by Leo Sullivan
“I can’t tell you that!” I yelled defiantly. I couldn’t believe that she was wasting tears on that no good ass nigga. “Ma, I can’t believe you! He beat your ass all the time! I told you that he tried to rape me! Damn right I killed that sorry muthafucka! He deserved it and you’ll appreciate it one day!”
She slapped me. “Watch your mouth. Do you understand what you’ve done?” In panic, her eyes wandered around the house at all the cops.
I clutched my cheek with a stunned look on my face.
“Okay ma’am. There’s no need for that,” Officer Greyson said attempting to restrain her.
My mother jerked her arm away from him. “She’s my child!” She focused her attention back to me. “You can’t just be shooting people Ze! What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?” Then she turned to Officer Greyson. “Why are y’all searching my damn house?”
“Ma’am it is police procedure in a…”
“Procedure my ass!” Her eyes were wide as she fumbled inside her purse. She lit a cigarette and took a long, deep pull. She blew the smoke out of her nose as she nervously watched a cop look under the brown, leather sofa. That seemed to agitate her more and I watched as she tapped her foot.
It was then that I realized that if they found the dope and money in the house my mamma would be going to prison for a long time. I suddenly felt guilt ridden. Not for Goody’s murder, but for my mom’s fate.
“What were you thinking about Zeaira Rowe? You’re in big trouble? Do you realize that?” She narrowed her eyes at me as a visual warning that we were both in deep trouble. She took another long puff from her cancer stick.
I watched her hand tremble as an officer looked inside the closet and removed several suitcases. Her eyebrows rose as a shine of perspiration began to gleam on her forehead.
I responded mockingly, “Trouble?” I laughed. “Fuck trouble. I won’t be in any more trouble now than I would’ve been in if that perverted ass bastard was still living. You’re my mother. You were supposed to protect me! Instead I decided to protect us because I love you. Goody never did. Daddy didn’t hit you! I wasn’t gonna just sit back and let Goody keep hurting you and I damn sure wasn’t gonna let that nigga rape me either!”
“Oh God Zeaira,” my mom murmured sadly as she ran her fingers through her hair.
The cop that searched the closet opened up one of the suitcases and began to ruffle through it. He opened another one and threw the clothes on the floor in a heap. I looked over my shoulder to see a cop about to open the brown Louis Vuitton suitcase that I was certain momma stashed her drugs in.
“What the fuck are you doin’? Stay outta my shit!” My mom yelled with her eyes ablaze which could have passed for fury, but I knew that it really was fear. I had to do something and fast.
I looked up at Officer Greyson and said in a small voice, “You have me and the gun. Do y’all have to destroy my momma’s home?” I saw his Adams Apple bob up and down as he looked at me and then my mom sympathetically. By that time she was chewing on her fingernails while looking at the cop struggle to get the lock open on the suitcase. Officer Greyson must have had a daughter or a wife at home because he gave me a subtle nod and hollered at the officer that was just about to open the suitcase.
“Bernard, that’s enough! You and the rest of the unit go back to the station.” He then turned to my mom and said, “Mrs. Rowe, we have to take Zeaira down to the station. You can meet us there. We can’t get her statement without you present. If you will confirm what your daughter has said as the truth it can be used in her defense. She may even be able to stay in your custody until her court date. I can’t promise you anything, because this looks like over kill rather than self-defense. Still, she’s a young lady who may have snapped after experiencing a great deal of trauma. Things could still work in her favor.”
My mother nodded. Her eyes had become misty again. She was probably thinking about all the money and dope that she had stashed in the suitcase. I knew that she was going to drink and snort herself into oblivion later that night. She sniffed that shit up her nose like a vacuum cleaner. I could only pray that she would not kill herself with a lethal combination of alcohol and coke. Goody sold coke and bought it by the kilo. I didn’t know where she got the habit from, but I knew that in had to be linked to Goody’s lifestyle
Officer Greyson glanced at me as he spoke. “You ready?” He asked as if I had a choice.
