If Only You Knew (18 page)

“When they said I had a visitor, I was so sure it was a mistake, I almost didn't come out,” Dice admitted when he finally released Sydney from his tight embrace. Tears shined in the corner of his eyes. “How ya doing, Ladybug?”

“I miss you, Dad,” Sydney replied softly, still holding Dice's hand tightly as the two finally took a seat on one of the many steel benches in the large room that might've resembled a small cafeteria in another setting.

“I miss you more, sweetie,” Dice responded sincerely. “What's going on? Is Lauren okay? I'm almost scared to ask what brought you up here.”

Sydney took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. A million and one thoughts raced through her head. “Lauren is fine. But, no, everything is not okay.”

Dice looked into his elder daughter's eyes. “You know about Altimus don't you,” he stated flatly.

“Yeah, I do,” Sydney responded. “I know about Altimus and I know about Mom—”

“What do you know about your mother,” Dice cut her off sharply.

“I know that she knows who Altimus really is and she's okay with it. More important, I know that she doesn't care if you're innocent or not. All she wants to do is be with a man who'll provide a certain lifestyle for her even if it means killing somebody!”

“Shh, Sydney, lower your voice,” Dice pleaded, checking to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation.

“I don't care, it's the truth,” Sydney insisted, getting worked up. “And I don't want my
real
father sitting in a damn
jail cell one minute longer if that man is the one responsible for what happened to Rodney!”

“Sydney, close your mouth and listen to me,” Dice continued gruffly, trying to get Sydney to calm down without drawing attention to themselves among all the groups of inmates and their visitors. “You don't understand everything that you're dealing with right now. You could be in a lot of trouble if Altimus knows that you know who he is.”

“I know. That's why I want to go to the police,” Sydney started.

“For what?” her father asked sarcastically. “Don't you think Altimus has that covered already? Come on, Ladybug, you're smarter than that.”

For the first time in the conversation Sydney hesitated. “So then what, you're just going to go back to jail? I'm going to lose you all over?”

“No, I didn't say that,” Dice continued slowly. “Just like your stepfather, I've got people on the streets that have always been loyal to me. And we're working on clearing up this whole Rodney situation in a way that I can be released, and Altimus can be squared away as well. But it's not going to happen overnight.”

“Who are these people,” Sydney asked. “Speaking of unknown people, who the hell is Uncle Larry? You know he approached Lauren and allegedly saved her from getting an ass beating in the West End.”

“Your Uncle Larry is one of the good guys. But can you please tell me why Lauren was in the West End?” Dice asked wearily as he rubbed his temples. Suddenly, he seemed a lot older than thirty-nine.

“Running behind Rodney's brother, Jermaine. You know that's her boyfriend,” Sydney replied simply. “And Altimus has him on the run.”

“Life is crazy,” Dice said, rubbing his temples. “Damn, that kid shouldn't be mixed up in all of this; he's a good kid. Now, his brother, Rodney…”

“Can you please explain your connection to Rodney, Dad? ‘Cause why would the cops think you killed him?”

“I met Rodney when I was locked up. We were cellmates for about six months before he got transferred out.” Dice gently tugged at his right earlobe. According to him, Altimus asked him to do a job many years back when he was a new jack to prove his loyalty to the life.”

“A job? What kind of job?”

“According to Rodney, Altimus asked him to set some poor sucker up in a gun-smuggling sting operation that one of the boys from the East Side tipped us off about…”

Sydney gasped. “Rodney is the one that set you up?”

“It looks that way,” Dice said with a resigned sigh.

“So why didn't you go to the cops? Why didn't Rodney tell the cops that you were the wrong man?”

“And spend an additional twelve years behind bars?
Rodney had fourteen months and I was about to be released in another year when this happened. It didn't make sense to start snitching. Besides, I could tell that behind that big mouth, Rodney was a good kid at heart. He just got caught up in Altimus's tangled web.” Sydney put her head in her hands and began to cry silently in disbelief. How was she going to tell Lauren that her boyfriend's brother was the very person that sent their father to jail? And their stepfather requested he do it? “So instead of ratting, Rodney vowed to expose Altimus's ways to the streets,” Dice continued softly.

“How would that do anything but piss Altimus off and obviously get him killed?” Sydney asked as she struggled to understand this lifestyle that was so foreign to her, yet seemed to have so many deep connections to her.

“If dudes on the street were to find out that Altimus set up his partner, they'd lose all respect and loyalty to him. Without respect and loyalty, Altimus will be completely powerless.”

“So he killed him,” Sydney whispered, looking up with a tear-stained face. Dice simply shrugged and looked at the shiny linoleum floor he'd been assigned to mop earlier in the morning.

“All right, peoples, start to wrap it up. You got fifteen minutes,” one of the correction officers who periodically walked through the huddles of people announced.

