by K Elliott
Jerome cracked his knuckles again and then looked away from Pratt and stared at the bright yellow wall as if he were contemplating. Pratt figured the walls were closing in on him.
“What ya thinking about?”
Jerome turned and faced Pratt. He started to speak but hesitated. Finally he said, “My little boy.”
Pratt picked up his pen and scribbled a squiggly line to see if the pen wrote. It did. Maybe he’d been wrong about Jerome. Maybe he would cooperate after all. “You have a family, huh?”
Jerome looked irritated. “Of course I have a family.”
“They deserve you to be there for them.”
“I know.”
“How old is your son?”
“He’s two.”
“I have a newborn.” Pratt smiled proudly.
“Congrats.”
“Thank you.” It was an odd moment; two men talking about their kids. At that moment, both men were proud parents—not cop and bad guy.
“You love your son a lot. Don’t you?”
Jerome hesitated before answering. Again he stared at the walls. The room seemed colder and the chill bumps gathered on his arms. This was the kind of room that could break a man down. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just asking.”
“Of course I love my son.”
“Well do it for him.”
“I want my son to be proud.”
Pratt smiled then pulled out a picture of his son. A little boy in a sailor suit with blue blocks that spelled baby. He handed Jerome the picture.
Jerome smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Charles.”
“Charles? That name is for an older person.”
“I know. My wife’s father’s name was Charles, so we went with it.”
Jerome passed the picture back to Pratt.
Pratt dropped the pen on the pad again. “Are you going to help yourself?”
“No.”
“What about your son?”
“I want him to be proud.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want him to know that his pops stood for something.”
“You’re a dope dealer.”
“I made a mistake…okay?”
Pratt stood up, grabbed the pen, put the top back on it then placed it behind his ear. He picked up the pad. “You have a good day, Jerome.” He turned to walk out of the room.
“Agent Pratt…” Jerome called out.
Mark turned and faced Jerome. They stared at each other for a while until Jerome broke the silence. “Did Tommy Dupree tell on me?”
Mark squinted his eyes. He’d heard the name before but he couldn’t remember where he knew the name from.
Mark shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know who the informant on this case was, and if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”
Jerome stood. Then a black female correctional officer walked in to escort Jerome back to his cell. “Pratt, you know I’ma find out who did this to me.”
Mark didn’t say anything. He just looked and wondered why the name Tommy Dupree seemed familiar to him. And when Jerome was gone, he remembered. Tommy Dupree was an ecstasy dealer whom he’d investigated six years ago; he was sentenced to prison. Was he out? Mark wondered. The yellow walls closed in on him.
*****
Tommy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He continued to stroke, trying not to break the bed. He held the bed rail. Angie looked up at him with anticipation. She moved her body with Tommy’s. It had become hard because Tommy had no rhythm. She kissed his neck. “Baby, right there…that’s my spot!” she screamed.
“Damn, your pussy is so wet.”
“You like this?” Angie asked with her fingernails on his back. She clawed his back. It was very painful for Tommy, but at the same time he liked it.
“I love this shit,” Tommy said. He was trying to keep up the pace but he was out of shape and it was starting to show.
“Keep hitting this pussy.”
Tommy let go of the bed rail and wiped his face. The sweat was streaming down his face into his eyes and lips. It was salty and his eyes burned.
She bit on his neck and played with his nipples. He liked when she did this.
“Baby, I want to cum inside this pussy.”
“Don’t cum inside me.”
Tommy started to breathe heavy and she tried to push him off her but he was too heavy.
“Tommy please don’t cum inside me. I don’t want to get pregnant.”
His whole body jerked. He came inside her. He was out of breath. She managed to push him off her. “Damn it, Tommy… why the fuck did you do that?” Angie ran to the shower. She would shower fast. Her mother had told her that if she showered soon after sex it would cut down on the chance of a pregnancy. She didn’t know if she believed that or not but she knew it was worth a try.
