Prison Throne

by T. Styles

“I said that we would forever be connected. You didn’t believe me then.” She slid a thick strand of hair behind her ear. “But you do now.” She said slyly. “Don’t you?”

  Rasim stepped back and his eyes rolled up and he glanced at the darkening sky. He pinched his nose, crossed his arms over his chest and focused back on her. Basically he was doing all he could to prevent from snuffing out her life. “Selena, those memories are yours not mine. What I’m telling you is specific and related to our son. You cannot tell Stanley that I’m his father or I’m going inside for nothing.”

  “It’s too late for that, Rasim,” she snapped. “I had to tell him because of how you approached me the day you came to his job. He knows you’re his father.”

  “Fuck!” Rasim yelled walking a few steps away before rushing back. He didn’t want Stanley to know he was his father because in order for his plan to work, Rasim couldn’t be associated with a known snitch.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he repeated sarcastically. “Bitch, everything!” He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. The only reason she was alive was because he didn’t want to kill his son’s mother. “Selena, I told you not to tell him so when were you going to tell me that you already did? Once I was inside?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Because of you, I’m gonna have to treat him like a third world nigga. He’s not going to like it and you won’t either.”

  She slapped his hands off and he backed up. “It won’t be hard, Rasim Nami. Because he doesn’t know you anyway.” She stormed off switching the entire way.

  “’Ole stupid ass bitch,” he mumbled as he watched her stomp off.

  He regretted the day he went home on a pass and fucked that skank and now it was too late.

  ****

  With Vance and Selena out of the way, it was time to thank Snow properly. For the next few days he and Snow indulged in blissful sex. The way they did when they were first married. Although the escapade was meant to put Snow at ease and to express how much Rasim cared for her, in the end it caused her to resent his decision to bounce even more.

  On the day before Rasim was going to violate his probation, he and Snow were lying in bed. Her head rested on his left bicep while he stroked her silky skin.

  “I’m going to miss you, Rasim,” she whimpered kissing his chest before resting her head again. “So much.”

  “I hope so, baby,” he chuckled to lighten the mood. “If not, I’m not doing my job right.”

  “I’m serious, Rasim. A year is a long time and for some reason I feel like you’ve been gone already. I know it’s part my fault, because of the fighting we’ve been doing and all, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting so bad. I’m not the kind of woman who can survive without her husband. I feel like I’m dying already.”

  He looked down at her, kissed her lips and squeezed her tighter. “I’m coming back to you, Snow. Just trust me.” He knew what else he had to say but he was hesitating. “And when I do, I’m going to give you a child of your own.”

  Jackpot!

  Snow hopped up, straddled Rasim and looked down at him with a wide smile to match her wide eyes. “Are you serious, Rasim?”

  “I am,” he exhaled. “I know this has been hard for you and that you sacrificed a lot. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

  Snow thanked him as best she could, with a steamy fuck session. They made love the entire night until neither could cum anymore and she lay in his arms until the morning.

  At sunrise, instead of it being a normal day, Rasim had work to do. He woke up, showered and sat at the kitchen table as Snow prepared a healthy plate of fried eggs, wheat toast and bacon. When his belly was jammed, he was given his first cool glass of Mimosa in a crystal flute.

  He held it in his hand, looked up at Snow as she stood behind him, and then downed the entire glass in one gulp. Rasim hadn’t drank in years but being wasted was a part of the plan. He needed to be fucked up when he sat in front of his parole officer.

  Snow poured him glass after glass and his head wobbled around and he could barely hear.

  After drinks were served, Snow sat across from him and rolled splif after splif at the kitchen table. When she was done he smoked all five blunts and she even joined him a few times. When the drunk and high session was concluded, Rasim lost complete control of his neck and the only thing he saw was the ceiling and the fan.

  Now that he was blitzed, she assisted him into her car. Since he didn’t have access to his limbs, he fell headfirst in and she pushed his legs and feet inside before closing the door and driving him to his parole officer.

