Street Soldiers Page 4

  “Son, please stop talking. You’ll only aggravate the officer,” Daddy says. He shifts in the hard, metal seat looking just as stressed out as Mama does.

  “So this is your son?” the attorney asks, flipping through his paperwork. “It’s taking some time for me to retrieve his entire file. I just got assigned his case a few moments ago.”

  “Hell nah this old dude ain’t my daddy,” Mickey’s ex says. “My pops died in the struggle.”

  “What struggle was that?” Mama asks, genuinely interested in this dude’s story.

  I just want this to be over with as soon as possible so we can all get back to living our lives. For months it’s been one thing after another, and I for one am tired of the constant intrusions on my personal time.

  “The struggle in the streets. There’s a war going on out there in case you haven’t noticed. It’s hard out here for a pimp.” Mickey’s ex gets a laugh out of his own ignorance.

  Too bad he’s the only one present who does. I can see why my girls didn’t want to waste time supporting him: he won’t even help himself.

  “A pimp? Really? That’s what you consider yourself?” Mama’s question and piercing gaze calm him down, though I’m sure he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly chilled out.

  “Nah. I’m just saying five-o don’t make it easy on us. We out here just trying to make money to pay the rent; you know what I’m saying? And punk asses like this Uncle Tom fool right here want to hold us down,” Mickey’s ex says, pointing at his court-appointed counsel who’s not the least bit offended by his client’s words. “It’s just like that Occupy Wall Street shit, but realer. We occupying these streets and trying to get The Man off our asses—real talk.”

  “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve heard all day, and it’s been a very long day,” Mama says, causing the cop to let out a small chuckle. Mama shoots the officer a stern look that lets him know she’s not on his side, either.

  “It was a great speech,” Netta says. “Stupid, but great.”

  “Man, whatever,” Mickey’s ex says. He’s got one more time to disrespect Mama or Daddy in front of me before I snap.

  The attorney looks through more paperwork a court clerk just handed him and quickly sorts through the large file. “According to the court docket we’re up next.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. James, will you be providing outside counsel for the defendant?” the attorney asks. I bet he’ll be glad to get off this case if it moves on to trial. He’s yet to refer to Mickey’s ex by his birth name, which I’m dying to know.

  “Yes, I think I will be. Let me make a call,” Daddy says, stepping away.

  “Excellent,” the attorney says, standing up and claiming the file. “I’ll be right back to collect the defendant for his arraignment. I assume we’re entering a guilty plea and should be out of there in a few minutes.”

  “You assumed wrong, fool,” Mickey’s ex says between his gritted teeth. “I already told your punk ass I’m innocent.”

  The attorney looks surprised at his client’s intensity. He nods his salt and pepper head in acknowledgment of his clients’ plea before leaving. I’m sure Daddy has a favor or two to call in from a few of his congregation members with law practices in the hood. I hope one of them takes this case because this lawyer is definitely the wrong one if we plan on winning.

  “What’s your name, child?” Mama asks, attempting to lock onto his eyes but he refuses to look directly at my grandmother for too long.

  “I’m like the Gladiator; you can just call me Gangster,” he says to an un-amused Mama.

  “You do realize gladiators were slaves, don’t you?” Leave it to my grandmother to attempt to educate the chosen ignorant.

  “Whatever, old lady,” he says to Mama who now looks like she wants to slap the gold teeth out of his mouth. “You can call me G.”

  “You know what, G?” I say, stepping to the center of the small square and standing directly in front of him. “You need to be grateful my grandparents care enough about your sorry ass to show up when it’s obvious no one else does.”

  Mama and Netta put their hands on my shoulders to calm me down but I’ve had enough. I know I’m not supposed to cuss in front of my elders but this jackass has gone too far.

  “I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby,” G says, smiling wickedly.

  There’s the fool we all love to hate. Before I can fully tear into his ass, the officer gets the signal from the attorney.

