Larceny (6 page)

“Well, yes and no. When I say yes, I say that because most of the legwork on cases is done by me. I find cases of law, place them in a motion, and format certain facts for the motion; then I give it to my boss, who is the actual attorney. He'll look over the motion, make a few changes, and bring it before the court to argue it.”

“So you're the brains behind the machine?” I asked.

“Naw, I wouldn't call it that,” he answered. “You can say that I'm part of a team and my position is unseen. I'm no lawyer yet, although I plan to finish law school. I only have two more year-long courses to take in order to take my bar exam. Right now I'm employed as a paralegal at the firm.”

“What's a bar exam?”

“It's a test you have to pass in order to get your license to practice law in a certain state.”

“So I guess you're taking yours in D.C.?” I asked.

“I haven't really decided yet. Shit, I gotta finish school first,” he said.

“Are you still in school now?”

“Naw, boo, I took a rest so I could get a job and pay for my next two courses. I just got out of school six months ago. I took a two-year paralegal course.”

Damn, it was so good to see a nice young black man with an education and intelligence, and to think of it, he wasn't even the preppy nerd type. This brother was smooth. I could tell that at one point in time he was a nigga in the streets but had enough sense to get his ass up and get an education and a job so that he wouldn't suffer the pains of death or prison like most of our young black males today. The world needs more people like Jovan.

“So, is that why you were in court today?” I asked him.

“Yeah, boo, it was hectic. We have a client who has come back on an appeal from thirty years, and the government wants to proceed with the case without giving us proper notice so that we could prepare briefs. Today my boss had to go and ask the judge for an extension of time in order for our firm to prepare and file briefs. I was just there as a backup to make sure that the judge and government act according to the law.”

“Is that why you had that black notebook?”

“Yeah.”

See, I knew he wasn't a criminal. I knew I had made the right choice in coming to lunch with him.

 

 

 

When Bilal was sentenced to juvenile hall, I was crushed, because my true friend and comrade was gone for what seemed like forever. Since Bilal and I both were juveniles, there was no way that I could visit him, but at times, I would send him flicks of me and other bitches at the latest Chuck Brown or Rare Essence go-go club. To me it felt like I couldn't do enough for Bilal, the person who was doing time for a crime I had committed that only three people knew about: Bilal, me, and God.

As Bilal continued to do his time at Cedar Knoll Youth Division, I continued to keep the vow I made to him two years earlier, and that was to take care of Mal-Mal. Every time I went over to Grandma's house, I would go get Mal-Mal, take him to play video games or to the movies and get him an outfit and new kicks.

I was seventeen at the time and was hustling. For a seventeen-year-old, you could say I was getting it good. At that time, I was selling PCP. In D.C. we called it Boat—Love Boat, to be exact. There were also other nicknames for it, like John Hinkley, the fool who shot Ronald Reagan, or the most famous of all, That Butt Naked.

I was hustling on one of the most pumping and vicious strips in D.C., Whaler Place Southeast. Sometimes I would go on Galveston Street Soutwest and hustle with my man, Rose, or over in Maryland up around Glassmanor with my boys Li'l James and Ek-Dre.

Barry Farms was one of my spots also, but a nigga had to be real careful hustling in the Farms because people were getting killed and robbed almost every other week. I made sure that whenever I went into Barry Farms, I was always strapped, but it was cool, though, 'cause I was mostly dealing with one of my brother's old comrades, Li'l BB.

Li'l BB was a little brown-skin dude who went to school with my big brother. They was real close, and when my brother died, Li'l BB used to always look out for me. He had a blue 190E Benz, and he used to come past Galveston, pick me up, take me down Georgetown, and we'd get outfits for a night at the go-go club on Atlantic Street.

At that time I was pumping good. I had just bought my first car, a burgundy Nissan Maxima with burgundy sheepskin seats and five-star rims. At times, I used to go pick up Mal-Mal and take him out because Ms. Cookie was still on it like the Brown Hornet. Every time I saw her, she was getting smaller and smaller. At one time, she had lost so much weight that you could see every bone structure in her face.

Bilal was transferred from Cedar Knoll to Oak Hill Youth Center, which was a more treacherous joint than Cedar Knoll. When other dudes I knew would come home from Cedar Knoll, I'd ask them about Bilal, and everything I heard about him was good. They'd say, “Yeah slim, that nigga Bilal ain't goin' for nothin'! Slim go hard as a mu'fucka. He's on the boxing team down there. He run the store. He big as shit!”

