by AP Jermaine
Chapter 17 “Monique”
“Where the fuck you think you going?” Big Joe growled up at Monique from his spot on the sofa where he sipped straight from a bottle of Peach Ciroc. Feet thrown up on the coffee table, as he watched Jordan square off with Bird on ESPN Classic.
“I’m going out. Why? You just drug yo ass up in here at six thirty this morning, and you got the nerve to ask me where I’m going? Nigga please!”
Considering his size, Big Joe shot to his feet with lightening quick speed! “You better watch your tone of voice bitch! You my bitch, I aint yours. So, don’t worry about how I do what I do. You just keep yo motherfuckin ass in line!” Big Joe was six feet four, three hundred and twenty pounds. He earned the name “Big” Joe, probably around the age of ten or eleven. By the time he’d reached 5th grade, he was already almost six feet and weighed over two hundred pounds. There was three Josephs in a class of thirty - six students. He, for obvious reasons, was referred to as “Big” Joseph. Now here, two decades later, he stood with fury in his eyes, staring down at Monique.
“Fuck that shit you talking nigga, I’m outta here!” Monique reached for her Louis Vuitton handbag seemingly unfazed by Big Joes deranged look. “SMACK!!! The backhand caught Monique right up under her bottom lip as she attempted to walk past Big Joe! When she awakened three or four minutes later, it took her another thirty to forty - five seconds to figure out where she was, and that she’d been smacked unconscious. The taste of warm blood invaded her mouth, as her blurred vision came into focus on the figure sitting calmly in front of her.
“Bitch, if you ever get your fucking nerve up again to tell me when and where you going instead of asking, by the time I get through whooping yo funky black tar baby ass, bitch you won’t look worth going to a fucking funeral!” BOOF!!! A solid boot to the face sent her right back into darkness.
Monique was born and raised in Savannah, Georgia. At 18 years of age she’d departed from Savannah and come to Durham to attend Duke University, on a full scholarship majoring in Medical Science. Her upbringing was good, although eventually she’d fallen victim to the disadvantages that too often come along with living in a single parent home. Her mother, a beautician by trade, had lost her husband, Monique’s father, to the Georgia State Penitentiary just before Monique was born. He killed the boyfriend of his mistress, or his whore as Monique’s mother Judy called her, late one Sunday evening. Eleven months later he was stabbed to death in a prison riot. Judy never shed a tear. She’d all cried out long before that. She never told Monique anything about her father. Monique never asked. It was always just her and her mama. She knew and understood that well. Unfortunately, in Monique’s sophomore year of high school, Judy had somehow let herself fall victim to the nickel slick bullshit of a petty hustler named Buddy. Monique didn’t mind her mother dating Buddy, because he was always respectful and seemed to make her mother happy. Which was all she really cared about. The problem was, everybody in Savannah knew Buddy was nothing more than a low budget, do bad, wannabe drug dealer. He smoked more crack than he sold. In Judy he saw an endless supply of crack. All he had to do was turn her out. Judy whom had only smoked marijuana twice in her entire thirty- four years of living, began to do so on a regular basis with Buddy, because of his insistence that it intensified their lovemaking. After a while, Buddy began lacing the weed with crack. From there, shit went all downhill for Judy. Judy was no fool, and knew that Buddy had been adding a little something to their joints, but figured it couldn’t be that bad if the was doing it too. It had been so long since she had a man, thinking she had a good one, she didn’t want to lose him for acting immature. Six months later, Judy no longer worked, and depended on Buddy for everything. Including the crack, she now smoked daily from a glass pipe. Buddy was no longer the attentive caring man she’d first met. Now he just smoked crack, and brought men, sometimes as many as ten to twelve a day, over to her house to have sex with Judy for money or drugs. Judy’s only pay was a steady supply of crack to smoke. Her once sharp and vivid mind had rapidly deteriorated into a ghost of its form self. Monique was crushed beyond words when she found out about her mother’s addiction. Her mother was always so smart and mindful when it came to men. In fact, it was because of her mother’s uncut insight and description as to just how treacherous and deceitful men were, that Monique was still a virgin. Of course, she liked boys just like any other teenage high school girl. But fucking was out of the question! She intended to save herself for marriage, and only after she graduated from college. Monique was the spitting image of her mother. Five feet four inches tall, smooth ebony brown skin, light brown eyes that seemed to hypnotize, and what most cats would call, the best of both worlds; breasts like ripe cantaloupes, and an ass that made most chics her age hate her. She socialized in school and always got top grades. She also participated in all school functions. She was what you would call, a beautiful nerd. Her only true and best friend though, was her mother. To look at her mother now was crushing her heart. She was easily thirty pounds underweight, her once bright and sunny eyes were now sunken and sad. Her hair was unkempt and her clothes looked dingy and dirty. Monique hated her for what she’d allowed herself to become. She hated Buddy much, much worse for playing devil’s advocate to her mother’s continuous demise. Monique saw the way Buddy looked at her. She hated him. It was the same way he used to look at her mother. Lately he’d been stopping by less though, and Monique prayed it was a sign of his departure so that she could somehow nurse her mother back to sanity. Although Monique was a schoolbook nerd, at the same time she was street smart. Growing up an only child had taught her toughness, but never had it prepared her for anything like this. Their once humble and happy abode, had transformed right before her eyes into a crack den!
