Asad ended the call and rolled out of bed in a rush to get to his brother. Both he and China rushed around the room gathering clothes and quickly dressing to leave. But Asad was all over the place.
“Bae, I know you’re worried, but slow down. It won’t do any of us no good if you get hurt trying to get to him.”
“I’m good. I just need to find out what the fuck Fame was doing to be shot by the police, and what was his ass was doing out so late for anyway. This shit crazy!” Asad exclaimed while tossing on some ash-gray sweatpants and shoes. “Where is Sky?”
“I’m not sure.”
“China, get up with her and make sure she’s good. I hope her ass wasn’t with bro chasing a few dollars. I’ll call you when I find out what’s up with him. You let me know if she’s good,” he said before racing out of the house.
Asad sped through the streets sometimes running stoplights. He had only been out of the house less than ten minutes when his phone started playing the ringtone for Sky. Sky was calling to let him know that she was alright and that she would meet him up at the hospital.
Another ten minutes passed before he was turning onto the grounds of the always busy hospital. Asad quickly found a parking spot and slid the car into it, then jumped out and frantically jogged across the lot right through the hospital’s entrance. Asad went up to the nurse behind the information desk and demanded to be pointed in the direction of his brother.
“He was shot by the police last night and brought here like an hour ago, so what you mean you don’t got anybody here that’s been shot by the damn police?”
“Sir, I’ve been here at this desk pretty much all night. It’s my job to know who’s in my ER and why. I’m telling you someone gave you the wrong information; but if you calm down and give me your brother’s name again, I can look him up and see if he is here for a different reason for you, okay?” the night nurse explained, standing up from her seat behind the desk. “Sir, your brother is here. He was shot, just not by the police. He is in critical condition right now is all I can tell you at this time.”
“What room is he in?”
“I can’t give you that information because he was brought in by the police, but if you have a seat in the waiting area, I’ll call someone to come speak with you and hopefully answer all of your questions.”
Asad agreed and went over to the waiting room. He sat in a seat that gave him the best view of the front desk and the double doors that led back to the emergency room’s patient area.
While he waited, he texted Byrd and asked him to call his girl and tell her that he was in the waiting room and they would not tell him anything much. A short time later, Brenda emerged through the double doors and walked up to him.
“Hey, do you know what’s going on, because ole girl won’t tell me shit. All she said was that she would call somebody to talk to me, and ain’t shit happened yet.”
“Asad, I don’t know much either. The police won’t let too many people around him. But I do know he was shot and in a car crash with a fire truck. He’s in critical and has lost a lot of blood, but the doctors are working hard to stop the bleeding and get him stable. I’ll know more when they’re done and come get you to see him if they let me. But I gotta go now,” she told him before she then rushed off back through the double doors.
With nothing else to do but wait, Asad turned his attention to the TV and watched a special breaking news report. What really caught his attention about it most was when they talked about a high-speed chase that ended with a car being T-boned by a fire truck.
* * *
Tabitha awoke around ten o’clock and immediately turned on the TV. She then sat up in bed and started checking her emails, just as the overnight breaking news report came on and reported coverage about the Michigan Street homicide case. They were calling it the Michigan Street Massacre, but that was not why she was upset. The reporter somehow had gotten her hands on information connecting the multi-car accident to her crime scene. They reported that the survivor of the crash was also the number-one suspect in the massacre.
“What the hell!”
“What the hell what, Tabi? Why are you yelling?” Aurora asked, rushing into the room while holding a cup of coffee. “What the hell happened?”
“The damn news just put out info that they had no business having about my case,” she answered as she pulled up her captain’s number on her phone and called him.
“Wow, that’s fucked up!” Aurora retorted while still standing in the doorway.
“Allison, I already know why you’re calling, and I’m on it!” the captain said as soon as the call connected. “I’ve been on the phone since I got in this morning.”
