Christmas in the Hood (23 page)

The visit ended all too soon.
If the stupid-ass cracker COs wouldn’t take so long to process people in, then maybe we could visit for longer
, Laquesha thought as she drove home. The BOP was notorious for having visitors wait for hours on end before they would let them in to visit. It made no sense to complain because then the power-tripping guards at the desk would just make the visitors wait longer. It was hell on the nerves, but when loved ones were in prison, visitors had no choice. Either wait and suffer the indifference of the prison guards, or don’t visit. Laquesha always felt like they treated her as if she were the criminal. Always looking down at her and suspecting that she and her kids were smuggling drugs or something. It didn’t matter that Fats was already doing time; it seemed the prison guards wanted to punish her, too. It bugged her, but what was she to do? She looked back at her kids, who were sleeping in the backseat. Laquesha still worried about Fats. No matter his reassurances, she had a nagging feeling that behind her back he was trying to do something with Kim.

*  *  *

The next day, with her suspicions still worrying her, Laquesha called Kim.

“Hello?” Kim answered the phone.

“What’s up, Kim. It’s Laquesha.”

What’s this bitch want?
Kim thought. “Hey, how you doing? Have you talked to our man?” Kim humored her.

“Yeah,” Laquesha said. “I was up there all day yesterday. He’s good.”

“Oh yeah?” Kim responded. She didn’t know Laquesha had planned to visit Fats again so soon. She had to one-up her, though. “I’m going next weekend,” she said.

Fucking bitch
, Laquesha fumed.
Fats better not use up all his visiting points with her.

“That’s good, girl. I’m sure lil’ Demitrius wants to see his daddy.”

“Yeah, you can bet he does, and I need to see that nigga, too,” Kim said, trying to cause some friction.

Laquesha ignored it. “Look, Kim, I know you two got something planned, and I’m calling to beg you not to do it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Laquesha.”

“Don’t come at me with that bullshit. I know what you two are planning to do, and I’m telling you, don’t do it. Don’t get Fats hemmed up. I know he means well, but it’s not worth it. You could go to jail, Kim. Did you ever think about that? What will happen to lil’ Demitrius then?”

Laquesha threw a low blow at Kim’s motherly instincts. And for real, the same thing had been playing on Kim’s mind. She was scared to death something would go wrong, but she didn’t know how to back out of it. She sat on the phone not saying nothing.

Laquesha took this as her cue to press on. “I’m just saying, Kim, think of the consequences. Think of the worst possible outcome. Is that something you want to have to deal with?”

Kim was quiet. She knew she didn’t want to go through with it. Her own fears coupled with Laquesha’s words had just reaffirmed her own doubts. She slid the phone down into the receiver.

“Kim,” Laquesha said. “Kim, hello?” But Kim was no longer on the other end of the phone.

*  *  *

Fats was in recreation the next day working on the cards for his kids. Recreation supplied all the materials: cardboard, coloring pens, glue, little Christmas designs, glitter, Santa Clauses, Christmas trees, reindeer, snowmen, and so on. All Fats had to do was put it all together and arrange it. He was busy because the class only lasted three sessions, and Fats had to make cards for his three kids and his two baby-mamas. Plus, he had a basketball game at seven p.m., so he wasn’t trying to bullshit. His homie Country saw him and came into hobby craft to holla at his boy. “What up, slim?” Country said. “I see you jive making the little Christmas cards. What’s up with that?”

Fats looked up from his work. “You know how we do, moe,” Fats said. “I gotta do big things for the kids.” Country smiled admiring his homeboy’s tenacity. “So what’s up with that demonstration?” Country asked, referring to the move. “You got it all set up or what, slim?”

Fats looked back at his homie. “It’s all good for this weekend, moe,” Fats said.

Country clapped him on the back. “Good deal, good deal, slim. You ready for the game or what?” Country asked.

Fats nodded. “I’m ready,” he replied. The game was big, but to Fats his kids were bigger.

