Vexed 3, page 10
“Come in.” Sheftall’s voice was faint, crossing through the steel barrier, but Jay heard her clearly enough.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she greeted her after cracking the door.
“Good morning, Ms. King. What are you doing walking? The State paid too much for your little scooter for you to leave it somewhere in this jungle. Where is it?”
“I left it right outside. Ain’t nobody crazy enough to mess with it.” She stared at her swollen, aching feet for a hot second before facing the warden again. “May I have a seat please? I need to talk to you for a minute.”
“Sure. Rest your feet, Ms. King.”
Warden Iris Sheftall was an attractive 40-something sista with smooth peanut butter skin and a cropped, blond Afro. She was short, no taller than five foot three, tops, and she weighed close to 200 pounds, which put her on the thick side. But she wore it well. Overall, the wife and mother of three was a cool chick, but she had some peculiar ways, and Jay didn’t trust her.
“Ms. King, are you going to talk or are you just going to look at me?”
“I received an email from one of the law students in JUP this morning. It looks like they want to review my case more closely in an attempt to facilitate an appeal for my early release. But I need three references. Amanda—that’s my case rep’s name—thinks it would be a good look if you would be one of my references.”
“Is that so?” Sheftall smiled, displaying the five-mile gap between her two front top teeth.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will serve as a reference for you, Ms. King. It won’t be a problem at all. Do you want to know why?”
Jay was so emotional that all she could do was nod her head. She was too choked up to speak. It was taking much restraint to hold back her tears.
“I have seen women and men die in prisons all across Georgia. Most of them were terrible people who had brutally murdered others, raped, and robbed grossly out of greed. I’m familiar with your case, Ms. King. You did some crazy shit that hurt a lot of people, especially your brother and his family. But I believe you hurt yourself more than anyone else. And because you’ve pretty much been a model inmate, other than getting pregnant by your counselor, I think you deserve to leave prison early so you can reunite with your family as your health declines. Who knows? There may be a doctor on the outside who can turn your medical condition around. Experimental drugs and other forms of treatment may be able to save your life.”
“Thank you, Warden. I appreciate this more than you will ever know.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I need one more favor please.”
“All right, Ms. King, you’re pushing it now.” Sheftall cut her eyes at Jay.
“I need to make a few phone calls to round up the other two references.”
“Fine. You may use the phone in your office, Ms. King.”
“Thank you, Warden,” Jay said, struggling to stand against the pain in her back. “Thank you very much.”
“Are you okay? You sound winded, and your face is flushed.”
“I’m fine. My back just kicks my ass most of the day. My pain medication makes me loopy, so I don’t take it until it’s time to go to bed so I can sleep. That special air mattress helps, too.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Son, before we get into whatever you called me to talk about, can I please spend some time with my sweet grandbabies and my beautiful daughter-in-law?”
“Pops, you ain’t got no sweet grandbabies, but I can let you see the juvenile delinquents Jill and I have if that’s what you want.”
Wallace chuckled as he stared lovingly at the handsome face on his computer screen that was a younger version of his. Zach reminded him so much of himself that it was scary.
“I would love to see your little juvenile delinquents, as you call them. I want to see their mama, too.”
“Okay, let me text Zach Jr. and tell him to round up the gang and come down here to my man cave. I don’t let them visit my private domain too often because they don’t know how to act, especially Zion. That girl talks too much. She’s sweeter than a five-pound bag of Dixie Crystals sugar, but she can talk a genie back into its bottle. So if you have any secrets, you better not utter a single one to Zion Seantelle King, because sooner or later, she will spill all your tea.”
Wallace waved a dismissive hand at the screen as he watched his son text his grandson. “Leave my little princess alone. Every girl Zion’s age has a problem running her mouth, but it ain’t necessarily a bad thing in all situations. My little princess’s loose lips might be your saving grace someday before she grows out of it. Some tattling is good tattling, Zachary.”