“Aww, man, we just got here,” an inmate complained from across the room.

“Shut it up or you're going to be heading the hell outta here and into the hole, Rodriguez,” the officer responded menacingly. Sydney shuddered at his tone of voice.

“Promise me you'll stay out of your mother and Altimus's way,” Dice said as he gently tucked a flyaway curl behind Sydney's left ear. “Okay, Ladybug?”

Across the room, Sydney spotted Connie and what could only be her
papi chulo
in a deep embrace. “Oh, Dad, this is so bad. I– I– I–” Sydney stammered.

“I nothing, Sydney. You have to trust me,” Dice continued. “I need you to be strong and hold it down. There's no time for tears. If we're going to win, you have to stop being emotional and think strategically. I need you to be a soldier. Do you think you can you handle that?”

Sydney wiped her face with the back of her hand and straightened up. “I don't think, I know.”

Lauren saw the teacher's mouth moving, but really, she couldn't comprehend a word she was saying, and that wasn't just because she hadn't done any of the assigned reading. Edward P. Jones's
The Known World
was Ms. Girard's latest obsession, and she'd been yapping about it for the past two days—something about African-American slave owners and death and black/white relationships in the South and God knows what else. Lauren had already put Donald on notice that it would be his job to read that mess and explain the plot details over coffee sometime this week; she was too distracted to glom into all of that ancient history. Luckily, boyfriend was officially obsessed with ole Eddie P., his stories, and particularly his loner lifestyle. Lauren couldn't begin to understand why, but whatever. This afternoon, she had more important
things to consider, like, whether her sister actually made it to the prison, if they performed a cavity search on her to check for drugs and contraband like they do in all the cable prison shows, or whether she was dead in a ditch on the side of the road in East Bumblefreak, Georgia. And, of course, where her Jermaine was.

He'd called her repeatedly over the past few days, imploring her to “hit me back when you get this,” and “just be careful—watch your back,” and swearing that he was “maintaining,” but that he needed to hear her voice to assure himself that “everything's everything.” “It's going to be all right, baby,” he'd said in his last message, left late Monday night. “I love you.”

As much as she wanted to, Lauren didn't answer the phone and refused to call him back—confident that doing so would lead Altimus straight to him. Maybe she'd watched one too many
Law & Order
episodes, but didn't she see somewhere that the police could trace your whereabouts by tracking the sound waves from your phone? It was like a low-tech GPS, or something—at least that's what Lauren had convinced herself of, which is why she hadn't answered.

This was tearing her apart. But at least she knew that as long as the phone rang, Jermaine was all right, which is why it never left her side. (Well, that, and because she was scared that Keisha, Altimus, or their dedicated snoop would find it if she didn't keep it with her at all times. They'd gone through
practically every inch of the girls' belongings, in front of them, and, for sure, when they weren't around. So as long as they didn't frisk her, Lauren thought it would be best to keep the phone on her person at all times.

“Excuse me, Ms. Girard, but I really need to go to the nurse's office,” Dara said loudly, interrupting Lauren's thoughts. “I'm not feeling well—a little nauseous.”

“A little, huh?” Lauren sneered. A few of their classmates smirked; nobody was feeling Dara's baby drama—thought it was quite tacky, actually. But mostly, they expected such hood behavior from Dara, considering she was the scholar-ship kid of a woman who made her living off the child-support checks. Obviously, her mama taught her well.

Dara whipped her head around and rolled her eyes at Lauren, and then subtly rubbed her belly and smirked. “Not sure what it is, but it certainly could have something to do with the company I'm forced to keep,” she said as she moved her hand and turned her head back in the direction of the teacher, but clearly directed her words to Lauren.

“Okay, bring me your notebook—I'll sign you out,” Ms. Girard said, ignoring the catfight and waving Dara to the front. “Maybe the lunchroom will have some crackers and ginger ale on hand for you.” Dara, all 110 pounds of her, slowly wobbled up to the desk and shifted from foot to foot waiting for the teacher to scribble her name in the appointment book that doubled as a student hallway pass.
Ms. Girard's eyes lingered on Dara's belly; she shook her head and handed the appointment book back to her. “Don't forget we'll be having an in-class essay on the first five chapters this Thursday—study up,” Ms. Girard mumbled.

“Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best,” Dara said, making a beeline for the door.

And just then, Lauren's oversized Prada saddlebag began to vibrate. Jermaine. Lauren furrowed her eyes and stared at her bag. There were still two more periods left until school ended. Like clockwork, Jermaine always called after school was over, no doubt because he knew she'd be more likely to pick up without repercussions (calling, receiving calls, and texting were strictly forbidden at Brookhaven, and violators were subject to a two-hour detention—a penalty Lauren had paid one too many times). So what was he doing calling her now?

