Authors: K. Elliott
Tommy looked over the bridge again. If he jumped, he would want to die instantly. He didn’t want to suffer, but he felt he deserved to suffer for what he’d done to Angie; what he’d done to his life. Hell, he was already suffering. Damn, he’d always considered himself a smart guy. People had told him that he wasn’t living up to his potential, and he hadn’t. He remembered the seventh grade—advanced biology. His teacher had told the class, “You’re some of the brightest kids in the school district and you can be anything you want to be, and most of you will. Some will be scientists, doctors, attorneys, engineers. This is a great class I have here. Ten students in here have the highest GPA in the school.”
Tommy wasn’t one of the ten smartest kids in the school, but he was in the class with them and he’d passed the advanced biology class with a B, trigonometry with a B, and he’d had a 3.2 grade point average. But then, something went terribly wrong. Crack came and he saw his neighborhood turn into a haven for drug addicts. Rather than be an addict, Tommy decided he would capitalize off the demand for drugs. He’d started off selling crack to buy Jordan tennis shoes. When he’d gotten older, the sneakers were no longer important—cars were, and he needed to sell weight to buy cars. So he’d graduated from the corner hustler to a neighborhood supplier, and somewhere along the line, he’d lost his peace of mind and sanity.
He looked down at the rocks under the bridge. The tide was pretty low, meaning, he’d probably die pretty fast today. His seed was in Angie’s stomach. He thought she was pregnant, but she hadn’t found out. He thought about a little him; the thought brought a smile to his face. He couldn’t kill himself—not just yet. He had another chance at life. One that he would live through his child. *****
Q and Country were sitting on the hood of his car in front of his mama’s house serving packets when Danny the white boy came up with two Ipods. “Can I get a pack?”
Q turned to Country. “How much are these shits worth?” “About $200.”
“These are four gigabytes,” Danny said.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Q laughed.
Danny looked as if he were trying to figure out a way to explain
what gigabytes meant in a way that Q would understand, but not be offended. Finally he said, “It’s worth maybe $250 before taxes.”
“I’ll give you three rocks for them both and that’s all you getting from me.”
“Come on Q, man. If you give me at least eight, you can have them.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
Q turned to Country and said, “Give this fool six packs so he can get the hell out of here.”
Country disappeared into a path behind Q’s mama’s house. When he returned, a black Range Rover had pulled up. Q pulled his gun when he saw Tommy get out.
“Nigga, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you, Q.”
“Talk to me? It’s too late to talk,” Q said, then cocked his gun.
Tommy threw his hands up in the air. “So what you gonna do, Q, shoot me in front of your mama’s house?”
“How the fuck do you know this is my mama’s house?”
“I know everything, Q.”
“Nigga, you’re a snitch. You’re the reason my man is fucked up. I know it.”
“That’s one thing I’m not Q, is a snitch.”
Q pointed the gun at Tommy.
“Shoot me, nigga.”
Country grabbed Q and pulled him to the side. “What the fuck? Are you crazy, nigga? You can’t shoot this man in front of your mama’s house with a witness right here.” Country pointed to Danny.
“Can we talk?” Tommy asked.
“What you want to talk about?” Q said.
Danny said, “Can I get my packs so I can be outta here?”
Country gave Danny the six rocks and he disappeared.
“You selling white kids packs?” Tommy asked.
“What the fuck do you care?” Q said.
“That motherfucker looks like he’s barely 18-years-old.”
“How the fuck you gonna tell me what to do, nigga? Just cause the feds got your punk ass don’t mean they gonna get me.”
“You think I’m the police?” Tommy said.
“All I know is my man is in jail right now because of your ass.”
“And you just sold some packs to a white boy in front of me.”
“Your point?”
“My point is, nigga, you don’t believe that I’m the police.”
Q stared Tommy in his eyes. “What the fuck are you here for?”
“I just want this shit to end.”
“Why?”
“Your people shot in my girl’s house last night and she ain’t got shit to do with us.”
“Three of my friends are dead,” Q said.
“I ain’t kill nobody,” Tommy said.
“I know your fat ass ain’t shoot nobody, and the punk ass shooter probably regretting that he killed my niggas.”
Tommy became serious. “Q, can we let this shit end?”
Q stared at Tommy for a long time. “I’m going to count to four, and if you ain’t outta here I’m blasting you, nigga.”
“It’s like that?”
“1…2…”
Tommy got into the Range Rover and drove away.
That was some foul shit you done to me the other day. I never thought it would get down to this. Why? What did I do to deserve this? So I guess you’re happy now that you ruined me and Angie’s relationship and it’s obvious that you don’t want me now. Deep down in my soul I know there is someone else in your life. Why don’t you keep it real? Why won’t you answer my calls?
