A Good Excuse To Be Bad

by Miranda Parker

  I sighed. When did being poor mean not having pride?

  Ava and I used to walk to this MARTA station to meet our dates. She met Devon and I met whomever he dragged along with him.

  Mama had advised us the day we moved here to never let a man know where we lived. Ava followed Mama’s wisdom for about three months. I lived by that with one exception, Justus. Had I not been tired, angry, stressed, and in need of much prayer—shoot—I would have let him in.

  I parked in front of Big Tiger’s office. It was an old brick ranch remodeled into an office that sat off Covington Drive about two minutes from the jail. I walked inside and smelled mint and bleach. Maybe the older people were over here.

  “Angel Soft . . .” Big Tiger yelled out the screen door and swung it open to greet me. “How about that girl?”

  He was Justus’s height, dark rich skin that smelled and resembled Noble muscadines, a broad physique that could choke a rock, but dressed as if he were stuck in a time warp. He dressed like the old Dope Boys from East Lake Meadows back in the early 1990s in a crushed velvet track suit and overpriced sneakers with a sick gold chain. I noticed the wedding ring on his finger, then smiled. Now I knew what had the office smelling like Granny’s idea of clean.

  “Hi, Big Tiger.” I hugged him and walked inside. “Where’s the wife?”

  “I’m looking right at her.”

  “No, you ain’t.” I patted his shoulder. “Where’s Mama D?”

  “She’s in the kitchen eating. We’re making chicken dinners for Mama’s church building fund. You know how I do.” He licked his lips and looked at me as if he would serve me up next.

  I felt a little warm. “You’ve seen Ava?”

  He nodded. “Girl didn’t look like she’d eaten soul food in decades. Shoot. She looked like she hadn’t eaten any food since high school. And I know ain’t no real food out in the boondocks where you live, so you’d better get a plate.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t.”

  “What’s wrong with you? You’ve never turned down Ma’s plates before. And I ain’t never known you to be this quiet except when . . .” He looked me up and down, then leaned back. “What’s his name?”

  “His name is tell me more about this mistress rumor.”

  Big Tiger sucked his teeth. “To be a preacher’s child, you sure is rude, Angel Soft.”

  Big Tiger called me Angel Soft because he thought I was softer than Ava, although everyone around me—everyone—thought I was a bad seed. He was the first to see the good in me. Don’t get me wrong. He was also the first man to bring out my bad.

  “I’m not trying to be, just want to get Ava home before her kids have a meltdown. Why don’t you have kids by now?”

  “Don’t know, unless your little angel is mine.”

  I punched him in the gut, walked toward his front window, and peered outside. A black SUV had made a right onto Memorial Drive. That was the third one of its kind I saw on my way here.

  I checked my watch, then turned back to Big Tiger. “You didn’t tell anybody that Ava would be coming here, did you?”

  He folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “I might be black, but I ain’t stupid. I slip in and out of the Dec with no pigeons chirping. I’m a shadow, baby.”

  Oh, brother. I rolled my eyes. Big Tiger had the most colorful language, and his words sang out of his mouth like a jazz poet’s. He always stayed abreast of the hottest slang, but slid in a few of his own signature catch phrases, like the Dec. It was short for Decatur. I once could listen to him for days. Today I didn’t have the time.

  “Angel Soft, I didn’t stutter when I asked you what’s the joker’s name who has you so bent out of shape? Is he the baby daddy?”

  “No, joker. Ain’t no dude—” I caught myself. Now I’d begun to sound like him. “Devon’s dead, Big Tiger. That’s messed up. My mind is all over the place trying to make sense of this. I’m just tired. Ava being home will help me rest easy, okay?”

  “Nope, I’m not buying that.” He shook his head. “You got me confused with them snobs up in the hills where you live. I remember when you staked out Pretty Tony’s place for five days in that old Hyundai Excel you used to live in. Your eyes didn’t blink until your camera stopped snapping shots of him, Kevin Dobbs, Cherry Jenkins, and them lost girls from the Avondale Children’s Shelter. So sleep ain’t your problem. Something else is. What is it?”

  “Besides the fact that you talk too much . . . That was back then and I’m not dealing with pimps and preteens anymore.” I caught myself again. The other night with Cade wasn’t too far from back then. “I’m dealing with Big Faith again. You know what happened the last time I messed with them, huh? My sister disowned me.”

  “Yeah, but something ain’t right about how that all went down either.”

  “Detective Salvador agrees.”

  “Why doesn’t he ask the Sentinel for theirs? That’s not your responsibility anymore.”

  “Unless he already did and he didn’t find what he’s looking for.”

  “And what do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know, but if I have to dig it up for him, I might as well take another look at it myself. I’ll be up all night, though.”

  “Why don’t you ask your sister first and save some time?”

  “I can’t ask her . . .” My eyes rolled. I stopped myself. “I promised her I wouldn’t snoop around.”

  “So now you’re keeping promises, too?” He chuckled.

  “Nope.” I huffed. “Motherhood makes you grow up a little.”

  “Good thing I’m not one.” He chuckled and sat down. “What about what I told you yesterday? You think there’s some truth to it?”

