it in the scanner and began scanning it to print. When the printer finished printing the freshly scanned bill, Kemo took out the authentic note from the scanner and compared it side by side with the newly printed image. They didn’t match. He figured he would have to do some adjusting with the imaging software that came along with the printer.
