by K Elliott
David Ricardo’s friends considered him a nice man, but he was well known for his bulldog questioning tactics. “When did you first start coming to Charlotte?” David asked.
“I started coming around the second week of June,” she answered without looking at him.
“How much cocaine did you bring on your first trip?”
“I brought two kilos and Connie brought two.”
“Do you know this man?” David asked as he held up a picture.
“No.” She shook her head and looked up briefly at David.
“What about this man?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, that’s Dawg,”
“What about this man?” David asked.
“Jamal,” she said.
Mark smiled at David. They were definitely onto something. They questioned Jennifer for the next two hours, and she told them everything she could think of about Jamal, Dawg, and Angelo. When they were finished questioning her, Jennifer looked Mark in the eye for the first time. “Am I gonna get out to see my babies?”
Mark was caught off guard by the question. This was the part of his job he didn’t like. He hated seeing people separated from their children, especially young women. Looking at her, Mark didn’t expect her to have babies, but he should have known. Usually the women with the children were the first to cooperate. “I don’t know, but I certainly will make a recommendation that you receive a bond since you have been helpful to us.”
“I see,” she said, dropping her head again.
*** When Connie entered the interrogation room, she seemed to be a lot more relaxed than Jennifer. Mark saw experience in her eyes. She even asked Jeremiah for one of his cigarettes.
“You didn’t come in here to smoke, you came to answer questions,” Jeremiah said.
Connie nodded. “What do you want to know?”
David held up a picture of Dawg. “Do you know this guy?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Next he held up a picture of Jamal. “What about this man?”
“No,” she answered.
“How is it that your friend knows these guys and you don’t?” Mark asked.
“She got her people that she deals with and I got my people,” she answered.
David looked her in the eye. “Well, do you want to tell us about your people?”
“So what are you going to do for me?” Connie asked.
“It all depends on the information you have. If you give us something helpful, we can definitely get you a lighter sentence, or perhaps let you go.”
“Really,” she said, nodding.
“Tolliver give her a cigarette,” David ordered.
Jeremiah pulled one of his Camel Lights from his pocket, lit it, gave it to her, and placed a small paper cup on the table to be used as an ashtray.
“Let’s talk now,” David said. “Do you wanna help yourself or not?”
Connie took a drag from the cigarette. “I want to help.”
Jeremiah sat beside her. He held a yellow legal pad. “Tell us about your people. Who are they?”
For an hour and a half Connie filled them in about a man named Tyrone Anderson, who she said lived on Seventh Street. She said that she had brought multiple kilos of cocaine to him over a six-month period. According to Connie, she had made more than sixteen deliveries.
“Can you get him on the phone?” Mark asked.
Connie stared at him avoiding his eyes. “Probably not . . . I mean, he knows I’ve been busted now.”
“What’s his address?” David asked.
“It’s 2892 Seventh Street.”
Mark looked at her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
Connie flicked ashes in the small cup. “I’m certain.”
“What about Angelo?” Mark said.
“What about him?” Connie replied.
“Is he your connection?”
Connie rolled her eyes and took another drag from her cigarette. “Did I say he was my connection?”
Mark looked her straight in her eyes. “Why are you being difficult?”
“I’ve told you my story. Can I go now?”
After the Marshals transported Connie to the county jail, Mark, David and Jeremiah accessed the information. Mark and Jeremiah both came to the conclusion that Jennifer had valid information and that Connie was lying. David was adamant about seeing if there was any substance to Connie’s story. “We’ve got to check out all information received. I’m going to the federal magistrate to get a search warrant to check out this Tyrone Anderson guy on Seventh Street.
*** At eight o’clock the next morning. Mark, Jeremiah, and ten other DEA agents kicked in the door at 2892 Seventh Street.
“What the hell is going on here?” a lady asked, looking at the DEA officers in her living room.
“We got a search warrant for this residence. Does a Mr. Tyrone Anderson live here?”
“Yeah, he lives here,” the woman replied before a husky, fullbearded black man appeared. “I’m Tyrone, What do you want?”
“We’ve received word that you are involved in the drug trafficking and we have a search warrant for this house,” Mark said.
Jeremiah cuffed Tyrone and ordered him to sit on the sofa. “I ain’t no drug dealer. I’m a hotel manager at the Days Inn.”
“My husband might be a lot of things, but he is definitely not a drug dealer,” the woman said.
“This is procedure. We have to search, but if we don’t find any evidence of wrongdoings we’ll leave,” Mark said.
They searched the house for more than an hour, finding no evidence of drugs or drug paraphernalia. Finally, in the bedroom closet, Jeremiah found a matchbook with Connie’s name and a phone number written on it. He quickly presented it to Tyrone. “How do you know this lady?”
Tyrone looked at the matchbook and trembled. “I met her at the hotel.”
“Why did you get her number, and how did she know where you lived?” Jeremiah asked.
Tyrone looked at Jeremiah then turned to his wife who was looking on curiously.