I nodded and they escorted me to the car. I didn’t even bother looking back at my mother. She couldn’t see it yet, because her only concern other than me was the dope and money, but I’d saved her life. It didn’t matter if it meant that I had to give up my own for a while. I would’ve done it again if I had to. On the way to the police station I still felt no remorse.
“Good riddance,” I said out loud.
“What was that?” Officer Stephens asked as he looked back at me.
“Oh nothing,” I said smiling as I stared out of the window. I’d actually enjoyed killing Goody. I felt a high as I filled his body with hot steel and watched him take his last breath.
Chapter 2
1994
“Zeaira, your mom is here to see you,” Mrs. McGee, the only CO I liked, said as she smiled warmly at me. I had been at Kennedy House Juvenile Detention for a few months and I hated being there. I got up off my bunk and followed her to the visitation room.
“She looks really good,” Mrs. McGee said giving me a knowing nod. We’d talked a few times about my mom’s addiction to cocaine and alcohol. She’d been clean for four months and I was proud of her.
“Thanks Mrs. McGee,” I said graciously as I scanned the small area for my mom’s familiar face. I spotted her sitting at a table in the center of the room. She looked better than I’d seen her look in years. Her long, straight, coal black hair looked healthy and shiny and her dark brown eyes were clear and bright. I had the same long, curly lashes she did, but I’d gotten my light brown eyes brown my father. She was about 5’7 with a curvaceous frame. At one point Marissa Alvarez-Rowe knew just how beautiful she was. That was a long time ago, before my father was killed and before she met Goody. I hoped she was getting back to her old self.
“Mom,” I said with a big smile on my face. She stood up and pulled me close to her in a warm embrace. She smelled so good and the little girl in me wanted to go home with her.
She patted my hair. “What did you do mamacita?” Her Cuban accent was still evident.
“I cut it,” I said as we sat down.
“Why’d you cut your beautiful hair off chica?” She frowned. “I love your hair. It’s just like your father’s.” She smiled as she mentioned him.
“It’ll grow back mom. You look so beautiful,” I said touching her cheek lovingly.
“Thanks baby. It’s going on five months now that I’ve been clean. Your friend Buff came by to bring you some more money a while back. He really tries to look out for you. Anyway, I could that tell he is a hustler who needed a bigger come up. I gave him the rest of the coke I had stashed and that was the last day I got high.”
“You did what?” I asked in shock as I scooted my chair closer to make sure that no one could hear us.
“I gave him the rest of it. He was going through his pockets to find the money that he had to give to you when a few cocaine rocks fell out his pants. He was so embarrassed.” My mother chuckled and then continued. “I surprised him and gave him the coke. You should have seen the look in his eyes. Two days later he brought back seven thousand dollars. His ass surprised me. I wouldn’t accept it. You know I’ve been going to church with your auntie.” Mama gave me serious expression as I contemplated what she said. Things were starting to add up. Buff had put several thousand dollars on my books. He continued to send me lots of money on a monthly basis. That was his way of showing love for what my mom had done.
Mama quickly changed the subject with a sad face as she wrung her hands nervously in her lap.
“Oh, baby girl, I miss you so much.” Tears
were moistening her eyes.
“Don’t cry ma. I’m fine. The next three years will fly by. Okay.”
“I haven’t seen you shed a tear one time since everything happened. How’d you manage to be stronger than me? You’re a baby. You should be at home with me. This is ridiculous. I thank God for those months I had with you before they put you in here. How’re you holding up sweetie? Are they treating you right in here?” She asked looking me up and down as if she was doing an inspection. “Are you eating?”
“I’m fine ma. Don’t worry about me. And I’m not a baby. I haven’t been for a long time. You know that.” I looked down at my hands.
She nodded. “Look at me chica.”
I looked up and made eye contact with her.
“You’ll always be my baby. Okay,” she said.
“Okay mama.”
“You know that I’ve been going to church with your Aunt Paulette since I gave the drugs up.”
