Entangled (Real in the streets)

by K Elliott

  Love always, DeVon The letter was moving, but Dream was not in a forgiving mood. She’d been humiliated and didn’t know whether she could ever go back to the prison to visit DeVon. She didn’t want to show her face there. She crumpled the letter before tossing it in the wastebasket. Maybe in a few more weeks, she told herself. She was having too much fun being single.

  She thought about Jamal. Though she had only known him for a few days, he made her feel like they had known each other for years. His personality was vibrant and lively. She felt so at ease around him, it was scary. He was clearly rough around the edges, but she was attracted to that part of him.

  Jamal didn’t break his neck to open doors, and he didn’t appear to be awestruck by her appearance like some of the other men she had gone out with. The only thing that really bothered her was the fact that he hustled for a living. She had dated hustlers in the past, but they’d been small-time weed dealers who had dealt just to support their habits. Even though Jamal didn’t say exactly what it was he was into, Dream could tell he was big-time. She wanted to keep seeing him, but she didn’t know what her family and friends would say if they ever found out. She would talk to Keisha about her dilemma.

  *** Stacey Matthews was both Black and Native-American. A tancolored lady, her hair came midway down her back. She was twenty-nine years old and very appealing. Originally from Arkansas, she had been with the DEA for eight years and had spent the last two years in Charlotte. Stacey would be paired with Tony Jennings, an informant in his early thirties, from Ruffin’s neighborhood.

  Tony had been busted with two kilos of cocaine and had immediately become an informant to avoid a prison term. He was indebted to the agency. Whenever the DEA needed him, they would call him. He had dark, dirty skin and a scruffy beard. He had the appearance of a junkie. On the day of the buy, Mark placed a small recording device under Tony’s shirt.

  “Can I put this thing in my pocket?”

  “No. The sounds will be muffled,” Mark replied.

  “Well why don’t you put the thing on the broad?” Tony asked. “Cause you’re the fuckin’ no-good doper who got caught

  bringing the poison in the neighborhood,” Jeremiah said. As much as Mark despised Jeremiah, he hated people like Tony

  Jennings more. They were the people pushing the dope to kids,

  the poor and elderly, making a once strong and mighty black race

  fragile and reckless. “Listen, Tony, we need you to get Ruff to sell

  you a couple of ounces.”

  “He’s not going to sell me anything. You know word on the

  street is that I’m working with the DEA.”

  “That’s why she’s gonna be with you,” Mark replied. “What am I gonna use her for?”

  “She’s gonna be your girlfriend,” Mark said.

  Tony looked at Stacey’s ass and smiled, revealing brownish

  yellow teeth.

  “This is only make-believe,” Stacey said.

  Tony was about to respond when Mark grabbed his shoulder

  and spun him to attention. “Tony, here’s the plan: You’re gonna

  knock on Ruff’s door and tell him you’re looking for something to

  party with.”

  Mark smoothed Tony’s shirt out so the device wouldn’t look too

  bulky.

  *** At 11:30 A.M. Mark and Jeremiah arrived in the BellSouth truck and pretended to be working. At 11:46 Stacey and Tony drove up to Ruffin’s house in a dark blue Cadillac Deville. Tony knocked on the door while Stacey stood two steps behind him.

  Ruff opened the door wearing a green terry-cloth robe. “What in the hell are you doing at my door?” he asked.

  “I need to talk to you for a second,” Tony replied.

  “Get away from my door. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  “Come on, Ruff, man. You know I ain’t trying to make no trouble for you, man.”

  “Yeah, right. Mu’fuckas like you don’t give a fuck who you bring down.”

  “Listen, man. I got money,” Tony said, flashing thirteen crisp hundred-dollar bills.

  “I don’t give a fuck about your money.”

  Tony leaned toward Ruff and whispered. “Hey man, I need something to give this broad, so we can party all night.”

  Ruff looked at Stacey for the first time. He smiled and she smiled back. “Is that your girl?”