Don’t get it twisted, he was ready to do his thing with the rock. It was the first game of the Christmas tournament, and the whole pound would be out to see what mob was up to win the whole thing. Dudes would be betting mad cheddar on the games, and all the homies would be out representing for the D.C. mob. Fats knew he had to do this thing, he was being counted on to distribute the ball, run the point, and hit the trey when needed. But Fats
was confident in his game. So he would just ball. His mob stood a good chance to win it all if the things fell right. Although they didn’t have one dominant player, the D.C. dudes played together. Everyone played their role and hustled. Plus, Country was a good motivator and wasn’t afraid to call his players out when needed.
It will be what it will be
, Fats thought, and got back to finishing his cards.

Chapter Eight

T
he next morning, the gumps were decorating the unit with more cardboard designs of Santa Claus and the like.
These gumps really get into this shit
, Fats thought. But he didn’t give a shit for real. Actually, he was shining like a motherfucker. The glow from last night’s game was still on him. He and his mob had put on a show. Fats hit two crucial treys in the last two minutes to give his team the win over the dudes from Baltimore. They had one of the best players on the pound, a kid they called DJ, who had Superman cuts and a game like lightning. DJ dropped thirty-five on Fats’s mob, but he was the only threat on his team, and the chocolate city team prevailed in the end after trailing most of the game. The homies won mad books, and they were all on Fats’s jock for his game-winning efforts.

Fats saw Mikey P and went over to join him.

“Hey, hey!” Mikey P said. “It’s the basketball star. Hey, how you doing?” Fats nodded to Mikey P and the other Italians playing cards at the table.

“What’s up, Mr. P,” Fats greeted, pounding rocks with the old mobster.

“Will you look at this guy?” Mikey P said. “Forget about it. Look at this kid.” He told all the other Italians, “This kid is a helluva ballplayer. Who would of thought? I mean, look at this kid.” All the Italians laughed at Mikey P and nodded to Fats.

Fats didn’t know if they were laughing at him or with them, but he didn’t care. He knew Mikey P was a good old dude, so he could take the ribbing if that’s what it was. A lot of dudes underestimated his athletic skills because of how he looked. Fats was a little rolypoly-looking dude. That was how he got his name Fats in the first place, so it was all good.

“Mr. P, I wanted to ask you if you know who’s running the videotape program?” Fats asked, getting down to more serious business.

Mikey P looked at his buddies again, and Johnny Two-Fingers held up his hands.

“Damn, Mikey, you letting this guy in on all our rackets or what,” he joked.

Mikey P looked at Fats and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Well, let me introduce you to these guys,” he said, and looked to Fats. “This is a friend of ours.” And all the Italians laughed again. It was an inside joke.

“But hey, really Fats, I know the guy who runs the program. You want to make a videotape to send to your kids? I’ll set it up for you, all right?” Mikey P smiled. “We can go down to rec this afternoon and do it, is that good?”

“Yeah, that’s good Mr. P, thanks a lot,” Fats said, and was about to turn to leave.

“Hey, Fats, did you bring those cards you were making back to the unit?” Mikey P asked.

“Yeah,” Fats said. “I got them upstairs.”

“Well, bring them down and show the old lugs what you got.”

“Awright,” Fats said, and went up to get the cards he made for his kids. On his way back he heard Mikey P telling the guys, “This kid is really talented. I’m telling you. He could be some type of designer. Here he is. Show ’em the cards, Fats.”

Fats showed the Italians the three cards he’d made for his kids.

“Those are nice,” Johnny Two-Fingers said. “Are you sure you made ’em?”

All the Italians looked to Fats and laughed again.

“Shut up, youse lug,” Mikey P said. “I watched him make them with my own eyes.”

“Hey, Fats,” said Big Vinny. “You ain’t trying to sell none of them cards?”

Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers looked at Big Vinny sharply.

“Naw, you big lug, he ain’t trying to sell those cards,” Mikey P admonished. “He made them for his kids.”

“Oh,” Big Vinny said, and Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers shrugged, as if to apologize to Fats.

“I can’t even invite my friends over with this guy,” Mikey P said, nodding toward Big Vinny.

“Naw, it’s okay, Mr. P. It’s all cool,” Fats said, trying to soothe over the matter.

“Lookee here,” Johnny Two-Fingers said. “Fats is always the gentleman. Bravo, bravo.” He did a little golf clap with his hands.