“Do you know where they got their information from?” Tabitha inquired, getting out of bed and taking Aurora’s coffee from her.
“Not yet, but everybody was told to keep it on the hush-hush last night.”
“Well, somebody talked crap, because TMJ 4 is on the air right now with a full report on it.”
“I told you I’m on it! Allison, I need you to get a statement from the suspect as soon as you can. Listen, we can talk more when you get in. I gotta go now, so I can get them to pull that story.”
“Alright, Cap, but I’m going straight to the hospital so I can question him before he lawyers up on us.”
“Handle your business pronto then, Dete-ctive,” he agreed before he ended the call.
Tabitha dressed in black jeans and a shirt. She then rushed out of the house two and a half hours before she had to report in to work. The detective stopped at a drive-through for a quick ham-and-cheese breakfast bagel and a large coffee. On her way to the hospital, she ate the meal, which made her think of Bret for the first time since their breakup. She hated that she was actually missing him.
TWENTY - FOUR
Noeekwol and Vet made it down to the infamous cellblock known as the Dungeon where they were given their cell assignments. They had not gotten their wishes to be cellies, but they were only a cell away from each other. This meant they would be able to meet up in the chow line. As they wandered through the cell block, Noeekwol looked at all of the faces of the men that stared at them through the narrow rectangular window of the steel faded-gray cell doors.
“Bondz!” a young cocky-looking male CO stopped him. “Put your things on your bunk and come right back out. The security director wants to see you.”
“Yeah, alright,” Noeekwol acknowledged him before walking into the dull white-and-gray-painted cell.
He examined the insignificant space and was shocked they got away with putting three men in a room that was barely big enough for two.
At the time there was only one other man in the cell. The man looked up to see who had been put in the cell with him, and then pulled his blanket over him and went back to sleep without a word. Noeekwol placed his bedding and paperwork on one of the empty bunks and wondered why Vet could not have been placed in there since there were two open bunks.
“Let’s go, Bondz!” the CO shouted from the doorway.
“Do you know what the director wants to see me about?” Noeekwol asked when he finally exited the cell and met up with the officer in the dayroom.
“No, that’s above my pay grade.” The CO chuckled. “Bondz, you know I follow your career. You’re a really good fighter. I’m a fan,” the CO said while leading him back out the way he came just a little while ago.
“Thanks!”
“Did you lose your title when you got locked up for this?”
“No, I still got it, because I’ll be outta here before I have to start the Ultimate Fighter training camp.”
“That’s good to hear, man. I’m team Bondz all the way,” he said excitedly before he lowered his voice. “I’m Buckley. If you need anything, just let me know, champ, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Buckley flashed a devious grin just as they were being buzzed through the first heavy security door that led to the control area and the security director.
“Not while you’re down in the Dungeon, unless it is for security reasons. But I can see to making that happen for you when you are placed on a permanent housing unit. The Dungeon is just intake. Give me your friend’s name, and I’ll make a note of it on my to-do list,” he said, pulling out his day planner and pen to jot down the name.
“Damn, I don’t know his real name, but they call him Veteran. He’s in the cell that’s one over from mine.”
“This is cool. I can find his name easy enough from that,” Buckley said before he put his day planner away and then knocked lightly on the security director’s door before peeking his head inside.
He informed his superior that he was there with the inmate. After a bunch of “yes sirs,” Buckley informed Noeekwol that the director had a sudden meeting and had to postpone their meeting until after the lunch hour and inmate head count.
“So I just walked all the way down here for the hell of it!” Noeekwol complained as he got up from the row of chairs outside the office.
“Yeah, it would have been too much work for her to have called me on the radio and rescheduled. But, Bondz, look at it this way: at least you got some time out of that stuffy-ass cell.”
On their return to the cell block, Noeekwol entertained Buckley by answering his inquiries about his life as a fighter. Back in the Dungeon, Noeekwol stopped and glanced inside Vet’s cell on his way to his. Vet seemed to him to be in a very heated conversation with the guys in the cell with him. Noeekwol knocked on the window to get his attention, but before they could talk, he was told to keep it moving to his cell by the CO.