“Yeah and that’s good.” Aunt Paulette was my late father, Jerome Rowe’s baby sister. She was stationed at Fort Bragg army base in Fayetteville, NC because she’d been in the Army for eight years. We’d lived in Fayetteville most of my life.
She continued. “Well, I need to come clean with you about some things. I left you in the dark about a lot because I felt the need to protect you. I felt that knowing the truth would corrupt you, but I was wrong. I think not telling you only made things worse. You need to know the truth about everything. I have to do this to be a better servant of God. You understand, right baby?”
“Yes ma. I understand,” I said.
Of course you know that I met your father when he was stationed in Cuba when I was seventeen.”
I nodded and waited to hear what she was so anxious to tell me.
“He was eighteen and had just enlisted in the Army. It was his first deployment and his first time anywhere outside of the States. My parents were strict, but for some reason they had no problem with my interest in your father. I guess they felt that if I married him I’d have a better life in the US.”
She continued her story and I listened attentively as I pictured the scenes in my mind like a movie. When I returned to my cottage my head was swimming. What my mother had told me was shocking, but it all made sense. The pieces of the puzzle had finally come together because I’d never understood why anyone would want to hurt my father.
My mom’s three brothers were deep in the coke trade and were involved with a very dangerous drug cartel. Their reach extended pass Cuba into the US. They’d been dealing with the main ports of Florida and New Orleans. Their names were Alejandro, Havier and Pedro. They were three of Cuba’s most notorious drug lords.
My mom had gotten pregnant and my father had returned to the US after his term in Cuba was complete. They weren’t married and my mother had a hard time getting a passport to go be with him. Cuba, of course, is not the most liberal country on the map, so getting my mother to America was a task. She ended up giving birth to me in Cuba where I learned to speak Spanish and a lot about my Cuban roots. My mother had taught me to speak English as well. When I was four we were finally able to leave Cuba to be with my dad.
He’d saved up and bought a modest home in a neighborhood in Fayetteville called Tiffany Pines. After four years in the armed services my pops used his GI bill to go to college. He decided to not reenlist and went to Fayetteville State University to get a degree in Computer Science. After he got his degree he got a job at IBM located in Raleigh, NC. He made the forty five minute commute to work and earned $80,000.00 a year. Life was good.
Eventually my uncles decided that they wanted more control over the US drug trade. They somehow had convinced my father to help them expand their illegal activities. Since he’d minored in mathematics in college he was excellent with numbers and knew how to keep the money coming. He developed a hunger for making money and enjoyed watching his stash grow. My father and uncles were moving kilos of coke all over the east and west coasts. He’d gone from a modest salary to making more than five million dollars a year. That was only his cut, so you could imagine what my uncles were making.
Some of my uncles’ business associates in Cuba were getting antsy. They loved the money my dad was bringing in, but shit was starting to get hot. Because they were moving the coke over international waters they felt like their cut should’ve been more than my father’s. My father and my uncles were getting too big for them. Later my uncles were found brutally murdered on a dirt road in Cuba. My parents somehow got my grandparents out of Cuba and moved them to the US.
My father was so deep in the drug game that after the murder of my uncles he didn’t stop. He only took it upon himself to find another connect. He couldn’t go back to working a regular nine to five after making so much money, so instead of going legit he continued to make millions illegally.
We ended up moving to St. Louis, Missouri, where my father was originally from. He hooked up with his best friend Darrick and his brother Black. They quickly moved to the top of the drug game. He purchased a million dollar home, cars and other luxuries that were a result of living the lifestyle. Life was lovely, or so it seemed.
I could still remember it just like it was yesterday. I was nine years old and I’d just received an award for making straight A’s and having the highest average in my fourth grade class. My daddy was going to definitely take me to Baskin Robbins for two scoops of Cherry Vanilla Ice cream. When I made good grades he’d either give me money, or take me to the mall to get some expensive. designer clothes. Something was in the air that day. Although I should’ve been happy, I couldn’t help but feel like something just wasn’t right. When I walked inside the house I could hear the muffled sounds of sobs. My mom was crying. I walked into the living room and there she was sitting in the dark with the phone in her hand.