Tommy stood, walked into the steaming bathroom to grab a towel from the closet then wiped himself off. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
She pulled the shower curtain back. “Fuck you, Tommy. You trying to get me pregnant?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with it, nigga? What’s right with it?”
Tommy wiped himself off. “I’m offended. You act like the worst thing in the world is to be pregnant by me.”
“Tommy, you’re still out there hustling.”
“I’m not selling dope.”
She pulled the curtains back again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not going back to jail.”
“You don’t know that.”
The thought of going back to jail made him say a prayer.
Tommy sat on the toilet seat and held his face in his hands. He knew she didn’t want his child and this made him sad.
“Tommy!” she called out.
He didn’t respond. He just sat there wondering would he ever give his father a grandson. Would he ever have a child of his own?
“Tommy.”
He finally looked toward the shower curtain. She rinsed herself off and hopped out of the shower, walking right by him. He didn’t make eye contact with her. She got a large pink towel and began to dry off.
“So why don’t you just admit it, Angie?”
“Admit what, Tommy?”
“Admit you don’t want kids with me.”
“Not right now, Tommy.”
“So, what’s the point of this relationship?”
She held up her hand. “Tommy I don’t see a ring on my finger. You haven’t asked me to marry you.”
Tommy stood up from the toilet, stepped back into the bedroom and put his shorts on.
“Tommy, why the hell are you avoiding that question?”
“Marriage has nothing to do with babies.”
“Tommy, I don’t want to be no damn baby’s mama.”
“Is that what this is all about? Marriage?”
She walked out of the bathroom, still butt naked; body glistening from baby oil. Tommy looked at her ass but then turned away. He was mad and he had to remember that. She opened a drawer and got out a white G-string. From the top of the closet she got some sweatpants then sat on the edge of the bed. “Tommy, I want to get married one day. What girl doesn’t?”
“I wanna get married, too.”
“Why haven’t you asked me?”
“I’ma ask you when I want to ask you,” he said, looking away. “Well, just like your pops keep asking you when you going to have some kids, my mama keeps asking me when we are going to get married. She says I’m twenty-eight, like I’m a old-ass maid.”
“I’m not ready to get married yet.”
“And I ain’t ready to be nobody’s baby’s mama, either.” Tommy reached for his pants on the floor. Angie grabbed his hand, trying to keep him from putting on his pants, but she couldn’t. He removed her hand from his wrist then put his clothes on and left.
Q
gave little Eddie sixteen packets. “Here. Go stash
this.” Eddie looked at Q like he didn’t want to do it. “What the fuck is wrong with you, nigga? I said go stash this.” Eddie put the packs in his pockets and walked away slowly
before Q called out, “Eddie, what’s wrong with you?” Eddie turned and faced Q. He was nervous, as most were nervous when Q spoke. Everybody knew he was a loose cannon and would snap at anytime. Eddie hesitated before speaking. “Q, it’s just that we are moving so much product that it makes no sense for me to go stash this. I mean, you’ll probably be sending me for this shit in a few minutes.”
“What the fuck is your point, nigga?” Q walked toward him. “Motherfucker, I’m the boss. Have you forgotten who pays you?”
“No, Q.”
Q looked Eddie in his eyes. He could tell he was afraid, and he knew Eddie was no match for him. Though Eddie was taller than Q, he was lanky, very young, and inexperienced. Because he was younger, they called him little; not because of his size. Q thought of Eddie as a good soldier that always did what he was told. He really didn’t want to hurt him, but he had to let him know that nobody should question his authority. Country and Stickman, another member of the crew, looked on. Q didn’t want nobody to think he was soft. It would send the wrong message. “Eddie, go stash the motherfuckin’ dope before I backhand your ass.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Q,” Eddie said trembling, with sweat coming down his forehead.
Q lifted up his shirt revealing his gun. “What, motherfucker? You want to try me?”
