Blue Colla Make Ya Holla

by Laramie Briscoe

  I stood in place on the second step from the top but didn’t turn to face him. “It’s too hard.”

  “Please, I miss you. I know I fucked everything up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back. I meant what I said; I’m in love with you.”

  My throat constricted as the tears flowed freely from my eyes. A warm heat I’d know anywhere engulfed me as Carter came to a stop by my side.

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to believe. I can’t keep doing this.”

  “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I’d give anything to be able to go back in time and make it right. No matter what happens, my heart will always belong to you.”

  The truth was, I’d missed him so much I thought it would kill me. Denying it was so much easier when he wasn’t standing right beside me. I nodded, and then ran the rest of the way up to my apartment.

  Once in the safety of my home, I let myself cry for a little while and then began sorting through my life. For me to even consider getting back together with Carter, I couldn’t have anything to lose. There couldn’t be anything that he could take away from me.

  My job had been my biggest weakness. Now that it was gone, I was pretty sure I was safe on that front. I pulled out my beaten-up laptop and started going through my finances. Still short of my goal, this period of unemployment, however brief, was not helping anything. Realizing I’d never opened the thin envelope Bruce had given to me the last night I’d worked, I dug through my bag until I found it.

  The moment I began to open it, I could tell there wasn’t any cash inside. What I found, however, was much better.

  Lisa,

  Thanks for the memories. Call if you ever need anything. 310-555-2345

  Thomas

  Behind the note was a check for five thousand dollars, which was more than I needed to reach my goal. I was free. Now all I had left to figure out was if my heart could survive another blow from Hurricane Carter.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‡

  Carter kept his distance, which I appreciated. He must have figured I would come to him when I was ready, assuming I would ever be ready. It had taken a few days, but my decision was made.

  It was close to noon when I woke up with a runny nose and that icky feeling you get in your brain when you are coming down with a cold, but that wasn’t going to stop me. After a quick shower, I got dressed and headed down to the first floor.

  After jabbing Carter’s doorbell for the third time, I was ready to give up. Just before I turned to leave, his across-the-hall neighbor, Mr. Pereira, came up behind me.

  “He’s on days now,” was all the old man said before going back into his apartment and slamming the door. The man really was a treat.

  When I returned home, I decided to be lazy. I curled up in my bed to read and ended up falling back to sleep.

  Since I no longer had a job, I really should have started turning off the ringer on my phone. I was awoken from my six—holy shit—hour nap when my mother called and asked me for money. Apparently they were completely out of food and would starve to death if I didn’t help them this one last time. Even after my extended nap, I wasn’t feeling well enough to argue, so I caved. Since I needed to pick up some cold medicine anyway, I decided to buy actual food for them while I was at the store instead of handing over cash.

  I drove to the grocery store closest to where they were currently parked so they couldn’t complain about warm milk or any other such bullshit. Maneuvering slowly through the aisles, I picked up enough staples to last them about a week, and then swung by the pharmacy before heading to the check-out lanes.

  “Can I get the biggest box of twelve-hour Sudafed you have, please?” I asked the pharmacy technician. I grabbed one of the tissues from the courtesy box near the register and blew my nose. I was determined to keep my sinuses as clear as possible in hopes of nipping this thing in the bud.

  “I need to see your ID, please,” she said with the smile of someone who’d had a rough day but was required to be polite anyway. I knew exactly how that felt. She swiped my driver’s license through a card reader attached to her monitor and then typed a couple of things into the computer. “Tap the box that says you agree to the terms and conditions and then sign in the rectangle right below it.” I picked up the stylus that was tethered to the credit card machine and signed the agreement that popped up on the screen. I then slid my debit card through the machine since I had to pay for the decongestant at the pharmacy counter. Before I left the health and beauty section to head for the front of the store, I grabbed a bottle of Advil and tossed it in my cart.

  At the checkout line, I grabbed a travel-sized package of tissues from the display designed to suck all of the cash from the wallets of impulse shoppers and placed it onto the moving belt. I also grabbed a soda from the refrigerated case at the end of the lane. A few dozen annoying-as-hell beeps later, the teenage girl behind the register said, “That’ll be seventy-four forty.” A slide of my card trough the machine and a signature later, I was done. With the receipt in hand, I took the cart, that was now full of plastic bags, from the young kid who’d loaded it and headed for the car.

  After transferring the shopping bags from the cart to my trunk, I pulled the small paper pharmacy bag from my purse and ripped it open. I gave the box containing the Sudafed the same treatment. The paper backing from the blister pack that was holding the cold medicine hostage put up one hell of a fight against my fingernails, so I ended up using a combination of my teeth and a pair of tweezers that I found in the bottom of my purse.

  When one of the large white pills was liberated, I went on a search for his pain-killing friends. Of course, the Advil had to be in the grocery bag all the way in the back, which meant I had to dig through everything else before I found it, but at least the bottle was much easier to break into. I swallowed the medicine with a gulp of soda and then tossed the medicine into my purse.

