“What?” I yelled into the phone but not loud enough to wake Savannah. “It’s 4:47 in the morning here, Peaches. What the hell you want now?”
Peaches tried to pretend like she was shocked that she had forgotten about the time difference, but I could hear the lack of care in her voice as she continued the call. “Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Grumpy. I was calling to find out how my daughter was behaving. Is she the tamed animal you wanted her to be yet?” Peaches asked in between chuckles.
I wasn’t in the mood to play with her. I was sleepy, and my body was tired. “What do you want, Peaches?”
She heard the irritation in my voice but didn’t let up. Bullshit was still active in her voice. “I wanted to talk to my son-in-law and make sure everything was all right, Dre. How is Savannah doing? Is she holding up well?” Her laughter started back up, and the school-girlish sound coming out of her mouth had me ready to hang up in her face.
“I’m gone. I ain’t got time for your dumb shit.”
As I started removing the phone from my ear, I heard her yell, “Don’t you hang up on me, bastard! Did you really think this was over?” I eased the phone back over my ear and listened. Her voice went from sixth-grade school yard to fairy-tale evil villain in a matter of seconds. “Dre, did you really think that I would let you plot against my child, and there be no repercussion? Tsk-tsk-tsk. So smart yet so stupid, aren’t you, Dre?”
What the fuck is this bitch talking about now? I thought as my text message alert went off in my ear. I was too caught up in her words to check it. She had so much anger in her voice that I wouldn’t be surprised if she were foaming at the corners of her mouth. I helped Peaches get Savannah’s money. Hell nah, I wasn’t expecting any repercussions or for her to have any animosity toward me.
“You see, Dre, men like you and Savannah’s daddy fuck up a good thing by trying to tame it. You spend all that time and energy trying to change the unchangeable. You love us for what we are in the beginning; then after you label us as yours, you want to start changing shit.” Peaches took a deep breath and made a noise that sounded like a growl, then continued. “You simpleminded bitch in loose jeans with a dick, you didn’t break Savannah down far enough to break her cravings for other men. All you did was give her a reason to chase dick with a bigger dollar sign that’s willing to share their wealth with her, asshole.”
“Fuck you, Peaches. You don’t know shit, bitch!” I shouted out at her, feeling at a loss for better words at the moment.
“No, Dre. It’s fuck you, bitch, for thinking I was going to sit back and let you fuck over my daughter like her father did me. Don’t drop the soap.”
As her last words rang in my ears to the part of my brain that turns sounds into words, my doorbell rang, followed by three knocks on the door. I hung up the phone because there was nothing left to listen to but hysterical laughter from Peaches. As I walked over to the door, I checked my text message, and it read: 1 new message from Ryan. I didn’t bother looking out the window or checking the surveillance cameras. I knew by Peaches’s last words who it was. I clicked on Ryan’s text message and unlocked the door at the same time. I was able to read: You violated, somebody gave you up to your PO before I was tackled down to the floor.
Once they saw the gun at my side, which was really my cell phone holder, I was beaten until I blacked out. The last thing I remembered seeing was Savannah’s bare feet running my way. Can’t believe I’m going back to jail over a bitch again....
Chapter Three
A Piece of History
“Lord, I’m trying hard to be the changed man that I promised you, my mama, and myself that I would be. I’ve given up the fast lane to riches to cherish the riches you’ve already given me and continue to give me. I’ve repented for the sins of my past, and I try hard not to recommit them. I’m saved, but as of late, I haven’t been acting like a saved man. I’ve sinned. I’ve knowingly sinned to cause pain to others so that I could find my own happiness. Going back to jail to sit down for a minute is man’s way of punishing me. Although it kills me to be back in jail, I know my punishment for the sins I’ve committed is greater than whatever time man has planned for me. So, I come to you today to say, thank you, Lord. Thank you for hitting the emergency brakes on my life to give me time to reflect on the broken promises I’ve made to you and the hurt I’ve caused others. I won’t ask for forgiveness right now because you know my heart, and the request would be in vain. But I will ask you not to give up on me. Watch over me and help me grow stronger in your Word. Father God, please continue to cover my kids, their mamas, and my own mother in your blood. I’m a work in progress, Lord. Sorry to have let you down again. In your powerful name, I pray, Jesus. Amen.”
“That was a powerful prayer, Andre,” the priest said softly, slowing raising his head. “But was it to impress me?”
“Why would I give a fuck about impressing you?” I snapped, causing the priest to look uneasy as he spoke.
“Well, your choice of words makes it sound like you wanted me to know that you have a relationship with the Father or like you felt the need to bring me up to speed. It’s a personal relationship.”
“I know that, but don’t you Catholics like a confession?” He chuckled without responding, which made me feel the need to speak up. “Listen, I’ve only been locked up for a week, so I’m not running to God like most inmates do, and I didn’t find religion in my jail cell either. I already had it. No matter where life has taken me or what I was going through, both good and bad, I made sure to keep my faith first. There isn’t a Sunday or Wednesday that went by that I was not in church. Even if I had to fall in the closest church to where I was at, then that’s where I’d be giving praise. I believe that everybody should believe in something, or they’ll fall for everything and stand for nothing. Since I can’t believe in the words of another man, including yours, I keep my faith strong in the Lord.”
