Prince of the City (2 page)

“I left something in the car. I'll be right back,” he responded as he slipped his shoes on.

“Okay, but hurry up, 'cause I want to do it again.” She grinned.

“From the way your ass was screaming, I'm not sure if you're ready for another round yet,” he teased.

Connie blushed. “Don't tease me, Michael,” she replied in a whiny voice.

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I'm sorry, baby. You know I love you,” he said, and then dashed outside to his Cadillac to retrieve the fourteen-karat gold ring he had purchased earlier.

Michael planned to propose to her while they were walking on the waterfront, but since there had been a change of plans, he felt now was an even better time to pop the question.

Inside the car, he took one last look at the ring, certain this was indeed the woman he wanted to marry. Although nervous about the outcome, he knew in his heart that he was ready to build a life with Connie. He took a deep breath and exited the car.

Two unfamiliar faces approaching startled Michael. One dude looked like an old junkie while the other was younger and much bigger. Both were armed with knives.

“Look here, nigga. We don't know you, so what the fuck you doin' 'round here?” the junkie asked, closing in on him. His partner joined him, cutting Michael off from walking away.

“I'm visiting my girl. What business is it of yours?” Michael asked.

“Hold up, nigga. I know the fuck you ain't gettin' slick outta the mouth, and on top of that, your pretty ass down here fuckin' one of our bitches. Matter fact, empty your pockets, nigga,” the younger guy said, holding his knife in a striking position.

“And don't try nuttin' stupid,” the junkie said. “I'll drive this joint in your ass so deep, you'll be dead before you realize you've been hit. Now do what the fuck he said. Hurry up and empty those pockets, nigga.”

At that very moment, Michael touched the pocket where he had placed the ring and then began to size up the situation. Naw, this shit can't happen like this, he thought. This ring belongs to my future wife. I just can't give it up like that.

Before he could think of a way to get out of the mess, he felt the knife slash his face. It didn't hurt much, but the wound felt warm. As the junkie took another swing, Michael ducked and delivered a vicious blow to his nut sack.

“AHHHH, FUCK!” the junkie yelled, dropping to his knees.

The other guy attacked Michael from behind and stabbed him in the rib cage. This weakened Michael, but still, he fought back with vengeance. His adrenaline pumped vigorously, allowing him to brawl like a lion in the heat of an attack by hyenas—never backing down and fighting until the bloody end. He turned toward his attacker and delivered a crushing left hook to his chin, followed by a hard right to the jawbone. Having dazed the attacker, Michael grabbed his attacker's wrist, twisted it, and turned it upward. Instantly, he heard a crack.

“AHHHH!” the younger guy screamed in pain.

Michael knew he had broken his attacker's wrist. When the knife fell to the ground, Michael retrieved it and held up the weapon in anger, now becoming the aggressor. Nothing could hold him back as he plunged the knife deep into the younger guy's lung, causing him to collapse. He stabbed him at least five more times before turning his attention back to the junkie, who quickly fled the scene.

Michael looked at the man that he had just killed. He didn't feel sorry for him, since this man had attacked him first, but Michael did start to feel lightheaded and dizzy. He reached at his side and felt a thick wetness surrounding his wound. Realizing he had lost a lot of blood, Michael quickly fell unconscious.

By the time Michael woke up from his two-week coma, a bandage covered his face with nineteen butterfly stitches underneath. Also, his right lung had been punctured badly, which required him to undergo a blood transfusion.

As soon as he regained consciousness, police detectives charged him with second-degree murder. Although Michael was only seventeen, he was still charged as an adult because of the nature of the crime. He wanted to go to trial and argue self-defense, but the prosecutor had an eyewitness who said he only saw Michael stabbing the guy. There was no way he could win. During this same time, he also found out that Connie was pregnant. If he had gone to trial and lost, he would have definitely gotten twenty years to life. So instead, he took his lawyer's advice and copped seven to twenty-one years.

While Michael was serving time in Lorton Prison, one of the deadliest prisons in the nation, Connie visited him every visiting day, all the way up until her ninth month.