This time when he entered the room, Noeekwol’s pug-faced chubby Italian cellie was sitting upright on the edge of his bunk fully dressed.
“What up!” Noeekwol greeted him as he crossed the room. He got right to making his bed.
“Hey,” his cellie responded dryly. “You might not wanna get too comfortable. They’ll be letting us out for chow in a few. Your name’s Bondz, right?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, dropping the flat pillow into the pillowcase.
“Do I know you from someplace?”
“You might. I’ve been all over the TV for one thing or another in the last few months.”
“I don’t do too much TV watching, so I don’t think it’s that. The name’s Bobby. What do you like to be called?” he asked after extending his hand.
“Bondz, or you can just call me champ. Everyone else is,” Noeekwol said while shaking Bobby’s hand.
“Why do they call you champ? Do you box or something?”
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Nope.”
“How long have you been locked up?” he questioned him, remaining a bit suspicious of Bobby.
“I don’t fuckin’ know, man. Like three months.”
“Oh. Well, I’m an MMA fighter. Does that spark anything for you?”
“Bondz! Bondz! Bondz!” he repeated aloud to himself, thinking on the name. “You’re Noeekwol Bondz?” Bobby exclaimed excitedly. “No fucking way. This is you! I lost $300 betting against you about a year ago when you fought Boom Boom Lopez.”
“Wow, that was a minute ago. That lil’ joker wasn’t ready for my weight class,” he boasted. “I put his ass down easy.”
“Yeah, you did,” Bobby agreed, looking alive for the first time since Noeekwol first walked into the cell. “What do you know? I’m locked up with a fuckin’ star. Wow! Hey, how did you do in that tournament for the tri-state belt?”
“I took that shit home.”
“Oh that’s what up. So you got to fight for the chance to fight in the UFC then, right?”
“Yeah, I took it all. You’re looking at the new light heavyweight champ,” Noeekwol answered proudly right as the door opened for them to go to lunch.
“Man, I wanna hear all about that shit when we get back,” Bobby said before hurrying out of the cell.
Noeekwol strolled out behind him at about the same time as Vet was exiting his cell.
“Man, is you good over there?” Noeekwol inquired once he caught up with him.
“Yeah, I’m straight. But let’s holla about it at the table. There’s too many ears around right now,” he answered in a hushed voice as the two of them lined up with the rest of the men from the cell block.
“Alright,” Noeekwol responded, now even more concerned with what he had observed when he peeked into Vet’s cell.
* * *
Upon walking into the lobby of the hospital, Tabitha immediately browsed through the crowded waiting area. She wanted to see if she could pick out the family members of her suspect. It was a game that she started playing in her head way back when she was a uniformed officer. Whenever Tabitha and her old patrol partner would arrive on the scene of a crime, she would scan the bystanders to see whose emotions were out of place. Most of the time that person would usually know something to do with the case.
However, right now the detective’s game was not going the way she wished it to. She wondered if any of the suspect’s family members had been contacted about him. Tabitha guessed that no one had been, because when he was brought in, he did not have anything on him that could identify him.
The only words he had spoken before he passed out were, “They’re trying to kill me.” Tabitha assumed that the “they” the suspect was talking about were the dead men in the mangled car and/or the body that was lying across from him when the police found him in the alley.
But as she approached the information desk, the detective spotted a man sitting with two distraught women, one older and the other about his age. Tabitha just knew they were her people. When she moved a little closer and overheard him explaining a few details about her case and the suspect, it confirmed her suspicions. She decided not to talk to them just yet; instead, she went up to the desk. There Tabitha instructed the hospital staff not to allow the trio back to see her suspect until she had a chance to speak with him first. When everyone agreed, one of the nurses escorted her through the double doors where her suspect was.