“It ain’t good tattling when she tells Jill every time she catches me smoking one of my premium Cuban stogies out on the deck.”
Wallace couldn’t hold back his laughter when he imagined Jill fussing at Zach in her thick Jamaican accent about smoking cigars. “The child is just trying to keep you from getting lung cancer, boy.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I hear the invaders stomping down the stairs. Let me go unlock the door to my sanctuary.”
Zach left Wallace’s line of vision, giving him a moment to ponder the purpose of this out-of-the-blue video call. They had just spoken that afternoon while he was en route to the barbershop in his old neighborhood. Zach had phoned his old man just as he was closing out his daily noonday prayer and devotion. Their conversation hadn’t been a short one, either. Wallace recalled them covering many topics, including Zach and his family’s weekend reunion with Nahima, which had gone well, and Wallace Jr.’s successful campaign for freshman class president at North Carolina A&T University last fall. Father and son were brainstorming a plan to finance the young future attorney/United States senator’s next political bid. Wallace Jr. had already announced his candidacy for sophomore class president, and his dad and big brother were expected to foot his campaign bill.
“What’s up, Papa?”
The sound of Zach Jr.’s voice and his handsome face filling the computer screen brought Wallace’s heart joy. “Hey there, young man. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are—”
“I’m fine too, Papa,” Jalen interrupted, hopping in front of his big brother. “Did you get my email?”
“I sure did, baby boy.”
“Papa, I was just talking about you to my friend Jossie,” Zion said with the prettiest smile.
“Hello, Papa King!” Jill sang in her accent Wallace loved so much.
The lively family video call went on for a while with the three King grandchildren and their mother catching up with the patriarch they all adored. Apparently ready to have time with his father alone, Zach abruptly took over his computer and shooed his wife and kids out of his man cave and back upstairs. He then reclaimed the chair behind his desk and trained serious eyes on Wallace.
“I need to ask Patricia to do me a favor, but I want to school you on what’s going on first. It’s about Aunt Jackie.”
“What’s wrong with Jackie, son?”
Wallace’s heart began to beat so hard and fast that he could hear it pounding in his ears while he waited for Zach to speak. He hoped Jackie wasn’t sick again. Her heart attack six or seven years ago had brought him to his knees in prayer many days and nights. God forbid she was having health issues again. They had just reached a happy and comfortable place in their relationship in recent years after decades of estrangement. It took a special kind of woman, a godly woman, to forgive the man who killed her big sister and thrust her two small children into orphanhood. Jackie Dudley Brown was such a woman, and Wallace was blessed and honored to have her in his life after all the pain he’d caused her. It would break his heart if she was sick again.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with her per se. I think she’s secretly involved with some mystery man, and I don’t like it.”
Oh, shit! Oops. Lord, please forgive me for my sinful thought. I wasn’t expecting this. Jackie and Oscar are down there slipping.
“Son, what makes you think your auntie is secretly courting, and why is it a problem for you if she is? But most importantly, why on God’s green earth did you think it was so important for me, of all humble souls, to know Jackie’s personal business?”
Immediately, Zach’s countenance changed before his father’s very eyes. He wasn’t a confident, sometimes-cocky, overprotective, and pushy alpha male anymore. Who Wallace saw now was a little boy genuinely concerned about the kind and beautiful woman who had sacrificed everything to raise him and his baby sister to be successful, God-fearing members of society with all the love in her heart. Zach was troubled and he wanted consolation.
“I . . . I don’t want any man to hurt her or take advantage of her ever. Auntie has been through enough heartbreak in her life when she lost her sister, had to drop out of nursing school, lost Uncle Julius, and then went through Jay’s foolishness. I almost lost her when she had that heart attack, Wallace. If this in-the-cut nigga does Aunt Jackie dirty, I swear I’ll kill him. That’s how come I hit you up.”