  “Well, G, you’re up next,” the smug officer says, taking G by the arm and leading him toward the courtroom. “I’m sure you know the drill.” Unfortunately, he knows the way this part of the system works all too well.

  “That boy should be a lawyer or detective or something as elusive as he is,” Mama says, trying to calm herself down. She looks frustrated, scared and pissed off—all of the common symptoms after an encounter with the gangster kind.

  “G’s the closest thing to a name I’ve ever heard him refer to himself by, and I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing him for over two years,” I say, wrapping my right arm around Mama’s shoulders. She looks completely worn out. I’ll remind her later to pay Dr. Whitmore a visit as soon as possible.

  “Have you visited the good doctor yourself lately?” My grandmother asks, responding to my thought aloud.

  “Touché, Mama. Touché,” I say.

  Netta smiles at us both as we collect our purses ready to roll.

  “Where’s that boy’s family?” Netta asks, still concerned about public enemy number one. “No one should have to face a murder trial alone.”

  After a few minutes, Daddy steps back inside the room and waves for us to leave. It’s about time. A sistah’s got homework to do, and if I can fit in a couple of heads this afternoon I can make my gas money for the week. I’m back to eating Top Ramen for the time being until I can stack my cash back up. If Mama let’s me get my hustle on, one good weekend should put me back on top.

  “That young man’s going to need more than his relatives to get him through this,” Mama says, leading the way out. “He needs all of God’s army on his side as self-destructive as he is.”

  Daddy ushers us into the hallway and toward the exits where the neighbors have dispersed for the day. “Do you know that boy was inside threatening to kill the real murderer once he finds out who he is?” Daddy says.

  “Or she,” Mama says, her green eyes aglow.

  “With an inevitable war brewing between Esmeralda and that boy there’s more evil threatening the neighborhood than we can imagine,” Netta says, cryptically. “We need to stop them both before they kill each other and take more innocent lives along the way.”

  I can only imagine what kind of vengeful plans Esmeralda’s camp and G’s fellow gang members are concocting as we speak. Both sides are equally dangerous even if G doesn’t know what kind of power he’s dealing with. When he finds out that Esmeralda’s the one behind his latest charge all hell is going to break loose.

  “Sometimes we’re our own worst enemy,” Mama says, stepping outside and taking a deep breath. I spent most of the sunny day inside.

  “Yes, indeed,” Netta says, eyeing the dozens of people walking in and out of the courthouse.

  “When self-loathing becomes toxic, that hatred seeps into the surrounding air choking the life out of every living thing around it. And like all weeds, it must be destroyed so the plant can thrive,” Mama says, following her best friend down the steps as Daddy leads the way toward the parked cars. “Where there is fear there can be no love. Where there is life there can be no death. Do you understand, Jayd?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I do,” I say, kissing my grandparents and godmother good-bye.

  Mama’s right. Much like the veve charm hanging from the eleke around my neck, there are many roads to choose from. I’m pretty sure the path G’s chosen will lead to his ultimate demise if he’s not careful.

  “You act like your shit don’t stink. And trust me, it does.”

  -Bryan
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  Drama High, volume 14: So, So Hood

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE: TOXIC

  Mama wanted me to spend the night again last night but I needed some time and space to myself. Lucky for me today is a customary short Tuesday for faculty meetings giving me a much-needed early day out of school. It’s also Mama and Netta’s day to close the shop and do each other’s hair, even if they’ve requested my presence.

  So far, I’ve managed to avoid engaging in the drama between Cameron and Jeremy all day, focusing instead on how to figure out what Misty and Emilio are up to. KJ was on her ass like white on rice today, but Misty didn’t even entertain him—that’s anything but normal.

  Finally reaching my locker in the middle of the vast hall, I quickly unlock it to switch out my books for tonight’s homework. Maybe if I can get to the shop early enough they’ll let me go in a couple of hours.

  “Jayd, wait up,” Nellie says, catching me off guard as she, Reid and Laura—the current president and first lady of the Associated Student Body—walk in through the opposite end of the hall where the entrance to the main office is located. Nellie giggles excitedly about something I know I don’t want to hear about, wraps up her conversation and heads my way. So much for me making a clean get away.