On the fourth day of July in 1979, Connie went into labor at D.C. General Hospital, where she endured nine painful hours of labor and produced a little boy into this world. The baby boy's dark caramel complexion was a mixture of both his mother and father's skin tones, but he inheriteda head full of dark, curly hair solely from his father. The baby's features already looked as if they were chiseled from a sculpture.

“Damn, Connie, this boy is too handsome,” Linda said, taking him out of his bassinet.

“Let me see my baby,” Connie whined, eager to give him his first feeding.

Linda took the small child over to his mother.

“Oh my God. He is adorable,” Connie said, staring at him with amazement.

“I know . . . Now what's his name?” Linda asked, irritated that Connie hadn't yet decided on a name before giving birth.

Connie laughed. “I don't know.”

“Well, did Michael suggest anything?”

“No. He said that whatever name I chose would be the name that fits him.”

“Well, he is an angel.”

“Okay then. Since you say he's an angel, I'm a name him after an angel.”

“Whoa!” Linda exclaimed. “'Cause the only angel I've ever heard of was the one in the Bible that turned out to be the devil.”

“Linda, your ass is crazy.” Connie chuckled. “I guess we can name him after one of the angels in the Holy Quran.” As they continued to talk, Linda's pager went off several times and Connie took notice.

“Let me find out Mike went to jail and turned Muslim, and now you're supposed to be one too.”

“Shut up, stupid!” Connie smirked. “And no, I'm not one. But I do read the Quran.”

“Then, which angel we gonna name him after?”

“We can name him Malik. That's the angel that guards your soul from evil.”

“Malik sounds good. Okay, now what's his middle name?” Linda asked while checking her pager again.

“Jabril. He's the angel that told Mary that she was gonna have Jesus. Also, he was the angel that revealed the Quran to Prophet Muhammad.”

“Connie, are you sure you ain't no Muslim?”

“No, silly. Are you sure you ain't on call? ‘Cause it seems like somebody is really tryna reach your ass.”

“Well, girl. Look, I gotta be going. In case you forgot, it's the Fourth of July. I gotta go party and celebrate my new nephew being born,” Linda said, ignoring her friend's concern.

“Okay,” Connie replied with uneasiness. She knew Linda was headed down to the track to turn tricks for Butter, who had been paging her all day long. Although Connie hated Butter, she was glad he never laid a hand on Linda. She knew she didn't need to worry though, because Linda knew how to take care of herself.

 

 

Chapter 3

-THE LION'S DEN-

 

 

erry! Perry!” the corrections officer called out onto the basketball court. Michael was in the middle of an intense basketball game. Right after he made the last three-point jump shot to end the game, he turned to the CO.

“Yeah. Carter, what's up?" Michael asked.

“You got a visit,” the small, chubby, old head replied. Carter had been working at Lorton for almost twenty years. He knew how to deal with convicts the way they wanted to be treated. He also made money on the side smuggling drugs in for certain inmates who paid him well and Michael was one of those inmates.

“Okay, thanks,” Michael responded. He walked off the court without an explanation.

“Hey, Mike! Where you goin'? We got one more game,” one of his fellow inmates asked.

“I got a visit, Slim,” he answered without breaking his stride.

Slim James was Michael's prison partner and cellmate. The two men became partners when Michael first arrived at Lorton. Although Slim was older and had been in the streets a lot longer than Michael had, he still looked up to the younger man. Michael Perry had leadership qualities, and Slim James respected that. They established an unbreakable bond after one particular incident that happened in prison.

Michael had just finished his visit with Connie and returned to his dorm to find all of his things had been stolen. He never expressed any anger, but just walked away calmly to another dorm. There, Michael called out for Jason, Connie's older brother, who was also serving a lengthy sentence for murder.

“Hey Jason! I need to holla at you for a sec.”

“Yeah. What's up, Mike? You a'ight?” he asked, sensing something was wrong.

“Nah, slim. I need a knife,” Michael replied, looking around to make sure no one peeped his move.

“Whazzup? You got some beef with them suckers in your dorm?”

“Ain't nuttin' I can't handle myself.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.”