Wallace’s face wrinkled of its own accord in fear. Did Zach know he and Oscar were friends? If he did, why didn’t he lead with that information? Better yet, if he knew, why was he still referring to him as a mystery man?
Wallace cleared the lump of dread from his throat with a hard swallow. “Exactly why did you call me, son?”
“After I left the barbershop, I stopped by to surprise Aunt Jackie, and she seemed nervous that I was there. While she was packing up some food for me to take home, I noticed two half-eaten plates of food on the table and two glasses. She didn’t even realize I was checking out the setup.”
“So Jackie had a lunch date, and they decided that you didn’t need to meet him or her. Surely you didn’t call me because of that.” Wallace leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Zach, what’s really going on?”
“First of all, I know it was a man. Why would Aunt Jackie feel like one of her girlfriends or a sister from Refuge needed to hide from me? Even if it was a new friend or female church member, one I don’t know, why the hell couldn’t I meet her? Unless . . . nah. I know my auntie ain’t hardly no les—”
“Hey, boy, don’t you say it! You know better. Of course, Jackie ain’t gay.”
“Then it’s some coward pimp she’s creeping around with, and you and my stepmother are going to help me put a name on his ass.”
“How are Patricia and I supposed to help you do that?”
“Dude is pushing a white Cadillac Escalade with a Wake County, North Carolina, license plate. I figure Patricia could get one of her friends in law enforcement or in private investigations to run the plate number and ID the owner or renter of the vehicle.”
“Zachary, are you sure you want to go through all that to get into Jackie’s personal affairs? I don’t think she’ll appreciate that.”
“I don’t care. Text Patricia, and tell her to join us on this video call. If you won’t do it, I’ll just hang up with you and call her myself.”
* * *
“Okay, let’s do roll call, y’all,” Kela suggested. “We gotta make sure everybody is on the call and their volume level is on point. I’m here.” She laughed.
“You know I’m here because I called you,” Nahima announced. “Ryan, are you there?”
“Yes, ma’am, Ryan Dominique Mathis is in the house!”
“I’m here,” Yashia said dryly.
“What’s wrong with you, bestie?”
“I’d rather be talking to my man than talking to y’all heifers. Now what is the emergency, Nahima?”
“I invited Santana to the Quay concert, but you know my parents ain’t about to let him come and pick me up.”
“Who the hell is Santana?” Kela asked.
Ryan popped her lips. “That’s what I want to know. I thought I had memorized the entire student body at Westwood Park, but apparently, this reporter was wrong.”
“He’s some thugged-out, twenty-two-year-old nigga Nahima has been sneaking around fucking with for about four months.”
“Yashia!”
“Shit, I’m slipping on my job. How come I didn’t know that tea?”
“I guess because our so-called girl only trusted her bestie with info about her secret bae, Ryan.”
“I guess so, Kela.”
“Whatever. Anyway, now that Yashia has taken over Ryan’s job as the clique’s news reporter, I’ll pick up from where she left off telling my business if it’s all right with her.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Like she said, Santana is my boyfriend, and because he’s twenty-two and my parents don’t know anything about him, he can’t pick me up for the concert. So I need a guy from school who’s going to the concert alone and has his own ticket to pose as my date to throw off my parents. I figured we all could still ride together, split up once we get to the concert, and come back together afterward for post-show breakfast at IHOP.”
“Tell me again why we have to do this now?”
“Kela, I have two tickets. My parents and my uncle, who bought them, will want to know who I’m taking to the concert, and I can’t tell them it’s Santana.”
Ryan laughed. “That’s why your ass should be taking me.”
“I couldn’t choose between you and Kela. It would’ve been too much pressure.”
“True dat. True dat.”
“And I would’ve killed you had you picked Ryan over me.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t invite either one of y’all. Now can we get back to the subject at hand please?”
“Yeah.”
“Go ahead, Nah-Nah,” Ryan said.
Yashia remained silent.