Tommy
Sent via Sprint PCS Blackberry
Against the doctor’s orders, J-Black checked out of the hospital. The doctor had said, “Go home and take it easy.”
J-Black nodded, but he knew there would be no taking it easy. He had work to do. He had to repay the people who’d done this to him if it was the last thing he ever did in his life.
He sat in the wheelchair in front of the hospital when his stepsister Syreeta pulled her Honda Accord up to the door.
Barely able to stand, he hobbled to the car and closed the door. “Take me home,” he said.
“But the doctor said that you need someone around you.”
“I don’t give a fuck what the doctor said. I want to go home.”
Syreeta was a few years older than him. She was the only relative that he was close to. Her mother had married his father. Though they weren’t biological brother and sister, they were very close. She was the only person in the world that he trusted.
She looked at him oddly. “Jason, what are you going to do at home by yourself?”
“I just want to be at home and sleep in my own bed, you know?”
She didn’t respond. She just stared. She had known him long enough to know he was plotting some kind of revenge.
He smiled a little bit then he held his side.
“What’s wrong, bro’?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re in pain?”
“I’m going to be okay. It just hurts a little bit where the staples are, you know.”
“Yeah I can imagine.”
“But I’m still here.”
“Yeah, that’s the main thing, Jason. You need to get yourself right with the Lord because he spared you for some reason.”
“Those coward-ass niggas couldn’t sleep. That’s what that was all about.”
“Give God the glory.”
“Give those niggas some caps in they ass is what I’m going to do.”
“I’m taking you to my house. I will not let you out of my sight because you’re going to get yourself in some trouble.”
“Take me home,” J-Black demanded.
Syreeta ignored him. Fifteen minutes later she was pulling up in front of her house.
T ommy entered his father’s house. J.C. was sitting on the sofa watching CNN. He looked up at Tommy but didn’t say anything. Tommy sat on the sofa across from him. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Hey, I want to apologize for how I treated you the other day.”
J.C. smiled. “It’s nothing, son. You had a right to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have taken your shit.”
“No,” Tommy said. He grabbed the remote control that was on the table and turned the television down. “I didn’t have to talk to you like that.”
“I shouldn’t have stolen your money, son. And I’m going to pay you back. I promise.”
“You don’t have to. Don’t worry.”
“I want to.”
“Only thing I want you to do is get off the dope.”
“I can’t beat it, son.”
“What you mean?”
“It’s got a stronghold on me.”
“You can get off it, Pops. It’s just a mind thing. Just like everything else.”
“And that’s why I can’t get off it, son. That’s all I think about day and night; where my next rock is coming from.”
Tommy looked at his father and tried to understand how he ended up like this. What made him try it? He was weak. Never had he seen him like this.
“I want to help you.”
J.C. smiled again then stood and walked over to embrace his son.
“But first, you’re going to have to want to help yourself.”
“I do.”
“You can beat it, Pops.”
“I don’t know, son.”
“I’m going to help you. I’m going to help you because I want you to live. I want you to live to see your grandchildren.”
“What you talking about?”
“Angie may be pregnant.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Don’t be happy. We don’t know yet. Notice I said she might be pregnant.”
“When will you find out?”
“I don’t know. She’s mad now.”
“Son, what did you do to her?”
Tommy looked away from his father. He didn’t know where to begin.
“You cheated on her?”
“Yes and no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s part of the problem, but it’s not what she’s mad about.” “Well, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” “Pops, some niggas shot her house up looking for me.” “What?”
“Yeah.”
J.C.’s eyes became serious, and he now had a concerned look on his face. “Why are they looking for you?”
“Long story short, they said they thought I snitched on their partner.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And they know it’s ridiculous. I just seen the niggas a few hours ago, and they were serving crack right in my face. How you going to sell dope around a snitch?”
J.C. disappeared to his room and came back with a .45. “It’s yours if you need it.”
“I don’t.”
J.C. embraced Tommy. “Son, I don’t want nothing to happen to you. We are all we got.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
Matt heard a loud knock on his door. He rolled out of the bed and saw the police in his driveway. He called Jay. “Hey, the cops are outside my house.”
“Pretend you’re sleep. They’ll leave a notice on the door.” “That’s the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”
“Well open the door.”
“What do you think they want?”
“How the hell do I know?”
Matt peeked out the window. They were knocking on
everybody’s door in the cul-de-sac. Matt felt good. Maybe they were looking for a kid or something. He opened the door. The tall redhead cop introduced himself as Officer Tenent, and his partner, the black guy, was named Rainer.