“Okay, so why did you request a visit from me? You seem to have it all together.”
“Are you sure you’re a priest? What kinda question is that? Do you not see where I’m standing?”
The priest took a seat at the foot of my bunk and stared at me. I was sure he played middle man to a lot of nonbelievers’ calls to Christ, and I hadn’t decided if I wanted to waste the energy convincing him that my prayer request wasn’t that. A part of me wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of my cell, but there was something in his eyes that said more than his doubtful facial expression. I noticed it when he entered my cell. I wasn’t comfortable with the prison sending a Catholic priest, but I tried to find comfort in him being black, and then I felt a connection. It was almost like a secret brotherhood headquarters were located in the depths of his eyes, and at that moment, I felt at home.
“Yes, I’m sure I’m a priest, but I’ve done a bid in your shoes.”
“You’ve been locked up, huh? I could tell because you wear the pain in your eyes.”
He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t locked up. I was a cop just like you before I realized my calling. After dozens of arrests, some righteous, others, not, I went home feeling like the criminal every night. I came to a fork in the road, Andre. I had to decide if I’d take the bumpy road of doing good or that slippery slope of evil. It took awhile to decide, but I knew whichever route I chose, I’d have to give my all to, and now, I’m here, chatting with you.” He stood to his feet. “You did say one thing I enjoyed hearing, and that was, thank you. Being here is a great reason to be thankful.”
“I aim to be thankful for everything, even if it’s waking up behind bars with a slab of metal for a bed.”
“Waking up behind bars might have lengthened your days on this.” He walked out of the cell and didn’t look back as the guard locked it.
It was true, there are a million other places I’d rather be than jail, but I have to be thankful for regaining time which I never realized I was missing. It’s fucked up that incarceration seems to be the only thing that can slow me down. It’s
a blessing in the pit of a curse that I had to have my freedom taken away from me to be able to clear my mind. It’s sad, but that seems to be the only way God can get me to listen.
“Listen up, down the hall. It’s mealtime. You are going to step out of your rooms on my two count, retrieve your meal trays, and step back in. It’s that simple. If you don’t want your breakfast, don’t step out. If you have any questions, save them for med-call,” the correctional officer’s voice blared through the speakers.
Regaining time meant that I finally had the peace I needed to think about all the shit I put on the back burner for everyday living. I was temporarily relieved from all my daily duties for the streets. I could put my scales down, stop counting numbers, and put the safety back on my pistol. I didn’t have to burn the extra gas driving around town to get all the bites nobody else wanted. I didn’t have to ride through the hood, passing out fake smiles to niggas who were probably plotting on robbing me if they ever caught me slipping. I didn’t have to be at all the local clubs on big event nights, making sure to step out clean with my dreads freshly twisted and styled to keep the bitches feeling me. Nah, there wasn’t a need to show these hoes that I was still around and still on my shit. They already knew it. I could take a break from all that. I had made a name for myself and not just in Nashville. I was known from Clarksville to Bordeaux, from Goodlettsville to Inglewood, and you can add Hermitage, Antioch, Murfreesboro, and back. Hell, I even have welcome signs in other niggas’ trap spots. Yeah, niggas know me. If they didn’t know me by Dre, they knew me by one of the yellow whips I drove around the city in. And if they still wanted to act like they didn’t know me, I’d make sure they did before I was done. They’d just have to wait, though, because my life was on a much-needed time-out right now, but I’ll be back.
One...
Seriously, I’ve had more time in the past seven days to think about my life, my kids, and any future I could have with Savannah than I’ve had all year. The catch-22 with having time to think is doing too much thinking. I still had to serve my sentence before I could put all my thoughts and plans into motion. That’s the part that will irritate the shit out of you, and irritation had already kicked in. I was ready for the states of Washington and Tennessee to get their shit together so I could be transported back to Nashville. I was ready to get my time and to start serving it. I had a game plan, and I was ready to execute it. All I needed to know was how much time they were going to give me for my violation. I knew I was facing a violation for leaving the state, and if Peaches didn’t come up with some other shit to get me more time, that’s all I’d be facing. I wasn’t tripping about serving time for violating my probation. I wasn’t supposed to leave the city, but chasing after Savannah’s ass had me in Nevada, California, and Washington. I fucked up. That’s my fault.
When it came time for me to face the judge, I wouldn’t tell him, “Look, Your Honor, I was chasing after a bitch, and that’s why I violated.” I’d stretch the truth a little bit and make him believe my sole purpose was finding my daughter and building a relationship with her. With the right lawyer pleading my case, I might get off with six months or less. I couldn’t walk in with a court-appointed public defender. They don’t care about you or your case. They’re just there for the money. But the real reason I couldn’t walk in with one was because of my background. That’s what really worried me about having a public defender. I didn’t need the judge looking at my record and wanting to investigate how a felon like me keeps getting off with slaps on the wrist. I didn’t need to be in the judicial system’s spotlight. My goal was to stay low.
Two...