“What I need y’all to do is talk to your friends and people in your classes about the concert. Then listen out for the name of any black guy who’s going to the concert solo, already has a ticket, and doesn’t mind rolling with us. When you find one, let me know. Okay?”
“I’m in. What about you, Ryan?”
“I’m a reporter. Of course I’m on it.”
“What about you, bestie?”
“Yeah, Dondrae and I got your back. Now can I hang up and call him?”
“Yes. I need to study for my history test anyway. Thank you, ladies. I don’t know what I would do without y’all. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”
“Bye-bye.”
“Good night.”
“Bye, bitches!” Ryan screamed and then laughed like an idiot.
Chapter Eighteen
Indigo got out of bed and waddled toward the living-room on terribly swollen bare feet when she heard Santana pull into his parking space right outside their bedroom. She was only five and a half months pregnant, but she was huge and irritable as hell because of her out-of-control blood pressure and anemia. And the fact that she had to work long hours on top of her serious pregnancy complications because Santana didn’t have a real job only made matters worse. Hell, she was styling hair like a cotton-picking slave, taking care of their 18-month-old daughter, Music, and doing all the cooking and cleaning with no help from him.
Indigo’s puffy hands went straight to her wide hips when she stopped a few feet from the front door. She wanted to make sure her face would be the first thing Santana saw when, at three o’clock in the goddamn morning, he stepped inside of the apartment she paid rent on month after month by her damn self. She knew his ass was high and liquored up, too. That was why it was taking him so long to unlock the door.
“Damn, baby! You scared the shit outta me. What you doin’ up?”
“Where the hell you been, Santana? It’s three in the morning, and you got the nerve to bring your high ass up in my house asking me questions? Fuck that, nigga!”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled, stepping toward her with his arms open for a hug.
Indigo took a step back, pissed and turned off by the suffocating mixed scent of Kush and Cîroc. “Don’t touch me, nigga! I’m sick of your shit, Santana! If you don’t bring some money up in here by tomorrow, I’ma put all your shit outside in the grass! You gon’ have to take your ass right back over to Ridgewood and live with Avila and her bad-ass kids. I ain’t playing. Try me.”
“Hold up, baby.” Santana reached inside his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash and dangled it in Indigo’s face.
She reached out and snatched it and immediately started counting every bill. She looked up when she was finished with a smirk bending her lips. “Three thousand dollars? That’s a good start, but you got to follow up with some more next week.”
“I will, baby. I promise. Oh, wait a minute. I got a surprise for you. Check this out.” He whipped two tickets out of his pocket and offered them to Indigo.
Without hesitation, she accepted them and read the words. “Did you steal these, Santana? I ain’t going to jail over no damn stolen Quay concert tickets.”
“No, I didn’t still ’em, baby.”
“Are they even real?”
“Yeah, they real. How the hell do you make phony concert tickets? Stop playin’, baby.”
“I know your ass didn’t spend twenty-two hundred dollars on some tickets instead of helping me pay the damn rent.”
“Nah, nah. A junkie gave ’em to me for two ounces. I thought you would like to get dolled up and let me take you out on the town. The other stylists at the shop, ’specially Amari with her ho ass, gon’ be hatin’ on you when they find out your man got you front-row tickets to see Quay at State Farm Arena. Plus I’ma get you a nice outfit to wear, something custom-made and whatnot. We goin’ out to a fancy dinner, too. Hell, that’s some bougie shit right there.”
Indigo slowly closed the gap between her and Santana, smiling. “That concert gon’ be lit!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as he grabbed a handful of her big ass.
“I love you, girl.”
“I love your raggedy ass too.” She kissed him again. “I want a pretty baby-doll maternity dress to wear over a pair of fuchsia Michael Kors leggings I bought hot from one of Peanut’s boys at the shop the other day. It’s gotta have a nice pattern like paisley or flowers or some geometrical shit or something. I just want it to blend with the fuchsia and fit comfortably over my big-ass belly. Okay?”
