Authors: K. Elliott
She answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”
“Talk, but watch your language.”
“Okay. Tommy, I have something that belongs to you.” Tommy didn’t say anything.
“Tommy, are you going to meet me or not?”
“I don’t know; let me call you back.”
“You know what, Tommy, just forget it. I’m just going to flush
them all.
“No!”
“Well, let’s meet.”
“Let me call you back in five minutes.” He ended the call. JoJo called again. Tommy answered the phone. “Hello.” “Can we talk?”
“We’re talking. What do you want?’
“I know this might be a fucked up time to talk about business, with
Twin being dead, but we need to put all our differences aside and make some money.”
“You know what, Joe? Fuck you and fuck Twin.”
“Twin is dead. Why are you talking like that about him?”
“Nigga, Twin was the one having us robbed all the time.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Like I didn’t want to believe you was fuckin Nia.”
“Tommy, are you serious?”
“Come on, man listen. I get robbed then you get robbed, but this nigga never got robbed.”
“So who told you this?”
“J-Black, the nigga that robbed us.”
“Do you think J-Black had something—”
“Let’s meet out somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Downtown, the parking lot across from the RockBottom Café.”
“How long will it take you?”
“Twenty minutes.” *****
Tommy stood in the middle of the parking lot. J.C. was in the car listening to the radio.
JoJo pulled up in his Porsche truck and walked over to Tommy. “What’s up?”
Tommy looked around suspiciously.
“What the fuck you all nervous and shit for?” JoJo asked.
“Man, it’s the ninth inning; this game is about to be over.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Meaning it’s over, Joe; the game is over. There is nothing else to do.”
“What am I supposed to do about money?”
“Well at least you got some.”
Joe looked at Tommy oddly.
“Remember the real estate guy that I was telling you about in Cali?”
“Your girl’s father.”
“Yeah. He fucked me out of all my dough.”
“How?”
“He won’t return my phone calls and neither will she. She’s moved and I’ve given this man $750,000 but ain’t got shit to show for it.”
“What about the product you and Twin went to get in Miami?”
“The white girl keeps calling me to come get it, but I’m just kind of leery, you know? I just don’t feel right about it.”
“If you decide to go get it, I know somebody who will buy it all, and you can make at least three hundred grand … it’s just a thought. I mean, everybody is wanting the butterflies.”
Tommy took a deep breath. “I’ll call her later today.”
Morgan was surprised when Tommy called her and said that he needed to see her.
“Do you still have that?
”
“Yeah, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I have it?”
“Well, you said you was going to flush them.”
She laughed. “I was kidding and kind of emotional. You know after what happened to Jenny.”
“Yeah, I feel ya.”
“Can you meet me at my job, maybe in the parking lot? Then I can go on in to work.”
“I’m on my way.” He ended the call then pondered for a while. His plan was to get the pills, sell them to JoJo, and take his dad to Atlanta, Georgia or Dallas, Texas to start a new life. Perhaps he would buy a boat so that he and his dad could go fishing in the ocean. He looked up to the sky and said to God, “If you let me get through this situation without going to jail, I promise that I will never knowingly and willingly do anything wrong or illegal.” He felt bad after saying that because, though he wasn’t a big bible reader, he’d read somewhere that you weren’t supposed to test the Lord.
The man nodded at him but didn’t say anything. He then ushered a skinny black stripper through the back door.
Tommy drove to the parking lot across the street. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He jumped out of the car and walked back across the street to the door where the bouncer was standing. “How much tonight, buddy?” He really didn’t care how much it cost. He had no intentions of going in the club.
The man said, “Seven dollars for members, ten dollars for nonmembers.”
“Thanks, man.” Tommy walked back across the street to sit in the car.
Morgan arrived driving a red Volkswagen Beetle. She got out of the car then looked around the parking lot and across the street before making eye contact with Tommy. She smiled before walking across the street with the gym bag.
She sat on the passenger side of Tommy’s car.
“So what you got for me?”
“What you got for
me
is the question?” she asked.
Tommy looked at her with serious eyes. “Can I give you a thousand dollars now? Once I sell some product, I’ll give you the rest.”
She held her hand out.