  Satisfied that I was sufficiently medicated for the time being, I got in the car and headed away from civilization. My parents still lived in the same RV I’d grown up in, but its location had changed many times over the years. Right now, it was just inside Indianapolis city limits, but still out in the middle of nowhere. They usually didn’t have a problem finding land owners who let them pay in trade.

  Mom and Dad came outside just as I popped the trunk. The mess I’d made had shifted during the drive over, so there was hardly anything still in a bag. “What’s this?” Mom asked, looking over my shoulder.

  “I figured I’d save you the trip since I had to go to the store anyway. There should be enough here to last a week.” The gears turning in her head as she tried to come up with a way to complain were almost audible. My impatience with them grew as I randomly shoved stuff back into the plastic bags. “After this runs out, you’re on your own. Like I told you before, I can’t afford to waste money on you. I’m also done putting up with your bullshit. I’m getting my life back on track, and I don’t need you holding me back.”

  I didn’t offer to help them carry anything inside, as I never wanted to step foot inside their home-slash-factory ever again. Just as I handed them the final bag, a booming male voice scared the shit out of me.

  “IPD! Put your hands on your head and get on the ground!”

  I turned to see about a dozen men, wearing all black, racing toward us with guns drawn. Looking back toward my parents, I watched them drop the bags and then run out into the field. There was no doubt that the two officers giving chase would have them cuffed in less than twenty seconds.

  After a brief moment of processing the scene in front of me, I realized it had finally happened. My parents were finally going to get help for the addiction that had ruined the last sixteen years of my life. I briefly wonder if the relief washing over me made a bad daughter.

  “I said, get on the ground!” the officer who’d just come up behind me yelled. It wasn’t until he stepped around me that I realized the barrel of his gun was trained on my head. I held m
y hands up to show him I wasn’t armed.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “They went that way.” When I started to point in the direction my parents had headed, a large hand wrapped around my wrist. Before I knew what was happening, he had my arm twisted behind my back. He yanked it up higher than was natural, causing me to wince, and then grabbed my other wrist. When he saw my pain, he said, “That’s what you get for being a two-bit whore.” Then he swiped the back of my knees, causing them to buckle. As soon as my knees hit the ground, he shoved the heel of his boot in between my shoulder blades and pushed me the rest of the way down. A jagged rock tore the skin on my right cheek and forehead as he dug his knee into the small of my back.

  “What’s going on?” I asked again, struggling to take a full breath with his weight bearing down on me. He was silent as he tightened the handcuffs around my wrists. My fingers would start tingling soon from the metal restricting my circulation.

  “Alissa Ross, you are under arrest for manufacturing narcotics with intent to distribute.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.” My shoulders screamed in pain as he pulled me to my feet by the short chain between the cuffs. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction since he seemed to get off on it. When he spun me around, I saw my parents being shoved into separate police cruisers.

  Nothing felt real. It was if I was underwater; I could see and hear everything, but it was distorted.

  “Hey, Sullivan!” one of the other cops yelled to the man who now had a bruising grip on my bicep. “Pseudoephedrine!” I forced my eyes to focus on the man standing by my open car door holding my purse.

  “Good work, Smith! Couldn’t have done it without you!” Sullivan shouted back.

  Smith? Carter! I jerked my head to look away with so much force my entire body shifted. It took everything I had not to vomit.

  Sullivan jerked on my arm. “Do you want to add a resisting arrest charge, whore?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t move. When Sullivan dragged me to a cruiser while reciting the Miranda Rights, I didn’t feel any pain. I was completely numb, both inside and out.

  *

  When we arrived at the police station, I was searched, my belongings confiscated, and I had to sit on display while they filled out some paperwork. Once I was processed, Sullivan paraded me through the bullpen for everyone to see. Most of the men from the scene were sitting on top of the desks around the open room.

  My eyes instantly found Carter’s. Not wanting to see his reaction, I jerked them away. Even though I didn’t see the expression on his face, I knew what it would be. Pride. Victory. Yep, he’d fooled me…again. My stomach churned. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I’d decided to go back to him. I was ready to confess my love and apologize for not trusting him.

  The cuffs behind my back were finally removed after I was shoved into a small interrogation room. Sullivan pushed me into a chair and then cuffed me again, this time tethering me to a loop on the table, as if I were a violent criminal.

  Growing up in an environment that was overflowing with paranoia, especially where the police were concerned, taught me one valuable lesson: keep your mouth shut. For the first two hours I was at the station, I exercised my right to remain silent. When the ‘good cop’ was calmly asking me questions, I stayed quiet. When the ‘bad cop’ was screaming mere inches from my ear, I didn’t flinch.

  For a minute, I’d thought about using my one phone call, but I realized there wasn’t anyone who would help me and defeat dampened my spirits. I was sure Madison would if I asked, but I didn’t want to get her involved with this mess. Even if I did, she still thought my name was Lisa. She would be hurt that I hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her my real name.

  “Maybe some time in lockup will help you remember how to speak,” Officer Shithead—er—Sullivan said when he realized I wasn’t going to crack. He unchained me from the table and grabbed me by the arm until I had no choice but to stand. I would have stood without him touching me, but he obviously liked to play rough. He pulled my arms behind me and refastened the cuffs, once again much tighter than necessary.