  “You tell me.”

  He leaned back in his chair and looked out his window. “I heard she was a member of the church, a young girl, groomed to be an armor bearer for your sister.” “If she’s no longer a member of the church, where is she? What’s her name?”

  He straightened up, leaned forward, all eyes and gold teeth on me. “Her name is Rachel Newton, and I don’t have a clue where she is, but I know someone who does.”

  “Who?”

  “Your girlfriend that owns the beauty salon near Stone Mountain.”

  “Halle?”

  “Yep, I used to see Rachel all the time when Mama had me drop off a few dinners to her shop.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “A few weeks ago. Two weeks ago, to be sure. She was in the office in tears. I remember now.”

  “Have any idea why she was crying?”

  “What else, a man.” He reached his hands to mine. “Don’t let this new dude put your nose up in the air. Bella needs a daddy, and I’m willing and able.”

  I stood up. “I know that. Thanks for the offer, but Bella has a father, and like I said before, I don’t have a man.”

  He raised his hand in the air. “Put your gun back in your holster, Angel Soft. I was just offering you a better alternative.”

  “I don’t have time for propositions. I need to find this Rachel girl like yesterday.”

  Big Tiger folded his arms over his chest. “Well, I’ll do a little chirping on my own and see which birdie is flying.”

  “Would you?”

  “For sure, and if you need a Dumpster diver, I know a good girl who can decode a credit card number off a coffee-stained receipt while it’s stuck between the napkin and the coffee cup.”

  He handed me a card. I slid it into my purse. “I have to see her do that myself.”

  “Let me know and I’ll set it up.”

  I looked at the card. “Her name is familiar to me.”

  “Give yourself a little time. It’ll come back to you.” Big Tiger turned toward the back kitchen door. We heard voices coming. “You sure you don’t want a plate?”

  21

  Saturday, 10:00 AM

  There was a stench in Dekalb County jail’s visitation hall that added aggravation to an alr
eady disturbing situation. It smelled like dirty peaches, urine, and souring trash, an odor that cataloged the pity I felt in my gut. I looked around the room and saw the smell scowling on the faces of those waiting in line with me. Then I asked myself, Why would my sister want to be here if she didn’t have to?

  Before I could see Ava, I had to prove I was worthy to be in this godforsaken place. It was worse than getting in the VIP lounge at Night Candy. See, just like a nightclub or a country club, in order to receive a visitor’s pass to visit a jail inmate, your name had to be on a visitation list. The catch was the inmate had to add you to the list, which meant that the person had to want to see you. I’m not sure if Ava wanted to see me, although she did have me listed.

  Yet by the time I had fought for a parking spot and found a locker for my purse that actually locked, I expected to be on that list. Call it rites of passage, my psyche playing tricks on me, or just plain old peer pressure, but I didn’t want to be turned away at the visitation check-in station.

  Besides, whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was something evocative about being so close to danger. In my years as an investigative journalist, my best work was comprised spending much time here recruiting new informants, many of whom spent more time here than in their homes. So I wasn’t surprised when a few folks standing near me waved and smiled. I had probably done a favor for them at some point in my past. I had done so many I had forgotten.

  As I watched a young blonde step out of line and come toward me, I hoped she could do a favor for me.

  “Paige.” I remembered her name the moment she hugged me. She smelt of cheerios and milk, like she did when she was eleven years old. “What are you doing here, girl?”

  She stepped back and gave me a bittersweet smile. “Jack’s in trouble again.”

  Jack was her big brother, an old informant who helped me on an exposé about the emergence of meth labs in Gwinnett County country club communities. He was once a good boy who led the young adult ministry at a popular church. He fell in love with mixing rock salt and cold medicine. I had hoped that his last rehab stint got him back to his old self. I guessed it hadn’t.

  “I’m sorry. Meth is hard to beat. I’ll keep praying.”

  She shook her head. “Naw, meth wasn’t his problem this time. He killed someone.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, not even surprised or fearful.

  “Oh . . .” My heart ached. He would never get off those drugs in prison.

  “Still going to church?” I asked.

  She bobbled. “Yes, ma’am. Got Jack set up with one of them prison ministries that have a legal defense fund. He said he didn’t kill the guy.”

  “Well, let’s hope so. What prison ministry is assisting him?”

  “Your brother-in-law’s church. Greater Atlanta Faith.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope, that church thinks that my brother can get out. Never would have thought about them if it hadn’t been for you and what you said the last time I saw you.”

  The last time I was a member of Big Faith, Bella was growing inside me. I cringed. It wasn’t that the church was bad. The church was great, what church wouldn’t be? I had to move away. Unfortunately for Jack, Ava, and a boatload of members I never spoke to again. I had forgotten them. I had forgotten Paige.

  “Remind me. What did I say?”

  “You said that I needed to be a kid and let God handle my brother. So I did. I’m attending college in the fall. The University of Georgia. Pre-law.” She smiled as she talked.

  I touched her hand. “I don’t know what to say.”

  She took my hand and held it. “Say nothing. I came over here to thank you, Ms. Crawford. You saved my life, and if there is anything I can do for you, I will.” She handed me her business card. “I’m a paralegal now. I could be of help.”