There isn’t a sugarcoated way to say that my background was fucked in every way possible. With all the inside help I was getting, I could call my background cloudy, but with each arrest, those clouds were starting to disappear. The state of Tennessee knew about my degrees and the short time I spent on Nashville’s police force. But for how much longer would I be able to keep that as all the information they knew? A lot of strings had been pulled to make my career look as if it had ended due to the highly publicized I-Team investigation of 2006. I couldn’t let my mistakes uncover the truth.
The I-Team’s investigation had uncovered more than 100 cases of people with criminal records becoming police officers in the state of Tennessee. I was supposedly one of those 100 with an illegal drug possession conviction before joining the force. It was made to look like I was fired at my two-year mark instead of being promoted to bigger and better things. The plan worked like we all assumed it would, and even my mama was convinced that her baby boy was kicked off the force over some bullshit. I’m glad that wasn’t the truth because if it were, I would have never met Ryan. The truth was I had been scouted for an undercover position on the TBI’s, that is, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation’s drug task force. The bureau had traced me back to my father and knew I had ties to Nashville’s drug trade. They were excited to know that I had ceased following in my father’s footsteps and did the exact opposite of him by joining the police force. I had undergone months of extensive training in multiple areas from the best trainers Tennessee could offer. I even got flown around the country, all expenses paid, for some off-site specialty training. When I proved I was ready to take on my duties, they threw me back into the streets to hustle like I used to. The only difference was the TBI now supplied my supply and re-up money as bait.
They sent a shark to catch the sharks, and once I proved I could, they sent me after the whale. I had cracked a few midlevel drug dealers before, but none of my assignments compared to this one. I was ordered to go undercover to aid in the bust of the biggest drug trafficker in Tennessee’s history. This was the same nigga that had my pops sitting behind federal bars for the rest of his life. My pops wasn’t a snitch, and I guess he assumed that Big David wasn’t either, but that wasn’t the case. While Pops wasn’t talking, Big David was in there singing. He turned on my pops, and since Pops still didn’t snitch when he found out, I turned on him. I was six or seven at the time, and the way I saw it was my pops was more loyal to Big David than to his own wife and kid. I haven’t talked to my pops ever since, but my mama does.
“Mr. Burns, are you’re refusing your meal again?” the question came through the speaker.
When I was first assigned the case, vengeance consumed me. I was all for catching the fool who had broken up my household and left my mother brokenhearted. What I hadn’t planned on or prepared myself for was being around money so large that I could retire before my twenty-sixth birthday. My team wasn’t ready for it either. All it took was one year of making runs back and forth from Texas to Tennessee for Big David for me to learn all the details of his operation. I shared the information with my team and reported all my findings to my superiors. I used recordings, tapes, and hidden video to get the approval for the raid. Then came the day I would get to send Big David away to spend the rest of his life with my father in prison. Not only was I able to lock him up and throw away the key, but I also managed to stash 35 percent of the money we were supposed to be confiscating. I didn’t plan on robbing him, but when they sent me in there to get the evidence with no eyes or ears, the temptation was too strong not to.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Burns.”
It took a few months before the rumors started spreading about there being more money involved than we had confiscated. Big David had befriended a prison guard and told him he had stashed at least $2 million more than what had been documented, and he was sure the TBI agents who arrested him had kept it for themselves. Our superiors didn’t take his words lightly, and they conducted an in-house investigation. Nothing had turned up because I wasn’t stupid enough to start flashing the money around, nor did I tell anyone on my team I had stolen it. That came two years later. I worked another six months, then planned my escape route to get out of it all. I knew the TBI was still keeping a close eye on me, so I gave them a reason to kick me out. I let them catch me selling small amounts of weed that I had boug
ht from dealers we were investigating. I only bought a pound of weed at a time, which was $700 each time. I made sure to take the money out of my paychecks to buy it just in case they decided to track the funds. I knew they were watching me, but I also knew having a key witness to the crimes I was committing would seal the deal. So, I set up my baby mama to be just that. I let Tasha in on what I was doing and let her get some of my smaller sales. She didn’t know anything about selling drugs, and I knew this. It was her test. I wanted to see if she would snitch if she got caught, or if she would ride for her man and take the blame.
“Please believe me, this ain’t my weed,” Tasha pleaded as the cuffs tightened around her wrists.
“Funny that you say that because you’re selling it like it’s yours.” The narcotics officer looked at his partner and nodded. They both knew the ten-dollar value of the sack they were arresting her for wasn’t worth the paperwork, but scaring her into believing it would, would be priceless if they could make it work.
“There ain’t nothing funny about it. It’s nothing but nickel-and-dime sacks. That’s all he trusted me with, and I have to give him every dime of the money I make selling it for him. I don’t get a tip or nothing.”
“Then why are you doing it? You seem like a smart girl. Why would you risk your freedom for somebody else and not getting nothing out of it?”
“Because that nigga is crazy. He controls every fucking thing I do. It’s his way or—”
“Or what?” both officers asked in unison.
“Or my baby won’t have shit. Do you know what a woman would do to make sure her baby is straight? We’d do anything a nigga says we have to do.”
“Who is he? We need a name.”
Kismet 3 Page 5
