Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

It’s obvious to her that her cellmate must have told them about their beef. Her cellmate sits at the center of the table. Storm can’t keep her eyes off the woman for this is the very first time she has saw her without her face all covered up. The woman is totally the opposite of what she expected.

  She expected her to be an old, hard-faced woman, maybe an ex-drug addict. For some reason that is what she thinks the women who are covered up must look like underneath the garments. She always believed that, for them to hide like that, they must be hideous. She automatically assumed that had to be the case for her cellmate.

  The woman has a youthful look in her eyes that she couldn’t see with the black cut-out around them. The material made her eyes look cold and creepy. Her skin glows and is flawless. She looks young, but her mannerisms and her laidback and mature aura makes Storm estimate her at around her late thirties.

  The woman’s position at the table and how everything revolves around her indicates that she must be their leader. Storm peeks up, and the table full of about eight women have their eyes locked in on her. The cellmate is pretending to be focused on the food on her tray, but it’s evident she’s saying something about Storm. They all watch her blatantly.

  Storm gets the feeling that something is going to go down in here. She’s worried, but she retains her calm swagger. In no way is she worried about fighting. She’s been fighting all of her life. She’s not even worried about them outnumbering her. She’s been there before as well. Being jumped on by more than five girls is less abusive than two girls because they all can’t get to you. What she is worried about is being cut in the face. That’s always been her biggest fear in life. A buck-fifty razor mark in the face will only add to her already super low self-esteem.

  Storm is so focused on the Muslimahs at the table that she doesn’t notice the table full of young women in the corner to her right. They notice her though. “That’s her right there,” the young girl whispers to her group.

  “You sure?”

  “I promise you that’s her. Yo Big Bruh labeled that bitch food, and I’m gon’ eat. On Bs,” she says with passion. The ‘Big Bruh’ she refers to is the cousin of one of the murder victims that Storm left behind at the robbery. “Big Bruh promised me bail if I rock this out for him.”

  “Let’s move then. What you waiting for?” a woman asks. She’s being the instigator because she loves the drama.

  “Nah, not right now. The shit gotta be done right. He want the bitch smashed all the way out, so it can’t be in the wide open like this.”

  “I heard. Say that.”

  “Big Bruh said the bitch dangerous. Like she thinks she some type of Mob Wife or something. Said be careful with her. I told him, ‘Fuck that bitch. I’m dangerous, too.’”

  “More less,” the instigator says, cheering her on.

  The woman takes the battery charge from the instigator and gets up from her seat.

  “Matter of fact,” she says as she walks toward Storm’s table.

  All the girls sit on the edge of their seats ready to watch the show and also ready to join in. They are just waiting for her to set it off.

  As the young woman is making her way over, Storm’s attention is captured by a more than familiar noise. The sound of the shower slippers shuffling across the floor, which has become a part of her everyday life, and it annoys her to no end. She looks to the doorway where the butch-looking woman has just come into the room. She drags her feet lazily across the room.

  Storm is caught by surprise when she feels a tapping on her shoulder. She flinches as she stands up from her seat. Storm looks to the young woman who has her hand planted on her shoulder. She wears a grin of sarcasm as she looks at her. “You Storm, right?”

  After studying the girl’s face and realizing that she doesn’t know her, Storm slaps the girl’s hand off of her shoulder. She stands in defense, ready to square up. “Who you?”

  The young woman smiles in mockery. “Relax. The homie Big Face said you wasn’t easy to touch. I just wanted to put a hand on your shoulder to prove him wrong.”

  Storm has no clue who Big Face is. She’s sure this has something to do with the robbery and homicide. She’s correct in her thinking. Big Face is a high-ranking Blood. One of the men she killed in the house was Big Face’s cousin.

  The young women from the table all make their way across the room toward them. The woman stands cool and calm as Storm jolts from around the table positioning herself, back against the wall. She’s ready for whatever is about to come her way. Before they are halfway across the room, the young woman sends them a signal to halt and they do.

  The young woman then backpedals away with her eyes glued on Storm. Storm bops her head up and down with a smile. “You fucked up,” she mumbles, allowing the girl the ability to read her lips. She seats herself, eyes still on the woman.

  With her attention on them, she hears the shuffling of the slippers in the backdrop. She cuts her eyes at the woman who drags along with her tray in her hand. Just as she passes the Muslimah’s table, Storm’s cellmate gets up from her seat. The play can be read if the woman was paying attention, but instead she’s busy eating, from her tray. She picks the food from her tray greedily while walking.

  The Muslimahs get up from their seats and all disperse in different directions. Just as the woman is about to sit down, Storm’s cellmate leaps at her, jumping on her back. The woman tumbles forward, dropping her tray. The woman flips and flops like a huge hog, but the Muslimah manages to hold on. By now everyone is running over to get a front row seat of the action. Storm watches from afar, mindful not to put herself in the center of the room where she could be next.

  The Muslimah rides the woman’s back as she bucks like a mechanical bull. She holds on tight with one arm wrapped around the woman’s neck. With the other hand, she appears to be dropping punches onto her neck. It’s not until the blood starts to gush that it becomes evident that she’s not punching her. She’s jabbing her with a shank.