  “What’s up?” I ask, eyeing other students chatting it up.

  It’s the perfect day for clubs to catch up on recruiting new members, reminding me that I need to call an African Student Union meeting soon. It’ll be our first for the year. As president, I should be looking forward to it but I’m not. As with everything else in my life, I’m sure the meeting will bring more drama than necessary.

  “Jayd, can you drop me off at the salon? Mickey was supposed to give me a ride but she’s nowhere to be found,” Nellie says, flipping her long weave over her right shoulder and subsequently dropping her keys.

  Nellie bends forward to pick them up and I spot the new growth at the base of her neck. No wonder she’s in such a hurry to get to the beauty shop. Her roots are showing her true ancestry and I know Nellie isn’t feeling that. She won’t even come to one of our ASU meetings let alone go for wearing her hair natural.

  “Did you try calling her?” I ask, in no mood to be Nellie’s chauffeur. She needs to get a license and a car of her own. Being dependent isn’t a good look.

  “Of course I did,” Nellie says, irritated. “But I think she left campus at lunch. We talked about going after school but I told her I wasn’t sure of my plans.”

  That’s a typical Nellie move, always expecting folks to wait around for her. That’s also one of the reasons Chase eventually bounced on her high-maintenance ass.

  “Have you ever considered taking the bus?” I ask, charging through the courtyard toward the front parking lot. “If you take the Metro it’ll drop you off on Rosecrans, practically right in front of the shop.”

  “That would take forever,” Nellie says to the back of my head. She can keep talking but I have no intentions of diverting my plans for anyone. “Besides, I’m wearing my new Gucci boots. They’re not made for walking or sitting on a city bus.”

  “Nellie, I’m on my way to work. Ever heard of it?” I’d offer to do her hair but I know she’d decline, as always. She and Mickey are unimpressed with my skills.

  Several seagulls fly above our heads, briefly dimming the bright sunlight. It’s a warm, breezy day and the majority of the students leaving campus are on their way to the beach, including Cameron’s crew at the other end of the lot. No doubt Jeremy’s already in the water. I wish I could chill like them, but as always duty calls for this awkward black girl.

  “Jayd, please. I can’t miss my appointment. I have bible study tonight and I can’t go looking like this,” Nellie says, gesturing towards her hair.

  Truth be told, Nellie’s a beautiful girl. Her mocha complexion and high cheekbones are striking. She doesn’t need a weave, heavy make up or expensive clothing to make her standout. Unfortunately, she’s the only one who doesn’t know how inherently beautiful she really is.

  “You look fine, Nellie,” I say, trying not to let Cameron’s cheery attitude ignite the hater in me. “I’m already running behind schedule as it is.”

  “I’ll give you twenty dollars for gas.” Now she’s talking my language.

  “Okay, Nellie. But don’t make this a habit. And for God’s sake, girl; learn how to drive.”

  Nellie rolls her eyes at me but she knows I’m right.

  I unlock the car doors and we settle in. It’s out of my way but at least it’ll give me a chance to really see what’s up with Mickey. She’s been avoiding me like the plague and I want to know what that’s all about. I left her a message last night stating that G pleaded not guilty and wasn’t allowed bail because of his recent release from the LA County jail. I don’t agree with her still being in contact with her ex, but since she is she should also be there to support him. G seems to have no family, which explains a lot about his behavior. If Mickey’s the only friend G’s got other than his gang homies, then she needs to be there for him like he’s been there for her all of these years.

  *

  When we step inside the shop I instantly gag from the chemical fumes sucking all of the oxygen out of the air. In the back of the shop is the nail spa, and in the front is the regular press and curl, barber and braid section. How do these ladies breathe up in here? I’m surprised more of them don’t have brain damage or lung disease with the various toxins present in the small space.

