Entangled (13 page)

David was less than thrilled about the hoax Connie had perpetrated. He showed his gratitude by having a nice little indictment delivered to her cell. The charges included conspiracy as well as drug trafficking.

That afternoon when Mark got home, he thought about Jennifer and the way she was staring down at the floor. Though she had agreed to work as a drug runner for the dealers, she was a victim herself. He was thinking about her being separated from her children. After he hung his coat up, he got a Coke from the refrigerator and called his dad.

Pastor Fred Pratt picked up the phone on the second ring. “Praise the Lord,” he said.
“Dad, this is your boy,” Mark replied.
“Well it’s about time you called. I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks now. Me and your mama had started worrying, but I prayed about it and just left the situation in the Lord’s hands.”
Mark took a quick sip from the Coke. “I’ve been kind of busy with this big case.”
“So what’s on your mind, son?” Pastor Pratt asked.
Mark felt very fortunate to have a father to call when he was troubled. His father had always been there for him, and Mark could always count on getting good advice. “I’ve been feeling kind of bad today because we’ve been trying to bust these drug traffickers. In the process we arrested two girls used as mules, and one of them began to cooperate right away. We debriefed her yesterday and I’m sure she was being truthful with the information she gave. After giving her statements, she asked me if she was gonna get out to see her babies again. For some reason this troubled me. I don’t know why, because I arrest criminals with kids all the time.”
“Mule? What do you mean by mule?”
“A mule is a drug runner or a person used to haul drugs from one point to the next. They’re usually young women, but they don’t have to be,” Mark said. He had a bad habit of assuming people knew the street terms and lingo of the underground drug culture.
“Alright,” Pastor Pratt replied. “So what did you tell her?”
“I told her I would put in a good word to the prosecutor and recommend she get bond.”
“Son, I don’t know much about the bond process, but I say if you feel that the woman is going to be there for her kids, see if you can get her out. If you feel that she is going to traffic more drugs into the community, do not make a recommendation. Everyone has to be held accountable for his or her actions. Let the spirit lead you.”
Mark finished the rest of his Coke. What his father said made perfect sense.

“Put down the gun, Jamal, and come out with your hands up,” the white cop yelled through the bullhorn.
“Fuck you,” Jamal yelled from his terrace and fired a shot from his 9mm.
“Come on. Use your head, man. You don’t want to go out like this, do you?” the cop yelled.
“No, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison giving you mu’fuckas the satisfaction of putting me away,” Jamal replied. More police arrived and barricaded the building. When Jamal stepped back on the terrace, he heard a loud, thunderous sound and turned to see law enforcement officers in his living room. He closed his eyes and fired.
When he awakened, he was sweating and his heart was beating fast. He was glad it was only a dream.
He hadn’t been out of prison five months yet, and he didn’t want to go back to jail. He had vowed that he would never go back. He would hold court in the streets, he had told other inmates before he got out. This was a saying he had heard while growing up. All his idols—gangsters and big drug dealers—had said the same thing. He had never known any of his friends to actually shoot it out with the cops, but he knew he had the heart to do it. That’s how much he hated prison. Ever since Angelo had called, Jamal had been worried that Connie and Jennifer would give the Feds information about him. It had been three weeks since he had received the call, and yet he still worried about going to prison. He knew all the guys he had left behind would be thrilled to see him come back and spend the rest of his life in prison, but he would rather be in the hereafter than locked up. He would never be caught without his gun and he wasn’t going to let another cop get the satisfaction of caging him.

That night when he got to Dream’s house, she had cooked his favorite—spaghetti and garlic bread—and they had Chardonnay by candlelight. She had gone out of her way to make sure the mood was special.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Nothing. What makes you ask something like that?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that you haven’t touched your food and you ain’t talking much.” She had been around him long enough to know something was bothering him.
“I got some bad news a few weeks ago.”
“What’s up?”
“You remember Angelo, don’t you?”
“Yeah, your friend in Cali.”
“A couple of his girls got busted with drugs.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
He took a quick sip from his wine. “They might be talking to the police or the Feds.”
“So as a result you might get picked up?” Dream said.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“Don’t you think it may be time for you to reevaluate your life?”
He hesitated before speaking, “You might be right,” he finally said.