  The woman screams bloody murder at the top of her lungs. The Muslimah continues to poke at her, not just in the neck but everywhere. When the screaming stops, so does the movement of the women, but the Muslimah continues poking. The woman bleeds profusely like a cow in a slaughter house. The spectators watch in awe as she stabs her mercilessly.

  The corrections officers bust in the room, dressed in riot gear. At the sight of them, the inmates disperse. The Muslimah looks up from her dead prey and doesn’t flinch at the sight of the many officers. They surround her, ready to attack, but she drops her shank and submits. She places her hands high in the air, as she stands up. She turns around slowly and places her hands behind her back to be cuffed. Paramedics rush into the room, and at the sight of the woman, they realize they are already too late.

  Storm watches closely as the Muslimah is shoved out of the room. Her demeanor is calm and easygoing, as if she hasn’t just committed cold-blooded murder over the noise of shower slippers. It dawns on her that she has been living with an extremely vicious woman. Chills run through her body as she thinks of how she’s slept in her cell not knowing how dangerous the woman really was.

  She asks herself how she didn’t detect the viciousness of this woman. She realizes she most definitely slipped on this one. They say you should never judge a book by its cover, but this woman had no cover for her to judge in the first place. The black covering hid her viciousness well.

  She considers that she could have easily been the one lying out on the floor in cold blood right now. If she had ignored the Muslimah’s request, she would’ve learned the hard way that the Muslimah was about her business. Better the other woman than her, she thinks to herself. She counts this as another one of her blessings in disguise. She walked in this jail on point, eyes open, but now after witnessing this, she won’t close her eyes, not even to blink.

  56

  Two Weeks Later

  Man
y days have passed, and Storm has been able to keep herself safe and out of harm’s way. Her cellmate was shipped to a maximum prison, which got her a new bunkie. The new roommate is a young girl who is in jail for the first time. She wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight but has gotten locked up for conspiracy to a murder. She’s the codefendant, along with her children’s father.

  The woman came into the cell a nervous wreck. Storm felt sorry for her and tried her best to put her at ease. She kept the girl close, just so nothing could happen to her. In all reality she could barely keep herself safe with all the tension she had around her, but she was able to keep it cool and keep them both safe. Storm protecting her was not about her being a good Samaritan. As she looked at the young cutie she saw the bigger picture. By protecting the young girl today on the inside, Storm hoped to capture her mind and take their bond to the outside and make some money together. She’s always working.

  Storm is sure one day her safety would eventually run out and they will get heart to make their move. It’s too late now because they will never be able to catch her in a position like this. They didn’t make their move while she was on the inside, and she promises that is the biggest mistake they could ever make. She has plans on making them pay for that mistake, starting with the homie Big Face. She hated to have left the young girl alone to fend for herself, but she charged it to the game of life.

  Storm also found out the story on her own cellmate. The woman was already facing murder charges. Not murder like murder as result of robbery murder, but psychopathic murder. The woman drowned her three babies in the bathtub and waited for her husband to come home to see them in the tub, dead. This was done after finding out that her Muslim husband of twelve years had had a stripper side-chick, for years. The worse part of it all was the three year old son, the man and the stripper had together, behind the woman’s back.

  She felt more betrayed because she converted to Islam for him and dedicated her life to it. As she covered herself up totally and was home dedicated to the religion her husband was out chasing the women of the world. The pressure of all she found out caused her to snap. Once he came home and witnessed the surprise she had for him, she stabbed him. She left him alive though to live with the consequences of his actions.

  Goosebumps pop up all over Storm’s body when she thinks of how she slept in a room with a psychopath. She already knew her life was over, which was why she had no problem committing more murder. All of this has been an eye opening experience for Storm, but now it’s over. Well, at least, it’s over for the time being. She can only hope that the attorney has the juice that she heard he has and she’s able to beat the charges. She will deal with that when the time comes, but for right now, that part of it is over.

  The Source Hearing that was supposed to be held a week after the arraignment was finally held two days ago. That was after the prosecutor requested a two-day extension and on that day he couldn’t make it because he was supposedly held in contempt of court on another case. Once the prosecution couldn’t duck and hide any longer the judge supposedly had a medical emergency. Tony informed Storm that all of that was game playing just to keep from releasing her.

  They searched through Mr. Antonelli’s financial history as well as his personal history and hated that he was as clean as a whistle. They dug as far back as the first million he ever made. It baffled them as to why a White senior citizen was willing to put up two million in cash for a poor black criminal. They subliminally made accusations that she was one of his prostitutes or escorts.

  That is after they asked him if she or anyone else had made any threats to him if he didn’t post the bail. When all failed, they attempted to scare him out of posting the money by stating that she was his responsibility while out on this bail, and if any other crime is committed, he would be charged, along with her. Not fully knowing what any of this was really about he became worried until Tony explained to him that, in no way, was that legal.

  Right now both Storm and Mr. Antonelli are just happy that phase of it is over. They know that is only half of the battle and the hardest part of the fight is to come. During the time of her incarceration Mr. Antonelli had some time to think. This situation leaves him with so many questions.