  “Something like that. But hell, you can have her. Just let me get something to get high with.”

  Ruff took one more look at the beautiful Stacey and said, “I know I’m gonna probably regret fuckin’ with you. Y’all come on in.”

  *** “A hustler!” Keisha said. “Why didn’t you tell me this in Miami?” “I don’t know. It just slipped my mind with all the hoopla,” Dream replied.

  “Girl, you know you should have told me that.”

  “Yeah. He said he was a hustler,” Dream said as she took a sip

  from her lemonade. She had visited Keisha because she needed someone to talk to. Jamal had called her several times since returning from Miami, but when she saw his number on the Caller ID, she let his call go to voice mail. She really wanted to see him again, though.

  “Did he say what kind of hustler he was?” Dream placed her glass on the coaster in front of her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, there are all kinds of hustles out here. He could be doing a lot of different things like washing cars, selling clothes, promoting concerts—all these things fall in the category of hustling. My point is, hustling doesn’t necessarily have to be illegal,” Keisha said.

  “Well, Keisha, I don’t know exactly what he does for a living, but I very seriously doubt if the brother was washing cars he would be able to buy me a watch like this.” Dream held her arm in the air showing off the watch.

  “How much did that thing cost?”

  “A little more than $3,000.”

  “Damn. And just think I was the one he sat beside on the plane. I should have batted my eyes a little harder,” Keisha teased.

  “I didn’t ask him to buy me the watch.”

  “Yeah, I believe your boy might be big time. Are you going to go out with him?”

  “Should I?”

  “I can’t answer that for you. All I can say is, don’t let your parents find out what he’s into if you do decide to go out with him.”

  “Oh, hell no, never that,” Dream replied.

  Their eyes met as Keisha took a quick sip of her drink before saying, “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  Dream tried hard to contain her smile, but it materialized like moonlight on a summer night.

  “Look at you, blushing. You don’t have to say anything. I know what that look means. I’ve known you all of my life. What about DeVon?”

  “What about him?”

  “Girlfriend, you’ve got some major issues,” Keisha said.

  *** Tony and Stacey had purchased an ounce of cocaine from Ruff. Stacey had to promise she would come back to see Ruff before he would let her out of the door—and that’s exactly what she did. At 12:45 P.M. the next day, Stacey, Mark, Jeremiah, and five other DEA officers raided Ruff’s residence with a search warrant issued by the federal magistrate.

  When they kicked the door in, Ruff shouted, “What in the hell is going on here?” He stood in the middle of the living room wearing only a pair of white Fruit of the Loom underwear.

  Jeremiah grabbed Ruff by his neck. He slammed him on the floor face down before cuffing him. “Stay down or I will blow your fuckin’ brains out.”

  “Where’s your damn search warrant?” Ruff asked. “Mr. Ruffin, I told you before I left that I was coming back to see you,” Stacey said, laughing.

  “Bitch, you set me up!”

  “Where’s the rest of the dope?” Mark asked.

  Ruff turned from Stacey to Mark, and they made eye contact for the first time since the day Ruff’s money had been confiscated. “You’re the mu’fucka responsible for this s
hit?” Ruff asked.

  “No, you’re the motherfucker responsible. Where is the rest of the dope?” Jeremiah yelled, applying pressure on Ruff’s back with his knee.

  “Fuck you. Do your job,” Ruff said.

  Mark had radioed for the K-9 unit, and within minutes, a German Sheppard ran rampant through Ruff’s house before stopping in front of the kitchen cabinet area. Mark opened the cabinet underneath the sink and recovered two wrapped packages. He held it up and showed it to Ruff, who was speechless. The life had just been sucked out of him.

  *** Ruff sat motionless in the middle of the interrogation room with a blank look on his face, still handcuffed. This wasn’t the way his book was supposed to end. He had envisioned his departure from illegal activities many times. He would be living on a Caribbean island with pretty young girls all around him fulfilling all of his sexual desires. He finally looked up at the many DEA agents surrounding him. “I can’t believe this shit.” he said.

