by Elliott, K
He looked at Dream, avoiding her eyes. “I would like that, but I don’t know how to give the police a report when I know my wife has the car. How do you turn your own wife in to the police?”
Dream sat in silence. She had nothing to say, and she definitely didn’t know how to answer his question.
“Ms. Nelson, the sad part about the whole thing is that I love my wife very much. I wish you could see her. She is really a beautiful woman when she ain’t using dope.” Charlie was in tears.
Dream wanted to say something to ease Charlie’s heartache. She felt she needed to say something, but she just couldn’t seem to find the right words.
*** Dream arrived home at eight o’clock after a late workout at the gym. Her gym clothes were soiled and she smelled dreadful. She never took showers at the gym because of a few lesbian members, some of whom made her uncomfortable. The water in the shower was a bit cold, but quite refreshing. After she dried off she put on some shorts and an Atlanta Falcons football jersey. Hunger pains cramped her stomach. She was preparing herself a baked potato and a small salad when the phone rang. She glanced at the Caller ID and saw it was a number she did not recognize. She hesitated before picking up the phone. “Hello.”
“Dream, baby, what’s up?” She knew the voice immediately. Is he out? she wondered. She hadn’t heard the little prison recording that usually preceded his calls. “Hey, DeVon. What are you doing calling here?”
“I got out this morning. Just thought I would hit you up to see what you were up to.”
“I’m chillin’. I’m really glad to hear your voice.”
“Are you?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Listen, I was wondering if I can come over to see you.”
She contemplated before speaking. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“You still seeing that guy, Jamal, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I ain’t going to try to come between you two, but I was wondering if we can get together for lunch tomorrow.”
“I would like that. I can probably get away from the school around one o’clock. I don’t have a fifth-period class, so we can meet downtown at Mert’s on College Street.”
“Cool,” DeVon said.
*** By 1:15 P.M. the following day, the lunch crowd at Mert’s had thinned. Dream arrived at one o’clock and there were only four tables occupied. She took a seat near the front. When DeVon arrived his smile covered his entire face when he saw her. Instantly she realized how much she actually missed him. She stood and they embraced.
“I’m glad you decided to meet me,” he said.
“Yeah, and I’m glad I came. You look very nice,” she said, admiring DeVon’s bulging biceps and massive chest. His black fitted sweater looked as though it was shellacked on him.
He grinned. “Yeah, you still look good as hell. How’s your family?”
“Everybody’s good. Thank you.”
“So what’s good here to eat?”
“My personal favorite is the blackened pork chops.”
When the waitress appeared, they both ordered the blackened pork chops with yellow rice, gravy, and macaroni. They caught up on old times until the food came. DeVon made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to go back to jail, and somehow she believed him. After all, he hadn’t actually intended to commit a crime. He’d had an accident and as a result, someone lost a life. He filled her in on rehabilitation and vocational classes that he had taken while incarcerated.
She took a sip from her iced tea. “What kind of classes did you take?”
“Basic electrical ones. Hopefully I can get a job as an electrician.”
She nodded, impressed. It definitely seemed as though he had a plan. At least he had used his prison time wisely. She realistically knew it would be hard for a black ex-con to succeed in today’s job market. She remembered that DeVon smoked marijuana religiously, and the day of his car accident the investigating officer said DeVon reeked of it. Later, after being examined by the doctor, marijuana was found in DeVon’s bloodstream, and as a result, vehicular manslaughter charges were filed against him. “So can you pass a drug test?”
He chuckled. “Are you interviewing me?”
“No, I just want to know because that’s going to be essential if you really want to make it out here. Almost everybody is drug testing.”
“For your information, I can pass a drug test. As a matter of fact, I haven’t smoked any weed in more than six months. I have a job lined up already. I appreciate your concern.”
She stared at him briefly before turning away. Dream’s mind drifted to the last time she had made love to DeVon. He had come over the day before court. She hadn’t wanted him to be alone, because she knew he was nervous about his court appearance. When he arrived, it was dark, and she had candles lit. The dimlylit apartment was very romantic. She’d met him at the door wearing a robe, and nothing underneath. Laying eyes on her, he scooped her up and rushed to the sofa before they made their way to the bed. Their sexual appetites were ignited, and DeVon pounded her head against the headboard during intercourse. Before it was all over, they were outside on the back deck. It was 2:00 A.M. when they finally finished.
“Sounds like you’ve gotten yourself together.”
“I have. I mean, this whole prison thing has taught me that I ain’t no real thug. I thought I was until I met some serious brothers in there. Rapists, cold-blooded killers, and big-time drug dealers—real criminals who showed me I wasn’t shit. If not using drugs means I’ll stay out, then I won’t use again.”
“So why did you want to see me so bad?” she asked, bored with all the prison talk.
He hesitated before speaking, then he reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “I missed you, and I think we made a real good couple. I want us to get back together.”
Dream turned away briefly before resuming eye contact. “You know I’m involved with somebody.”
“But I need you,” DeVon pleaded.
She pulled her hand back, stood, flagged the waitress, and asked for the check. “I’ve got to go now, DeVon.”
