Eastside (25 page)

“You got the money, use it to go to school. Buy the kids some birthday and Christmas presents from me. Bring them to see me every once in a while, and send pictures of them at least twice a year. Things will be all right.”

Tamika frowned. “That's not funny.”

“I didn't say that it was funny.”

She pointed her petite, well-manicured finger at him. “You sound like you're giving up. Don't you give up on me. I thought you just said your lawyer could beat it?”

“I thought you just said that they always say that?”

They shared a laugh.

Tamika gently banged upon the glass with her tiny fist. “Travon, don't tease me. You better hurry up and get outta here. I don't wanna raise two babies alone.”

“I'll be out. And after I get out, we are gonna go straight to the courthouse and get married.”

“I don't wanna hear any jailhouse promises.”

“If I get out, I'm going to marry you. But if I get a lot of time, I love you enough to let you go on with your life and find someone else.”

Tamika began to sob. “Tre, I'll always be here for you, no matter what. You know I'll marry you.”

“I love you, Mika.” Travon lifted his hand and touched the glass. Tamika lifted her hand and touched the glass in the same spot.

“I love you too,” she said softly.

They lowered their telephones to the counter, turned, and walked out of their respective booths. He turned and watched as she headed for the door. At the door she stopped, turned, and waved sadly. Travon lifted his hand and waved back. He tried to smile, but only sadness spread across his face. Tamika turned and walked away.

“Are you Robinson?” a guard holding a large clipboard asked.

Travon nodded. “Yeah.”

“You got another visit,” the officer told him. “Use the same booth. You got twenty minutes.”

Travon turned and walked back into his designated booth. He was puzzled, because he knew that his mom had to work today, and he could think of no one else who would come to see him. Vera, he thought. It was probably his Aunt Vera. He hoped that she wouldn't become all mushy and begin crying. After his visit with Tamika, more crying was something that he could not take.

Red shirts entered the visitation room, and slowly made their way to his booth: Lil Fade, Capone, and Robert Jr. To his surprise, his cousins did not pick up the telephone, Lil Fade did.

“What's up, Blood?” Lil Fade greeted him cheerily.

Travon shook his head. “Ain't nothing.”

“I would send you some snaps, but ain't no need,” Lil Fade told him. “I got some good news for you, Blood. After your court hearing was over, I overheard the prosecutor talking to this bitch inside of this little side office, telling her that she might have to testify on Wednesday. I figured that this was the witness bitch, so me, Capone, and Robert Jr. followed the bitch home. We saw where she lived, and we paid her a little visit. You don't have to worry about no witness anymore, Blood.”

Travon turned pale. His stomach became nauseated and he lowered his head.

“Don't be so sad, you'll be outta here next week,” Lil Fade told him. “No murder weapon, no witnesses, no motive, no nothing. Don't thank me, though. It's all part of that homie love that I have for you.”

Travon lifted his head and his eyes met Lil Fade's. “My lawyer said that we had it beat. You didn't have to kill her.”

“Now we know you got it beat for sure,” Lil Fade told him. “Besides, it was my pleasure.”

Travon shifted his gaze toward his cousins. He searched their eyes for a reason, and pleaded with his own for help. Robert Jr. and Capone both turned and walked away.

“Now listen to me, Travon. This is the second time I've killed for you,” Lil Fade told him. “Now I really don't mind, because I enjoy it. It's easy. It makes me feel good. When I have a gun in my hand, I decide who lives and dies. I am one of the gods. Robert Jr., Capone, C-Low, Slow Poke, Quentin, Tech Nine, Lil Anthony, Charlie, Winky, Lil Daddy, Frank, Omar, and Caesar are all gods. It's part of the game. We kill, and we do it often and without remorse. It's inside of you to do these things also.”

Lil Fade shook his head, looked down, and smiled. “I love your family. You have so many killas in your family that I wish I was a part of it. And the greatest killa of them all, was your brother Two Low.”

Lil Fade lifted a clenched fist and pounded the air. “I know it's inside of you too, I just have to bring it out. Too-Low was so perfect at it. He'd kill just to try out a new gun. It was his high.”

Lil Fade pointed toward Travon. “You have the same blood inside of you; you're going to be my Too-Low. If your brother had been a Blood, we would have been unstoppable together. We would have crushed all other sets. But, he was a WCG, and now he's dead. That leaves us with you.”

Lil Fade shook his head and leaned in closer. “Don't fight it any longer, just flow with it. The more you fight it, the more people I will have to kill in front of you. Just think of it like this: You will kill to save lives.”

He threw his head back and let out a demented laugh. “I'm going to make you immune to feelings. I'm going to make you indifferent to killing. Indifferent to caring about life and death. If I do it, I'll kill mercilessly. But if you do it, then at least you will have a say in who lives and who dies. I love BSV, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to put it on top. I need for you to be my Too-Low, I'm going to make you into my Too-Low. When these people release you, I will be waiting for you in the parking lot. We are gonna take a little ride, and I'll show you how easy it is to control life. We'll decide who lives and who dies on our way home. I'm going to turn you into one of the gods.”

