Entangled (Real in the streets)

by K Elliott

  What she said made him feel better. He had never met anyone who loved him unconditionally. He liked the feeling. They stopped at a downtown traffic light. “Baby, ain’t nobody selling shit. You’re keeping everything I bought for you. That’s the bottom line,” he said.

  “I know you want me to keep the ring, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something desperate.”

  He glanced over at her before the light turned green. “I don’t want to be broke and in jail. Eighty grand won’t last long. The lawyer will want forty-five grand of that.” He thought about the ring, the vehicles, the new apartment, the vacations and trips. He might have reached his goal of $500,000 and gotten out of the game if he hadn’t been so foolish with money.

  “Baby, honestly, I don’t think you’re going to jail. I don’t see how,” she said naively.

  “Well, I’ve been dealing with the system for a while, and I’ve got a better idea about how it works. The Feds are after me, and I need to go to Cali to see Angelo so I can make some money.”

  “Well I’m going with you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Jamal hadn’t anticipated this. He grabbed her hand and held it tight.

  *** Mark was sitting at his desk reading a Sports Illustrated article when his phone rang.

  “DEA, Mark Pratt speaking.”

  “Listen, man, I got some information you might want,” a voice said.

  “First of all who is this?” Mark asked.

  “My name is Eric Culpepper.”

  “Would you speak up? I can barely hear you.”

  “I can’t really talk too loud. I’m in the county jail, and the other inmates might hear me.”

  “How did you get through without calling collect?”

  “My baby’s mama called on the three-way.”

  Mark assumed this guy had overheard somebody talking about some relevant information and decided to call the DEA. He knew more than likely the guy was facing some kind of charges himself that he was trying to get out of. In all his years of law enforcement Mark had never had anyone call from jail with information unless they were trying to get out. “You say you are in the county jail, huh?”

  “Yeah,”

  “I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”

  *** Mark wore a black Kenneth Cole suit and a gray shirt. With a yellow legal pad in hand, he looked like a lawyer when he entered the room. The room was a large, cafeteria-style area with long white tables and mismatched chairs.

  The inmate was a huge bronze-colored man with cornrows. He reeked of generic cigarettes.

  “I’m Agent Mark Pratt.”

  “I’m Eric. My friends call me Psycho.” The men shook hands before seating themselves.

  “First of all, let me ask you, what are you in here for?” Mark asked.

  “I’m awaiting trial for accused rape.”

  The answer caught Mark totally off guard. Mark could never understand why a man would force himself on a woman. He suddenly disliked Psycho. “So what did you hear?”

  “Before I give you my information, I’m going to have to know what you’re gonna do for me.”

  Mark took a deep breath before speaking. “I can’t promise you anything, especially with the type of case you have. With a rape case, you either did it or you didn’t.”

  “Listen, man, I did it,” Psycho said, wiping sweat from his brow. “I know I’m going to prison, but I don’t want to go for twenty years, which is the plea the D.A. is offering since I’m a habitual offender. I have two priors.”

  Mark fumbled with his class ring as he listened carefully to Psycho. Now he really didn’t want to help a career criminal. “If your information is relevant, I’ll recommend that the D.A. give you ten years. Please understand that I cannot guarantee you anything.”

  Ten years was still a very long time to be incarcerated, but Mark figured a veteran of the judicial system like Psycho could serve the time with no problems as long as there were weights, poker games and generic cigarettes. Psycho certainly didn’t appear to be the type that people would miss once he was away from the streets.

  “A guy name Dawg is in my cell block and he shared a lot of information with me about his dealings.”

  “Steven Davis?”

  “That’s my man,” Psycho replied.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me about trips he and his boy Jamal made to California and the girls who got busted bringing drugs from Cali. He told me about you and how some cat named Ruff introduced you to him.”

  Mark didn’t bother writing the information down since there was nothing he didn’t already know. “This information you have is very general, but I still may need you to testify about what he told you. Would you have a problem with that?”

  “No. I wanna do everything possible to help myself.”

  Mark grimmaced at the sight of Psycho. He was indeed a real low-life. He was a rapist who would do anything to save his skin, but Mark thought he would be needed if Jamal was arrested. “I’ll be in touch with you a week before trial if we decide we need your testimony.”

  Psycho frowned as he stood. “If you don’t decide to use me to testify, will you still be able to help me get a lower plea agreement?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “That’s life,” Mark said.

  CHAPTER 21

  M AY 29, 2003. Dream somehow believed she could protect Jamal. She felt that if she wasn’t with him, something would happen to him. She didn’t agree with what he was doing, but she knew she had to be there.

  Angelo picked Jamal and Dream up from the San Diego National Airport. This was the first time Jamal had seen Angelo since Dawg had been arrested. Jamal filled him in on all the details.

  “Your boy Ruff turned out to be an informant.”

  “Jamal, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, man.”

  “You say you’re sorry, but my best friend is in jail now because

  of your sorriness.” Angelo’s face became serious. “Hey, man, did you come out here to do business, or to jump all over my ass? Me and you are the last men standing.”

  “I came to do business; I need money,” Jamal replied. “Okay, that’s what I wanna hear. How much money do you have?”

