Hush

by Amaleka McCall

  Deidre stopped at her cubicle to gather a few things. She looked over at a picture of her father. He was still her hero. It seemed like her father’s death had happened just yesterday. What bothered her most about her father’s death was that she could not figure out why a man with everything to live for—an exemplary military record, a great job with the FBI, and a loving wife and daughter—would take his own life and not leave so much as a note or a letter of goodbye.

  When Deidre first decided to become an agent, her intentions were to uncover the truth behind her father’s death. As a child, teenager, and now as a grown woman, she still did not believe the story that her father had put the barrel of his own gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Deidre returned to her car to retrieve her cell phone and call her mother. Since she had to leave right away for New York, she opted not to visit her mother. She knew her mother would most likely be indulging in the “Easy Jesus” (E&J liquor) that she’d grown overly fond of in the years after her father’s death.

  “Hey, Mom,” Deidre greeted when her mother picked up the line. She held her breath, praying that her mother was sober. It was a high hope, and Deidre knew it.

  “Don’t ‘hey, Mom’ me! What the fuck is going on with you and Ricky Blum?” her mother yelled, slurring her words and hiccuping at the same time.

  Deidre recognized the signs immediately. Her mother was clearly inebriated. Closing her eyes tightly, she continued. “Mom, we’ll talk about that another time. I’m just . . .”

  “Do you know how old Ricky is? Do you realize that Lorna and Ricky were friends of your father and I since you were ten years old?” her mother castigated, making Deidre feel like she was a fifteen year old that had just got caught kissing a boy behind the bleachers.

  “Mom, I’m about to go to New York on assignment. I’ll speak to you when I get back,” Deidre said flatly, disconnecting the line. “Urgggh!” she screamed out in frustration, slamming both fists against the steering wheel. Her life was a mess. A new case and trip to New York was just what she needed.

  Nothing was secret in the FBI society. The people who worked at the Bureau lived near one another, wives became friends with other wives, and children grew up and married other Bureau employees’ children. It was like a cult, and Deidre had tried not to fall prey to it. It was no surprise to her that her mother had already heard about the incident with Lorna. Anytime she spoke to her mother when her mother was drunk, it reminded Deidre of painful memories from her childhood.

  “How could you do this to me!” Cassandra yelled, tears streaming down her face.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” Ramon apologized.

  Deidre lay in her bed listening to her mother cry and her father apologize. At ten years old, she didn’t know what they argued about so much lately, but she did know that it was happening frequently.

  “Who is she?” Cassandra sobbed.

  “She is nobody,” Ramon mumbled.

  “Nobody? Nobody? Well I would think a woman who you’ve been sleeping with for this long, that has you damn near living a double life, is definitely somebody. For goodness sake, Ramon!” Cassandra screamed as she ran out of the bedroom and slammed the door.

  Deidre quickly shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She knew her mother would be coming to sleep in her room again.

  Running after Cassandra, Ramon grabbed her by the arm before she made it to Deidre’s room. “Listen, it’s all over. We are moving. I got the transfer. No more New York, no more women. I am all yours,” Ramon declared, hugging Cassandra tightly and stroking her hair.

  Cassandra melted into his arms. She loved her husband, but she was sick of his infidelity.

  “Here, these are the keys to a new life,” Ramon said, pulling Cassandra away from his chest and placing the keys to their new home in her tear-soaked hands.

  The next noise Deidre heard was the sound of her mother moaning, not from sadness but from pleasure. That was their routine: screaming, crying, apologizing, and then moaning. Deidre had gotten used to it.

  They informed Deidre the next day that they were moving to a big house in Virginia. “What about my friends?” she asked her mother.

  “You’ll make new ones,” Cassandra consoled.

  “I don’t want to move!” Deidre groaned.

  “It will be a better life,” her mother assured.

  As young as she was, Deidre felt that it was a bad omen. She wanted to stay in New York.

  Two years passed quickly, the years seeming like months. Deidre was twelve going on thirteen, and she’d quickly adjusted to life in Fairfax, Virginia. Her parents seemed happier also.

