Harlem Girl Lost (25 page)

As Silver and Chance left the club, a well-dressed but grim-faced couple entered the club, a black male and a white female. It was obvious to everyone in the club that these were New York's finest. Hollis spotted them immediately, as they were showing their badges to the bouncer. Hollis turned and smiled at Slim Goody. “Come on, luv, let's dance.” He pulled her off the bar stool.

Hollis pulled her closer into his arms while keeping his eyes on the detectives as they scanned the club. He looked down at her. “Yo, ma, I want you to hold something for me.” She glanced up at him. “I hope it's some cold cash.” Hollis watched the cops show a picture around. “Naw, baby … you close, though. I want you to hold some cold steel.” He discreetly showed her his nine-millimeter Desert Eagle. She looked at the weapon as if it were a poisonous snake, shook her head, and backed away.

“Naw, Hollis, I ain't fucking with you like that.” He grabbed her tightly by her waist and mashed the weapon into her ribs. “Bitch, if you don't slow your fuckin’ roll, I'm gonna blow your fuckin’ spleen out!” He watched the detectives get closer, looking from face to face. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Now, police is right behind you, and I'm not
getting caught dirty. If you fuck this up, I'm gonna have your crackhead momma and that baldheaded-ass daughter of yours come the fuck up missing. Now spread your fuckin’ legs— wide!

Goodie stared wide-eyed up into Hollis’ grim expression and had the good sense to realize his threat wasn't an idle one. She obeyed. Gun in hand, Hollis began working his hands up beneath the hem of her minidress, searching for her vaginal cavity with his fingers. Suddenly, her eyes widened as he viciously shoved the weapon deep up inside her pussy, causing her to squirm in pain. He smiled as he pushed and probed. “You better stop moving, bitch, before this motherfucker pop off inside your ass and you won't be able to have no more them nappy-headed lil’ kids!” Just as he finished, the two detectives spotted Hollis and pushed Slim out of the way.

“Pierre Charles Joudan, you are under arrest for the murders of Jorge and Marisol Jimenez,” the female detective said, flashing her badge.

“I never heard of them,” Hollis said in a bored tone.

The black detective threw him up against the bar and handcuffed him.

“Well, maybe you heard the name Awilda Jimenez? She was only three months old when she was shot, you sick bastard!” He pulled Hollis roughly off the bar. “Say good night to your friend.”

Hollis smiled at Slim Goody, but his glare was ice cold. “Yo, baby, keep that kitten tight, a'ight?”

“Let's go,” the female detective said.

They escorted Hollis out of the club, leaving Slim Goody sobbing silently.

THE SIN OF ALL SINS

C
hance and Silver checked into the Hotel Gondolier in the Poconos for the weekend. The hotel included a heart-shaped bed, blue waterfalls, and a Jacuzzi inside their room. Giggling as they cuddled, Silver searched for the bedside lamp, but Chance tickled her every time she reached for the light switch.

“Stop, Chance,” she protested. “I got to call and make sure Missy got home all right.” She turned on the lamp and waited until her eyes adjusted to the light, then picked up the phone and dialed Missy's number. While she waited for Missy to answer, she affectionately rubbed Chance's chest. After the tenth ring, Silver glanced down at her watch. It was 8:34 a.m. Missy should have been home by now. She hung up the phone and turned to Chance. “I wonder where she could be this time of morning.”

After making love all night, Silver and Chance had talked and caught up on missed time. She told him about getting accepted at New York University Medical School, and how costly it would be, and how she planned to work three jobs if she had to. After she told him about everything going on in her life, she asked about his. Never inclined to speak about his
business, Chance remained silent. Silver, still adamant about drugs, told him he was dealing in death and destruction, and how she honestly doubted if she could be with someone who pushed it.

“Silver, I don't sell it to no one. I'm just a messenger boy.”

“You cannot minimize what you do, Chance, nor can you sugarcoat it. No matter how you slice it, it's the same thing. It's death, baby. Why don't you just walk away from it while you still can? It's only a matter of time before something bad happens.”

Chance turned away. “Silver, it's not that simple to just walk away. They don't get down like that.”

“Who are
they
, Chance? You told me before that you don't even know who it is that supplies you.”