  There were three other women in the cage where I was deposited. Fuck me. There sat Jill the whore. Maybe he really had fucked her. Maybe I should have been thanking her. If she hadn’t interfered that night, I would have told Carter I loved him. The only empty seat was beside her, and I was so exhausted that I took it.

  “What are you in for?” she asked as I sat next to her. The bitch didn’t even recognize me.

  “Something I didn’t do. You?”

  “Officer Hottie Pants pulled me over and accused me of drunk driving, again. He should have just taken the blow job and moved along. They’ve left me in here for three fucking hours!” she screamed at the guard sitting outside the cell. “Who do I have to fuck around here so I can go home?”

  My anger reached an all-time high, and I itched to lay her trashy ass out. The only thing that stopped me from adding assault to my list of charges was an officer I didn’t recognize coming into view. “Ross, your attorney is here to see you.”

  “I didn’t hire an attorney,” I said.

  “All I know is there is a guy in an expensive suit saying he’s your attorney, which means I’m required to take you to see him. You don’t have to let him represent you, but you have to be the one to tell him.”

  This officer was nicer than Sullivan and left the handcuffs much looser. On my way back to the interrogation room, I noticed Carter’s desk was vacant. He was probably out with his buddies celebrating my arrest. Of all the things I thought he could be after, I never even considered the possibility that he was trying to take me down for drugs. There were many things he could have legitimately arrested me for—prostitution, tax evasion, assault—but he chose the one thing I didn’t do. The worst part was he knew I wasn’t involved in my parents’ business. He had been using me the whole time to further his career in order to impress his mommy and daddy, and he didn’t give a fuck what happened to me.

  A man in a suit stood as I entered the room. “Ms. Ross, my name is Rodney Hastings from Smith, Lewis, Hastings, and Perkins. I’ve been retained to represent you.” He turned his attention to the officer when he went to chain me to the table. “That isn’t necessary. She isn’t a violent offender.”

  The officer nodded and left the room. Mr. Hastings held his hand out to me. “I didn’t call anyone,” I said as I shook his hand.

  “I’m taking your case pro bono. An anonymous friend of my firm told us about your case and asked us to help you.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say, but I can guarantee your case will receive my full attention, and I will do everything in my power to make all of this go away. Will you allow me to represent you?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I would wait until later to worry about who had called him. When the firm realized it was a mistake, I could pay them with the money I had saved for tuition. If I ended up with a record, I wouldn’t have any use for that money anyway. All I knew was I needed this man’s help, and I needed it now.

  “Tell me what happened. Start with the part about why your face is bleeding and then circle back around to the beginning.”

  After I told him about being pushed to the ground and into the rock, I gave him an abbreviated version of my life story, from the first time I saw my parents high until the moment I shook his hand.

  “These young cops will do anything to make a bust. They are trying to make a name for themselves and don’t care about the facts or who they hurt,” he said. My heart sank at the thought of what Carter had done to me. “There is no way they’ll be able to make this stick. The most they can pin on you is failure to report a crime. They might try to charge you with more, but I’m sure a jury would listen to your story and let you off.”

  He sounded so sure that it would be okay, but I didn’t share his confidence. “I can’t have an arrest record. It will ruin everything.”

  “I’m going
to get you out of here tonight. I want you to go straight to Saint Joe’s hospital and have them document every scratch and bruise on your body. Give them one of these,” he reached into his breast pocket and produced two business cards, “and they will know what to do.

  “I’m going to have a little chat with the District Attorney. When you’re finished at the hospital, go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you first thing Monday morning to give you an update on the case. If, for some reason, I’m not available, I’ll have my colleague contact you in my stead. I’ll get ahold of you if anything urgent comes up before then.” He made sure I was looking him in the eye before he finished speaking. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything.”

  Hoping a higher power—one I wasn’t sure I even believed in—would hear me, I prayed he was one person I would actually be able to trust.

  Chapter Thirteen

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  The waiting room at the hospital was packed, but when I showed Mr. Hastings’s business card to the triage nurse, she bumped me to the top of the non-critical list. While waiting for my name to be called, I stared at the subtitled television hanging on the wall. Not because I was paying attention, I just wanted to affix my eyes somewhere appropriate so I wouldn’t risk freaking someone out if my empty stare happened to land on them.

  About an hour after I arrived, I was taken through the large double doors to the back. It was a good thing I wasn’t modest, because a young nurse photographed every inch of my body, and then a doctor poked and prodded for a while.

  When I was finished being examined under the microscope, I called a taxi. I was too far from my apartment to walk, and my car was still out at my parents’ campsite. Deciding to get my car instead of making another trip out to pick it up later, I gave the driver detailed instructions to the middle of nowhere.

  Pulling around the bend, I could see that the field where the raid had taken place was cordoned off with yellow police tape. As we got closer, there wasn’t another soul in sight. My car was also absent, likely impounded as evidence or some other bullshit excuse to make my life hell. If one more shitty thing happened, I would end up in a padded room. Without even opening the door, I asked the driver to take me to my apartment.