  “Give me a big kiss!” Ramon demanded, playfully grabbing Cassandra around the waist.

  “A big kiss? Is that all you want?” Cassandra chimed, seductively turning towards her husband.

  “M-m-m-m-m! Now that’s what I call a kiss!” Ramon replied.

  “What about me?” Deidre sang, grabbing her mother and father around their waists for a group hug.

  “I was getting to you. Dame un beso, mi amor. (Give me a kiss, my love)” Ramon said, picking up his daughter. He always spoke to Deidre in Spanish. He wanted her to be a well-rounded bilingual adult. He also wanted her to remain in touch with her Dominican roots.

  “I love you, Daddy,” Deidre squealed, grabbing her father around the neck and holding him as if she never wanted to let go.

  Ramon kissed Cassandra and Deidre on their foreheads before he left for work. My two girls, he thought to himself lovingly.

  “Daddy!” Deidre yelled, running after her father.

  “Yes, baby?” Ramon replied, looking over his shoulder.

  “You forgot to say you love me back!” Deidre griped.

  “Oh, sorry, baby. Daddy loves you more than anything in this entire, whole, widest world. Recuerda, que tu eres mi muchacha favorita! (Remember, you are my favorite girl!)” Ramon said with feeling.

  “I’m your only girl, Daddy. Gracias!” Deidre said, playfully placing her hands on her hips. She knew speaking in Spanish made her father proud.

  Later that night, Deidre was awakened by loud knocks. She crept out of bed and stood at the top of the winding staircase, watching and listening as her mother rushed to the foyer of their newly built home.

  “Who is it?” Cassandra yelled from behind the door. A gruff voiced replied, and Cassandra immediately recognized the person on the other side. It was Special Agent Lewis, Ramon’s partner. She pulled back the door, allowing him inside. Agent Lewis’ facial expression was grave, his face and eyes swollen. “Lewis? What is it? What is the matter?” Cassandra’s voice had risen two octaves, as she feared the worst.

  “Cassy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I couldn’t save him! It all happened so fast!” Agent Lewis lamented, reaching out to console Cassandra, his body shuddering under her falling weight.

  “No! No-o-o-o!” Cassandra emitted a blood-curdling scream, knowing exactly what he was trying to tell her. Her worst nightmare had come true.

  Deidre ran down the stairs in response to her mother’s screams.

  Deidre couldn’t focus any more on her mother, or on her father’s death right now. She was about to embark on one of the most dangerous assignments of her career. With her mind heavy, she drove around D.C. for two more hours, stopping at the Cosi on 12th and G Street to eat her favorite salad. She didn’t want to go home. She was lonely now that she knew Ricky wasn’t going to sneak there in the middle of the night, or even call her ten times before she made it home. She’d grown accustomed to his routine of sneaking in during the middle of the night, and the way he wanted to keep tabs on her all of the time. With no place else to go, however, she decided it was time to head home.

  She drove her hooptie up the driveway. The sky was dark and she could barely see the front of her house because Lorna had busted her porch light.

  As she put the car into park, she noticed a shadowy figure running away from her front door. “What the fuck?” she
mumbled, fear causing a hot surge of adrenaline to pump through her veins. Despite all of the training she received at the Academy, she screamed, “Hey!” and with shaking hands reached under her coat for her weapon. She frantically swung the car door open and exited, sliding on the thin sheet of black ice that covered the tar. Regaining her balance, Deidre rushed towards her house, gun in hand. But it was too late. The lone dark figure disappeared into the naked woods.

  With her chest heaving in and out, Deidre swallowed hard and slowly approached the gaping front door with caution. Scan left, scan right. The only sound she could hear was her own heavy breathing. Dipping her head in and out of the doorway as if she were bobbing for apples, she cleared herself to enter, all the while maintaining a two-handed grip on her weapon. Once she felt the immediate area was clear, she stuck her hand inside and clicked on the light in the foyer. Inching around inside the house, making sure to keep her back against the walls, she searched the house. Nothing. She exhaled and grabbed her cell phone, involuntarily dialing Ricky’s number.