Lil Fade slammed the receiver down onto the counter, stared at Travon for several seconds, and then turned and walked away. Travon stood inside the booth with the telephone still to his ear. His entire body was shaking.

Tuesday

A young African-American guard hung up the telephone. “Robinson! Pack your shit, you're outta here!”

Travon rose from his bed and began to gather his belongings.

“No the hell you ain't!” a familiar voice shouted from behind.

Travon fell forward when the unexpected blow struck him on the back of his head. He cried out, rolled over, and immediately began swinging. Fists struck him all over his body. One landed on his lip and split it on the inside.

“Muthafucka!” Travon shouted. He began kicking desperately. His kicks were landing solidly and his attackers paused.

Suddenly, one of the attackers leapt over his thrusting legs and landed on top of him, neutralizing his only effective defense. He remembered that he had another one.

Travon thrust his hand beneath his pillow and felt around until he found his sharpened toothbrush. One of the attackers struck him in his face again, and instinctively, Travon thrust with his toothbrush, striking flesh. He tried to pull his toothbrush free, but it was lodged deep. The room instantly became silent, the only noise a clogged, choking, gurgling sound. He pulled harder, and finally the toothbrush was freed.

Travon was finally able to shove off the boy on top of him. The second boy saw the blood spewing from his friend's neck and quickly fled. Breathing heavily, Travon stood and turned toward the remaining boy, now spread out across his bed writhing in pain. It was his childhood friend, Justin Robles, also known as Lil Texas, who lay upon his bed dying. Tears fell from Travon's eyes.

“Robinson! I told you to pack your shit! You don't got time to visit with.”

Travon turned and faced the six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound, bald-headed guard standing in his doorway. The guard looked at Travon, shifted his gaze toward Lil Texas, and finally, to the bloody shank resting in Travon's trembling hand. Slowly, Travon closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His thoughts shifted to the children he would never be able to teach how to ride a bicycle. The children he would see take their first steps through a thick prison glass window. The children he would never walk in a park with, fly a kite with, or play football with. Tamika would marry someone else, his children would grow up without him, and he would spend the rest of his days trying to survive on some gladiator farm.

The guard stepped inside the cell and extended his hand. Travon handed him the sharpened toothbrush. The guard peered into Travon's eyes and shook his head.

“I said pack your shit,” the guard told him. “Go to the elevator and tell the muthafucka to take you to the basement so you can process out.”

Travon glanced over his shoulder toward Lil Texas, who had stopped gurgling, and then turned back toward the guard.

“I grew up in the Lincoln Courts as an LCG Blood,” the guard said softly. “I know what's up. I saw them when they ran in here, and I saw Alonzo when he took off outta here. I can pretty much figure out what happened.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and tossed it to Travon. “Wipe the blood off of your lip and throw the handkerchief in the trash can on the way out. When you get downstairs, keep sucking on your lip so that no one sees the bleeding.”

Travon nodded and pressed the kerchief against his lip.

“These white folks got enough of us in prison already,” the guard continued. “I'll take care of this shit, you just get the fuck outta here and stay outta trouble. Get past that gang banging shit real quick too, because all you stupid muthafuckas is doing out there is killing each other. Go on.”

Travon quickly gathered his belongings and bolted for the elevator.

Travon was in the last processing cell when he heard the alarm go off. Officers dressed in all black paramilitary gear ran out of the processing area to assist the officer in trouble. He had no doubt in his mind that the officer on the sixth floor had just been attacked by an inmate with a shank. The guard, while fighting for his life, accidentally stabbed the inmate with the shank. The remaining guards continued to process inmates in or out of the facility.

Once finally processed out, Travon walked to the rear of the processing area, where another guard let him out into the lobby area of the first floor. Travon walked straight to a pay phone where he called Tamika collect.

“Hello?”

“Tamika?”

“Yeah, Tre?”

“Yeah, baby, it's me. Listen, I need for you to come and pick me up. Use my car and bring all the money with you. We gotta leave and disappear for a few days. We'll go to Houston and I'll buy another car there, then we'll sneak back into town in a couple of days and stay with your mom while we look for an apartment. I don't want anyone to know where we live, or what kind of car we drive. We'll sell the old car when we get to Houston, but the main thing is, we gotta leave right now!”

“Tre, you didn't escape, did you?”

“No, girl! I'm calling from the jail's lobby area. Just hurry up and don't let nobody see you, or know where you're going.”

“What about my mom?”

“We'll call her from Houston; I'll explain things to her then.”

“What about your Aunt Vera?” Tamika asked. “Do you want me to go by and get some clothes for you to wear?”

“No!” Travon shouted into the receiver. “That's the last place I want you to go! Tamika, I need to disappear. I don't want Marcus, Darius, or nobody else to know.”

“Tre, why? I don't understand what the rush is. What's with all of this sneaking around?”

“Tamika, I'm leaving them,” Travon told her. “I'm leaving the Heights. If they find out, they'll kill me!”

“What? Who? Tre, they're your cousins.”

“Not them, Lil Fade. Just hurry up!”

