Christmas in the Hood (24 page)

Only two more weeks to Christmas
, Fats thought.

As he entered the visiting room his little boy ran up and jumped him. “Daddy, Daddy, hey Daddy!”

Fats grabbed his son and hugged him tight. “What’s up, little man?” he said, then turned to Kim. He could tell something was wrong because Kim had that look on her face. Fats frowned at her. “What’s up, Kim?”

“Nothing, Felix.” She gave him a hug and a kiss. Fats was expecting her to push the balloons into his mouth, but there was nothing. Only Kim’s tongue. When Kim pulled away from him, he knew that she hadn’t brought the balloons. It was all in her face. To say the least, Fats was mad. The look he gave his girl was so severe that lil’ Demitrius noticed.

“What’s the matter, Dad?” he asked. “You got gas or something?” Fats looked down at his little son, like, what the fuck? But he smiled and picked the boy up again and moved to sit down. Kim used that as an excuse to walk over to the vending area.

“I’ll get you guys some sodas,” she said, and made her escape.

Fats looked on in displeasure.

Lil’ Demitrius sat on Fats’s lap, studying his dad’s face again.

“Daddy, Daddy, what’s wrong?” he asked, and grabbed Fats’s hand. Fats looked down and felt fucked up for his son. He was mad, but it wasn’t his son’s fault.

“Ain’t nothing wrong, little man. It’s all good. Mommy just makes me mad sometimes,” Fats told his son.

“Why’s that, Daddy?” Demitrius asked.

Fats looked down at his ever-inquisitive son. “Well, Demitrius, that’s for me to know and you to find out.” Fats started tickling his son, who screamed, got up, and dared his dad to chase after him. The CO sitting at the guard station glared over at Fats. Fats returned the glare. Fuck that cracker.

Kim came over with some Cokes and candy bars.

Fats brooded, refusing to look at her.

“Felix, look at me,” she said.

Fats mumbled something under his breath.

“What’d you say?” Kim asked, and Fats looked up into her eyes.

“I said, why didn’t you bring it?”

Kim looked over to see Demitrius running around with two little white girls.

“Well, Fats, I was gonna bring it, but then I talked to Laquesha, and she told me I better not. She said if I got you in trouble that I was in trouble with her. I was scared, Fats. I’m not trying to fuck with your psycho hood-rat baby-mama.” Fats couldn’t believe Kim was telling him this bullshit. Kim was looking into his eyes to see if he was buying it.

Finally he said something. “Kim, you were never gonna do it, you shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place. Now you put me in a bad spot. I set something up with someone, and they’re expecting something, and I don’t have it.” Fats squared off with Kim. “That’s just not how you do things around here. All you got
in here is your word and your balls, and now, because of you, it’s gonna look like my word is some shit because you didn’t bring me that little demonstration.”

“Blame it on me,” Kim said, grabbing Fats’s hands.

“You really think that jive-ass shit is gonna work in here? I’m supposed to go to the dude and tell him, ‘Oh, she decided not to do it.’ Get the fuck outta here,” Fats said. He spent the rest of the visit in brooding silence. He was too busy sweating what he was gonna tell Country. He knew his big homie was gonna be pissed. Kim had left Fats in a real bad spot. She could just go home and not think about it, but Fats had to deal with the situation head-on. He tried not to be in his feelings for his son’s sake, but it was hard. When the visit was over, it wasn’t a minute too soon.

Later on, during count, Fats told Mel-Mel what was up and asked his advice on what he should do. Mel-Mel told him the best thing to do was to be straight up with Country and hope for his mercy.

That night, Fats and his homeboys had a second-round game in the Christmas tournament. Fats didn’t say anything to Country before the competition, and luckily Country was too hyped by the game to press Fats about the balloons. But Fats could tell as the big homie kept looking at him that he was waiting for him to say something about the move. Even though Fats was fucked up and feeling sick on the inside at having to explain the fuckup to Country, he played real well and the D.C. mob won again to all their homies’ delight. Dudes were running around the gym like they won the NBA championship after the game, and then came the moment that Fats was dreading.

“Little homie, what up, slim,” Country said. “You played real good, but what’s up with the work? It went good, right, slim?”