  “Hello?” Ricky’s gruff voice boomed through the receiver.

  Deidre clipped the phone shut to disconnect the line. “Shit!” she cursed aloud, angry at herself for calling him. She could’ve called 911. Instead, she called the person she’d come to depend on in times of need.

  She shoved her gun back into the holster and walked down the stairs. Just as she rounded the corner at the bottom of the staircase, she bumped into someone. “Agggghhh!” she screamed and jumped, going for her weapon as the person screamed too.

  “Mrs. Zuberman! Whew, you scared me!” Deidre gasped, placing her hand over her pounding heart. Little did the old lady know that she was about to get Swiss cheesed up. Lucky for her, Deidre wasn’t like street cops—quick to shoot and ask questions later.

  “I heard you scream, and I saw that person running from your house. They cut across my grass,” Mrs. Zuberman said with a hint of scorn in her voice.

  “Did you see what he or she looked like?” Deidre inquired.

  “No, but whomever it was, dropped this,” Mrs. Zuberman informed, stretching her wrinkled white hand out toward Deidre.

  Deidre grabbed the silver chain link bracelet from her neighbor’s hand. Examining it, she was sure she had seen it before. “Thank you. I’ll give this to the police. Just keep your doors locked,” Deidre responded, slowly ushering her neighbor towards the front door.

  With Mrs. Zuberman safely inside her own house, Deidre walked back to the car. Bending into the passenger-side door, she retrieved all of the files, along with the newspaper article. As she lifted the stack of papers, a photograph slipped out from one of the folders. A cold chill shot through her body like someone had pumped ice water into her veins. Even in the dark, the eyes of the person in the picture seemed eerily familiar. Freaked out, she hurriedly pushed the picture back into the folder, gathered the remainder of her belongings, and rushed inside the house. “You’ve got too much shit to do tonight to be acting like a scardy cat,” Deidre mumbled, scolding herself. She had to be in New York the next morning, and she still had to pack some things, review the file folders, secure her house, and most importantly, study her new persona—DeeDee Barnes.

  The first rule of going deep under cover is to know the role, and be able to answer questions at the drop of a dime. Especially commonly asked questions like, Where are you from? Where did you go to school? Deidre had learned never to underestimate the criminal mind. One wrong answer and her whole cover could be blown. She wanted to make sure she had all her bases covered.

  Diedre threw all of the assignment information on her bed. She began to undress, deciding that a hot shower was what she needed more than anything. As she pulled her shoulder holster from around her back, her mind went to the image of the eyes in the photo. Her curiosity was killing her. She wanted to know, but then again, she didn’t. “Forget it!” she whispered, grabbing the criminal profile folders.

  Sitting down on her bed, she spread the folders out and opened each one, reading the headers aloud: “Chastity Smith a.k.a. Chazz, Tori Banks a.k.a. T-Baby and Leticia Ruiz a.k.a. Loca, all members of F.A.B. F.A.B? What the hell does that mean?” Deidre asked herself. She would have to read further about this all female crew.

  VOLUME 3: THE F.A.B.

  “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crowd of unruly girls from the Mother of Grace group home chanted, urging on the wiry girl named Big Melinda, who cracked her knuckles menacingly.

  “Please, I just got here! I swear I didn’t roll my eyes at you!” the stubby, soon-to-be victim cried as she backed away.

  “I saw you!” someone in the crowd yelled, instigating.

  Big Melinda balled up her fists and moved in for the kill. The teary-eyed victim, a chubby girl with big doe eyes, covered her head with her arms, preparing to take the beat down. Crack! Crunch! The sound of bone hitting bone traveled through the air. Big Melinda held the side of her head as she crumpled to the ground like a crashed paper airplane, nothing at all breaking her fall.

  “Ohhhhh!” the riotous crowd of girls voiced their astonishment. The short chubby girl unfolded her arms to find out what had happened.

  “Now, who else wants some of this?” a husky butter-colored girl barked, flanked by her partner. Talk among the crowd buzzed, but it died down quickly as they began to disperse. Nobody wanted a piece of the crazy girl.