  When they arrived, she parked in front of the center. Tears rolled down her face and when she wiped them away, more followed. She wanted to be strong. That’s what he demanded of her but he was hammered so she felt he wouldn’t notice.

  She rubbed his hair again and moved in for a kiss but he threw up in her mouth. She squinted while tasting the foulness of the champagne, eggs and meat and she opened the door and spit it out.

  Shaking her head, she grabbed napkins from her glove compartment and cleaned him up the best she could.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he responded with several bobbles of his head. “I think I did too much.”

  She giggled. “You think?” She wiped some creeping tears again. “You just make sure you come back to me, Rasim. Because for some reason, I feel like this is it between me and you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what happens in there, I will be back for my wife.” He pushed the door open and toppled to the ground. It was the only time she ever saw her husband minus the grace. Eventually he made it to his feet and slammed the door so hard her eardrums rang.

  She didn’t help him this time. He was out of her hands. Instead she watched as he swerved toward the large glass door leading to the office.

  Before long, he vanished inside.

  CHAPTER 20

  RASIM

  CUMBERWOODS FEDERAL CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION – MEDIUM

  Face up, looking at the bunk above his head, Rasim wondered once again if he made a mistake. Successful at violating his parole, he was now forced to consider what lay before him. One hand rested in the back of his head and the other was tucked just under the belt line on his brown prison khakis.

  He had been there for a week and still had not seen his son. Although he didn’t have a bond with him yet, he didn’t want him to get killed before he had a chance to save his life either. The love he held in his heart for Stanley was primitive of course. He was his son and at that moment it was nothing more or nothing less. The goal was to reshape his damaged mind due to Rasim missing the wonder years, so an event like this would not happen again.

  Originally Rasim assumed that he would go directly into general population but the captain reviewed his sheet and considered him a high risk. After all, Rasim held dominion over the DC population and with a wave of his hand could cause an all out war.

  So the captain kept him segregated pending an interview. The purpose was to reach into his mind in the hopes of seeing Rasim’s position and motives. But Rasim put on a show worthy of an Emmy of course and now he was waiting on the verdict.

  When Rasim’s cell door opened, he sat up on the bunk. It was Officer House, a handsome fellow, with swelling muscles that threatened the threads of his uniform. House’s motto was simple: follow the rules and you’ll have enough respect from me to have an easier ride. “Let’s go, Nami,” the guard said. “You’re being transferred to another cell.”

  Rasim stood from the bed, strolled up to the officer and turned around. Cool handcuffs were placed on his wrists and he was escorted to his new home.

  When they arrived to his cell, he spun around and faced the bunk and Officer House removed the cuffs. After he organized his spot, it was showtime. He stepped to the mirror on the wall, adjusted his white Kufi and bounced out of the cell.

  The moment he passed the first corrid
or, two inmates, Parker and Shawn, followed Rasim to protect him with their young lives. No orders had to be given either. Rasim was king and the moment they received the intel that he was arriving, they signed up for the duty. Rasim knew the young men’s fathers who were both killed at one time or another while on the dope battlefield so he knew they came from the proper breed.

  With each step of his boot against the grungy floor, men of lesser caliber felt their hearts stop. Moments earlier they were loud-mouthed fools looking to scare newborn punks who hadn’t been in prison longer than a few months. But now that Rasim was on the block they avoided eye contact for fear he’d pull their cards. They wouldn’t dare try that weak ass game on him.

  Past the fakes, past the intimidated, he continued until he reached a pool of men of his stature. Men who were noble but due to a wrong move here or a glory killing there, before long, they earned the epithet of Career Criminal.

  Rasim greeted the menfolk with firm handshakes and eye-to-eye contact. Although they were pleased to see their comrade, they didn’t want him behind the wall. He was good people and they respected him.

  Rasim had made each of them wealthy in and out of prison and they owed him their lives. They were Timothy, Whitaker and Eddie of southeast DC.

  True gladiators.

