A Gangster's Girl (9 page)

A week later, I was discharged from the hospital.

“Honey, I think it's best you stay with me a little while longer. You seem a little depressed,” my mom suggested.

I agreed to stay with her a couple weeks longer. During that time, I constantly questioned the Lord.

“If all things of the Lord are good, then why does He allow tragedy?” I would ask my mother.

My mother answered each question with a spiritual response.

“The Lord does not allow anything to happen in vain. He allows us to go through things to bring us closer to Him.”

Sad to say, I was not happy with the “God works in mysterious ways” or “it's just a test of faith” or “the Lord has a plan for you” responses. I really didn't want to hear the name God or Lord, period. I felt like God had played a cruel trick on me, and I definitely didn't find it funny. At that point, the Lord and I were on opposing teams.

My mother sensed my anger and felt there was only one way to save me from my despair.

“Why don't you come to church with me this week? We're having a healing convocation. I think it may help you feel better,” my mother suggested.

I refused with no explanation and shut myself off to all things. I just wanted to return home.

By the time fall rolled around, I was back to wearing a size three. The laundromats were doing great and Vegas was doing well, too. I traveled to Richmond each weekend to visit him. He had been sentenced to one year. The federal charge was dismissed, but he had to serve one year of his probation for being out of the state when we were in Cancun. He estimated he would only have to serve about ten months.

My body recovered well after my surgery, but emotionally, I was still in pretty bad shape. I decided to visit Charlotte in order to cope with the anger I was feeling over the twins' death. Our meetings were productive. Each week, she would give me a task to work on. One particular week she instructed me to take notes of the times when I was happy and not feeling frustrated at all. Before she gave me that task, I felt that I had little to no frustration, but once she gave me the task, my life became hell.

On the way from the session, a police officer pulled me over for a fake ass violation, but I knew my only real crime was driving a nice car in the Great Neck area of Virginia Beach while young, black, and beautiful. When the prick walked to the car, he didn't ask for a registration or license, but instead ordered me to step out of the car and put my hands on the hood. Of course, I refused.

“What exactly are you pulling me over for, sir? Would it be racial profiling, by chance?”

He got very angry at my refusal and sarcastic response and proceeded to pull me out of the car. Once he got me out, he held one arm behind my back and grabbed my neck with his free hand. Then he forced my face on the burning hood of the car and put the cuffs on me. Needless to say, I did not pass go, but went straight to jail with no “get out of jail free” card. He claimed he was pulling me over because my car fit the description of a stolen vehicle. However, I didn't fit the description of the suspect.

As soon as I was released on a personal release bond, I called my attorney, then, I contacted Asia. Asia was the bitch of all bitches when it came to things like this. As a bank executive, Asia rubbed elbows with all sorts of powerful people. There wasn't an issue she couldn't solve. She told me not to worry; she would take care of things. I didn't worry, because I knew that with my attorney and Asia's connections, plus her “super bitch” attitude, the devil would run for cover.

It seemed like that incident was the beginning to an eternal hell. The few days after that were even worse. After working out one afternoon, I came home to a yellow bag from the Sheriff's Department. I was not happy seeing that damn bag on my gate. I snatched the bag off and began to read:
VIRGINIA BEACH JUVENILE AND DOMESTIC COURT IN REFERENCE TO KAREN WHITE VS. LAYMONT JACKSON.

Now I was pissed.

What in the hell does he have a subpoena for, and who the hell is Karen White?
I thought.

I couldn't wait to get his call. I was prepared to fry his ass.
He's already put me through enough shit and now this,
I thought as I walked to the front door. It wasn't long before I received the call that I had been anticipating. As soon as he said ‘hello', I let him have it.

“What are you talking about, C? I never even heard of a Karen White!” he pleaded, but I wasn't buying it.

I felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown. I screamed and slammed the phone down. I walked back and forth and let out a crazed cry. I was acting so crazy that Prissy ran under the bed and hid during my tantrum. I had to do something to calm down, so I made myself a drink. I made a Belvedere and orange juice, turned on
No Letting Go
by Wayne Wonder, sat in the Jacuzzi, and smoked some hydro. I was blazed as I sang with Wayne:

The truth in those words was amazing. The girl he spoke of in that song was me. I did all those things for Vegas and he deceived me. I went against everything that my parents taught me for the love of Vegas, and he stabbed me in the back. That brought so much pain to my heart that I just sat and cried. A little while later, I found myself a little tipsy and decided to get some rest.

I awoke to the sound of the intercom.

“Ceazia . . . Ceazia.”

It was Asia and she was at the gate. I buzzed the gate open and met her at the door. Asia stopped by to give me an update on everything she had done.

“I contacted the officer's superior and filed a complaint for you. I also contacted the Mayor's office and a local newscaster. I notified the NAACP and a local chapter of civil rights activists. Once we finish with his ass, he's gonna be willing to turn in his badge. I'm thinking you should even pursue a civil suit.”

That's why I loved Asia so much. She was definitely a doer and not a talker. She was on a mission to make the officer's life a living hell and her mission was just about complete. As we were talking, the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hey girl, I need to talk to you.” It was India.

“I swear you twins have some psychic connection. Asia just came over.”

“Well, tell her to leave. We really need to talk,” India demanded.

I told Asia I would speak to her later since her sister was having a crisis. Asia left and I went back to the phone.

India was so upset. She told me about a very disturbing call she received from her fiancé's brother.

“Samuel has been apprehended by the Jamaican police. They tied him to a number of murders and it doesn't look good. Samuel has been set up by someone, but we have no idea who. He knew it had to be someone close, and from the way his brother speaks, I'm a suspect,” India said, crying uncontrollably as she told me the story.