“Answer the man,” she said.
“I ain’t a drug dealer. I done told you I work hard every day to provide for my family. You guys should have checked my criminal record before you came busting up in my house. I ain’t never even had a jaywalking ticket in my life,” Tyrone screamed, in tears.
“Give us an answer. At this point we don’t have anything to hold you for, but we can detain you until we find further information,” Mark lied.
Ty rone turned from his wife. “Like I said, I know her but it’s not what you think. I just met her. She and her friend come to the hotel every week from California; I believe that’s where she said she was from. I met her at the hotel bar one night and we kind of hit it off. She’s a real nice girl,” Tyrone felt foolish as his wife looked on coldly.
“How did she know where you lived?” Mark asked.
Ty rone closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I brought her here while my wife was at choir rehearsal one night.”
Total silence permeated the room as Tyrone’s wife stared him down with furious eyes.
“Take the cuffs off of him,” Mark said. He felt Tyrone was telling the truth. Tyrone had escaped the grips of the Feds but still had to face an interrogation from his fuming wife.
*** David was less than thrilled about the hoax Connie had perpetrated. He showed his gratitude by having a nice little indictment delivered to her cell. The charges included conspiracy as well as drug trafficking.
That afternoon when Mark got home, he thought about Jennifer and the way she was staring down at the floor. Though she had agreed to work as a drug runner for the dealers, she was a victim herself. He was thinking about her being separated from her children. After he hung his coat up, he got a Coke from the refrigerator and called his dad.
Pastor Fred Pratt picked up the phone on the second ring. “Praise the Lord,” he said.
“Dad, this is your boy,” Mark replied.
“Well it�
�s about time you called. I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks now. Me and your mama had started worrying, but I prayed about it and just left the situation in the Lord’s hands.”
Mark took a quick sip from the Coke. “I’ve been kind of busy with this big case.”
“So what’s on your mind, son?” Pastor Pratt asked.
Mark felt very fortunate to have a father to call when he was troubled. His father had always been there for him, and Mark could always count on getting good advice. “I’ve been feeling kind of bad today because we’ve been trying to bust these drug traffickers. In the process we arrested two girls used as mules, and one of them began to cooperate right away. We debriefed her yesterday and I’m sure she was being truthful with the information she gave. After giving her statements, she asked me if she was gonna get out to see her babies again. For some reason this troubled me. I don’t know why, because I arrest criminals with kids all the time.”
“Mule? What do you mean by mule?”
“A mule is a drug runner or a person used to haul drugs from one point to the next. They’re usually young women, but they don’t have to be,” Mark said. He had a bad habit of assuming people knew the street terms and lingo of the underground drug culture.
“Alright,” Pastor Pratt replied. “So what did you tell her?”
“I told her I would put in a good word to the prosecutor and recommend she get bond.”
“Son, I don’t know much about the bond process, but I say if you feel that the woman is going to be there for her kids, see if you can get her out. If you feel that she is going to traffic more drugs into the community, do not make a recommendation. Everyone has to be held accountable for his or her actions. Let the spirit lead you.”
Mark finished the rest of his Coke. What his father said made perfect sense.
*** “Put down the gun, Jamal, and come out with your hands up,” the white cop yelled through the bullhorn.
“Fuck you,” Jamal yelled from his terrace and fired a shot from his 9mm.
“Come on. Use your head, man. You don’t want to go out like this, do you?” the cop yelled.
“No, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison giving you mu’fuckas the satisfaction of putting me away,” Jamal replied. More police arrived and barricaded the building. When Jamal stepped back on the terrace, he heard a loud, thunderous sound and turned to see law enforcement officers in his living room. He closed his eyes and fired.
When he awakened, he was sweating and his heart was beating fast. He was glad it was only a dream.
He hadn’t been out of prison five months yet, and he didn’t want to go back to jail. He had vowed that he would never go back. He would hold court in the streets, he had told other inmates before he got out. This was a saying he had heard while growing up. All his idols—gangsters and big drug dealers—had said the same thing. He had never known any of his friends to actually shoot it out with the cops, but he knew he had the heart to do it. That’s how much he hated prison. Ever since Angelo had called, Jamal had been worried that Connie and Jennifer would give the Feds information about him. It had been three weeks since he had received the call, and yet he still worried about going to prison. He knew all the guys he had left behind would be thrilled to see him come back and spend the rest of his life in prison, but he would rather be in the hereafter than locked up. He would never be caught without his gun and he wasn’t going to let another cop get the satisfaction of caging him.
*** That night when he got to Dream’s house, she had cooked his favorite—spaghetti and garlic bread—and they had Chardonnay by candlelight. She had gone out of her way to make sure the mood was special.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Nothing. What makes you ask something like that?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that you haven’t touched your food and you ain’t talking much.” She had been around him long enough to know something was bothering him.
“I got some bad news a few weeks ago.”
“What’s up?”
“You remember Angelo, don’t you?”