  “Well, believe it, Mr. Ruffin,” Jeremiah taunted. “You’re going down for a long-ass time.”

  Ruff dropped his head without responding.

  “Ruff, look at me,” Mark said in a friendly tone.

  Ruff raised his head, and their eyes locked. “What do you want? Ain’t you done enough?”

  “I want to help you, man.”

  “I already told you, I ain’t no informant.”

  “So you would rather do twenty-five years and be a hero for some guys who don’t care anything about you?” Mark asked.

  “I ain’t worried ’cause I won’t get no more than five years.”

  “Stop trying to help the son of a bitch,” Jeremiah shouted with hatred enmeshed in his eyes.

  “Mr. Ruffin, if you were a first-time offender, you would probably get five years, but you’re are a career criminal. Try twenty-five years to life,” Mark said.

  “I can do the time, I’ve done time before. You already know this,” Ruff replied.

  “So you want to do twenty-five years, huh?” Mark asked.

  Ruff stared at Mark for a long time before finally speaking. “You know what? I find it hard to believe you agents. You guys say that you’ll help me, and then fuck me when I go in front of the judge. How can I be sure that you ain’t going to fuck me? If I give you some information, I want the best possible deal I can get, meaning, I don’t want to do any time.”

  “Mr. Ruffin, I don’t lie. I’m a Christian first, DEA agent second. My dad is a Baptist minister. If I say that I am going to help you, believe me, I will do what I say.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about you and your Christian shit. Cops lie. You mu’fuckas are just as bad as us.”

  Mark sighed. He hadn’t anticipated Ruff being so hard. He knew it was time to take the conversation somewhere else. “Ruffin, do you remember how tough it was in prison without a woman?”

  “What the hell does a woman have to do with anything?”

  “We’re assuming you are a normal heterosexual male,” Mark said.

  “I am,” Ruff replied.

  “You like pussy Ruff?” Jeremiah added.

  “Make your point,” Ruff said.

  Mark walked over to a window and looked out into the city. It was a beautiful day outside as the sun shone brightly. Businesspeople paraded up and down the sidewalk and kids raced on their skateboards. “Come here, Mr. Ruffin, take one last look at the outside world, because I promise you won’t get a bond if you don’t help us.”

  “I don’t need to look outside. I already know what’s out there.”

  Jeremiah walked over, clutched the back of Ruffin’s chair and slid him over to the window. “Think about it Ruff. No more pussy for twenty-five years,” Jeremiah said, pointing to two women outside in very short skirts.

  Ruff took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”

  “We want to know everything. Let’s start by you telling us who the guy is in the white BMW and how long you’ve been dealing with him.”

  For the next hour Ruff revealed intricate details about his supplier. He told the agents about Angelo and how they had met in federal prison. He told them about Dawg and Jamal and how they were responsible for distributing drugs for Angelo on the east coast. When he was finished talking, Mark had ten pages of notes.

  “Is this Dawg?” Mark held up a picture of Steven Davis.

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “Just call it investigative work.”

  “Do you think you can help us bust Dawg and Jamal?” Jeremiah asked.

  “What are you gonna do for me?” Ruff asked.

  “I appreciate what you’ve told us, and if this information is true, you may not have to spend a day in prison,” Mark said.

  “Everything I said is true, and I can probably help you bust Dawg, but Jamal is kind of leery about meeting new people. He really didn’t want to deal with me. I need to get out of here quick before they learn I got busted. They ain’t gonna deal with me if they find out I was picked up. That’s just the rules of the street,” Ruff said. His voice was low and shaky.

  “I wanna infiltrate their little organization. Do you think you can help me?” Mark asked.

  “Like I said before, Dawg might go for it, but I’m not too sure about Jamal. He’s kind of a strange one, but we can try.”

  “What’s Jamal last name?”

  “I believe it’s Stewart.”