“How many times I gotta tell you ma? I aint got no money!” Monique told her mother for what seemed like the hundredth time, one Friday night after her band practice. “Come on Nique, I know you got something. Loan your mama a couple dollars baby.” Judy whined and pleaded.
“Ma why don’t you let me help you get off that stuff? We can find you help ma please.”
“Get help for what Nique? I aint doing nothing.
“Mama look at you!” Monique could no longer hold back the tears that flowed like a river down her cheeks. “You a crackhead ma! You skinny, you musty, and you look like the walking dead! Where is our TV ma! Where is my gold name bracelet! Where is our furniture! You smoked our damn furniture ma!”
“Shut up!” Judy screamed, tears exploding from her eyes now also. “I said I aint doing nothing!” Before Monique could give her rebuttal, there was a knock at the front door. Judy jumped up as if she’d been struck by lightening, stumbling while racing to the door, praying it was somebody with a hit! Monique watched angrily as Buddy and two dingy clothed white men entered the house. “Hey baby! I been waiting for you!” Judy squealed with glee, thinking of the crack that Buddy would have. She saw the two white men and knew that they wanted some kind of sex. Whether they wanted head, pussy, ass, or anything else, she could have cared less, and was willing to do whatever they wanted. All she cared about was that she knew she was gonna get to smoke some rock! Monique sat down in the kitchen and looked on in disgust.
“Hey Buddy, I know you don’t think I’m bout to pay you fifty dollars for this broke down thing. She looks like death warmed over.” The white man with the huge gut and cowboy boots complained. His skinny pimple faced friend agreed.
“Now wait a minute Jesse. You looking at the best head in Georgia right there.” Buddy responded seeing his one hundred-dollar come up quickly disappearing.
“I can make you cum real good mister. Anything you want.” It was Judy’s turn to make her plea now, frightened of missing out on the rock she knew Buddy had for her.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I asked for something black and sweet, and no offense honey, but you look like your sweetness done turned sour.”
“What about her?” Skinny pimple face butted in, pointing
at Monique.
“I don’t own her. I own this one here Bob. I think she’s still a virgin anyway.”
“A virgin! I’ll give you a thousand dollars to break her in!” Bob shouted as he all but drooled with a devilish grin.
“What the hell you mean you gonna pay a thousand dollars for me pig! You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to lay with your stinkin ass!” Monique jumped to her feet, furious that she was being bid on.
“Wait a minute baby. It won’t be so bad. You gotta lose your virginity someday. It might as well be to one of these good white men,” Judy approached her daughter, pleading for her help.
“Mama listen to you! You would sell me, your only child, to these rednecks just so you can smoke that shit? I hate you! I hate you!” Monique screamed at her mother and ran out of the house forever. From there, she moved into a shelter for battered young women until the end of the school year. Four months later, she was headed for Durham, N.C., to attend Duke School of Medicine.
College life was a new and refreshing experience for Monique. Her roommate was a beautiful Iranian girl named Archaya, though everyone just called her Archie. Monique and Archie were both freshman, and were thoroughly enjoying finally being out on their own. There were always parties and lots of clubs to go to, and Archie’s boyfriend Muhammed, who was also Iranian, seemed to know everybody. Even though Muhammed was Iranian, he dressed, walked, and talked like he’d just stepped off the set of the latest rap video. Iced out chain, Timberlands and the whole nine. Muhammed professed that his family owned oil back in Iran, so he always had lots of money and didn’t mind splurging on everybody. Duke was a constant party, so Muhammed had plenty of opportunities to throw his families money around. Monique met lots of lust thirsty guys at school and out on the town, but was always up front about her virginity and her refusal to let go of it until after marriage. This revelation ran most cats away almost instantly. The few who did stick around to try and “break her down,” would soon find out two things. One, they weren’t getting any sex, and two, their game wasn’t as tight as they thought. Monique was focused on her classes and reaching her goals. The rest could wait until later. But as fate would have it, she would soon learn that grass was not always greener on the other side. Six months into her freshman year, Monique found herself in the Durham County Magistrates Office, charged with Trafficking in Heroin by Possession. As it turned out, Muhammed’s family wasn’t oil rich in Iran. But he did have a heroin connect straight out of Afghanistan. He supplied Muhammed with the best dope in the states, at a price that couldn’t be matched. His popularity it seemed, came from his A-1 heroin and rock bottom prices. Unfortunately for Monique, tonight while she lay sleeping in the dorm room, Durham’s infamous “Heat Team,” a notorious police unit known for making large drug busts, had come crashing into her place of rest, guns drawn yelling and screaming! “Get down! Get down!” They yelled as they roughly snatched a frightened Monique from her bed, handcuffed her and threw her to the floor. Immediately they began to tear the place apart. Earlier surveillance they’d been keeping on Muhammed for the past three months, led them to believe there was heroin inside the dorm room. A long and thorough search, uncovered a little over fourteen and a half ounces of uncut heroin. The dope was found sewn up inside Archie’s mattress. The cops knew the heroin wasn’t Monique’s but charged her just the same. Even though they didn’t actually intend to prosecute, they thought it might draw Muhammed out and make him claim his drugs. Hysterical and sobbing uncontrollably, Monique continued to plead with the Heat Teams captain. She knew nothing about the drugs, or where Muhammed had got them. The whereabouts of he and Archie, she honestly didn’t know. All these things the detectives asked her, and to none she knew the answer. Monique was simply a pawn in a game she knew nothing about. Just like anyone else arrested, Monique was allowed access to a phone after receiving her twenty - five thousand dollar, cash bond. The only people she really knew were Archie and Muhammed. Dialing Archie’s cell phone, Monique was overjoyed when Archie picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Archie! Oh my god! The police raided our room and found some heroin! They say its Muhammed’s and…” CLICK! “Hello? Hello!” Archie had hung up. Redialing the number only proved to be heart wrenching, when she heard Archie answer on the other end and say…. “You’ve got the wrong number. Don’t call this number any more.” CLICK!!! Monique was distraught! How could this bullshit possibly be happening to her? She’d studied hard, said her prayers every night, yet she was in a horrible nightmare and just couldn’t wake up!
