“Fold up your strollers before you get up here, and please watch your step, ladies,” a weary-looking older black man instructed as he collected the twenty-dollar fee and handed each of the women a ticket before helping them board the van. Sydney cringed as an extremely pregnant girl, who looked no older than fifteen, struggled to squeeze her wide frame down the narrow aisle inside.
“Um, excuse me. Is this the van to the Central State Prison,” Sydney asked a frustrated-looking brown-skinned woman holding a crying baby boy on her hip and the hand of a sleepy-looking five-year-old girl with a head full of brightly colored barrettes.
The woman released the little girl’s hand momentarily to pop a pacifier in the baby’s mouth and turned to Sydney. Giving her simple but clearly expensive outfit a thorough once-over, the woman sneered, “No, it’s the line to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” before snatching the little girl’s hand and stepping forward.
Sydney instinctively reared back. Damn, did it call for all that? she questioned mentally as she made a face at the girl.
“Just ignore her. She just mad ‘cause she been made this trip too many damn times already,” whispered a cute Mexican-looking girl with long black hair. “You’re in the right place. This is the van.”
Sydney smiled gratefully at the girl. “Thanks, I thought I might’ve missed it.”
“Naw, we’re always running about five to ten minutes late ‘cause of loading all the strollers and stuff,” she responded between snaps of her gum. She, too, looked at Sydney’s all-black ensemble up and down. “This your first time, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m going to see my father,” Sydney admitted shyly as she moved forward with the line.
“True, that’s nice. Sometimes I go see my papi on Thursdays with my sister and little brothers. But Tuesday trips are strictly for my papi chulo, if you know what I mean,” she giggled.
Sydney smiled and nodded. “I’m Sydney,” she offered, feeling like they should probably exchange names since the two had already shared such personal details.
“My name is Consuela, but everybody calls me Connie,” the girl responded as she pulled out her twenty and turned to hand it to the man. “Morning, Bob, how you feeling?”
“One day at a time,” he responded automatically as he handed her a ticket and indicated that she could board the already full van.
“Sir, about how long is the drive,” Sydney asked politely as she handed over her crisp twenty-dollar bill.
Realizing he had a new passenger on board, Bob paused to look up at Sydney. “You got about four hours depending on the traffic. Normally, it ain’t too bad,” he responded as he handed her a ticket. “We make one bathroom break each way, and any snacks you eat, you’d better clean up. This is your receipt and return ticket. Don’t lose it or you’re not getting back on the van to come home.”
“Understood,” Sydney replied as she tightened her grip on the small piece of paper. Bob finally gave her a head nod and Sydney stepped up into the van.
An unexpected bump in the road jolted Sydney awake. Momentarily disoriented, she looked confusedly at the van full of women and children surrounding her. “You was sleep a long time, ma,” Connie said as the distinctive sound of Shakira’s voice blared from the white earbuds she pulled out of her ears. “No worries, we ‘bout to be there anyway.”
“Hmm,” was all Sydney could muster as she looked down at the square face of her Cartier watch. It was already after ten o’clock. She took a swig of the bottle of water she bought when they stopped at the gas station a couple of hours back to soothe her dry mouth and stared out the window as they hurtled down I-75. Everything looked so foreign; she’d never been out this deep in Georgia before.
“It’s going to be a nice day,” Connie commented as she looked over Sydney’s shoulder out the window. Her breath smelled like cinnamon candy.
“Yeah, looks that way,” Sydney replied, wishing she’d remembered to buy some gum. She turned to face her new acquaintance. “Do you have an extra piece of gum,” she asked as Connie popped another small bubble.
“Umm-hmm,” Connie replied as she started digging through her cheap-looking Louis Vuitton knockoff. “I always carry at least two packs with me at all times. Chewing gum helps relax my nerves.”
“Thanks,” Sydney said gratefully as Connie finally handed her a small square of original-flavored Trident.
“De nada,” Connie replied as the van slowed down to exit on a sharp U-turn ramp.