“Yeah, your friend in Cali.”
“A couple of his girls got busted with drugs.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
He took a quick sip from his wine. “They might be talking to the police or the Feds.”
“So as a result you might get picked up?” Dream said.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“Don’t you think it may be time for you to reevaluate your life?”
He hesitated before speaking, “You might be right,” he finally said.
CHAPTER 13
J ESSICA IRVING SAT ON the front row of Dream’s World History class. She was a very pretty girl with a golden complexion and reddishbrown hair. She was generally a very quiet student who never caused any problems. Jessica hadn’t turned her homework in for the past three days, and Dream had asked her to stay after class.
“Jessica, why haven’t you turned in your homework?” “I just didn’t,” Jessica answered without looking at Dream. “Well, I hope you know you have a zero as your homework
grade for today.”
“I know, Ms. Nelson,” Jessica answered, still staring at the floor. “Jessica, look at me,” Dream said. “What’s wrong?” Jessica raised her head and met Dream’s eyes. “I don’t want to
talk about it.” Dream pulled Jessica into her bosom. “I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“It’s Mama. She needs help,” Jessica said.
“What’s wrong with your mother?” Dream asked.
“She’s on drugs, and Daddy has been trying to get some help, but she don’t want none. She says she can help herself.”
“Is your daddy at home? I would like to speak with him, because I can’t have you neglecting your assignments. You have to do your homework or else I’ll have to fail you.”
“Daddy is at work. He gets off around three o’clock.”
Dream looked Jessica directly in her eyes. “How about meeting me in front of the office after school and I’ll take you home today. It’s urgent that I let your daddy know what’s going on.”
Jessica met Dream in front of the office at 3:10. They made one stop at a gas station then pulled up to Jessica’s home fifteen minutes later. It was a plain, white, vinyl-siding home with a large porch and a wooden fence. Jessica led Dream into her home and showed off her bedroom. It was small and neatly decorated with stuffed animals covering the bed.
*** Charlie Irving arrived home at four o’clock. He was a caramelcolored man with black hair that was graying at the temples. He looked to be in his late thirties.
“Daddy, this is Ms. Nelson, my history teacher,” Jessica said. They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” Charlie said. “Mr. Irving, I won’t take up too much of your time. I just
wanted to let you know that we have a problem.”
Charlie’s face grew serious. “What type of problem?” Jessica hasn’t been doing her homework lately and this
concerns me very much.” Charlie lit a cigarette and took a seat on the sofa beside Dream. “I guess you can say I’m partly at fault for her not doing her homework.”
“Jessica told me a little bit about your family issues. Please realize that she has to do her assignments if she wants to pass my course.”
“Then I guess she must have told you about her mama.” “Yes. She told me a little bit of what’s going on.”
Charlie turned to Jessica. “Go to your room and let me and Ms.
Nelson have some privacy.” After Jessica’s door was closed he began to speak again. “Ms. Nelson, my wife is on crack cocaine and she just miscarried a baby because of her addiction.”
“Jessica told me about her addiction. I didn’t realize that she had lost a child.”
Charlie turned away from Dream. “Yeah, we have all been under a lot of pr
essure since the miscarriage.”
“I can imagine,” Dream said softly.
“Can you really imagine?” He turned toward her. “That’s not the half of it. The doctors found she had been using drugs while pregnant, so now they’re trying to get her to sign up for this program that pays addicted women two hundred dollars to take permanent birth control.”
“Well, that’s a plus,” Dream replied.
Charlie became angry. “How can you say that’s a plus?”
“Because at least she won’t have a crack baby.”
“You see, that’s exactly the kind of thinking the system wants us to have. The program is targeting blacks. They want to eliminate us for two hundred dollars. They want to make us sterile for life. This is nothing but modern-day genocide if you look at the big picture. I’m just a regular guy, a machinist making eleven dollars an hour, but I got common sense.”
“You know, I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Dream was intrigued by what Charlie had said about genocide.
He smiled weakly while examining Dream. “Ms. Nelson, I hope I don’t offend you,but I have a question.”
“Go right ahead.”
“You’re not from the ’hood, are you?”
“No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t identify with you.”
“Have you ever seen a crack baby?”
She hesitated before speaking. “I’ve seen them on TV.” She felt foolish with her answer.
“So your answer is no, you haven’t seen an underweight baby with nervous conditions, shaking and trembling at no fault of its own?”
Dream became sad. “Listen, I sympathize with you, I really do, but we need to do something to make sure Jessica gets back on the right track.”
“I’ll have a talk with her, and I’ll start watching her more closely.”
Dream stood from the sofa and extended her hand. “Good talking with you.”
“Same here,” he said.
*** Charlie Irving’s speech was on Dream’s mind for the rest of the evening. She knew she lived in a world that was very different from the one in which he lived, but she did know what a crack baby was, though she hadn’t seen one. She knew if she had seen one it would be hard for her to look at it without crying.