“Okay, baby, okay. Just calm down, I'm on my way.”

Travon slammed the telephone down into its cradle and walked to the front of the lobby, where he peered out of the massive glass windows. Soon, a black coroner's van pulled up.

“Shit.” He had forgotten about the body upstairs.

Travon began to pace back and forth. He sat for a short period of time, and then rose and resumed his pacing. She seemed to be taking forever.

Finally, a horn blew. It was a familiar horn, from a familiar car, with a familiar face seated behind the steering wheel. It was Tamika.

Travon raced down the steps of the Bexar County jail to his car, where he flung open the passenger side door and leapt inside. He and Tamika embraced.

“Tre, what happened?” she asked. Her tears began flowing.

“I have to get away from Lil Fade. He's crazy. He killed her, he killed the witness.”

Tamika gasped and covered her mouth with both of her hands. “Oh my God, Tre! Are you sure?”

Travon nodded. “Yeah, he told me in the visitation room, right after you left.”

“I saw Robert and Capone in the lobby when I was leaving that day, but I didn't see him.”

“He was there, trust me. He was there.” Travon turned and stared out of the window. “C'mon, baby, let's go. Let's get out of here.”

“We need gas, Tre.”

Travon laughed. “That's right. I was about to get some gas when I got arrested. My luck with gas stations hasn't been too good.”

Tamika joined in the laughter. “We can make it to Stop N Go on I Thirty-Five. That way, we can get on the highway, and stay on the highway.”

“We're not going to Dallas, baby,” Travon explained. “We're going to Houston. We got to take Interstate Ten to Houston, so go through downtown and we'll stop and get gas at that Diamond Shamrock across from the Alamo dome.”

“Okay, and then you get behind the wheel,” Tamika told him.

They drove through downtown, where traffic was light for a Tuesday afternoon. The ride to the filling station took only ten minutes. Tamika pulled up next to the pump, and turned off the car. Travon opened his door and climbed out.

“I'll be right back,” he told her.

“Wait, I'm coming in.”

“Girl, just tell me what you want and I'll get it. It takes ten minutes just for you to get out of the car.”

“We're hungry, and we haven't eaten lunch yet,” Tamika protested. “Besides, I don't even know what I want yet.”

“We'll stop for something to eat once we get out of the city.”

Tamika waddled past him. “C'mon, boy.”

They entered the store and Travon walked to the soda cooler, where he got a Big Red soda. He then walked to the stand where the chips were, and grabbed himself a bag of Munchies. He peered over the aisle at Tamika, who was still trying to decide what type of candy she wanted.

“Get me a pack of M&M's with peanuts,” Travon told her. “I'ma go and start pumping the gas. I'm gonna pay the man for the stuff, so don't forget to get my change.”

Travon walked to the register, where he handed the clerk thirty dollars. He turned and pointed toward Tamika. “Give her my change. It's just this, whatever she wants, and twenty in the tank. I think it's pump number four.”

The clerk nodded, sat the money to the side, and Travon turned and walked out of the store. He pulled open his bag of potato chips, wanting to eat a few before he started pumping the smelly gas.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” a familiar voice called out.

Travon peered up from his bag of chips to find Dejuan standing outside of his big white Mercedes, which was parked on the other side of the gas pump from his car. Quentin was seated in the backseat, while Tech Nine was standing outside with the passenger side door open. Dupriest was nestled in the backseat on the passenger side.

Travon's first instinct was to run back inside the store, but then he remembered that Tamika was there, along with his unborn children. Besides, running inside would be pointless, as Quentin and Tech Nine would simply get out of the car, walk inside of the store, and blow his brains out in front of everyone.

Quentin lifted an M-16 A2 Shorty assault rifle and pointed it at him. Dejuan walked around to the driver's side of his car, where he climbed inside.

“You jacked me for five ounces, your punk-ass homeboys got me for eighty grand and all my jewelry, plus your little ass is a turncoat!” Dejuan told him.

Tech Nine climbed into the big Benz and closed his door, just as Dejuan cranked the engine. Travon's heart slowed down to a semi-normal pace when he realized that they were about to leave, and that there existed a marginal chance that they would not kill him.

Dejuan peered over his shoulder toward Quentin. “Do that muthafucka!”

Quentin smiled and took aim, just as Tamika exited the store. He peered up from his rifle and stared at her for several seconds, before a sadistic smile slid across his face.

Travon watched in horror as Quentin's rifle slowly slid to the left, moving away from him to Tamika and the twins.

“Noooo!” Travon screamed. He raced toward Tamika, desperately trying to be in the path of the gun. The bullet was faster.

Quentin's assault rifle released its energy, and instantly, Tamika fell. Slowly, Dejuan's S600 Mercedes pulled away, with laughter pouring from the backseat.

Travon dropped to his knees and lifted Tamika's head into his lap. He began to move her hair out of her face.

“Tamika, talk to me!” he shouted.

Tamika smiled, and Travon began crying uncontrollably. He pressed his face against hers. Slowly, Tamika's angelic smile drifted from her face, and she closed her eyes.