“Don’t mind these guys, Fats, they’re just a bunch of morons. Forget about it.” Mikey P laughed out loud at his joke, and all the
other Italians started laughing, too. “I’ll see you after chow, and we’ll go up to rec, okay, Fats?” Fats nodded and made his departure.

Fats ran straight to the jack to call Kim. After Fats pushed all the necessary numbers to place the call, Kim answered the phone.

“What’s up, Fats?”

“What’s up? How’s my lil’ dude?”

“He’s all good. He’s at school right now.”

“That’s good, and how’s my baby-mama?”

“I’m good, Fats, and looking forward to seeing you this evening.”

“That’s good, is everything all good with that little demonstration?”

“Yeah, it’s all good Fats,” Kim said, but in her heart she knew she wasn’t going through with it. She couldn’t tell Fats that over the phone, though. She would just have to tell him in person and keep lil’ Demitrius close to her in case Fats got mad. Surely he wouldn’t flip out on her if their son was right there. Kim didn’t even know what to do with the balloons. She wanted to get rid of them. She had become increasingly paranoid since her conversation with Laquesha. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She wanted to call Shanice and give her the balloons back, but she was scared of the big girl. She felt it would be better for Fats to take care of everything and get her off the hook from inside. He was the one who set it up and pressured her into doing it, so he could handle the fallout.

Fats hung up with Kim and looked at the clock. He had to wait half an hour before he could call Laquesha because of the way the phone system was set up. It sucked, but that is the way it
was. Exactly half an hour later and right before lunch, Fats called his other baby-mama. She scolded him again and reminded him not to be fucking up. Fats wanted to lash out at her, but he held his tongue and maintained that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. She told Fats that the Angel Tree people had contacted her and that she was supposed to go next week to pick up the presents for the kids. Fats was happy to hear that.

When Laquesha got off the phone, someone was at her front door. Her girl Melissa was the unexpected visitor.

“What’s up, girl?” Laquesha said in greeting.

“What’s up?”

“Did you ever hear from Rock?”

“Yeah, he called me the other day. He can only use the phone once a month from the hole. He said they got him under investigation, and when I tried to ask him if they got the balloons, he said he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, girl, at least you talked to him and he’s all right.”

“Yeah, but it is what it is, right?” Melissa resigned.

“Yeah, that’s right. It is what it is,” Laquesha echoed. “You know Fats signed up for this Angel Tree program and they called me this morning about getting some presents for the kids? That’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, girl, I heard about that program before,” Melissa said.

“This girl I know from Northwest got some stuff from Angel Tree one year when her man was down Lorton. She said they called her up and told her son and her to come to the church. The little boy wanted a bike, and they didn’t have no bike on the premises, so the church lady got in the car with them and took them to this big-ass bike factory down in Virginia. They went in
and there was like a thousand bikes all lined up. Different colors and types. The church lady turned to the boy and said to go get a bike. The kid was like which one, and the church lady said, ‘Whatever one you want.’ My girl said watching her little boy run around the bike factory and trying all the different bikes was the best present ever for him and her, and when she told her man down Lorton, he was really happy about what happened, too.”

Laquesha was eager to see what would happen when she took her kids to the church. Something like that would be fascinating. She just hoped something half as good would happen to her family.

“That’s a beautiful story, Melissa. I would have loved to see the look on that boy’s face.”

*  *  *

That weekend Kim and little Demitrius visited Fats. It took forever for them to get processed in. Fats was up on the tier stressing. He was already nervous as it was, with plans to do the move, and now that they hadn’t called him yet, Fats was hot. He sat and looked out the door watching dudes from other units go to the visiting hall.

Mel-Mel saw his bunkie pacing. “Damn, young ’un, chill out. They gonna be here,” he said.

“I know, I’m just mad ’cause I know they probably sitting out front with some jive-ass crackers fronting on them,” Fats replied.

“I hear you, joe,” Mel-Mel said, and just then the CO came out of the office and looked down the tier.

“James,” he called. “You got a visit.”
About fucking time
, Fats thought. All his pent-up anxiety left him as he walked to the door
of the unit and waited for the big fat-ass redneck CO to let him out.

“We got one to the visiting room,” the CO said into his walkie-talkie. When the compound officer responded in the affirmative, the CO unlocked the door and let Fats go.