“No, Q I was just saying don’t talk to me disrespectful.”
Q took a step toward Eddie. Country and Stickman grabbed Q. “Take it easy.”
“Get the fuck off me.” Q broke free from the two men and walked toward Eddie.
“I don’t want no problems, man.” Eddie licked his chapped lips and swallowed hard.
“Go stash the motherfuckin’ dope then, nigga.”
Eddie ran away through the path, fast. He put the dope in a tunnel across from a ditch.
Danny, the white boy, came up carrying two laptop computers—one Dell and one Apple. “Q, can I talk to you?”
“Danny, I don’t want no damn computers.”
“They are new; fresh out the box.”
Q’s face hardened. “What the fuck am I going to do? Go on Myspace or some shit?”
Danny laughed at Q’s lighthearted humor. “Hey, Q, all I want is five rocks, man.”
Stickman walked up to Q. “Hey, my sister needs a laptop. She’s away at school.”
Q turned to Country. “How much money we done made out here today?”
“I would say around twelve G’s.”
“Gimme the computers.”
Danny passed the computers to Q, who turned to Stickman. “You know this shit coming out of your pay. Right, nigga?”
“It’s fine.”
“Write that shit down, Country,” Q ordered like a true businessman. He kept track of everything and he never took shorts.
Lil’ Eddie showed up seconds later and Q said, “Go back. Get the stash.”
Eddie shook his head and disappeared back into the path.
Mark Pratt ran T ommy Dupree’s name. According to records, he had been released from BOP almost eighteen months ago. Mark stared at the picture and remembered how Tommy had gotten off easy. He wondered if Tommy was up to his old tricks. Of course he was up to his old tricks. Jerome had been caught with nine ounces of coke, and he believed that Tommy had ratted him out. One thing Mark knew about Tommy is that he was not the informant type. But he couldn’t tell Jerome this. He would find Tommy and observe him a bit. Though he wasn’t on the radar, Mark still wanted to know what he was up to.
According to county records, Tommy lived at 3830 Windsor Place, a very affluent neighborhood in the southeastern part of town. Mark rode down the long winding street until he finally saw 3830—a huge single-level home with a garage…nothing out of the ordinary. He drove down to the end of the cul-de-sac then turned around. When he was coming back past the house he noticed a black Range Rover pulling out of the driveway.
He recognized the man immediately. It was Tommy Dupree. He looked the same. Tommy backed out of the driveway and whisked away. Mark trailed him and wondered what Tommy was up to. Was he wrong for suspecting that he was involved in illegal activity? Was he wrong for targeting him? Was he just curious? His mind told him that it was a vendetta that he’d had against Tommy because Tommy had gotten away. He continued to trail him by about two car lengths until Tommy turned into Ballantyne Commons Parkway. The Range Rover disappeared into some town homes. Mark drove in among the town homes. He didn’t see Tommy right away. He spotted him after noticing a black 745 BMW with 24-inch chrome wheels parked on the side of the street. Tommy was parked behind the car talking to a black man with braids and a whole lot of tacky gold jewelry. The men talked for a few moments then the other man got into the car with Tommy and drove across the street to McAllister’s deli. They went inside the restaurant.
***** Inside the restaurant, Ditty and Tommy waited in a corner on Jay and Matt. Neither man had anything to eat. Tommy said, “I swear to you, I was being followed.”
“Followed? By who?” Ditty asked.
“I don’t know. I saw this silver Dodge Magnum in my neighborhood trailing me. Whoever it was followed me until I turned into your neighborhood.”
“You think it was one of Q’s boys?”
“Them niggas don’t know where I live.”
“We need to handle that shit, man. We can’t let them niggas think that we’re pussies.”
“They ain’t gonna do shit.”
“Tommy, they think you set Squirt up.”
Just the thought of having another black man locked up made Tommy mad.
“I know you didn’t do it, and I know them niggas know you didn’t have him set up.”