Tommy dug into his pocket, pulled out a wad of money, and peeled of ten one- hundred-dollar bills.
The X was in a paper bag inside the gym bag. Tommy took the X from the gym bag.
“Call me when you have the rest of the money.” “I will. Thanks a lot, Morgan.”
She got out of the car.
When she got out of the vehicle, she dropped a napkin on the ground, signaling to the feds that the exchange had been made.
Mark Pratt was driving a Toyota Tacoma. He sped across the parking lot and blocked Tommy’s truck. Another car, a white Lincoln Continental blocked him from the rear. DEA and task force members soon swarmed the parking lot.
Tommy jumped out of the car.
A huge cop with a red beard chased Tommy and soon caught up with him. The man jumped on Tommy’s back but was slung to the ground.
Mark Pratt put the Tacoma in park, jumped out and pointed a handgun. “Stop, Tommy!”
Tommy looked back and kept running.
He was tackled by Ken Clarkson. A fat black DEA agent restrained his arms while placing a knee in his back.
Tommy yelled, “Get the fuck off me!”
Fatso stood Tommy up.
“Bitch set me up!” Tommy said.
“The classic line.” Ken laughed. He walked off, anxious to retrieve the drugs.
Tommy looked at Morgan.
She made eye contact briefly but then got in her car and drove away.
Ken came back with a bag of X. “This is a lot of shit.”
Tommy didn’t say anything.
“So you’re going to be one of those silent types, huh?”
“What do you think?” Tommy said.
“I think you’re a young man who don’t want to spend the rest of your life in jail.”
“I don’t,” Tommy said.
“So start talking.”
“Not without a lawyer.”
“Okay. Let’s take Mr. Dupree back to headquarters,” Mark said. *****
Tommy sat at the table across from Mark, Ken, and a local narcotic cop. They’d allowed him a phone call, so he had called his father. They had agreed to allow his father in the interrogation room, hoping he would convince Tommy that cooperating would be best for him.
J.C. entered the interrogation room, his hair disheveled, and he looked worried.
“What’s going on, Tommy?”
“Your son is in deep shit. We’ve busted him with enough X to supply the whole town,” Ken said.
“Son, what happened?”
“The white girl set me up, Dad.”
J.C. shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this shit. After we talked, you called her anyway?”
“I did.”
“Why did you do this?”
“Dad, I was desperate and I needed the money. Hell,
we
needed the money.”
J.C. looked at Mark and Ken. “So you want him to rat?”’
“Not
rat
… help himself. Cooperate.”
“Whatever,” J.C. said. “Can I talk to my son alone?”
The door opened and a black female walked in and stared at Tommy.
Tommy smiled. “Alicia! Damn, I’m glad to see you. How’d you know I was here?”
She looked at Tommy for a second then turned her head. She couldn’t face him. “Tommy, my name is Stacey Matthews.”
“Your name is Alicia.”
“Tommy, I work for the DEA, and I was working to infiltrate your crew.”
“What are you, some kind of government snitch or something?”
“No, I’m an agent.”
“Agent my ass.” Tommy laughed.
She showed him a badge.
“Is this some kind of joke or something?”
“I wish it were but it’s not.”
“What about Don?”
“Actually, the man Don is not an agent; he’s a paid informant. He goes around and sets people up for us. He receives twenty-five percent of everything we confiscate. The money you gave him, he’ll get a percentage.”
“I don’t understand,” Tommy said.
“Tommy, I was only doing my job.”
“Fuck you! Bitch, you ruined my life.”
“Tommy, I’m sorry.”
“What part of the game is this? You meet a nigga; you fuck a nigga; and then you help send a nigga to jail.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about; I’ve never slept with you.”
“I can describe your pussy lips. What’s the point in lying about it?” Tommy shouted angrily.
Stacey Matthews pointed at him. “He’s lying.”
“Tommy, we got you. Don’t you see? There’s nothing you can do. We’ve got you,” Mark said.
“The hell I can’t. This shit is entrapment. I’ll get me a lawyer and get out of this.”
J.C. said, “I need to talk to my son alone.”
Mark said, “We’re giving you five minutes alone.”
J.C. looked at Tommy. “Man, this is serious.”
“I know, Dad … I know.”