  One of the stylists is doing a Brazilian Blowout on her client, which Mama says they were doing back in the day when she used to frequent Carnival every year. The straightening method was hazardous then and still is in her opinion. Mickey and Nellie have been coming to CoCo’s Cosmetology on Compton Boulevard for years and wouldn’t leave for anything in the world, no matter how dangerous the products may be. Affectionately referred to as CoCo’s, men and women alike wait for hours to get their hair done here.

  “Hey, everyone,” Nellie says, waving to the staff and clients alike. “Sorry I’m late. This is my girl, Jayd.”

  “Hi Nellie and co.,” CoCo says, directing us to the waiting area. She’s working on tightening a weave and her client looks like she wants to cry.

  The shop is bright with fluorescent lights and flat screen televisions on each wall. Everything from the pleather chairs to the hair tools are black, silver or pink. There’s even a disco ball hanging from the ceiling causing rainbow rays to bounce off of the mirrors. It feels more like a nightclub than a place of business.

  “Is Mickey here?” Nellie asks, claiming a fashion magazine out of one of the baskets on the end table where I notice a braid magazine. It wouldn’t hurt for me to see what’s new in the business.

  “I’m back here getting my nails done,” Mickey yells.

  Good. I need to look her in the eye when she comes up with an excuse about why she’s tripping on her ex after she foolishly put her relationship with Nigel at risk for his ass.

  I follow Nellie to the back of the shop where the nail salon is housed. Mickey and three other women are getting the works. It must be nice for my girl to be a teen mom with hood-wifey benefits. Speaking of which, who’s bank rolling all of this pampering?

  “There she is, Miss M.I.A. herself,” I say, posting up against an empty station closest to my girl with my magazine in tow. I hope CoCo doesn’t mind if I borrow it; she’s got plenty to spare. And it’s not the most recent issue so I doubt anyone will miss it.

  Mickey rolls her eyes in my direction as Nellie takes a seat in the spa chair next to hers. It must be nice living the ghetto fabulous life without a job. I hope Mickey knows her days are numbered living under Rah’s roof with no income. He doesn’t play that shit.

  “Paula, can I get a mani, pedi and brow wax while I wait for CoCo’s chair to clear? Please and thank you,” Nellie says, relaxing into the massage chair.

  The tall, black woman with blue streaks in her asymmetrically cropped hair nods her
head without taking her eyes away from her client’s acrylic claws. Nellie places her oversized Michael Kors bag on the end table attached to the large chair and slits her eyes at Mickey for leaving her behind. Mickey shrugs her shoulders and refocuses her attention on the large television screen mounted on the wall in front of her. This is the place to hangout even if you’re not getting any services.

  “So Mickey, did you get my many, many messages about your ex?” I ask, flipping casually through the colorful magazine. I could do all of these styles with the right comb and enough time.

  “Yeah, I heard them but I’ve been busy with Nickey and school. You know how it is,” Mickey says, lying through her teeth. Nickey’s down for the night by eight and we all know she’s never taken any of her schoolwork seriously.

  “Mickey, spill it,” I say, abruptly closing my magazine. This girl is testing my patience.

  Nellie looks at Mickey waiting for the real story, too.

  Mickey looks at Nellie and then me, ready to give in. “The reason I can’t go to the hearings is because G doesn’t want me there.”

  “Mickey, I don’t think that’s true,” I say. “There was no one there for him at his hearing yesterday except for my family and our neighbors. I know you’re probably mad at him over Nigel blowing up, but he needs whatever kind of support he can get.”

  Nellie looks away pretending to read her magazine. I know there’s something they’re not telling me.

  “Okay, what the hell is going on around here?” I roll the magazine up and place it inside of my purse lest I forget to take it with me when I finally do leave. I know Mama and Netta are watching the clock.

  Mickey looks down at her toes soaking in the bubbly water and then back up at me. “We’re back together, Jayd,” Mickey says. “And, G doesn’t like his family getting involved in the court system and all that nonsense. By not being there I’m doing exactly what my man wants me to do.”