  “Thanks, Paige. I might have a job for you. Give me a few hours to get in touch.”

  The older man behind me tapped my shoulder. “They’re calling you.”

  I took Paige’s card and walked back toward the registration desk. My shoulders slumped. I was scared all over again. I presented my identification to a visitation officer. She gave me a number and made me wait in a new line with another, but smaller group of people. We waited until she called our number; then another prison officer directed us to an elevator and a booth number. To my dismay and amazement, the elevator stank, too. I had assumed the lobby smelled because of all the babies and whatever, but in the elevator toward the visitation booths . . . Should I be afraid?

  I received that answer as soon as the elevators opened. The visitation room was the size of two phone booths. Inside it was a mounted table and a chair. There was a black phone mounted to a steel base on the right wall. In front of me was a huge window that at first made me think I was looking at a mirror until I saw something behind it. I looked over the table, squinted through the window’s glare, and gasped. I saw Ava’s temporary home, a two-story, loft-like concrete and steel compound. The bottom row was a plastic lounge, much like the waiting room. The top floor contained caged rooms the size of a clothes closet. Their doors looked like freezer drawers. My throat tightened. Below, I saw more cells, more officers, and more inmates. But where was Ava?

  I checked my watch. I had only fifteen minutes with her and seven of them had already passed. I bit my lip. I was aggravated and anxious now. What in the world was she doing?

  Ava stepped into the room two minutes later. She wore an orange jumpsuit that complemented her complexion. I made a mental note of the color for myself.

  She sat down and reached for the phone. I wanted to berate her for showing up so late, but a rush of mercy swept over me. Her life was bad enough. I wanted to make her feel better.

  I smiled at her. “You have some nerve looking like an Aruba sunset up in here.”

  She brushed her hair down with her hand and chuckled. “Even in here I refuse to be undone.” Her voice held a sadness that touched me.

  I placed my free hand on the window. “I love you.” It was the first thing my heart needed to say to her.

  “I love you, too.” She sniffled. “How are my children ?”

  “They asked for you and Devon. I told them that you were away, which is kind of true, but to a child, it’s a boldfaced lie. I was hoping and praying that you were getting out yesterday, so you could tell them yourself. When do you see the judge?”

  She pursed her lips. Tears fell fast down her face. She stood up. “Tell my children I love them.”

  “Wait!” I jumped up and patted the window. I yelled, “Where are you going?”

  I forgot she couldn’t hear me without the phones. I picked up my phone and motioned for her to sit back down. “Please, don’t go.”

  She shook her head and refused to sit down.

  “Where are you going? We haven’t talked about your case, Devon’s funeral, anything.”

  “Why should I talk about something that’s not in my control?”

  “Okay, then why don’t we talk about things that are in your control, like how are you feeling?”

  “I’m holding on to what I believe in. God will show his face to me, soon. I know it . . . I miss my children; I miss him so bad.” Her hands trembled as she held on to the phone.

  “I know.” I wanted to remove the Plexiglass that separated us and hold her. “Did anyone in there tell you when will be your first appearance before the court?”

  She shook her head. Her tears trickled onto the steel counter. I whimpered against my will.

  “There’s such a backlog here. All I’ve been told is that it may take a day, a week, a few weeks.” She wiped her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

  I wiped my eyes. “We’re not going to let you stay in here no longer than today. Trust me on that.”

  “Don’t ruin yourself trying.”

  “Don’t you want to get out?”

  She looked at me. Her eyes were calmer than I’d ever seen. “I can’t control those things, so I can’t tell yo
u the answer. The only thing that I can control is my mind and my children’s safety. I sent them to you because that’s what you do best, protect our family. All that other stuff, leave it to God, Angel . . . Leave it to God.”

  I leaned toward the glass. “Why are you protecting Devon?”

  “He’s dead. What kind of protection could I give him now?”

  “Protecting his precious image from being tarnished.”

  “Angel, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not going to be a party to scandalizing my husband, especially not for my sake. Isn’t that my duty as his wife?”

  “Your duty should be to your children. They need you now. They have no clue their father’s dead. I don’t know what to say to them, and neither does Mama. And if I don’t bring you back today, she’s going to kill me. I need you to want to get out of here. You don’t have to be in jail to honor Devon. You need to be out here to help me find the real murderer. You need to be out here to save your church, because they haven’t been out here to see about you. Have they? They’re meeting, Ava, about you right now. They met about you last night. What do you want me to do?”

  Her body trembled now. She closed her eyes. Her mouth parted. She sighed. Then she opened her eyes again. “You want to get me out of here, then listen. I cannot appear before the judge until I receive a docket number. I don’t have one yet. I’m in a holding cell. It’s an overcrowding thing.”

  I exhaled. “Not good.”

  “Willis has encouraged me to make a plea.” Her eyes wandered off. “I think I’ll do that and make all this go away. I’m sure my drama is putting a toll on the church and you.”

  “No, you won’t!”

  Ava wouldn’t look at me. “I’ve allowed your friend Justus, to come and pray with me. I’m not ready to see my—”