Fats looked up at his homie. “Country, for real, the shit’s fucked up. My girl didn’t bring it.”

Country double-checked his homie for a minute, mean-mugging him. “Don’t say that slim.”

Fats nodded, confirming the bad news.

“Damn, slim, then shit’s fucked up.” Country started to walk away before adding, “You better come up with a plan and get that shit straight because I gotta have my shit. This ain’t a joke.” Fats just stood there, waist-high in deep shit.

Chapter Nine

T
he next morning Fats was reading over the holiday flyer that the institution had put out. It was done up all fancy like they were really doing something special. It listed the Christmas meal they would be having: Cornish hen, corn on the cob, applesauce, green beans, muffins, and Italian sausages.
Sounds good
, Fats thought. But he knew the reality of prison, that although the meal might be better than normal, it would still be some shit. Nothing like the spread Fats would be eating if he were on the streets. Another flyer listed the activities that were planned for the holidays. They had all types of Christmas tournaments like the one Fats was playing in basketball, including a pool tournament, Ping-Pong, three-point shot, and a dunk contest. Not to
mention the concert put on by the prison bands, the talent show, the soccer shootout along with an indoor soccer tournament, a volleyball tournament, and various board-game and card-game tournaments, too. There would be plenty for the prisoners to do. Fats figured the prison tried to keep the inmates busy during the holidays—the busier they all were, the less violence or trouble they’d get into. The administrators must have figured that out from experience.

They also gave out little prizes, like twelve-packs of soda and bags of candy for the victors in all the holiday activities.

Fats was trying to get that case of soda that they gave out to each member of the basketball team that won the Christmas tournament. Bragging rights and that case of soda is what most dudes played for. They could either drink up with their homies or sell the case to one of the big willies for a book of stamps.
It was something
, Fats thought,
but he’d be drinking his.
There was also a holiday-movie list, but most of the movies were some pure garbage. The BOP had this policy that grown men in prison couldn’t watch rated R movies, so they got all this Harry Potter–type shit. Fats never understood the logic of it. They had some type of feel-good Christmas movie. Fats wouldn’t be watching that shit.

Fats turned around in the unit and saw Johnny Two-Fingers and Tommy Boy putting down bids for dudes’ Christmas bags. They were offering a book of stamps a bag. Mikey P had told Fats that the Italians liked to buy up all the bags to send them home to their kids. It was like a regular thing they did year after year. But just like he wanted to drink his own soda, Fats wanted to eat his bag. He didn’t have it like the Italians, who would be spending
their limit every month and going to the vending machines to buy sodas, sandwiches, and pastries every day. The bag of candy would be a treat to Fats and most of his homies, too. They weren’t getting that much money in at all, and when they did they usually spent it on shoes. D.C. dudes liked to keep their gear fresh.

Fats decided to give Kim a call. He walked over to the phone and punched in his girl’s digits. He thought,
This girl really got me in some shit. A nigga could end up getting shanked because of her bitch ass.

“Hello,” Kim said, after pushing five to accept the call.

“What’s up?” Fats asked.

“Oh, you want to talk to me now?” Kim replied.

“Yeah, you need to come back and handle that, for real, Kim.”

“I can’t believe you, Fats. I told you I’m not doing it. So why you calling me with that shit?” Kim said.

“Look Kim, you about to get a nigga hemmed up in here.”

“I’m sorry Fats, but I ain’t doing it.”

This fucking bitch!
Fats thought. “Well, what’d you do with that demonstration?” Fats asked. He was getting nowhere with Kim; therefore, he had to come up with an alternative, fast.

“I still got it,” Kim said.

“Well, since you won’t do what you said you’re gonna do, you need to give that demonstration to Laquesha.”

“Laquesha? Why would I give it to that bitch?”

“Because she’s gonna do what you too scared to do.”

“Fuck you, Fats.”

“Fuck you, Kim. Who the
fuck
you think you’re talking to?”

“Who the fuck you think
you’re
talking to,” Kim said, before crying, “Fuck you, Fats, don’t be calling me no more.”

Ain’t this some shit. Fucking jive-ass bitch.
Fats would have to call Laquesha later and beg her to help him out. If she wouldn’t, then the alternative wasn’t going to be nice. Fats didn’t like his chances with Country. He knew Country would go hard for his. Not that Fats was some type of sucker, but his big homie was like that, and deep down Fats knew he was in the wrong.