Sydney’s stomach tightened as she saw the small sign on the side of the road that read: CENTRAL STATE PRISON/5 MILES. She was both excited and extremely nervous to see Dice. While she really missed him, she also had a lot of unanswered questions about his connection to Jermaine’s brother, Rodney, her newly discovered Uncle Larry, Keisha, and, of course, Altimus. She just hoped that their allotted fifty-five minutes of visitation time was enough to cover everything.
Connie pulled out a small leopard-print compact and applied her makeup. First, there was the heavy black eyeliner and mascara for her almond-shaped eyes. Then, she finished off with powder and a cherry-red gloss. Fluffing her hair out with her hands, she turned to Sydney. “It’s better to do this now ‘cause, trust me, you don’t want to use their bathrooms,” she warned ominously. Sydney absentmindedly ran a hand over her curly mane as she continued to watch Connie pull herself together. She looked at her watch; the Brookhaven student body would be moving to third period by now. Sydney pulled out her iPhone and sent a text to her sister.
Just wanted to let you know I’m good/ Almost there.
Again the van started to slow down for a sharp curve; Sydney squeezed her iPhone, anxious. This time they were entering the prison parking lot. After circling the half-empty lot, the van finally pulled into a space away from the smatter of cars already parked there.
“Okay y’all,” Bob announced as soon as he threw the van’s gear in park and it jerked to a complete stop. “We’re pulling up outta here at eleven-fifteen with or without you. So don’t be lagging behind or lose your ticket, ‘cause your behind will get left.” And with what he considered a fair warning administered, he jumped out to open the door and let the ladies loose.
Sydney followed Connie out of the van. As they started walking toward the huge iron gate where the first entrance was located, Sydney noticed that most of the women on the van had applied fresh coats of makeup. Buckling to the peer pressure, she grabbed her new favorite pink lip gloss, from Estee Lauder’s Tender Lip Balm line, out of the side pocket of her purse and reapplied. Her iPhone vibrated; it was an incoming message from Lauren. Be careful slumming with the convicts/I got you covered—they don’t suspect a thing.
Cool, Sydney wrote back quickly, before turning her attention back to Connie.
“Okay, so once we pass this guy here, we’ll be brought into the locker room,” stated Connie knowledgably. “You have to put all your stuff except for your driver’s license into one of the lockers. After that, we’ll sign in and go wait for them to meet us in the visitation room. Takes about fifteen minutes depending on the mood of the admitting officer. God forbid they’re in a bad mood, ‘cause then we’re screwed. They’ll take forever filling out the paperwork and checking IDs. Which cuts down on our visiting time. So fingers crossed, today will be a good day and we can get admitted in about fifteen minutes or so.”
“Sounds simple…” Sydney replied, raising her two crossed fingers.
“Pretty much. As long as you have your ID and the person you’re here to visit ain’t got in no trouble and thrown in the hole over the last week, you’re golden,” Connie replied with a smile and final crack of gum.
“When they said I had a visitor, I was so sure it was a mistake, I almost didn’t come out,” Dice admitted when he finally released Sydney from his tight embrace. Tears shined in the corner of his eyes. “How ya doing, Ladybug?”
“I miss you, Dad,” Sydney replied softly, still holding Dice’s hand tightly as the two finally took a seat on
one of the many steel benches in the large room that might’ve resembled a small cafeteria in another setting.
“I miss you more, sweetie,” Dice responded sincerely. “What’s going on? Is Lauren okay? I’m almost scared to ask what brought you up here.”
Sydney took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. A million and one thoughts raced through her head. “Lauren is fine. But, no, everything is not okay.”
Dice looked into his elder daughter’s eyes. “You know about Altimus don’t you,” he stated flatly.
“Yeah, I do,” Sydney responded. “I know about Altimus and I know about Mom—”
“What do you know about your mother,” Dice cut her off sharply.
“I know that she knows who Altimus really is and she’s okay with it. More important, I know that she doesn’t care if you’re innocent or not. All she wants to do is be with a man who’ll provide a certain lifestyle for her even if it means killing somebody!”