“How did he get locked up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the nigga did something stupid; maybe an improper lane change and they smelled marijuana on him.”
“We have to find out his last name.”
“How?”
“We have to go to his hood and ask around,” Tommy said.
“Where does he live?”
“I don’t know, but I know where Q is from.”
“He’s probably from Q’s hood.”
Dear Summer
“That would be my guess too.” Tommy swallowed hard but didn’t say anything. He thought about going to Q’s hood. He thought about how loyal Q’s people were. If he were spotted, there could be problems.
“What’s wrong, Tommy?” “I don’t want problems, man. I know if one of those niggas threaten me it’s gonna be problems.”
“I don’t give a fuck about Q. I don’t like his punk ass anyway.”
Jay and Matt walked up to the table. They sat across from Tommy and Ditty. “I got a new Escalade. It’s white.” Matt said.
Tommy was thinking somebody had said they wanted an Escalade but he couldn’t remember. He wanted to buy the car because he knew that he could easily sell it, but he had to wonder if the feds were on to the cars. How did Squirt get caught? Something wasn’t right. He reached over the table and frisked Matt.
“What the hell are you doing?” Matt asked.
“Checking for wires.”
Matt laughed then lifted his shirt, and so did Jay. “Tommy, you’re fuckin’ crazy, man. What the hell have you been smoking?”
Tommy’s face was stern. A few seconds later he laughed. “Hey, man, I’m sorry. I just have to be careful. I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Hell, me either,” Matt said.
“Something ain’t right,” Tommy said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the guy I sold the car to going to jail.”
“It has nothing to do with us, man. I’ve sold twenty cars since we last talked,” Matt said.
Ditty said, “We’re just being careful, that’s all.”
“So when can I
get the Escalade?” Tommy asked. He needed to make some money. He hadn’t sold any cars since Squirt had been busted. But who would he sell to? Q and his crew thought he was the police. He would get the vehicle and worry about details later.
“I can get it to you in an hour,” Matt said confidently.
“Is it new?”
“Twenty-six thousand miles on it,” Matt said. “What do you want for it?” Tommy asked. “Thirty thousand.”
“Twentyfive, you got yourself a deal.” Matt smiled then they shook on it.
***** The two white kids were driving a red Dodge Ram. Who were they? Mark wondered. And why in the hell were they talking to Tommy? Maybe they were his customers. Maybe they were his suppliers.
Mark decided to follow the white kids for a few miles then he ran the tags. The tags came back to Matthew Henry, age 26; lived on Blue Diamond Drive. He looked like a college kid. Mark thought, What in the hell could he be doing with Tommy? He didn’t know, but his gut feeling was that they were all up to no good, and he would make it his business to find out. He followed them to a storage facility. Matt punched in the gate code and sped inside. Mark didn’t know the code. He waited outside. Matt came out minutes later driving a white Escalade. The Dodge Ram followed.
Chapter 15
Tommy called his pop’s name out when he entered the house, but he didn’t get a response. He went to the kitchen, but his dad wasn’t there. He opened the bedroom door. He saw his father passed out lying across the bed with his boots still on. Tommy pulled his pop’s boots off just like he did when he was a kid. He put him in the bed then covered him up. As he was about to walk out of the room he noticed a glass tube on the dresser. When he picked it up he immediately knew what it was…a crack pipe. What the hell was a crack pipe doing in his pop’s house? Was his pops smoking? Then he thought hard. Maybe that’s how he blew the money? He became angry. He grabbed J.C.’s shoulder and shook him. J.C. just grunted and turned over on his side but he would not wake. Tommy stared at his father for a long time. Could it be his hero was smoking crack? The man that showed him how to play baseball, taught him to fish…
Though J.C. wasn’t Tommy’s biological father, he was still the only father he knew. Tommy’s cell phone rang. The caller ID read Matt. Tommy answered.