I ran over to her. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” I asked.
She didn’t even look up at me. She just stared down at the phone. Her sobs became louder and then she finally spoke. “Your father…he’s gone.”
“Gone? Where did he go? Did he leave us mommy? Did he leave like Kelly’s daddy?” I asked. Kelly was my best friend at the time. Her father had left them a few months before.
She put the phone down and finally looked at me. “No, he’s dead baby. He’s gone.” She rocked back and forth with tears streaming down her pretty face, but for some reason she couldn’t look me in my eye.
I remember going numb. I looked at the bracelet on my arm and stared at his picture like it would bring him back. My whole body had shut down. Part of me died that day too. I was never the same. They said my father had been shot three times in the chest and four times in the head execution style. His body was found by two fisher men at a nearby lake. There were no witnesses or any evidence that could bring forth any suspects. Out of fear we went back to North Carolina. My father had left a lot of money behind, but my mother had blown that in no time. At least that was what she had told me. I had always had the feeling that she wasn’t telling me something. There were times when she would come up with large sums of cash and then there was that time when I saw all that money in the suitcase.
My grandparents had ended up moving with their other daughter Rosita in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and we moved in with my Aunt Paulette. I had the feeling that momma was hiding something.
My mother ended up working at a night club as a waitress. At the time I didn’t know that she was on a mission. Eventually she met Goody at the club. He was a hustler with potential and we moved into his house in University Estates. That had all been part of her plan; a plan that had backfired.
I never knew that my father had been a hustler, or that my mom could be so conniving. She’d kept me in the dark about her past. I’d heard some people refer to my father as a drug dealer, but I always thought it was a lie. She’d always told me that my father worked with computers. Finally his murder made sense. My uncles’ murderer or murderers had to have killed my father too. They felt that my father was
still a threat to them somehow and they had to eliminate him as well.
My bunkmate Ameria walked into the room and interrupted my thoughts. “You comin’ to chow?” She asked.
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a little while.”
“You okay?” She asked.
I nodded and she reluctantly left the room.
Suddenly I felt the tears coming. It actually felt good to cry, but after one good cry I vowed that I would never cry again. All I wanted to do was destroy every muthafucka who’d ever caused me pain. The first ones on the list were those Cuban fucks who killed my uncles and my father. I didn’t know how, but I was going to touch them when I got out.
Chapter 3
My first day in juvie was like my first day of high school. I had a hard look on my face wishing a bitch would. All I could think about was how I was going to beat a bitch’s ass if she came at me on some gay bullshit, point blank, no questions asked and no unnecessary fussing. The guard led me to one of the many one story brick buildings that they referred to as cottages. There was a fence that surrounded the property. I smiled at the thought of escaping to Buff’s crib in Campbell Terrace projects in the Ville.
Campbell Terrace had a bad rep, but I felt safe there because Buff, whose government was Jamal, ran shit with his older brother Jimel. Jimel, better known as Zeus in the streets, was twenty and Buff was seventeen. Zeus was fine as hell with his black, sexy ass. He was 6’4 and weighed a solid 225 lbs. He had sexy, dark brown, tight eyes like he was part Asian, with thick juicy lips. Buff was nice looking too, but he hadn’t made it to Zeus’s status yet. I knew that those niggas could take on those faggot ass guards if they came to break me out.
“Okay Zeaira, meet your bunkmates Ameria, Christeena, Lorielle, Felicia and Monica.”
They nodded and mumbled unenthusiastic hellos. I didn’t say anything in return. Ameria was the only one who smiled at me. I could tell that Christeena was a lesbian. She didn’t look like she belonged in juvie. She appeared older and was bigger, like she was in her early twenties. She was tall, about 5’10 with a thick frame. She wasn’t fat, but she wore big clothes and sported corn rows. She was the color of milk chocolate with a pretty face. Lorielle, Felicia and Monica were suspect, but I couldn’t tell by looking at them. Ameria seemed to be straight, but you never could tell.