“Shh, Sydney, lower your voice,” Dice pleaded, checking to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation.
“I don’t care, it’s the truth,” Sydney insisted, getting worked up. “And I don’t want my real father sitting in a damn jail cell one minute longer if that man is the one responsible for what happened to Rodney!”
“Sydney, close your mouth and listen to me,” Dice continued gruffly, trying to get Sydney to calm down without drawing attention to themselves among all the groups of inmates and their visitors. “You don’t understand everything that you’re dealing with right now. You could be in a lot of trouble if Altimus knows that you know who he is.”
“I know. That’s why I want to go to the police,” Sydney started.
“For what?” her father asked sarcastically. “Don’t you think Altimus has that covered already? Come on, Ladybug, you’re smarter than that.”
For the first time in the conversation Sydney hesitated. “So then what, you’re just going to go back to jail? I’m going to lose you all over?”
“No, I didn’t say that,” Dice continued slowly. “Just like your stepfather, I’ve got people on the streets that have always been loyal to me. And we’re working on clearing up this whole Rodney situation in a way that I can be released, and Altimus can be squared away as well. But it’s not going to happen overnight.”
“Who are these people,” Sydney asked. “Speaking of unknown people, who the hell is Uncle Larry? You know he approached Lauren and allegedly saved her from getting an ass beating in the West End.”
“Your Uncle Larry is one of the good guys. But can you please tell me why Lauren was in the West End?” Dice asked wearily as he rubbed his temples. Suddenly, he seemed a lot older than thirty-nine.
“Running behind Rodney’s brother, Jermaine. You know that’s her boyfriend,” Sydney replied simply. “And Altimus has him on the run.”
“Life is crazy,” Dice said, rubbing his temples. “Damn, that kid shouldn’t be mixed up in all of this; he’s a good kid. Now, his brother, Rodney…”
“Can you please explain your connection to Rodney, Dad? ‘Cause why would the cops think you killed him?”
“I met Rodney when I was locked up. We were cellmates for about six months before he got transferred out.” Dice gently tugged at his right earlobe. According to him, Altimus asked him to do a job many years back when he was a new jack to prove his loyalty to the life.”
“A job? What kind of job?”
“According to Rodney, Altimus asked him to set some poor sucker up in a gun-smuggling sting operation that one of the boys from the East Side tipped us off about…”
Sydney gasped. “Rodney is the one that set you up?”
“It looks that way,” Dice said with a resigned sigh.
“So why didn’t you go to the cops? Why didn’t Rodney tell the cops that you were the wrong man?”
“And spend an additional twelve years behind bars? Rodney had fourteen months and I was about to be released in another year when this happened. It didn’t make sense to start snitching. Besides, I could tell that behind that big mouth, Rodney was a good kid at heart. He just got caught up in Altimus’s tangled web.” Sydney put her head in her hands and began to cry silently in disbelief. How was she going to tell Lauren that her boyfriend’s brother was the very person that sent their father to jail? And their stepfather requested he do it? “So instead of ratting, Rodney vowed to expose Altimus’s ways to the streets,” Dice continued softly.
“How would that do anything but piss Altimus off and obviously get him killed?” Sydney asked as she struggled to understand this lifestyle that was so foreign to her, yet seemed to have so many deep connections to her.
“If dudes on the street were to find out that Altimus set up his partner, they’d lose all respect and loyalty to him. Without respect and loyalty, Altimus will be completely powerless.”
“So he killed him,” Sydney whispered, looking up with a tear-stained face. Dice simply shrugged and looked at the shiny linoleum floor he’d been assigned to mop earlier in the morning.
“All right, peoples, start to wrap it up. You got fifteen minutes,” one of the correction officers who periodically walked through the huddles of people announced.
“Aww, man, we just got here,” an inmate complained from across the room.
“Shut it up or you’re going to be heading the hell outta here and into the hole, Rodriguez,” the officer responded menacingly. Sydney shuddered at his tone of voice.
“Promise me you’ll stay out of your mother and Altimus’s way,” Dice said as he gently tucked a flyaway curl behind Sydney’s left ear. “Okay, Ladybug?”