We all knew what that meant. Whoever Samuel felt had the slightest possibility of being the snitch was surely on death row. He would kill every possible witness before he would serve time. We were surprised he didn't have a shootout with the police when they arrested him. Normally, all types of soldiers, ready for war, would have been surrounding him, but this time the authorities caught him alone. His brother didn't exactly say what Samuel was doing at the time he was apprehended, but the evidence pointed toward sex.

India didn't know what to think. Not only was her man in jail, he was cheating when he was arrested, and he might even have someone try to kill her. She wished that she had listened to me when I used to tell her about all the wicked things involved in that life. We had to do something, not only for her safety but also for her sanity. Our plan was to find out who set up Samuel and to find out if he really was cheating. The most important thing was to keep India alive while we were doing our research. She decided she would stay at my old condo and take leave from work until things got a little safer.

The following weekend, I went to my next counseling session with Charlotte. When I walked in, she noticed I had not improved at all.

“Oh my, Ceazia, you look terrible. Why didn't you call for an emergency session?”

I cried as I told her all the events of the week. I didn't understand how so many terrible things could happen to one person. I just wondered what was in store for the next week.

“Well, let's see how we did on the assignment. Tell me a time when you felt relaxed,” she said.

“Sadly, the only time during the entire week that I was truly relaxed was after a ten minute session with my dildo,” I responded, truly embarrassed.

I would have told her about the time I sat in the Jacuzzi and drank BeIvedere as I listened to reggae and smoked a blunt, but I didn't think that would draw a pretty self-portrait. I would be classified as a drunk and druggie on top of having to discuss how I used artificial things to give me false happiness. As we talked, she gave me a number of exercises to do when I found myself most stressed. They included breathing exercises, meditation, and muscle stretches. I thought it would be much easier if she would just prescribe Prozac, but at this point, I was willing to try anything, so I agreed.

Due to a call from my father, as soon as I got home, I had the opportunity to try the stress relief exercise Charlotte taught me.

“I would like for you to come to New York for Thanksgiving,” he said. And like every call, we ended up arguing.

“No way. I refuse to spend Thanksgiving with you and your dumb blonde wife. Besides, since you cut off my weekly deposits a long time ago. I can't afford a trip to New York,” I lied in an attempt to make my father feel guilty.

“Anyway, I'm sure you'll be busy working, so what's the point?” I continued my guilt trip.

He was so persistent that finally I just agreed to go and hung up the phone. Once I hung up, I did the exercise. I started with my toes and tightened each muscle then relaxed it. I did each muscle until I reached my neck. Amazingly, it worked. I actually felt relieved after I did the exercise.

That night, I called the girls and we decided to have dinner. We went to one of our favorite spots, a local soul food joint in downtown Norfolk. I was happy. It had been a long time since all of us were able to get together in one centralized location. With the exception of India and me, everyone seemed pretty happy.

Tionna was excited to tell us about her new man, Jonathan. He was the gynecologist who'd examined her at the health department. We all found that very funny. She told us how she ran into him a month later at the grocery store. He approached her and actually asked her out, and they had been dating ever since. She told us that they even talked about adopting Tonya's baby. They decided that since Tionna could not have children, they would adopt the little boy. They did not have a decision from the adoption agency yet, but they were confident that everything would go through. We all were happy that things were finally going well for Tionna.

After we ate, we decided to go sit near the stage and listen to the poetry. As we listened, I noticed India kept looking over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I asked her, annoyed at her constant motion.

She pointed to a tall, slender, dark girl who sat at the bar. The girl was dressed plainly and wore a turban. India said the girl had been looking in our direction for the past thirty minutes. I assumed she was just being paranoid, so I ordered her a Long Island Iced Tea to calm her nerves.

That dinner was just the atmosphere I needed. For the first time in a long time, I felt relieved. There was no stress at all. We all laughed, joked, and drank for the next hour. When it was time to go, we were all pretty toasted. I decided to follow India to make sure she got home safely since she was the most drunk. The condo was on the way to the Interstate, so it was on my route home. As she was pulling off toward the complex, I saw her make a sudden stop. I stopped behind her and headed toward the car door. As I approached, she opened the door and stuck her head out. Two seconds later, vomit was everywhere. Just the smell of it made my stomach turn, so I quickly turned and headed back to my car.

“Pull into the garage,” I yelled.

I followed her and helped her into the condo. When we got inside, I filled the tub with aromatherapy bath pearls and warm water. I helped her undress and placed her inside the bathtub. While she was bathing, I went to the kitchen to make some cappuccino.

All of a sudden, I heard a loud thump. I figured she had probably fallen, so I headed to the bathroom to make sure she was okay. On the way, I felt a draft coming from the direction of the living room. When I reached the living room, I noticed the French doors were cracked open. I opened the doors completely to inspect and there was India standing on the balcony, butt naked and dripping wet, pointing a gold glock with a pearl handle to her head. She had no idea I was standing right behind her.

She sobbed as she prayed in a soft whisper. “Lord, forgive me for the ultimate sin which I am about to commit . . .”

At that moment, we both spun around at the sound of the French doors shutting. A tall, slender frame stood before us. In the person's hand was a long, silver machete that glistened in the dim light. Instinctively, I jumped on the person and pushed the lanky body against the rail of the balcony. As we struggled, the towering person pushed the machete toward my neck. I became weaker and weaker as the struggle progressed. The dark being didn't seem to lose any strength, and the machete was pressing against my neck. It took every ounce of energy in my body to keep the force from cutting my throat. I could feel the pain as the knife began to slice the skin and the blood slowly trickled down my chest.

And the struggle was over. The dark beast fell to the ground, stiff and lifeless. The balcony and doors were covered with dark wetness. I turned around to see India standing motionless with the gun pointing straight ahead. Smoke rose from the barrel as she stood in the dark.