“Silver, it's just something that you would never understand. We talking about the mob, a.k.a. the motherfuckin’ Mafia!” Rising from the bed, Chance walked over to the window.

Sensing his pain, Silver got up too and went over to him. “Then why don't we just pack up and leave New York?” She rubbed his bare shoulders and smiled. “Atlanta is beautiful all year round. And besides, I be damned if I let my man get away from me again!” Chance looked down at her, and she had to smile. She loved him to death.

“I fuckin’ love you, girl!”

“I love you too, boy, but … I just won't be able to take it if something happens to you, Chance.”

At the federal court
building in lower Manhattan, three large court officers led Hollis out of the holding pen to be arraigned.
Twelve hours earlier, he had stood in a lineup and been positively identified from behind a two-way mirror for the murder and execution of the Jimenez family one year earlier. It appeared that the young kid who had been with Hollis at the time had spilled his guts to the police when he got arrested on his third felony drug charge and was facing twenty-five years to life. He had made a deal.

Hollis fumed as he paced the floor, nervously waiting to appear before the judge for his arraignment. Hollis had used his one phone call to try to reach Chance on his cell phone, but he'd never answered. Hollis had been locked down for almost thirty hours now and was pissed that he had to use a public defender to represent him. As he was escorted before the judge with his lawyer beside him, the copper double doors suddenly opened and a well-dressed man in an expensive Armani pinstriped blue suit walked confidently toward Hollis’ lawyer. After a brief discussion, Hollis'public defender handed his paperwork over to the newcomer.

The bailiff barked, “Court is now in session, the Honorable Patrice Roper is residing. Come to order.” The judge swaggered toward the bench and quickly reviewed the files in front of her while the bailiff continued. “Calendar 427, docket number 3 in the case of Pierre Charles Joudan, charged in violation of U.S. Title 18-848, three counts of capital murder.”

“How does your client plead?” the judge asked.

“Not guilty, your Honor!” Hollis’ new lawyer informed her.

Not impressed, the judge made a notation. “For the record, attorneys please state your names and affiliation.”

“Christina Richburg, assistant district attorney for the Southern District.”

With a confident smile, Hollis’ new lawyer said, “I am Albert Ginsberg of Ginsberg and Taft, 216 Park Avenue.”

Noting that information as well, the judge spoke again. “Any request for bail?”

The district attorney spoke up. “The government requests that Mr. Joudan be held without bail because of the severity of the crime.”

Ginsberg quickly countered, “Your Honor, due to the fact that the people's case is based on a murder over a year old, plus the fact that their information was given by a convicted felon, who happens to be incarcerated as we speak, we ask that Mr. Joudan be released on his own recognizance.”

The DA was ready. “Your Honor, the fact that Mr. Joudan is not a naturalized citizen makes him a flight risk. Mr. Joudan has been arrested a number of times in connection with a notorious Harlem-based extortion, kidnapping, and murder ring called the Young Guns.”

“Your Honor,” said Ginsberg, “I object, and request that the district attorney's last statement be stricken from the record. My client has never been convicted of any crime, yet Ms. Rich-burg is attempting to prejudice my client in front of your Honor.”

The judge turned to the DA. “Ms. Richburg, this is an arraignment. We need hear only the government's position for bail, nothing more. Strike Ms. Richburg's statement from the record.”

Ginsberg smiled. “Thank you, your Honor. Mr. Joudan has been gainfully employed for the last two years as a youth coordinator at San Clemente Church in the Bronx.” He turned and gestured toward an old priest who was at the moment being
helped to his feet by Ginsberg's assistant. “Father Diaz is here to support Mr. Joudan morally and spiritually.”

Hollis inwardly smiled as he watched the two men.

“Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars.”

“Thank you, your Honor,” Ginsberg said. He turned to shake Hollis’ hand before Hollis was led away by three burly officers.

Silver and Chance
had a wonderful weekend together. Chance told Silver that she would no longer stay with Missy; she was to stay with him. Silver was amazed as well as flattered by his assertiveness. He said he could no longer be apart from her, ever again.