The phone finally stopped vibrating but then started back almost immediately, and then again, and again. Lauren's eyes darted back and forth between her TAG and her purse; with each vibration, her heart beat faster and faster still. It had to be some kind of emergency—otherwise, why would he keep dialing? She put her purse on her lap and held it close to her stomach.

Three more minutes listening to Ms. Girard's drivel, and she was going to find out.

“About practice today—I think we should do it outside so the new girls get used to cheering in the cold…” began Elizabeth, Lauren's new number two on the squad since Dara departed, jumping up in Lauren's face as soon as the bell rang.

“Yeah, listen, I make the decisions about practice,” Lauren said, distracted. She was fighting her way through the rush of students making the mad in-between class dash to their lockers before the late bell rang; she needed to get to the bathroom, pronto.

“But it's supposed to be really cold this Friday, and the girls aren't really acting like they're up for—”

“Elizabeth? Seriously? I don't have time for this,” Lauren said, pushing the door to the girls' bathroom open. She let it swing in Elizabeth's face and secretly hoped that it bumped her just a little—payback for putting her business with Jermaine on blast on YRT (she knew it was her—incurable gossip that she was).

Immediately, Lauren started digging for the phone, her fingers rushing over her compact, various M.A.C. Lipglass containers, a pack of Orbit gum, Breathsavers, notebooks, bobby pins, her wallet, a tube of L'Occitaine shea butter hand cream, a bottle of Dasani water she'd been sipping since that morning—there. Got it. Just as her fingers touched the phone, it vibrated again. She snatched it out of her purse and rushed into the handicapped stall at the end of the
bathroom, where she'd have room to spread out and a little more privacy. She flipped open the cell, fully expecting to see “My Boo” flashing across the screen.

But it wasn't Jermaine.

It was her home number.

Lauren dropped the phone like it was as hot as fire and watched in terror as it slid across the tiled floor. It spun to a stop next to the garbage can, making a loud crashing sound that echoed off the walls of the spacious bathroom. The phone's vibration made the small metal can rattle. Lauren's hands were at her mouth—trembling.

Someone at the Duke Estate was calling her on Jermaine's phone.

Too afraid to answer, Lauren stood there and watched the phone rattle on and on, until, finally, it came to a rest. The sound of the bell made Lauren practically jump out of her skin. Quickly, she reached down and picked up the phone, pondering whether she should trash it, or use it to call Sydney to let her know not to bother coming back home, or use it to call 911 and report that Jermaine might be somewhere hurt, or worse.

Again, the phone vibrated.

Again, it was home.

Again, Lauren trembled, unsure of what to do.

Again, the phone went to voice mail.

It rang, again.

But this time, it wasn't home. It was a familiar 678 area code—Jermaine's house. Lauren swiped at the tears running down her face and smiled. He had to be okay, right? He was calling on the phone from his house. Somehow, Altimus or Keisha found his cell phone, but they didn't find him. Maybe, just maybe, they didn't find him.

“Hello? Jermaine?” Lauren whispered.

“No, this ain't Jermaine,” the voice said shakily. There were muffled sobs and sniffles. It was a woman. “This is his mother. Who is this?”

“It's…this is…this is Lauren,” Lauren said, returning her sobs with her own.

“Lauren? Lauren who?”

“Duke, ma'am,” Lauren said. “I'm Lauren Duke.”

“Duke?” she spit. “Duke? You mean Jermaine was still calling you even with all that's going on? Even though I told him to leave you alone?”

“What do you mean was?” Lauren interrupted.

“I should have known, Lord, have mercy, I should have known. I found the phone bills in his room—got this number all over them. I didn't know he even had this little phone. Of all the people, why you?”

“What do you mean ‘was'?” Lauren repeated. “You said, ‘was' calling me. Where is Jermaine? Is he there with you?”

“I was hoping whoever this phone number belonged to would be able to tell me. I haven't seen my son since yesterday
morning. He wasn't where he was supposed to be today. Now, where is my child?” Eugenia Watson demanded.

“I…I…I don't know, Mrs. Watson,” Lauren insisted, crying harder still. “I just don't know.”

Lauren and Sydney sat in silence in the back of the massive SUV, staring at the back of the seats, each one lost in her own thoughts and fears. Lauren could hear each and every deep breath Sydney inhaled and exhaled. She imagined that this is what it must feel like to walk that long, lonely stretch to the executioner's room. And how it must feel to plan a funeral for someone you love—perhaps even your own.

Her heart beat faster with every street turn.

And faster still when Caesar pulled into the long, circular driveway, past the branchless crate myrtles and the prized purple hydrangea and the magnolias and encore azaleas and outstanding oaks and the fountain.

When they turned their eyes toward the front entrance to the Duke estate, both of their hearts seemingly stopped beating altogether.

Altimus and Keisha stood tall, arms folded, eyes deliberate.

Waiting.