Trapnights

by AP Jermaine

  “Mr. Walker please!” Lauryn cut him off immediately. “I am a very busy woman. I am here with my client, I represent his rights, and I understand them all. Now please stop wasting my time with these shenanigans and ask your questions or we are leaving!” Lauryn was starting to show her impatience with the detective as a shit eating grin slowly spread across his face.

  “As you wish madam.”

  “Ms. Laddell please.”

  “Oh yeah. So, Mr. Banks, where were you on Tuesday evening between the hours of two and three pm?”

  “Fishing.”

  “At what location?”

  “Twin Lakes.”

  “Is there anyone who can verify this?”

  “Nope. I always fish alone. Only time I can get a piece of mind.”

  “Oh yes, I love to fish myself. Very relaxing. But what would your response be, if I told you that we have several witnesses, that are willing to testify, that you were in McDougald Terrace Housing Projects on Tuesday evening, AND THAT YOU SHOT AND KILLED BIG JOE!” Walkers voice continued to rise until he was yelling! Calmly I answered him.

  “I’d tell you that you are a lying nigger pig, and that whoever told you that, must be willing to tell you whatever you want to hear. Now, you tell me. What kind of trouble are they in, and what did you promise them?” His bullshit tactics weren’t gonna rattle me, and I was glad Lauryn hadn’t intervened. I needed to get that off. Suddenly Walker stood up, looked back at me smiling, and knocked on the door twice. As if on cue, the door opened inward, and staring me eye to eye, was Hood. As two more detectives walked him past the room door. Detective Rhyne stood and closed the door as Walker sat back down in front of me.

  “Now, as I was saying. My nigger pig ass, has got yo black ass by the balls. I’ll leave you and your attorney to discuss the details of the situation, but rest assured Mr. locked up and lonely, you are being charged with murder.”

  “I hate to bust your bubble Mr. whatever your name is, but my client and I came here voluntarily. That elementary little stunt you just pulled doesn’t prove that you have any evidence against my client, nor does it give you any grounds to hold him on. So, could you please step out of the way, because were leaving. Come on Mr. Banks.” Lauryn grabbed her Chanel pocket book and stood up defiantly.

  “Sorry Ms. Laddell, but that won’t be possible. Although I respect your stature, and reputation, we already have the warrant.” Walker snickered sarcastically as he walked towards the door. “Watch them. He’s under arrest.” He spoke to the officer standing by the door as he walked out with Rhyne on his heels.

  “Teddy! What the fuck happened?” Lauryn asked as soon as the door closed behind the detectives. “Did, you do it? And please don’t lie. I’ve defended people for murder before. This is no time for half - truths. I need to know the facts, so I’ll know how to approach this thing. I love you. You know I will sell my soul to the devil if it keeps you with me.”

  “I shot him.”

  “You killed him?”

  “I don’t know. I said I think I shot him.”

  “You think!”

  “Yeah, I shot him. But somebody shot me too!” I said just a little louder than I’d intended, before pulling my shirt over my head and showing her my bandaged shoulder.

  “Did you mean to do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it about your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. That and other shit.” I looked up at Lauryn because she knew we never discussed any part of my life if it didn’t concern me and her.

  “Did you have to kill him?”

  “Yeah, aight!”

  “Don’t get angry Teddy. I’m just trying to figure out how to get you outta this. Do you know that guy they just walked past the door?”

  “Yeah.” The door swung open and in walked Walker and Rhyne with two uniformed cops this time. “Mr. Banks. You have the right to remain silent….