TWENTY - FIVE
For third time since he arrived at DCI, Noeekwol found himself being marched down the same long corridor as before. This time he noticed when he passed the doors that led to the control office. He also noticed that many of the officers were lined up outside of their assigned cell blocks to help police the movement through the hallway to the chow hall.
Noeekwol followed everyone down a flight of stairs to the serving line at the end of the staircase. There he received a hard plastic tan tray containing a turkey frank, a bun, diced oven-fried potatoes, a soft lemon cookie, plus one ketchup and mustard packet. He next moved along and was given a choice of a carton of milk or a glass of Kool-Aid. He chose the milk because he did not trust open drinks, nor did he like people reaching over his food or drinks. Lastly, he collected a plastic knife and a spork with which to eat.
When Noeekwol looked up, he spotted Vet just standing there wondering where to sit in the loud, crowded chow hall.
“Let’s go sit with my cellie. He’s cool,” he suggested after spotting Bobby sitting alone at a center back table.
Vet did not care and let Noeekwol lead the way.
“Bobby, want some company?”
“I don’t have a choice. Now that y’all here, you can’t go to another table or they will trip on you. So you may as well sit down before they tell you to,” he explained before he then stuffed his mouth with potatoes.
Noeekwol chose the side of the four-man stainless steel table that put his back toward the wall. Vet sat in the seat that allowed him to keep an eye on his two hostile cellmates while he ate.
“Do one of y’all want the rest of this? I’m just eating the hot dog and drinking the milk,” the champ offered, pushing the rest of his tray into the middle of the table.
“I’ll take the cookie,” Vet
quickly spoke up as he snatched it up before Bobby could.
“Sounds good to me,” Bobby said, picking up the tray and raking the potatoes onto his tray. “That damn cookie ain’t going to keep my belly from touching my back.” He laughed before he went back to wolfing down his food.
“Now, Vet, tell me what’s up with them fools you in there with.”
“Man, champ, I’m straight. It was just that fool with the braids in there was talking some shit. He supposed to be a 1-9 Disciple, and the other punk just wanna be down or some shit.”
“So what do that gotta do with you?” Noeekwol asked between bites of his hot dog.
“He’s mad because my hood just ran through 19th and sweated ‘em before I got locked up. But I wasn’t there, so it ain’t got shit to do with me.”
“What hood you from?” Bobby interjected.
“Brown Street. The ghetto,” Vet replied, looking him in the face.
“So you’re a Brotha. I’m a King, lil’ bro; so if you got drama, I got drama. Just like out there with your hood. If they do something, it has everything to do with you, even if you was around at the time or not. As long as you ain’t on no hot shit, we can tear this bitch up, if you wanna tear this bitch up,” Bobby exclaimed, flashing quick hand signs to show his loyalty.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you two fools. Both my pops—RIP—and my brother are Lords. I don’t bang myself, but I know better than to go against the grain. Vet, if you need me to holla at them fools, I’m there. But like Bobby said, just don’t be starting no shit with them,” Noeekwol warned his young friend.
“I promise y’all, I ain’t on that. Just like you, I’m trying to knock down my lil’ time so I can get back out there and on my music shit again. I don’t think there’s gonna be no mo’ shit with dude and the wanna-be. If there was, they would’ve done something when we were just in the cell.”
“Alright,” the champ responded before finish-ing his food and dropping the subject.
About twenty minutes from the time the first man in their cell block had gotten his food and sat down, an officer came over and informed them that chow was over and it was time to get up. Noeekwol and Vet followed Bobby’s lead when he went over to the line to leave. They dumped their trays into the trash and then handed them to the inmate dining room worker. The trio used a different set of stairs to exit the chow hall for their return to the Dungeon. Once there, they were once again confined to their cells. Then right after the prison’s afternoon standing head count, CO Buckley returned to escort the champ to his meeting with the director.
Scarred Knuckles Page 11