  “Aw shit, look at Hairy Monster,” Timothy joked.

  Rasim rubbed his growing beard. “You know what it is. I needed a change.”

  “Speaking of change, let’s get to the question at hand,” Timothy said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What you doing back in this bitch?” Timothy was a large light-skinned male with hanging black moles over his face. They itched terribly and every now and again he’d scratch one off too roughly and it would bleed and topple to the floor. He was the last nigga you wanted around your food.

  “It’s a long story,” Rasim said as he stood with his hands clutched before his body. Remembering he was in prison, despite his soldiers holding the line, he glanced around to assess his surroundings. “Let’s just say I made a wrong move and now I’m back.”

  “I’m surprised they brought you here though,” Timothy said. “This joint been so crowded they been tossing niggas out the window just for space.”

  “Well I can’t say I want you in here either but I’m happy to see you well, homie,” Whitaker interrupted as he clasped his hands behind him. Whitaker was tall and dark–skinned and wore a six-inch cicatrix across his face.

  “So what’s up, Ras? You still heavy on them weights?” Eddie questioned as he play boxed him from below. “’Cause you look like you grew a knot or two.” He chuckled.

  Eddie stood 5’5” if you were giving credit for how high his chin extended toward the air. If not, he was 5’2 with more wrinkles on his brown skin than what was normal for a man of twenty-two.

  “How ‘bout I show you instead,” Rasim challenged, rubbing his hands together.

  “Shit you ain’t said nothing but a word.”

  The four good friends and Rasim’s personal bodyguards hit it to the yard talking shit the whole way. Once outside, he scanned the environment for the one man he felt was worth a year of his life. Stanley. His only son. After a thorough stationary investigation, he spotted him standing next to Gordon who was lifting heavy. Gordon was lying on his back and sweat puddles rolled away from his face while watering the grass beneath him.

  Stanley’s hands were cupped in front of him. Head low. Eyes against the ground. When Rasim squinted he saw that his face was outlined with so many blue bruises that he looked as though he was ready for a casket.

  Rasim didn’t feel like lifting weights anymore.

  Upon seeing the condition of his son’s face, Rasim’s muscles bubbled all over his body like cooking popcorn in a bag.

  Judging by the stiffness of Stanley’s stance it was obvious what was going on. His man-child belonged to Gordon.

  Rasim’s forehead started sweating and his upper lip was glistening too. The urge to commit homicide was so strong he could see himself with a solid twenty if he made an imprecise move.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. He had to calm down because this wasn’t the plan. Getting arrested for shaving Gordon’s arteries would not help himself or Stanley in the least. But before he could activate his new plans, his comrades noticed the shift in his disposition.

  “You aight?” Eddie asked touching his forearm with a firm grip. He was short but it didn’t mean that he would avoid a battle or a fresh scar if Rasim deemed it necessary. Before receiving an answer, Eddie scanned the yard himself for a hometown villain who could’ve caused his friend such dismay.

  “Naw, I’m cool,” Rasim lied as he looked away from his son and pretended to be focusing on a band of Virginia niggas huddled in a group like a losing NFL team. “Just thinking about some shit that’s all.”

  He dropped his hand. “Oh,” Eddie responded in a relieved tone. “You know the rules, man. Once you in here, the outside world don’t matter.”

  Rasim heard him but he was on some other shit. He knew if his next statement was related to Stanley in any way, then later that night, when his comrades were lying in their bunks going over the dailies, at least one of them would be perceptive enough to peep the father-son resemblance in spite of the hair that covered Rasim’s face.

  So he produced another conversation about this bad bitch he fucked five years ago that didn’t exist. It worked too. If his homies loved nothing else, they were suckers for a good New Pussy Story.

  Fifteen minutes later he figured he stalled enough. So he focused on Stanley again and asked, “Who the kid with the banged out face?” He pointed at him.

  “Aww, that’s some snitch from DC,” Whitaker responded rubbing the scar on his face before allowing his hand to plop down. “He was involved in that church robbery that happened uptown not too long ago.”