  He’s started to doubt her innocence in all of this. He can’t force himself to believe that she’s a murderer, so it’s easier to convince himself that maybe she’s guilty by association. The motive he can’t understand because he provides for her. He’s sure it has to be more than money that has her wrapped up in this. He just doesn’t know what.

  “You know the lawyer told me that they questioned you about three more murders, right?” Mr. Antonelli asks, looking over at the passenger’s seat.

  “I’m sure he did,” she replies, not even looking at him. She continues to look out of the window, not even interested in his conversation.

  “Ang—,” he starts but can’t fix his mouth to say it. He can no longer see her as an angel. “What is going on? All this is too much for me. I’m an old man. You’re gonna give me a heart attack. Please just come clean with me, at least.”

  “Wow,” she says with a smile. She’s quite stunned. “Look, I came clean but you don’t want to believe me,” she says still looking out of the window.

  He leaves it at just that, realizing that she’s sticking with her story. They continue on with their drive, neither of them saying a word. His mind is filled with questions that he may never get the answers to, from her, and her mind is just all over the place. She has some questions that she needs answered as well, and as soon as she’s showered and changed she plans to hit the streets and get those answers.

  * * *

  Hours later, Breezy parks behind Storm’s rental car on the outskirts of the projects. He gets out holding a shopping bag with a sneaker box peeking over the top. In his right hand, he grips his .9mm inside of his coat pocket. The money inside the sneaker box is the last of the money that he owes her for the work.

  In total he scored a little over sixty grand off the kilo she gave him. She hasn’t applied any pressure on him for the money because she wasn’t in dire need of it. But now with her being a hundred and some change in the arrears from the police raid, she’s now in need. The money she’s lost with Toy and the girls just adds to her financial distress.

  Storm looks in the mirror at herself, through her dark shades, and it’s like a blast from the past for her. Her hair is tucked neatly inside of the baseball cap. Her appointment isn’t until the end of the week, so until then, the hat will be glued to her head. Her baggy track suit has her looking like the tomboy she hasn’t seen in some time. The only difference from back then and now is the coat of make-up that covers her face.

  She watches closely as Breezy makes his way toward the car. She grips her .9mm under her left thigh. She hasn’t been able to sleep a wink since the detectives questioned her and made accusations that he told them some things. Now she plans to find out what exactly he told them.

  Breezy gets into the car and takes his hand off his gun just long enough to close the door. He looks over at her, and although she has dark shades over her eyes, he can still feel the coldness bleeding from them. “What up?” he says.

  She takes notice that he didn’t greet her with peace, which means obviously he’s not at peace with her. He taught her that many years ago, and she’s never forgotten it. She also notices that his right hand is still in his pocket. She wonders if it’s guilt that has him on guard like this.

  He hands the bag over to her. “That’s thirty-two grand. I crushed the whole thing on the ground in nickel bottles and scored like sixty-four. I gave you an extra four for your patience with me.”

  “That’s honorable of you,” she says with sarcasm.

  Breezy notices the sarcasm and cuts his eye at her. He says nothing though. “Yo, you know they came to my crib and snatched me, right?”

  “Yeah, I know,” she re
plies. “They told me when they questioned me. So, what they ask you? Better yet, what did you tell them?”

  That comment pushes him past his boiling point. “Yo, we not even gone play this game. Fuck you mean, what I tell them?” he asks while gripping his gun tighter. The grip he has on his gun is two-seconds behind the gripping of hers. In fact, she’s managed to slide hers to the edge of her seat without him seeing it.

  “When you ever known me to talk the police?” he questions with authority. “At eleven years old I didn’t run my mouth. I was a fucking kid and I didn’t say shit when they questioned me. Fuck I look like talking as a grown ass man?” he asks with spit flying from his mouth. “You know how the fuck I feel about snitches.” His rage builds at the thought of what she’s insinuating. “I will die before I ever tell a cop any fucking thing.”

  “Ay, you never know. Niggas change every day. All I got to go on is how you reacted that night.”

  “You know what? If it’s gon’ go down, we might as well do it right now on some Jesse James shit. You draw yours, and I draw mine, and may the best man win. I ain’t playing this game with you. I ain’t gon’ be watching over my shoulder while you call yourself sleepwalking me.

  “I know you and you ain’t gon’ run up behind me when I think shit all good and over with. On some real shit, you know how I get down, just like I know how you get down. And the only reason I ain’t go is because I love you like a sister. But right here right now, if what we built don’t mean nothing to you, let’s go!” He stares into her eyes with a violent streak. His body language tells her that he’s ready to go if need be.

  She sits back, cool and calm. “First of all, when you ever known me to shoot a motherfucker in the back or in the back of his motherfucking head?” she asks calmly. “That’s coward shit,” she says, raising her voice a tad bit. “Any nigga I ever took the fuck up outta here, we looked each other in the eyes before I did it.”

  Breezy’s rage has him sitting on the edge of his seat while she sits in her same calm position. “Me, too!” he shouts. “I ain’t never doubted your gangster but don’t doubt mine either!”