He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and looked up at her. “Want to go dutch?”
“Save your money. This one is on me.”
He winked at her. “You know you still love me.”
“Find yourself a woman. I have to go now.”
*** Two days later, Dream was in the faculty parking lot loading her things in the back of her jeep when she felt a tap on the shoulder. She turned and was face to face with DeVon. “What do you want?”
“I just need to talk to you.”
“How did you get here?”
“I walked. I needed to see you.”
She took a deep breath. “Get in. We’ll ride and talk.” As they pulled out of the school parking lot, she glanced over at
him. She noticed he was casually dressed, wearing loafers, jeans, and a gray blazer. It was only three o’clock, wasn’t he supposed to be at work? Though she didn’t know much about electrical work, she figured he should at least be wearing work boots. “So were you off today?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“Yeah, I didn’t get the job.”
“Why not?”
“I need money for tools.”
“How much are tools?” she asked naively, because she really
didn’t have the faintest idea. She didn’t even own a screwdriver. “I mean, I can probably get all the tools I need from the pawn
shop.”
She turned and looked at him. He looked very sad and she
wanted to help him but wondered why. He had cursed her out
while visiting him in prison. Why did she feel so gullible? Why did
she want to help someone who didn’t appreciate her? “How much
do you think you’ll need to get the tools from the pawn shop?” she
asked.<
br />
“One hundred and fifty dollars.”
Dream pulled into a convenience store, jumped out, went to the
ATM, and retrieved two hundred dollars. “Get the tools you need,”
she said, handing him the money.
“I can’t take your money,” he said, leaving her hand dangling in
mid-air.
She frowned. “Take the money. I want you to have it to get what
you need.”
He quickly grabbed the bills and put them in his pocket. “I’ll
pay you back when I get my first paycheck.”
“If you do, fine. If you don’t, fine,” she said, looking straight
ahead.
He turned her face toward him and they stared at each other for
what seemed a long time. “I really appreciate it, okay?”
CHAPTER 15
A FTER THE DEA BUSTED Angelo’s girls, Jamal and Angelo figured they needed to come up with a different method of getting the drugs back to North Carolina.—at least until they felt better about going through the airports again. Angelo found a couple who was in desperate need of money. The husband-and-wife team had fallen on some hard times and needed to make some money to stop foreclosure on their home and to help their daughter with tuition. They agreed to drive the product across the country but said they would stop delivering product as soon as they were caught up on their bills. Angelo paid them two-thousand dollars each trip and they made at least two trips in a month. Everything seemed to be going well for Jamal until he received a call from Tony the informant who said it was very necessary that they meet.
“I’m beginning to think this shit is a game.” Dawg’s face became hardened.
“Why do you say that?” Jamal asked.
“I don’t know, it just seems like something ain’t right about this whole situation.”
“Well, Tony called me this morning saying that the Feds had some new info about us, and he wanted to meet with me again.”
“Are you sure this mu’fucka ain’t telling the cops about us?”
“How? He’s not around us enough to find out anything.”
“Well, I want to go with you this time when you meet him.”
*** It was 7:00 P.M. when Dawg and Jamal reached the Starbucks. They took a seat next to the fireplace.
Twenty minutes later, Tony showed up biting his chapped lips and rubbing his ashy hands together as if he was trying to keep warm. “What’s up, guys?”
Dawg stared at him. “What’s up with you?”
Tony pulled out a pack of Newports and looked around. Nobody else was smoking. “Is this the smoking section?”
“Who gives a fuck? Tell us what’s going on,” Dawg demanded.
Tony lit his cigarette before starting. “Okay. Two girls from San Diego got busted and they called your names.”
“How do you know this?” Dawg asked.
“I have connections with the DEA. Must we go through this again?”
“Okay, so what do we have to do now?” Jamal asked.
“Well, again, they’re trying to gather enough evidence to go to the grand jury to get you guys indicted.”
“What are you getting at?” Dawg asked.
“We need more money.”
“I thought your man said the $25,000 would take care of us,” Jamal said.
Tony took a puff from his cigarette before flicking the ashes on the shiny hardwood floors.
“He did say that, but that was before the new evidence was introduced. Now the agent has to get in the files and dispose of the new shit.”
Dawg stared at Tony again. “This shit sounds kind of funny to me.”
“Jamal spoke to the agent the last time. Everything I say is legit. How else would I know so much about what’s going on with you guys?” Tony asked.
“So, how much do you need now?” Dawg asked.
“Twenty thousand, and we’ll clear everything up, I swear to you.”
“When do you need it?” Dawg asked.
“I need it now. We need to do this fast before it’s too late.”
Dawg looked around the coffeehouse. Everybody was busy minding his or her own business. He then reached across the table and gripped Tony by the collar and yanked him halfway across the table. “If I find out that you’re fuckin’ us around, I will kill your ass. Know what I mean?”
“Y-yeah, man, I understand.”
Dawg then shoved him backward. Tony straightened out his rumpled shirt while looking at Dawg.
“Okay, Tony, this is the deal. I’m going to meet you back here in an hour,” Jamal said.
“Cool, I’ll be waiting on you in the parking lot.”