“Mam, if you’re not making bond then we need to get you fitted for a jumpsuit so we can get you upstairs to the jail.” The female jailer approached Monique as she lay shaking and crying on the floor.
“Oh my God! Please! I didn’t do anything! I swear that stuff wasn’t mine!” Monique’s pleas fell on deaf ears as the two jailers snatched her up from the floor.
“Mam, all I know is that your bond is twenty - five thousand cash. If you don’t have it, you’ll have to tell it to the judge. Our job is to get you dressed and upstairs to a cell.”
Big Joe, was down at the magistrate’s office bailing out his homeboy Gweedo; on a Possession of a Firearm by A Convicted Felon charge, when he saw Monique being dragged, kicking and screaming to the back of the jail. He remembered her beautiful face clearly, as the sweet Mahogany skinned girl who hung out with Archie and Muhammed. Joe copped his dope from Muhammed, and wondered what the girl was doing at the jail.
“Ay yo jailer! Jailer!” Big Joe screamed through the glass that separated the people whom were being booked in to the jail, and the ones who were trying to bail them out. The two female jailers stopped dragging Monique for a brief second, just to see what all the commotion was. “Ay yo, bring shorty over here I need to holla at her.”
“She’s on her way upstairs sir. Unless you’re making her bond. Are you making her bond? It’s twenty - five thousand dollars. Cash.” The female jailer who looked more like a man, smirked sarcastically. Anyone with two good eyes could see that she was a lesbian who wanted to be a man badly.
“Yeah I might just do that. Now could you please bring her over here? Sir,” Big Joe answered back sarcastically.
“You got five minutes “slim,” and she’s going upstairs.” The jailer smirked once again as she took Monique over to the glass and walked away.
|“Yo shorty, what the hell you doing down here? You don’t look like the criminal minded type to me.” Big Joe questioned Monique as soon as the jailer was out of earshot.
“Oh god! I don’t know! I go to Duke, and tonight they busted into my dorm room and found fourteen ounces of heroin! I aint never touched no drugs in my life!” Monique screamed hysterically! “Oh no! I can’t lose my scholarship!”
“Calm down shorty, we gonna figure something out.” Joe could already envision himself between the thick chocolate thighs of the young tender. Hell, the twenty - five stacks wouldn’t be shit to him, he made that in a day sometimes. The dope game was good to him. But shorty didn’t know that, and if he sprung her, she’d forever be in his debt. “So, who was in the room with you?”
“Nobody! My roommate Archie was gone with her boyfriend! I tried to call her and explain what happened, but she hung up on me twice and told me not to call her number anymore! What am I gonna do?”
It all came together quickly for Big Joe. On numerous occasions Muhammed had instructed Joe to meet him either on, or around Duke Campus. His girlfriend’s room must have been a stash spot, and this chic right here had just gotten caught up in the bullshit that hit the fan. Guilty by association. Even though Big Joe wasn’t shit most times, he was what you could call a black racist. The thought of the foreigners leaving this young black girl for dead to wear their charges, pissed him the fuck off. “Hold on for a second,” Joe told Monique as he stood, turned his back and dialed Muhammed’s number. Even if Muhammed was hiding out, Big Joe knew he’d answer, thinking Joe was ready to cop
.
“Yo, what’s up?” Just as Joe suspected, Muhammed picked up on the first ring.
“What’s up my nigga? What’s the verdict?” Big Joe asked calmly, using their code for him needing some work.
“Everything good big dog. You gotta give me an hour or so though. One of my spots got hit tonight so I gotta go scoop up something. Whatever you need I’ll knock the price down some for the delay,”
Big Joe played dumb. He wanted to see how Muhammed was gonna handle shorty. “Yeah I was just about to ask you about that homie. You know my nigga Gweedo just made bond on that gun charge. He said it was some chic down there in the magistrate’s office going crazy, saying she was your girl’s roommate and that their dorm room got hit by them boys.