  For eight months, I sat in the Durham County Jail because they refused to give me a bond. The jailers joked with me that I must be in there for pimping, because of all the chics who visited me. One day Monique would come, the next day Keisha, the day after that Latifah, the next day my little Jamaican tender Yokki would come thorough, and so on and so on. I made all of them feel like they were the only woman in the world when they came. I had to. It’s part of being locked the fuck up. Shell was in the block next to mine. He spent seven months in C-Block and took a plea for three years. Two months later, I caught my time. The District Attorney was threatening life. They said they had an eyewitness ready to testify. I couldn’t gamble with that. Sixteen to twenty years with a promise from my lawyer to have me back in court in two. It took four. Let it die down some he said. No I didn’t use Lauryn. Even though she’d come to tears begging me to let her represent me, I didn’t wanna put her out there like that. She’d never represented anybody from Durham, and her police chief ex-husband had already begun digging into our relationship with each other. So, I hired the next best thing. A greedy ex-judge. With all the money that I pumped into his old hand, I should have been able to buy a fuckin jury. But true to his word, the fix was already in. Lauryn did the behind the scenes work on my Motion for Appropriate Relief, and it took her just two months after filing it with the courts, to get me freed on Justifiable Homicide. Shell did his three, I did four, and now I’m back home. Prison is designed for losers. If you don’t consider yourself one, then stay the hell away from the penitentiary. Although a lot of good niggas do fall victim to the white man’s organized slavery. It’s the biggest legal hustle in America. They call it prison. Bullshit food, no privacy, no pussy, smelling niggas funky asses all day, lies, lies, and more lies. Everybody’s a kingpin and a killer. Wasn’t nobody smoking crack, sniffing, or shooting dope. Oh no. Everybody sold it. Yeah right! Then you got the niggas that’s in love with another nigga. Real talk! I’m talking about listening to the quiet storm writing each other love letters kinda shit. Real live homo thugs! Prison is built to oppress, not rehabilitate as they claim. I’m not going back! I gotta be smarter. But now that I got ya’ll up to speed on where I’m at now and how I got here, let’s push forward. There’s some shit I need some answers to. Prepare yourself for the Untold Truth.

  I left Tamia’s crib around 9:30 the next morning. Turning my phone on I saw that I had ten texts and thirteen messages. I knew it was Monique but I decided to let her sweat while I went and checked in with my parole officer. Even though the parole was only for ninety days, I still had to go see him within the first 96 hours of my release. It was part of my release plan. The minute I walked into my parole officer’s door, I knew I’d gotten stuck with an asshole. He had that look that we all know too well. The look of a nigger, who wants to be white. The kind that will bury a thousand black men, just to impress one white one.

  “Good morning sir. And you are?” He even tried to sound white. Damn.

  “Theodore Banks.”

  “Ah yes, I’ve been expecting you Mr. Banks. My name is Oliver Green. You may call me Mr. Greene. I’ll be your parole officer for the next ninety days.” He said with a shit eating grin, as he shuffled through a stack of folders on his desk, until he came to the one with my picture stapled to the top of it. “Alright Mr. Banks, my rules are simple.” I noticed right away that he was quick to say ‘My” rules, instead of the conditions of your parole. “You are not to be around nor possess, any drugs or weapons of any kind etc. etc. You are to follow all the laws of the state of North Carolina. For the first thirty days of your parole, you are to be inside of your residence by seven p.m. You may not leave until at least 7 a.m. the following morning. Not on the porch, not in the yard, inside. During the full extent of your parole, you must remain either gainfully employed, in school of some kind, or searching for employment. You are to see me here twice a week, Monday and Friday, and pay a parole payment of forty dollars a week. Failure to comply with “any” of these rules, will result in your immediate return to prison, for a term of no less or no more than ni
ne months. Are we clear?”

  The fact that this house nigga had said all that in one breath, told me that he was gonna create a problem, even if there was none. “Yeah; we clear.”

  “Yes, we’re clear Mr. Banks. Yes, we’re clear. Please use proper English when speaking to me. This is not a street corner. It is a North Carolina state judicial building. Please act accordingly.” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of me answering again. “Alright then. Make sure you’re in by seven.” He said as he got up and opened the door for me to leave. “Oh yes, just one more thing Mr. Banks.”

  “What is it?” He was starting to try my patience.

  “I’ll be watching you.” He grinned and shut the door behind me.

  Chapter 27 “Diamonds”

  By the time I finally made it to the crib, Monique was pacing up and down the floor, texting her ass off. As soon as I stepped through the door, she dropped her I-Phone and ran over to me. “Oh, my god Banks! What the hell? You had me scared to death! I been calling and texting you all night! What’s wrong with you! You starting that shit already and you just got home!”

  “Stop stressing me with that bullshit.” I said nonchalantly as I walked to the refrigerator, took out a Heineken and opened it.