Across the room, Sydney spotted Connie and what could only be her papi chulo in a deep embrace. “Oh, Dad, this is so bad. I– I– I–” Sydney stammered.
“I nothing, Sydney. You have to trust me,” Dice continued. “I need you to be strong and hold it down. There’s no time for tears. If we’re going to win, you have to stop being emotional and think strategically. I need you to be a soldier. Do you think you can you handle that?”
Sydney wiped her face with the back of her hand and straightened up. “I don’t think, I know.”
18
LAUREN
Lauren saw the teacher’s mouth moving, but really, she couldn’t comprehend a word she was saying, and that wasn’t just because she hadn’t done any of the assigned reading. Edward P. Jones’s The Known World was Ms. Girard’s latest obsession, and she’d been yapping about it for the past two days—something about African-American slave owners and death and black/white relationships in the South and God knows what else. Lauren had already put Donald on notice that it would be his job to read that mess and explain the plot details over coffee sometime this week; she was too distracted to glom into all of that ancient history. Luckily, boyfriend was officially obsessed with ole Eddie P., his stories, and particularly his loner lifestyle. Lauren couldn’t begin to understand why, but whatever. This afternoon, she had more important things to consider, like, whether her sister actually made it to the prison, if they performed a cavity search on her to check for drugs and contraband like they do in all the cable prison shows, or whether she was dead in a ditch on the side of the road in East Bumblefreak, Georgia. And, of course, where her Jermaine was.
He’d called her repeatedly over the past few days, imploring her to “hit me back when you get this,” and “just be careful—watch your back,” and swearing that he was “maintaining,” but that he needed to hear her voice to assure himself that “everything’s everything.” “It’s going to be all right, baby,” he’d said in his last message, left late Monday night. “I love you.”
As much as she wanted to, Lauren didn’t answer the phone and refused to call him back—confident that doing so would lead Altimus straight to him. Maybe she’d watched one too many Law & Order episodes, but didn’t she see somewhere that the police could trace your whereabouts by tracking the sound waves from your phone? It was like a low-tech GPS, or something—at leas
t that’s what Lauren had convinced herself of, which is why she hadn’t answered.
This was tearing her apart. But at least she knew that as long as the phone rang, Jermaine was all right, which is why it never left her side. (Well, that, and because she was scared that Keisha, Altimus, or their dedicated snoop would find it if she didn’t keep it with her at all times. They’d gone through practically every inch of the girls’ belongings, in front of them, and, for sure, when they weren’t around. So as long as they didn’t frisk her, Lauren thought it would be best to keep the phone on her person at all times.
“Excuse me, Ms. Girard, but I really need to go to the nurse’s office,” Dara said loudly, interrupting Lauren’s thoughts. “I’m not feeling well—a little nauseous.”
“A little, huh?” Lauren sneered. A few of their classmates smirked; nobody was feeling Dara’s baby drama—thought it was quite tacky, actually. But mostly, they expected such hood behavior from Dara, considering she was the scholar-ship kid of a woman who made her living off the child-support checks. Obviously, her mama taught her well.
Dara whipped her head around and rolled her eyes at Lauren, and then subtly rubbed her belly and smirked. “Not sure what it is, but it certainly could have something to do with the company I’m forced to keep,” she said as she moved her hand and turned her head back in the direction of the teacher, but clearly directed her words to Lauren.
“Okay, bring me your notebook—I’ll sign you out,” Ms. Girard said, ignoring the catfight and waving Dara to the front. “Maybe the lunchroom will have some crackers and ginger ale on hand for you.” Dara, all 110 pounds of her, slowly wobbled up to the desk and shifted from foot to foot waiting for the teacher to scribble her name in the appointment book that doubled as a student hallway pass. Ms. Girard’s eyes lingered on Dara’s belly; she shook her head and handed the appointment book back to her. “Don’t forget we’ll be having an in-class essay on the first five chapters this Thursday—study up,” Ms. Girard mumbled.
If Only You Knew Page 17