  “Enough for two kilos.”

  “How are you gonna get the product back to the other side?”

  Dream listened to their conversation, though she vaguely knew what was going on. She remembered Jamal telling her that the mules, Connie and Jennifer, had gotten locked up.

  “I’ll take my own shit back. That ain’t my biggest concern,” Jamal answered.

  Dream looked at Jamal. She never expected him to say that he would travel with drugs on him. “Honey, I don’t mean to butt in, but I don’t think that would be a good idea, especially since you feel that you’re being watched.”

  “What in the hell am I suppose to do?”

  Dream didn’t know what to say. She knew he was determined to make some money any way he could. She didn’t want him to take any unnecessary chances. She envisioned herself going through the airport with the drugs on her. Nobody would ever suspect her, she thought. “I’ll take it back this one time if you keep your promise that you’re going to stop dealing, Jamal.”

  “She’ll probably have a better chance of getting it back than you,” Angelo said.

  Jamal was surprised. He knew that she could probably go through the airport undetected, but he wanted to make sure that she understood what she was getting herself into. “Can I have a minute alone with her?” Jamal asked Angelo.

  After Angelo had excused himself, Jamal said, “I don’t want you to think you have to do this, baby. I mean, I don’t want you to get in any trouble. You know if you get caught you’re going to jail.”

  She looked straight in his eyes. “I know the risk, but I want to do it. I know nothing is going to happen to me. Look at me; do you honestly think anybody would suspect me?”


  She was innocent and naïve. He knew she was right. “I think it will work as long as you’re alone,” he said.

  “It will. Trust me,” she said. He pulled her close and they held each other.

  “So what are we gonna do?” Angelo entered the room again.

  “Get the dope, man. We’re ready to get out of here,” Jamal replied.

  Jamal explained to Dream that the drug game was serious business and that she was expected to act accordingly. He made sure that she was dressed conservatively for the flight. She wore khaki pants and a white button-down shirt. Her hair was up in a bun, and she wore glasses and carried a San Diego State book bag. The drugs were stuffed in a girdle underneath her blouse. At the airport, she passed through the metal detectors and returned to North Carolina with no problem.

  *** Two weeks later, Dream and Jamal returned to San Diego, but this time they weren’t able to score. In the California airport on the way back to Charlotte they were rushed by the DEA just as they stepped away from the ticket counter.

  “Let me see your IDs,” a heavyset black man demanded, flashing a shiny DEA badge.

  Jamal and Dream showed the man their IDs. “Okay, we’re going to have to conduct a strip search,” the man said before walking up to the attendant at the ticket counter and asking her to retrieve their bags. They would be searched as well.

  “Why do you want to strip search us, man? What’s your reason?” Jamal said.

  The big man grabbed Jamal’s arm and escorted him away.

  Two female officers, one white and one Mexican, led Dream to a small office. “Okay, honey, I’m gonna need for you to get undressed,” the Mexican said.

  Dream shook nervously. She knew she didn’t have any drugs on her but she had never experienced anything like this in her life. She felt violated. “You want me to do what?” she asked.

  “Strip. Take everything off, ma’am.”

  Dream was confused. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “We have reason to believe you are traveling with narcotics,” the white agent said.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Dream shouted angrily.

  “Just strip down, ma’am. If you’re clean you can go on about your business. If it turns out to be true then you are going to have to go with us.”

  Reluctantly Dream peeled off her pants and shirt. “See, I ain’t carrying no drugs.”

  “I’m gonna need for you to take everything off, ma’am.”

  Dream looked at the white agent coldly. Is this lady some kind of lesbian? she wondered. She couldn’t believe they were going to infringe on her privacy. The last time she had been exposed was for her gynecologist for her yearly pap smear. She finally pulled down her panties and the agent asked her to bend over and cough. Dream was absolutely embarrassed.

  “Okay, Ms. Nelson, everything seems to be fine. You are free to go. But let me warn you: Be careful who you hang out with,” the white agent said.

  “What’s that suppose to mean?” Dream asked as she pulled up her pants.

  “Means your boyfriend, Jamal, is a known drug dealer, and it’s just a matter of time before we get him. I suggest you stay away from him, because he is the subject of a federal investigation.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Dream said sarcastically as she stepped out of the stall.

  Jamal was nowhere to be found when she left the bathroom. Dream assumed he was still being searched. Hesitantly, she went to the gate where they were supposed to board, then took a seat. When Jamal showed up she was shaking, and he could tell she had been crying. He kissed her forehead. “Baby, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  She stood and they hugged. Her heart raced. He knew she had never experienced anything like this. He didn’t know what else to say to comfort her. Travelers scurried to different concourses. Announcements of flight departures and arrivals filled the airport, but Dream and Jamal were oblivious to their surroundings; all that mattered was that they were together and safe.

  *** Dawg smiled broadly as he entered the visitation room and saw his best friend. He picked up the phone.

  “What’s up, nigga?” Jamal asked.

  “Not much. In here it’s the same old shit. Just trying to make it. You know how this shit can be.”

  “I know.”