“Looking for a stolen Yukon,” Rainey said, his face was very serious.
Tenent looked Matt directly in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the car is?”
“Why you asking me?”
“We’re asking everybody over here. We’re getting a signal that the car is in the area.”
“A signal?” Matt said.
“Yeah from the tracking device.”
“Mind if we look in the garage?” Tenent asked.
Matt didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want to lie to the cops, but he knew that they knew the car was in the area. He knew the neighbors would probably volunteer to let the cops look in their garage; they had nothing to hide.
“Follow me,” Matt said. They walked through the living room. When he opened the door leading to the garage, he’d wished the car would disappear but it didn’t.
The two officers looked at each other. Neither said a word. Finally, Tenent said, “Whose vehicle is this?”
Matt took a deep breath. “This is what you’re looking for?”
“Obviously,” Rainer said.
“So you want to tell us about it?” Tenent asked.
“I-I bought it from Atlanta.”
“Really?” Rainer asked. His voice was hard to discern. Matt couldn’t tell if he believed what he said or not.
“Yeah, I bought the truck from somebody I met on the Internet.”
“What’s his name?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
Rainer picked up his radio. “Lt. Grayson. I need you to call in permission for a search warrant of a residence.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me,” Rainer said, then held the radio to his mouth again. “The address is 12087 Woodview Lane.”
Matt knew that if they got the search warrant they would find titles for a few stolen cars that were in his name, and he had at least twenty sets of keys.
Rainer said, “It will take us about thirty minutes to get the verbal search warrant.” He smiled confidently.
Matt knew that his scheme had come to an end. It was back to the feds for him. Wondering how this happened, he realized somebody had forgotten to disable the GPS. What the fuck was he going to do next? He wanted to say that it was a terrible misunderstanding, but how could he explain this? He stepped back inside and sat at the bar in the kitchen. He was going to jail. There was no getting around it.
att was surprised when the black man introduced himself as a DEA agent. Not because he was black, but because he was the DEA. Matt had never sold drugs in his life. The agent was a clean-cut boyish looking man, but Matt could tell he was older than him; maybe late thirties. “My name is agent Mark Pratt, Matt.”
Matt dropped his face into his hands.
“I’m here to help you, Matt.”
Matt looked up briefly then he thought about the marijuana
plant he had been growing in the attic. That is what this is all about. It had to be. He would say that he didn’t know a thing about the plant. It must have been in the attic when he’d moved into the place.
Pratt stared at Matt for awhile before saying anything. He was sizing him up and trying to figure out if Matt was a good person. Finally Pratt said, “I want you to go home.”
Pratt looked at a folder. “You were in a few years ago for bank fraud.”
“Are you asking me?”
“I’m telling you, the information is right in front of me.”
“What the hell are you here for? Is it that measly fuckin’ marijuana plant in my attic?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? You’re the DEA, I don’t understand.”
“Do you know Tommy Dupree?”
Matt took a deep breath, then he thought about the meeting he and Tommy had about Tommy’s friend getting caught with the dope. Maybe somebody had forgotten to disable the GPS system in his friend’s vehicle too. Maybe he was the reason Tommy’s friend had gotten busted.
“I think you already know that I know him.”
“So what’s your affiliation?”
“We done time together…you know we’re just friends.”
Pratt’s face hardened. “Listen, Matt. Cut the bullshit. You’re about to be indicted for running an auto theft ring.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Are you trading cars with Tommy for dope?”
“No.”
Another man entered the room—a tall blondish guy about thirty. He shook Pratt’s hand then flashed his badge. “I’m agent Connor of the F.B.I.” Connor offered his hand to Matt, but he declined.
When Connor sat down, Matt said, “We didn’t trade drugs for cars.”
Connor opened a briefcase and presented Matt with pictures of three cars—a BMW and two Benzes. “Recognize any of these?”
“Why would I recognize them?”
Connor’s face became stern. “Because you stole them, that’s why.”
“Hey, I want my lawyer.”
“Matt, your lawyer’s not going to be able to help you now.”
“What do you mean?”
Pratt’s Nextel chirped. He held the phone to his mouth. “Let me call you back. I’m in the middle of something.” He looked at Matt. “You’re no longer a first timer, you’re going to do ten years minimum.”
Matt held his face with his hands and looked down at the floor for a long time. Finally, he raised his head. “So you want Tommy?”
“We want you to tell us everything. I want you to tell us about Jay, too.”
Matt took a deep breath. Giving up Tommy was one thing,