  “You know what Teddy, you’re a selfish son of a bitch!” You know how much I love you and you just walk all over my heart!”

  “Ay yo man, fuck this shit. If all you’re gonna do is bitch and complain, I’m about to jet back up outta here and just come back later!” I barked angrily, as I snatched my keys off the kitchen counter and headed for the front door.

  “No Teddy! Please don’t go! I just……” Her words were cut short as I spun around holding the two carat Tiffany diamond. I laughed when she grabbed her chest and started to hyperventilate! “Oh my…. Oh my… Is this…. Is this…!” I grabbed her hand, slowly got down on one knee as is customary, and watched as the tears spilled from her eyes.

  “Monique. For the last four years, you’ve held a nigga down like a true ride or die chic, and showed me that you are true wife material. Will you marry me?” I proposed like a gentleman as I slid the ice onto her outstretched finger. She was crying so hard, that it was impossible for her to speak. “Nod your head if the answer is yes.” She nodded her head so hard and fast I thought it might break off! Standing back up I pulled her to me, and kissed her tear streaked face. “Okay ma. You can come on in. She said yes.” My mom dukes, who would have killed me if I hadn’t allowed her to be there when her only child proposed, came bursting through the door arms outstretched, crying like hell herself. We group hugged, before moms and Monique sat down on the couch to beam over the ring. “Okay. Now that that’s settled, which one of yall gonna cook me something to eat? I’m starving!”

  Chapter 28 “Into the Fire”

  I finally caught up with Shell later on that night. Mr. asshole Greene came by at 7:05 pm to see if I was in the crib. The nigga seemed disappointed that I actually was. Around 10:30 he doubled back trying to catch me slipping. I fooled his clown ass though. I’d already made up my mind, that fucking with this dickhead, I wasn’t gonna dip out until the a.m. I left out of the crib around 1:30 am, and headed to the one place I thought I might find Shell. The liquor house. It was a new one, across the street from Turnkey housing development. Also known as, “The Key.” A money-making neighborhood, right at the edge of the city. The liquor house was in a building, that was formerly a “whites only” massage parlor. I emphasize that it was “whites only,” because of the fact that I’d lived in The Key for over half my life, and I’d never seen a black person go up in there. It was rumored that the old man who used to own it, was something like a “Grand Wizard” of the Klu Klux Klan. He’d probably roll over in his grave if he could see the place now. For at this very moment, it was full of niggas! I pulled up into the gravel parking lot and got out. I was driving my 535. Yeah, I still had my baby. Pushing my Glock .45 down in my waistband, I pulled my shirt down over it and walked up to the door. Yeah that’s right. Even though I never intended on going back to the penitentiary, I still wasn’t stupid. There was no way I was going up into no fuckin liquor house without my ratchet. No way. Not in the “Bull City!” The streets still didn’t know I was back home yet, so no sooner than I got recognized, did the whoops and hollers start up,

  “Oh shit, Banks!”

  “What’s up Banks?”

  “There go Banks! What’s good my nigga?”

  “Banks! My nigga!”

  I gave a couple cats dap and hugged a few chicks; but I still kept walking as I gave the girl at the door ten dollars, and headed up in the spot. The room was smoky, dimly lit, and smelled like cheap perfume, weed, and pussy. I spotted Shell right out the gate. That nigga Flame was with him. By the shining jewels and gear that he was rocking, along with the easy to predict sack chasers that were hanging all over him, I knew one thing that Tamia had told me was probably true. He was getting money now. Even with the joint being packed with hustlers, stick up kids and etc., Shell seemed to be the star of the show. As soon as his eyes met mine, he did a double take and jumped up out of his seat! Flame reached for his pistol, and off instinct I whipped out mine! “Oh shit! Hold the fuck up! Hold the fuck up! I know that ain’t my motherfuckin brother! I know that ain’t my motherfuckin brother right there!” Shell yelled like he was foolish, before running up and embracing me. “Oh shit, it really is you!” I could only embrace him with my left arm, because my right hand held my locked and loaded four fifth, as I watched Flame intensely, who still had his gun trained on me too. Shell caught wind, turned and barked on Flame something fierce. “Nigga what the fuck you think you doing! Sit yo ass down! Don’t you know who this is? This my brother motherfucker! This Teddy Banks nigga!” The music stopped

  abruptly, as everybody stood frozen, waiting to see which way they needed to run if shots started to ring out. Flame slowly put his ratchet up and sat back down.