  The would-be victim looked down at the brute that had terrorized her. Lifting her foot, she valiantly gave Big Melinda a sharp kick in the ribs before she turned to run.

  “You don’t have to run. That bitch is a fucking punk—always picking on kids smaller than her up in here. I ain’t having that!” the husky girl announced.

  “What’s your name?” her pretty sidekick asked.

  “Tori,” the new girl victim said softly, lowering her eyes.

  “I’m Chastity, and the person who saved your ass is Leticia,” the partner said.

  “Thank you, Leticia,” Tori said genuinely.

  “No problem. You can’t be a punk in this place. You gotta hold your own. When you got here?” Leticia asked.

  “Last night,” Tori murmured, bowing her head in shame.

  “So, you wanna be a part of our crew?” Leticia asked, feeling sorry for the little, fat weakling.

  “Sure!” Tori beamed, finally making eye contact.

  “We are the Fly Ass Bitches,” Chastity informed her.

  “Okay,” Tori agreed, unsure if she wanted to call herself a bitch.

  “Yeah, since you are so little and look like a baby, your tag name is T-baby. I’m Loca, because as you can see I’m one crazy puta. And this is Chazz, because her ass is cool,” Leticia said.

  Tori smiled as she walked with her new crew, glad to feel part of something.

  “Inmate 990348BK, Leticia Ruiz!” the squat, big butted Corrections Officer screamed, breaking into Leticia’s reverie. Leticia stepped forward from the line, hands and feet in shackles. “Date and place of birth!” the CO screamed her question like a command.

  “June 30, 1985, Brooklyn!” Leticia yelled in response.

  “Release time: 1420 hours,” the CO continued, while simultaneously snapping Leticia’s picture.

  Leticia let a huge smile spread across her attractive, but hard-lined face, which was marred by a single C-shaped scar over her right cheek. The CO unshackled her and handed her a stack of papers to sign. “What’s all this bullshit?” she asked, screwing up her face.

  “This is your release agreement and plan,” the CO commented without looking up.

  Leticia remained silent. She decided to get released first, talk shit second.

  Once she scribbled her John Hancock on the stack of paperwork, the CO handed over her two-year-old possessions in three clear plastic drawstring bags. “Open the bags and take the things out one by one as I read them off the list,” the CO instructed.

  “Look, I don’t need this old shit. You keep it,” Leticia said, pushing the bags into the CO’s ch
est. Taken aback, the CO looked curiously at Leticia. “And I don’t need no fucking MetroCard and that bullshit release money either. You use it to buy yourself a new pair of shoes or something!” Leticia spat sarcastically, chuckling as she bopped away harder than a dude. She rushed towards the front gates of Rikers Island, where she had been transferred to from Bed-ford Hills Women’s Facility three months earlier. The music she heard blaring beyond the gates put an extra pep in her step.

  “What up, thug? What up, gangsta? They say I walk around like I gotta S on my chest. That’s a semi-auto and a vest on my chest”

  “That’s gotta be those bitches!” Leticia whispered, her heart pounding with excitement. The Fifty Cent lyrics told her that her girls where outside waiting for her. Through letters and collect calls, Leticia knew her girls had her back.

  She also knew they’d started a whole new life, which included many fine things. Tori and Chastity never let Leticia down while she served her two-year bid, but a lot of things had changed since then. They’d all come a long way from being three foster care runaways. All three girls came into the system under different circumstances, but over time, they formed a special bond with each other that was stronger than blood. They all brought something different to the table.

  Chastity was the beauty and the brains. She could sell salt to a slug. Tori was the level-headed one, a bit jittery but always thinking outside the box. She kept them out of trouble on numerous occasions. Leticia was the brawn. She was down for whatever, whenever. Once she committed her first murder, there was no stopping her.

  “Loca, my nigga!” Tori screamed, calling Leticia by the street name she’d earned for her constant display of erratic behavior. Leticia’s light green eyes lit up when she saw her friends and their ride home. Damn! I know they said shit had picked up, but I had no idea! she thought to herself as she continued her masculine stride towards the gleaming silver Range Rover.