When they got back to New York on Sunday they found a parking space directly in front of Missy's apartment building and went upstairs so he could help her pack her things. Inside, the apartment was silent. Silver called out for Missy, but there was no answer.

“Now, where is that girl this time of morning? She never stays home.” Silver and Chance walked into her bedroom to begin packing Silver's clothes. When they finished, Silver wrote a note to let Missy know that she would be staying with Chance. “I guess I'll see her when I see her.” She carried her bags to the front door. “Let me just put this note on her bed.”

He nodded, and Silver walked into Missy's room and over to her bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. As she turned around, she saw the closet door move slightly. Frightened, she yelled for Chance. In an instant, he ran into the room with his gun in his right hand. He looked at
Silver, who pointed to the closet. “I think somebody's in the closet,” she said. He pulled her aside and edged slowly toward the door. She watched him cautiously place one hand on the doorknob and point the gun at the closet. Chance looked at her and gestured for her to back away, then yanked the closet door open. He looked for a moment at what was inside, then lowered his gun.

“Chance, what is it?” Silver asked, as he motioned for her to come over. As she looked in, she put her hand over her mouth and gasped. A shaking Missy was cowering like a scared animal at the back of the closet, a kitchen knife in her hand. Her wild eyes darted nervously, and she scooted further back into the closet for protection.

After Hollis was
bailed out, he shook hands with his lawyer in front of the courthouse, and said he would be in touch. Then, as the lawyer walked off, Hollis ripped open the plastic property bag that held his personal effects. He pulled out his money, put on his rings and watch, and then pulled out his cell phone, cursing when he found out the battery was dead. He was looking around for a pay phone when a black Cadillac with tinted windows pulled up and honked its horn. Hollis cautiously eyed the vehicle as the rear window began to descend, then bent down and squinted to see inside. Through a thick cloud of cigar smoke, he recognized King Papone.

“Hola, amigo.
Welcome home.”

Hollis smiled and climbed inside the vehicle. Papone's bodyguard drove off, the old priest sitting in the front passenger-side seat.

“Yo, thanks for having my back, dukes.” Hollis grinned. “They acted like they wanted to hang my ass.” Hollis looked at the priest and slapped him on the back. “Yo, nigger, thanks for fronting for a nigger by dressing up like a priest.”

“He don't understand you,” Papone said. “He don't speak no English, but he is a real priest.”

“Damn, my bad, nigga!” Hollis turned to Papone. “Yo, you did all this shit for a nigga?”

“Mira, amigo,”
Papone said, shrugging. “I can't let my people go down de river like dat. But I can't say de same about … what he name? Chance, your so-called brother.”

Hollis frowned, thinking long and hard about that. Papone eyed him.

“Why he not here right now? I sorry to say, but if I not get you a good lawyer, you be under Rikers Island somewhere right now. It looks to me like dey want to leave you high and dry,
amigo.”

Hollis’ lips started to quiver. Why hadn't Chance been there to have his back? Why hadn't he answered his call? He had even left a message on his cell phone to come down and handle business.

“Look,
amigo
, I don't try to tell you what to do, but if dat was me, I consider you should start thinking about what is best for Hollis and Hollis only.”

Hollis looked at Papone.

“If your own people ain't with you, dat mean dey against you.” Papone shrugged again. “What, are you afraid of him or something?”

“I ain't afraid of no motherfucker!” Hollis barked. “Especially that nigger!”

“Conyo, amigo
, calm down. I know you ain't afraid of him, and I know what you capable of doing. You remind me of myself in de old days. What I can't figure out for de life of me is why you ain't running you own operation.” Papone paused a moment. “Let me ask you a question. Could you pay de bail if a friend like me didn't put it up for you,
amigo?”

Hollis remained silent.

“A person like you supposed to be making millions, but you don't have two nickels to rub together. You know what?”

The car came to a halt in front of one of Papone's “offices” in Spanish Harlem. A shiny black Suburban pulled up alongside the car with three beautiful Spanish women inside.

“You see dat car?” Papone asked.

Hollis, still looking at the girls, nodded.

“It's yours.”

Hollis looked at him to see if he was serious. Papone nodded.

“And everything dat's in the car is yours as well.”

Hollis looked at the women, who were licking their lips and smiling.