Jamal and Dawg headed to the car. Twenty thousand dollars more, Jamal thought. He definitely didn’t want to pay Tony the money, but he needed the protection. It was quite obvious that Tony had connections. He had names and specific incidents about a drug bust directly connected to Jamal and Dawg.
“I still say we don’t give the mu’fucka shit,” Dawg said.
“He knows something. How else would he know about the girls who got busted?”
“My whole thing is, whatever is gonna happen is gonna happen anyway.”
“You’re right, but I don’t want nothing to happen to us that can be avoided. You know the man is a snitch working closely with the Feds, and you know he’s probably friends with some of them agents. Besides, I talked to one of those redneck bastards on the phone. I believe Tony can help us out.”
Jamal quickly pulled in through the underground parking deck of the Arlington Condominiums. He hopped out of the car and got on the elevator. Once he was in his bedroom, he opened his safe and gathered twenty thousand dollars—all hundreds—and put them in a small, brown paper bag.
It took them twenty minutes to get back to Starbucks. Tony was in the parking lot behind the wheel of a black Buick.
“Give me the money. I want to emphasize the fact that I will fuckin’ kill him if he fucks us,” Dawg demanded.
Jamal passed Dawg the small brown bag. He knew that Dawg would be better at getting the point across to Tony. Jamal didn’t want to pay for the protection, but it seemed as though Tony had the key to his freedom.
*** The third week in November, Dream invited Jamal to a blacktie affair, honoring her father for thirty years of service in the school system. Her parents sat at the reserved table along with the superintendent and a couple of other principals from local high schools. Janice Nelson looked on in disapproval when Jamal approached the table in a full-length mink coat, wearing a diamond-encrusted pinky ring. She nudged Dream who was sitting beside her. “Why is Jamal making a spectacle of himself?” Janice whispered.
“What do you mean?” Dream asked. “Look at what he’s wearing. Didn’t he know that this is your father’s day? He’s embarrassing us. He looks like a pimp.”
Prime rib was served, and shortly after everyone finished eating, a series of long-winded speeches about David Nelson’s dedication to service and his advocacy for higher learning followed. At the end of the evening, Harry Stevens, the district superintendent, approached the Nelsons with a glass of champagne in his hand. “Again, I want to commend you for your service,” he said to David Nelson. “Hello Dream. Are you still teaching at Spaugh?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
Harry turned to Jamal. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
“That’s my boyfriend, Jamal Stewart,” Dream said.
“Well, I know you can’t be a teacher wearing a coat like that. That thing must have cost a fortune,” Harry said.
“No, I’m not a teacher,” Jamal said.
Harry sipped champagne and adjusted his crooked bowtie. “What do you do for a living, Jamal?”
Jamal became embarrassed. The Nelsons became silent. They, too, seemed a bit rattled by Harry’s question. Finally Jamal said. “That’s none of your business.”
Harry’s face reddened immediately. “Jamal, you are absolutely right.” He extend
ed his hand. “One last question for you.”
Jamal sighed. “What is it?”
“Who is your furrier? I must get my wife a coat like that for Christmas,” Harry said sarcastically, and chuckled as he walked away.
When Jamal and Dream left for the evening they met up at Dream’s apartment. Dream figured Harry’s comments must have upset Jamal. She could only imagine how he felt. Once they were inside her apartment, she turned the TV to David Letterman.
“Can you turn that, please? I’ve had enough of white, corny-ass humor.”
“I guess you’re mad at the little comment Harry made.”
He grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and changed the channel to ESPN. “You are so smart.”
“Oh, it’s okay for you to be sarcastic but nobody else can, right?”
Jamal looked at Dream briefly but remained silent.
Dream walked over to the sofa where Jamal was seated and sat beside him. “Listen, baby, I’m sorry you felt uncomfortable at the dinner.”
“I just don’t fit in with your family and friends,” Jamal said.
Dream rubbed his leg. “As long as we like each other, nothing else should matter, okay?”
“That’s easy to say, but it does matter.”
“Jamal, I don’t know what you want me to say. I mean, I will admit that the way we think is different, but I see that as the good part of the relationship. I like the fact that you ain’t this straightlaced nigga who don’t know shit about the streets.”
He smiled boyishly, turned, and kissed her. “So you like thugs?”
“Basically.”
“Did I embarrass you by what I wore to dinner?”
She turned from his gaze. “Honestly, Jamal, you could have saved the fur coat and the diamond pinky ring for the player’s ball.”
*** Dawg had told Mark that he and Jamal were taking a break from the business for a while because they thought the Feds were watching. Though it meant that he wouldn’t be hanging out with Dawg, Mark still kept him under surveillance.
Mark and Jeremiah were working together again. Jeremiah had apologized for offending him, and Mark had accepted the apology. Two days later, Mark overheard Jeremiah celebrating a trial victory of the Stinson brothers. Jeremiah was laughing about sending the boys’ seventy-one-year-old grandmother to prison for ten years. She was found guilty of conspiracy in allowing the boys to hide drugs in her house. The case was a real travesty, Mark thought. How could anyone delight in an elderly person’s misfortune?