  “So what’s been up with you?” Dawg asked.

  “Just paying them lawyers up and trying to stay free, man, ’cause if both of us are locked up, we can’t help each other.”

  “Well, you ain’t gotta worry about me. I mean, you know I ain’t gonna tell them shit. I’ll swallow a life sentence before I go out like that.”

  Jamal stared at his friend through the Plexiglas partition. He suddenly remembered when he was on the other side awaiting trial a few years earlier when Dawg had come to see him. Now the whole scenario had reversed. Life was strange. “So what is your attorney saying?” Jamal asked.

  “He’s says it’s not looking too good. He wants me to take a plea.”

  “What kind of plea?”

  “Ten at eighty-five percent, meaning I’ll have to do about eight and a half. If I take the plea, I’ll be thirty-six when I get out.”

  “So what are they saying about me?”

  “I don’t know, man. They took me to the interrogation room. Since I told them I ain’t have shit to say, and they brought me back here, I ain’t heard from the bastards.”

  “How is your mom taking it?” Jamal asked.

  “Ma is taking it alright. She’s gonna be at my trial.”

  Jamal hated to think about Ms. Davis in the courtroom during Dawg’s trial. He knew the prosecution would make Dawg look like a madman. Prosecutors had to make the jury think that all dealers were a menace to society. The sad part about the whole thing was that the jurors almost always sided with the prosecution. Jamal knew the Feds had a ninety-five percent conviction rate. It was almost inevitable that his friend was going to prison. Jamal stared at Dawg. His hair had grown out wildly and the orange Mecklenburg county jumpsuit swallowed his thin frame. Dawg had lost about ten pounds. Many people lost weight in jail because of worrying and not being properly fed. “So when is trial?” Jamal asked.

  “In three weeks,” Dawg said.

  A deputy burst into the visiting room and held his arm up, looking at a watch. “Time’s up.”

  “You know that I can’t be at your trial, right?” Jamal said. He didn’t particularly like hanging out in courtrooms. Plus he was afraid that he would be recognized by one of the DEA agents or the prosecuting attorneys.

  “I know, man. Don’t worry about coming. Hell if I were you, I wouldn’t come either,” Dawg said as he stood and placed his hand flat on the glass. “One love.”

  Jamal held up his hand, and they high-fived through the glass. “I’m wit’ you, nigga,” he said.

  *** When Dream walked into Keisha’s office, she knew something was wrong because Keisha avoided eye contact. “Bad news, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Keisha said as she looked Dream in the eye for the first time.

  “What’s wrong?” Dream asked.

  “The private investigator couldn’t find Jamal’s mother.”

  “Oh, I know he’ll probably be disappointed, but he’ll live.”

  “That’s not all the bad news,” Keisha said as she glanced through the window of her office.

  Dream narrowed her eyes. “What do you have to tell me?”

  Keisha handed Dream a copy of a newspaper article dated February 8, 1999.

  The headline read NORTH CHARLOTTE BAGLADY BURNED: Dream read the article.

  The eerie smell of charcoaled human flesh hung in the air as firefighters retrieved what is believed to be Mary Stewart. The burns were so severe she couldn’t be positively identified. Court documents with her name were discovered outside the abandoned house where her body was found. For the last four months, people of the North Charlotte neighborhood saw Stewart pushing a grocery cart up and down the streets or standing at the corner of D
avidson and the Plaza with a cardboard sign that read: PLEASE HELP ME EAT TODAY. The cart contained her belongings: a couple of sweaters; a huge black nylon purse; two pairs of socks, one of which she had used as mittens; and a huge blanket. Who was Mary Stewart and why was she so down on her luck? People of the neighborhood, who asked to remain anonymous, said Stewart was a crack addict who stole and conned to get her hands on money to support her habit. Police records indicate that she had been picked up three times within the past year for petty larceny and other misdemeanor charges, often released on her own recognizance. When she got out of jail she had nowhere to go, and she often slept in abandoned houses along with other addicts.

  February 6 was the coldest day of this winter, with temperatures below freezing. Before nightfall Stewart is believed to have made her way into one of the houses to start a fire for warmth. Shortly after that, it is believed that she dozed off, and the fire burned out of control, trapping the victim inside. She is survived by a son whose whereabouts are unknown.

  Dream couldn’t believe what she had just read. She sat looking ahead without saying a word. She immediately thought about Jamal and how he would react to the news. Why hadn’t somebody told him? she wondered. With all the things Jamal was going through, she didn’t know if now would be a good time to break the bad news to him. She looked at Keisha who was still staring out of the window not saying a word. “Keisha, what should I do?”

  “I don’t know. This is one of the saddest stories I have ever read in my life.”

  “I know. How did your private eye find it?”

  “He searched the Internet and found the article. After reading it he went down to county records and found the death certificate. He’s good, isn’t he?”

  “Too damn good,” Dream said, still staring at the article.

  “You got your hands full, baby girl, “Keisha sighed. “I suggest that you don’t tell him.”

  Dream placed her hand underneath her chin and shook her head sadly. “I can’t tell him. Now is definitely not the time with all that is going on.”