  “Oh yeah?” Rasim responded with raised brows.

  “Yeah,” Timothy added as he took a moment to scratch around one of the larger moles on his face. “Young boy caught a case of bitch teeth and got a lesser sentence than his homies. But them niggas got shipped out Philly somewhere, I think.” Timothy looked at Stanley with disgust. He hated lip flappers. “Gordon bitch ass be having that snitch doing all kinds of shit too. Cleaning his room, buying stuff from the commissary using his account and everything. I even saw him brushing the nigga’s teeth one day.” He shook his head. “It’s pitiful but the boy had it coming.”

  The moment the last statement rotated off of Timothy’s lips, Stanley disobeyed Gordon’s rule and looked up to stretch his neck because it caught a cramp and hurt something terrible. When he saw his father standing in the yard, he grew goggle-eyed, released his cupped hands and bounced confidently in Rasim’s direction.

  “Hold up, what type shit the young boy on?” Eddie said as he peeped the lad’s course, which was headed their way.

  Parker and Shawn stepped in front of Rasim, eager to slap him back into the head lowered, eyes down, immobile stance he was known for all day. Eddie grabbed the hidden shank with intentions to slice.

  But the moment Stanley was in front of them in preparation to speak, Rasim stepped up and stole him in the face so hard that he fractured the lower level of his jaw.

  His only child passed out cold.

  CHAPTER 21

  SNOW

  Snow was driving down the highway with more shit on her mind than her heart could hold. Her hands shook as she steered the car on the way to see her husband. It had been three whole weeks since she laid eyes on him. And for a bitch like Snow who moved based on her nigga’s heartbeat, the separation was pushing her toward the brink of insanity.

  When she saw a traffic accident up ahead her eyes popped open and she clutched the steering wheel tighter. Apparently a black Honda thought it could give a red Porsche some competition and found itself in the family way…pregnant with a guardrail stuck under its body. Meanwhile the driver of the Porsche was already clocked in at work.

 
Snow sighed because she knew the hour was approaching for visitation to be over and if the traffic jam didn’t vanish soon, she wouldn’t be able to see her love until next week. Truthfully she was supposed to already be there but one of their mules got arrested in the middle of the night and Snow had to make provisions. She hadn’t had a moment’s sleep.

  When her cell phone rang she gripped the purse in her seat and wrestled with the lotion, mirror and Victoria Secret’s catalogue all while her eyes remained on the road. When she felt the coolness of the phone in her palm she snatched it, turned it on and pressed it against her ear so hard air got trapped in her drum and she had to release it and reapply just to hear.

  Due to the traffic jam, she couldn’t move any further. So after listening to the greeting and accepting the option to speak to Rasim, she waited to hear his voice.

  The first thing she heard was huffing and puffing.

  She could tell by the way his agitated breath pushed into the phone that he wasn’t in a cheery mood. “Where the fuck you at?”

  She swallowed and looked at the pregnant Honda, which was just being separated from its baby. The guardrail. “Behind a traffic accident. I’m coming as soon as I can, baby.”

  Rasim’s breaths grew heavier, causing Snow’s intestines to roll like a belly dancer.

  “Why you didn’t leave earlier, Snow? Huh? You didn’t want to see me? You fucking up already and it ain’t even been a month yet? Huh? Tell me now!”

  Of course she couldn’t tell him what happened over the phone. She needed to wait until she saw him to give him the details.

  Rasim was no stranger to the penitentiary system and Snow was no stranger to holding him down. But something else was up. She was shocked at the tone of his voice and it didn’t feel right. Was he guilty of something that she was unaware of?

  During the other stints, he appreciated how hard she worked for him and told her in letters, calls and visits. But now he was short and it was as if he were trying to pick an argument on purpose. “You know I want to see you,” she said softly as she tried to release the urge to cry. “I haven’t been able to sleep since I haven’t been in your arms. I’m dying here, husband.”