  “We’re gonna get you out on bond if you promise to help us,” Mark said.

  Ruff’s eyes lit up.

  CHAPTER 6

  A NGELO HAD CALLED JAMAL and told him he was sending more product for Ruff. He told Jamal that someone had broken into Ruff’s house and stolen his safe. According to Ruff, he didn’t have any money and he needed consignment. Four days later, Connie and Jennifer had arrived with the product and Jamal met with Ruff soon after.

  Ruff smiled broadly when Jamal placed the two brick-like packages on his kitchen table. He took a knife and cut the rubber wrapping from the product and tasted it. “This is definitely some good shit.”

  “Angelo wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jamal replied. “So what happened? I hear someone broke into your house and stole your safe,” Dawg said.

  Ruff grimaced and avoided eye contact with Dawg. “Yeah. One of these jealous mu’fuckas in the neighborhood probably.”

  “I think you should move, man. You’re making money. Why the fuck do you want to keep staying in the hood? I mean, everybody sees the expensive cars and shit. You know nobody else around here can afford the shit you got.”

  “I know, man. I should have moved a long time ago, but I got to keep it real and be true to myself and my roots.”

  “The hell with keeping it real. You’re old enough to know that niggas don’t want to see you prosper. You need to get the hell away from here.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna be alright. As long as you guys keep me supplied with the good product,” Ruff said as he scooped the two packages from the table.

  “Well, you ain’t got to worry about that,” Jamal said, smiling.

  “I almost forgot. I got someone I want you guys to meet,” Ruff said.

  Jamal frowned. “I ain’t meeting no new niggas. That’s how you go to jail.”

  “I’ve known this guy for years. I promise you it ain’t gonna be no funny shit. The nigga buys a lot of product. Trust me, he’s okay.”

  “Dawg might want to deal with him but I know I sure as hell don’t,” Jamal said.

  “I’ll deal with him if I can make me some money off him,” Dawg said.

  “Well, Dawg, it looks like it will be me and you,” Ruff said, smiling.

  *** Dawg and Jamal sat on the carpeted floor of Dawg’s bedroom playing John Madden’s Football on PlayStation 2. Jamal accused Dawg of cheating and slammed his controller down, breaking it. Jamal didn’t like losing at anything, and Dawg knew it. Ever since they were kids, playing any kind of game, if Jamal felt like he couldn’t win he’d quit before losing. He had to be the best at
everything.

  “How in the hell can I cheat on a video game? Either you’re good or you ain’t,” Dawg said.

  “Fuck it. I don’t feel like playing no fuckin’ kiddy-ass game anyway.”

  “Don’t get mad at me because you can’t play, man. I know it’s only a kiddy game because you ain’t any good at it.”

  “I’m good at making money. That’s all I need to be good at. Hell, I haven’t been out of prison two months yet, and I already have close to a $100,000.”

  “I hear that.”

  “But it ain’t about what I got. It’s about us and the big picture. We’re grown-ass men wasting our time playing a kiddy-ass game, while the rich white boys are trying to own football teams. It’s about ownership, junior.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Just had to vent a little bit, realizing how much time we waste doing nothing. We have to set goals and work toward them, and get away from this lifestyle.”

  “So what’s the goal for you?”

  “Five hundred G’s and I’ll call it quits.”

  “How long do you think it’s gonna take?”

  “Between six and nine months. If I ain’t got it by then, I’mma still call it quits.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to invest in some real estate after I have my house built. What are you going to do with your money?”

  “I’mma start my own detail shop.”

  “Detail shop? You can open one of those now. Shit, nigga, I thought you were going to say something like start your own record label. Your dreams are too small. You gotta start looking at the big picture. A car wash ain’t shit.”

  “It’s good for now.”

  Jamal smiled to himself. “All I need now is a lady.”

  “What happened to that broad you met down in Miami?”

  “I don’t know, man. She hasn’t called yet, and I’ve tried to call her several times but she hasn’t answered.”