Within seconds, Jason returned with the biggest knife Michael had ever seen. “Here you go,” he said, passing him the blade.

“Damn, Jay. What the fuck is this? A sword?”

“Nah, young nigga, that's a lawnmower blade. I call her Betsy. Now look, whatever you do make sure you get away with it. 'Cause once you hit a nigga with that, ain't no coming back. He's through,” Jason instructed.

“A'ight. Thanks,” Michael said, tucking the knife away.

“Anytime. Now how's my nephew?”

“I just got back from a visit with them. He's chillin', looking good and healthy.”

“And my sister?”

“She's fine, as always.”

“Take care of my lil sis, a'ight?”

“Man, Jay, you ain't never gotta worry 'bout that. I love my wife and son.”

“Then think about what you're getting ready to do,” Jason replied.

“I already did. But you know how it is. You can't violate a man, no matter what condition you in. For my respect, I'd go to hell and fight the devil himself.”

Jason looked at the young but wise man. “I fully understand. Just be careful,” he advised.

“A'ight” Michael said, and then walked over to the other dorm where an associate by the name of Donnie G stayed.

“Hey, Donnie G!” he called out at the front entrance.

Donnie came to the door with two other convicts. He held something that appeared to be a knife covered up with a towel.

Michael and Donnie G had known each other from the streets. They once robbed a bank together somewhere in a suburb of Virginia and had what one would call a “men of understanding” relationship. Donnie G was known as the kingpin of Lorton. He was responsible for majority of the heroin being smuggled inside the prison. Whatever a prisoner wanted, Donnie G had it. Fiends would come to him with everything just to get high—shoes, sweat suits, snacks, cigarettes, money, etc. Anything dope fiends could get their hands on, they brought to Donnie G.

“What's up? How can I help you?” Donnie G asked Michael.

“Ay look, Donnie. I'm coming to you as a man and I respect you as a man.”

“That's vice versa. So what's up?”

“I need to ask you a serious question, and I ask that it be kept between us.”

“Okay. What's your question?”

“Did the nigga Brutus come and get some blow from you today?”

“Yeah, he came 'bout a half hour ago. Had some cigarettes and some brand-new Nikes. Don't tell me that was your shit, Mike. If it was, I can get it back for you. That nigga Brutus must don't know who he's dealing wit'.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, I'll be back to get my shit later, but like I said, keep this between us. A'ight?”

“Understood. Go 'head and handle your business,” Donnie G said.

 

* * * * * * *

Brutus was Lorton's worst nightmare and the king of advantage-takers. If another inmate had something he wanted, he was going to take it. No matter the consequences, it was going to be his. Everyone in the prison was petrified of Brutus's big, ugly ass. He'd been down for about fifteen years, and everyone had heard the stories of how he raped and robbed people. He ran the compound as if it were his kingdom, and whenever some good heroin hit the compound, all inmates had better watch their belongings, because either he was pulling a knife to take it, or he was breaking into someone's locker. Brutus was considered without a doubt or contradiction, a real gorilla within a jungle of men.

 

* * * * * * *

As Michael reached the dorm, his mind raced back and forth from his child to his wife. He knew he was going up against death itself. If he came bullshitting with this gorilla, most likely he would be killed. On the other hand, if he killed this gorilla and got caught, he could get life and remain in prison until his death. Either way, Michael knew he was faced with death, but something inside him wouldn't let it go. He had to claim his mark, state his position, and become the ruler of his surroundings.

Michael went into the dorm, wet a towel with water, rolled it up, and neatly placed it around his neck to protect his jugular vein, and then tucked the tails inside his sweatshirt. He then taped a thick stack of National Geographic magazines to his chest and sides. Since Brutus had just gotten his dope a half hour ago, he would still be high, so this was the proper time for Michael to make his move.

Before going into the back of the dorm where Brutus normally got high, Michael looked around for any signs of the CO or known snitches. Seeing that his way was perfectly clear, he headed toward the back, not knowing what his fate would be, but having no fear. When he walked into the bathroom and closed the door, he saw Brutus sitting on the sink nodding from his last blast. As Brutus looked up at Michael, a sneaky grin appeared on his face.