J
ESSICA
I
RVING SAT ON
the front row of Dream’s World History class. She was a very pretty girl with a golden complexion and reddishbrown hair. She was generally a very quiet student who never caused any problems. Jessica hadn’t turned her homework in for the past three days, and Dream had asked her to stay after class.

“Jessica, why haven’t you turned in your homework?” “I just didn’t,” Jessica answered without looking at Dream. “Well, I hope you know you have a zero as your homework

grade for today.”
“I know, Ms. Nelson,” Jessica answered, still staring at the floor. “Jessica, look at me,” Dream said. “What’s wrong?” Jessica raised her head and met Dream’s eyes. “I don’t want to

Dream pulled Jessica into her bosom. “I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“It’s Mama. She needs help,” Jessica said.
“What’s wrong with your mother?” Dream asked.
“She’s on drugs, and Daddy has been trying to get some help, but she don’t want none. She says she can help herself.”
“Is your daddy at home? I would like to speak with him, because I can’t have you neglecting your assignments. You have to do your homework or else I’ll have to fail you.”
“Daddy is at work. He gets off around three o’clock.”
Dream looked Jessica directly in her eyes. “How about meeting me in front of the office after school and I’ll take you home today. It’s urgent that I let your daddy know what’s going on.”
Jessica met Dream in front of the office at 3:10. They made one stop at a gas station then pulled up to Jessica’s home fifteen minutes later. It was a plain, white, vinyl-siding home with a large porch and a wooden fence. Jessica led Dream into her home and showed off her bedroom. It was small and neatly decorated with stuffed animals covering the bed.

Charlie Irving arrived home at four o’clock. He was a caramelcolored man with black hair that was graying at the temples. He looked to be in his late thirties.

“Daddy, this is Ms. Nelson, my history teacher,” Jessica said. They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” Charlie said. “Mr. Irving, I won’t take up too much of your time. I just

wanted to let you know that we have a problem.”
Charlie’s face grew serious. “What type of problem?” Jessica hasn’t been doing her homework lately and this

Charlie lit a cigarette and took a seat on the sofa beside Dream. “I guess you can say I’m partly at fault for her not doing her homework.”

“Jessica told me a little bit about your family issues. Please realize that she has to do her assignments if she wants to pass my course.”

“Then I guess she must have told you about her mama.” “Yes. She told me a little bit of what’s going on.”
Charlie turned to Jessica. “Go to your room and let me and Ms.

After Jessica’s door was closed he began to speak again. “Ms. Nelson, my wife is on crack cocaine and she just miscarried a baby because of her addiction.”

“Jessica told me about her addiction. I didn’t realize that she had lost a child.”
Charlie turned away from Dream. “Yeah, we have all been under a lot of pressure since the miscarriage.”
“I can imagine,” Dream said softly.
“Can you really imagine?” He turned toward her. “That’s not the half of it. The doctors found she had been using drugs while pregnant, so now they’re trying to get her to sign up for this program that pays addicted women two hundred dollars to take permanent birth control.”
“Well, that’s a plus,” Dream replied.
Charlie became angry. “How can you say that’s a plus?”
“Because at least she won’t have a crack baby.”
“You see, that’s exactly the kind of thinking the system wants us to have. The program is targeting blacks. They want to eliminate us for two hundred dollars. They want to make us sterile for life. This is nothing but modern-day genocide if you look at the big picture. I’m just a regular guy, a machinist making eleven dollars an hour, but I got common sense.”
“You know, I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Dream was intrigued by what Charlie had said about genocide.
He smiled weakly while examining Dream. “Ms. Nelson, I hope I don’t offend you,but I have a question.”
“Go right ahead.”
“You’re not from the ’hood, are you?”
“No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t identify with you.”
“Have you ever seen a crack baby?”
She hesitated before speaking. “I’ve seen them on TV.” She felt foolish with her answer.
“So your answer is no, you haven’t seen an underweight baby with nervous conditions, shaking and trembling at no fault of its own?”
Dream became sad. “Listen, I sympathize with you, I really do, but we need to do something to make sure Jessica gets back on the right track.”
“I’ll have a talk with her, and I’ll start watching her more closely.”
Dream stood from the sofa and extended her hand. “Good talking with you.”
“Same here,” he said.