“I wish you would have just listened to what I said. Hell, you even said that something wasn’t right.”
“Greed got the best of me.”
“They are going to want you to set somebody up.”
“I already know this. I can’t do that, Dad.”
“I know you can’t; you’re too much like me. But in order for you to get out again, you’re going to have to at least start to help them. In the meantime, I’ll talk to my attorney. If you really slept with this agent, there must be something we can do about this shit. This has to be entrapment or something.”
Tommy looked at J.C. with serious eyes. “Dad, that bitch was certainly my girlfriend.”
Mark and Ken walked back in the room. “So what did you decide?”
“He’s going to help you,” J.C. said.
Ken smiled. “No, he’s going to help himself.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, let’s talk about Manny Gomez and his brother Hector.” “I don’t want to talk about them,” Tommy said. “I don’t know them.” “So you’re going to play stupid,” Ken said.
“Tommy, your telephone records clearly show that you talked to Manny extensively,” Mark said.
“I feel more comfortable starting at the bottom and working my way to the top.”
Mark opened a Manilla folder. “What about Joe Ingram?”
“What about him?”
“You think you can get him to make a buy?”
“I’m not going to help you bring down my friend.”
“Your friend? This guy was banging your girl.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? How did you know this? Did that bitch tell you that?”
“Who are you talking about?” Clark said.
“Agent Matthews.”
“Mr. Dupree, we’ve had all of your phones tapped for several months now,” Mark said.
Tommy took a deep breath. “I can’t set my friend up. Anybody but Joe.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re starting at the bottom. Maybe we should start you off in a bottom bunk.” Mark said.
“Hey, start with Joe,” J.C. said.
Tommy looked at his father but didn’t say anything.
“Okay. We’re going to need him to make a sell to him and wear a wire.”
“When?” Tommy asked.
“Now, before he learns that you’re in trouble.”
“Daddy, I don’t want to do this shit.”
“Son, it’s going to be okay.”
Tommy hugged his father.
JoJo knocked on Tommy’s door and was invited inside. “What’s up, nigga?”
“What’s up, Joe?”
Tommy turned the pocket-size recorder on.
“What you got for me?”
“Hold on a second … I’ll show you.”
Tommy walked toward a backroom. Seconds later, he came back with a bag.
“Let me check everything out.”
“Hold on, Joe. Not so fast,” Tommy said.
“The money is in the car, I’ll go get it, but first I need a bag or something to put it in. The bag I got is plastic, and you can see right through it.”
Tommy felt uneasy about the conversation. He was staring at the drugs, but his mind was somewhere else. He was recalling a memorable childhood moment that involved JoJo, a time that was long before Nia had entered the picture.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, nigga, why you acting so strange?”
Tommy put an index finger to his lips.
“I don’t understand,” Joe said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Okay, I’m going to get it.” Joe began backing toward the front door, confused.
Tommy stopped him with a hand gesture then whispered in Joe’s ear, “Don’t come back. Better me than you. Please don’t come back.” Tears were in his eyes.
Joe looked at Tommy’s face. He understood. He opened his mouth and lip synced, “Thanks.”
Tommy left through the back door.
Around the corner, in the parking lot of the Harris Teeter grocery store, J.C. waited in an old Electra 225.
Tommy jumped in the car and reclined the seat.
“You okay, son?”
“I’m good.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here. Fuck the police. Motherfuckers always wanting us to do their job.” J.C. laughed.
“We got to get the hell out of here fast.”
“Don’t worry; I got this, Son,” J.C. said then he sped off. They rode down Trade Street, ironically, past the federal courthouse. A roadblock was ahead—
Men Working
. J.C. turned off Trade then looped around to Third Street. He made his way to S. Tryon St. From there he got onto I-77 southbound. He would go to the Woodlawn exit to Billy Graham Parkway to I-85 to Atlanta. They would hide in Atlanta for a few days then fly to Alaska if Tommy could get his hands on a fake ID.
When they reached Woodlawn Road, an unmarked police car pulled them over. Then a Blazer pulled beside them. The Toyota Tacoma with agents Pratt and Clark pulled in front and blocked them in.
There was nowhere for J.C. to go. “Goddamn stankin ass cops!” J.C. yelled.