  “My bad my nigga.” He said with a grin as he jumped back up to give me dap. “I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. All that yelling put me on point.”

  “It’s all gravy.” I answered, sliding my pistol back in my waistband.

  “Hey Banks!” This chic named Kaneisha that I knew, walked up and threw her arms around my neck, rubbing her D-cup sized titties against my chest. Kaneisha was a thick, medium brown skinned chic, who was wearing her hair in one of those… crazy ass Mohawk style hairdo’s that girls be wearing these days. I gotta admit she wore the shit well. It looked good on her. I’d been wanting to fuck Kaneisha for a long time. Before I did my bid, she was the arm piece of a bricklaying nigga named Dougie. Since I’d been away, Dougie had fucked around and caught 86 years fed time. And that was after he snitched out his whole team.

  “Ain’t shit Neisha, what’s good?”

  “Everything. What you doing tonight?”

  Now when a chic asks you at three in the morning, “What you doing tonight?” and you don’t know she ready to fuck and suck, then you’re a lame and you need to take your dumb ass home! “Shit I don’t know. Probably get fucked up, then go fuck the hell out of somebody’s daughter.”

  “You got some tree?” She asked, rubbing up against me as I reached down and squeezed that super phat ass.

  “Naw, not…”

  “Hell yeah, he got some tree! He got the best motherfuckin tree!” Shell butted in before I could tell Kaneisha that I hadn’t had the chance to cop nothing to last me yet. “He coming to get wit you in a minute Kaneisha. Let me holla at my dog for a few. Come on nigga, let’s go roll this Dutch.”

  “I’ll be over here Banks.” Kaneisha smiled then licked her lips, staring back at me with a wicked grin as she strolled her bad ass over to the bar. Jay Z’s “Can’t Knock The Hustle” was booming through the speakers, and I was starting to feel like I was back home.

  “Ay yo my nigga home yall! Drinks on me!” Shell yelled out, reaching in his pocket and tossing two knots of money to the girls serving the drinks
. “Yo let me get two fifths of that Hennessey back there and a twelve pack of Heinekens.”

  “Whatever you say Big papa,” One of the chics smiled as she picked the money up off the bar and tucked it into her apron. Without hesitation, she handed him the bottles and the beers, before Shell threw his arm around my shoulder and led me to the back.

  “Yo Flame hold me down I’ll be right back. Let me holla at Banks.”

  “Aight bru, I got you.”

  The music was pumping and the drinks and weed smoke were flowing as we sat down on a couch in the back. Shell handed me a bottle of Hennessy and I took a long swig, damn near choking as the fiery liquid raced down my throat into my chest! Shell laughed like hell as I struggled to keep the cognac down. “Yeah nigga. That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.”

  Reaching into his Sean John jacket pocket, Shell pulled out some tree so funky I could smell it through the bag.

  “What’s that?” I asked him.

  “Oh, this some Arizona mixed with Purple.”

  “Arizona?”

  “Yeah Arizona. It really ain’t nothing but some kind bud, but that’s what they been calling it lately. Bout seven, eight months ago it was a major drought on weed. I’m talkin about didn’t nobody have shit! They say two big shipments got hit coming from Texas. Fucked the streets up! If you did find something, it was straight dirt! The drought lasted almost a month. Then finally, one day somebody just popped out the blue with some decent shit, and said it came from Arizona. It was all you could get for about two more months. Every time you’d find somebody with tree, they’d say they got the shit from Arizona. So, from then on, whoever had some kind bud, they called it “Zona.” Or, “Mid.” It’s all good though. I usually just mix it in with some Kush or Purple. Now, you know what this is?” Shell asked with sarcasm, pulling out a Dutch Master Corona. “You never could out roll me. You know it’s an art to fucking with this leaf. It takes practice bru. One slip, and the whole blunt fucked up!”