Charlie Irving’s speech was on Dream’s mind for the rest of the evening. She knew she lived in a world that was very different from the one in which he lived, but she did know what a crack baby was, though she hadn’t seen one. She knew if she had seen one it would be hard for her to look at it without crying.

Jessica’s father had definitely brought up some good points that she hadn’t thought about. She had never looked at permanent birth control as modern-day genocide. She had always felt birth control was a good idea, especially for drug addicts. Now she wondered why it was being offered mostly in minority neighborhoods. She began to think about Jessica, who was a victim of her circumstances. At fourteen the girl had a lot to deal with, and Dream felt Jessica was a lot tougher than she could have been under the same circumstances.

Dream went to her computer, got on the Internet, and typed in the words
crack baby
. At least a thousand different entries came up. She scanned them carefully, clicking on the ones that got her attention. She double-clicked on one entry for pictures of crack babies. The site contained five photos. All of the babies were underweight and they were little bundles of flesh hooked up to respirators and life support systems, fighting for a chance at life.

She clicked on an entry that read: GET PAID NOT TO HAVE A CRACK BABY.
The story was about a white lady in California starting a program for addicted women to get paid for permanent sterilization. Opponents of the program said that it targeted minorities, while no treatment was offered to the drug-addicted woman. The women would still be addicts, but unable to have children.
The last entry she clicked on was titled: MYTHS ABOUT CRACK BABIES PROVEN WRONG. A study conducted at the University of Syracuse found that children born to crack-addicted mothers were just as competent as children born to non-addicted mothers; at the kindergarten level, some of the crack-addicted children scored even higher on some of the cognitive tests.
Dream turned the computer off and stared at the blank screen. She thought about what Charlie Irving said about a mass genocide being perpetrated, and realized her man was a contributor.

For the next two weeks Dream avoided Jamal. He tried calling her but she didn’t want to talk. He even came to the school but she refused to see him. He sent her more flowers but she didn’t respond.

Jamal decided he would pay Keisha a visit to find out what was going on. He remembered Dream mentioning the name of Keisha’s apartment complex, Vanity’s Way. Jamal drove up to the rental office. A fat white woman with a nametag reading Pam sat at a desk devouring a bag of Cheetos.

“Excuse me, can you tell me what building Keisha Ferguson lives in?” Jamal asked.
“I’m sorry, I cannot give you this information,” she said, placing the bag of Cheetos on her desk.
Jamal frowned. “I ain’t no serial killer or rapist. I’m a friend.”
“If you’re a friend, why don’t you know where she lives?” she asked.
Jamal was getting upset. Pam had made a valid point,one that he hadn’t thought about.
“Listen, I’m not here to start trouble.” He smiled, remembering that it always helped to smile and pretend to be polite when dealing with white people. He knew from experience that an angry black man could easily be labeled as a troublemaker. “Can you perhaps call Keisha and ask her if she wants to see me?”
“I’ll give her a call, but if she doesn’t want to see you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
“I’ll leave, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Jamal said
Pam wiped her orange-colored fingertips on her pants before picking up the phone. In less than ten seconds, she had Keisha on the line. “Yeah, I have a young man here wants to know where you live.”
“Tell her I’m Jamal.”
“Says his name is Jamal,” Pam said, sucking cheese powder from her finger, “Okay I’ll give him your apartment number.”
Jamal wanted to say,
Bitch, I told you so
, but he didn’t need to play one-upmanship with Pam. She was nothing to him, and he figured her life was miserable enough just being her size.

Keisha came to the door wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a T-shirt revealing her stomach. Her hair was down and she wore a hint of lip-gloss. Jamal’s eyes were immediately drawn to her thighs.