After lunch Fats went up to rec to chill. He saw Mikey P in the hobby craft.

Mikey P waved him over. “Check it out, Fats. Look what I got my wife and daughter for Christmas.” Mikey P showed Fats two leather purses and some ceramic figurines that were displayed on the table. Fats checked them out. They were nice. He wished he could have gotten Laquesha, Kim, and his daughter some. Well, maybe not Kim.
Fucking jive-ass bitch.

“Those are nice, Mr. P,” Fats said. “I bet they were expensive.”

Mikey P pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Not that much,” he said. “I had a guy owed me some favors.” Fats wished he had some dudes who owed favors and could do work like that. But all of Fats’s homies were broke just like him. All of them except Country, that was. And the homie who had the most was the one breathing down Fats’s neck.
I guess that’s why he has the most
, Fats thought.
He be about his business.
Fats’s choices were limited; he knew that he had to convince Laquesha to do the move. She either did it or he’d get fucked up. But Fats was still skeptical. And if he had to get fucked up, then so be it. He just hoped his homie wouldn’t murk his ass. He just wanted to be able to provide his kids with gifts from their daddy. That wasn’t a crime, was it? Fats felt Mikey P staring at him.

“Fats, you all right?” Mikey P asked.

“It’s all good, Mr. P.”

But Mikey P sensed that something was wrong. “Well, look, kid, if you need something, you let me know, okay?” he said, and shook hands with Fats.

“Awright, Mr. P,” Fats said. “I’m about to bounce.”

“Oh yeah, Fats. I signed you up for that videotape program. You have to do it tomorrow. They said they’ll put you on the call-out. All right?”

“Awright, thanks Mr. P.” Fats walked off thinking about what he was gonna do and how he was gonna pull it off. It always seemed in Fats’s life that everything he tried to do always fucked up no matter how good his intentions were. As he waited for the announcement so that he could move back to the unit, he walked by the band rooms and saw some white dudes jamming. Fats stopped for a minute. They were playing “Jingle Bells” really fast, like a heavy metal version. Probably practicing for the concert. In the next band room some brothers were singing Christmas carols a cappella. It sounded pretty good. He wondered if they would win the talent show.

Back in the unit Fats overheard some of the Nation of Islam dudes talking about the celebration of Christmas. Fats listened in to see how these brothers were kicking it.

“Christmas is the result of WASP capitalist beliefs,” said one NOI brother to the other. Both of the dudes wore their khakis pressed and fitted. “You see, my brother, there is nothing Christian about it. It is a made-up holiday for the WASP capitalistic elite to get the masses to spend money. They aren’t celebrating anything religious, they are celebrating the spending of money, plain and simple.”

The other brother nodded and looked over to Fats like he was eavesdropping or something. “How you doing, brother?” he said.

Fats nodded and walked away, not wanting to disrespect the NOI brothers. He wasn’t feeling what they were saying anyway.
Shit, Christmas is Christmas
, he thought.
It is what it is. Buying presents for your kids is cool; fuck all that bullshit they tripping off.

Fats went in his room and decided to get the cards he made for his kids ready to send. He would put them in the mail today. It was only a week before Christmas, and he wanted the cards to get to them on time.

The gumps were busy at work retaping the Christmas decorations that they had plastered all over the unit. Some of the ribbons and stuff had been ripped down by unruly prisoners. Naturally, Fats’s homeboys, but it was all good.

“Why these dumb-ass niggas rip down the shit we work so hard to put up?” one gump said to the other.

“These little-dick niggas don’t got no Christmas spirit,” the other one replied.

“You right, girl, you right.” They both giggled as they continued their work fixing the decorations. Fats watched and laughed, thinking about what little-dick niggas they were talking about.
They don’t wanna fuck with this Mandigo
, Fats thought. But he wasn’t serious. He wasn’t on that type of time. But there were plenty who were. He didn’t understand how a man could get off with another man.
That shit is sick
, Fats thought. Fats still wasn’t sure what to tell Country. He had a game that night, and he knew tomorrow he would be on the callout to do the videotape message for his kids.