Niggas used to jock Bilal so much that I stopped asking about him, 'cause I already knew what they were gonna say. When Bilal was transferred to Oak Hill, we lost contact, and the fact that I was out here getting money, fucking bitches, and going to go-go's didn't help either.

I also began to slack in my efforts in looking out for Mal-Mal because at times, he would page me and it would take me a few days just to get back to him. Whenever he needed something like video games or toys, I was the one who got it for him. The only thing about it was I was too busy to spend time with him. My world was moving too fast, and I couldn't see what was to come next.

In July 1988, I stopped hustling Love Boat and moved onto a more profitable drug called crack cocaine. At the time, crack in D.C. was at its all-time high. The demand for it was ridiculous.

I was copping from my boys Ek-Dre and Li'l James. These two brothers was getting it, and they both had a good reputation all over. Dre was a smooth nigga who loved to dress. He had all kinds of Polo, MCM, and Gucci shit. James was the hard one, more like the leader among his crew. They were some good niggas and was getting some major paper on the hill.

I was getting half a brick at that time, breaking it down in half ounces and ounces. I had runners up Glassmanor, Galveston Place, Wayne Place, Parkland, Fourth Street, Condon Terrace, and a few lames from Alexandria, Virginia.

I traded my Maxima in and bought a 1988 Nissan Turbo 300ZX with cream-colored leather, and I put some white deep-dish classic rims on it. My car was one of the tightest joints in the city, at least on the southeast side, 'cause them uptown niggas and them niggas on R Street Northeast was pushing 500EL Benzes and Convertible BMWs and shit. The type of bank I was getting was considered play money to them, because the niggas from around Bilal's way was super getting it. The Orleans Mob had 944 Porsches, convertible Jags, 300CEs, Range Rovers, the new Acura Legend and anything that cost more than fifty thousand.

 

 

On the Fourth of July, Mal-Mal paged me and I called him back.

“Hello,” Gloria said, answering the phone.

“Yeah, Gloria, how you doing? This Jovan. Is Mal-Mal in there?” I said to her.

“Oh, hi, Jovan. Yeah, his li'l bad ass here. You coming to get him?”

“Naw, not right now, but I promised him I'd buy him some fireworks for tonight, and I'ma come pass and drop them off and come back later and light 'em with him.”

“That's good, 'cause I gotta work tonight, and Cookie said she was gonna be here, but I ain't seen her ass yet,” Gloria said, then she yelled, “Mal-Mal!”

“What?” Mal-Mal said.

“Boy, don't
what
me,” Aunt Gloria said to him.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Get your butt in here. Somebody on the phone for you.”

“Who is it?” Mal-Mal asked.

“Answer the phone and find out.”

Mal-Mal came running to the phone and said, “Hello.”

“Mal-Mal, what's up, youngin'?” I said to him.

“Hey, Uncle Jay. What's up, man? I thought you was gonna bring me some fireworks and light 'em with me tonight.”

“I'm still gonna do that, Mal-Mal. I'm on my way over there to drop the fireworks off to you.”

“You gonna stay, Uncle Jay?”

“For a little while. Then I gotta go do somethin', but I'ma come back and light 'em up with you, though.”

“A'ight, Uncle Jay.”

“Okay, young soldier.”

As I was driving to Twelfth and Wyle Northeast to go see Mal-Mal, I got a page from this little freak broad out in Bowie, Maryland that I was staying with at the time. I didn't call her back right away, though.

When I pulled up onto Wyle Street, Mal-Mal came running out of the house.

“Uncle Jay, Uncle Jay,” Mal-Mal said, running up to my car.

“What's up, youngin'?”

“Man, Uncle Jay, this your car?”

“Yeah, that's my joint.”

“Man, this joint is tight! I bet it's fast, ain't it?”

“Yeah, it's fast.”

One of Mal-Mal's little buddies came running outta Gloria's house. He was there to see the fireworks. Mal-Mal was always bragging about his Uncle Jay so much that his buddies would be just as happy as he was to see me pull up, but this particular kid was a little too grown. He always felt he was in competition with Mal-Mal, so when he noticed that Mal-Mal was fascinated by my car, he felt the need to say something just to make him mad.

“Hey, Mal-Mal, that joint ain't all that. My uncle got a Benz, and his joint is way tighter than that!” his friend said.

“Shut up, punk, 'fore I bust your nose again! That's why you ain't playing wit' my fireworks,” Mal-Mal said to his friend.

“So? I don't care.”

“Me either, punk.”

That shit was funny, seeing two youngin's ready to wreck. If I wasn't in such a hurry, I would have taken both of 'em around back and let 'em fight. I was almost certain Mal-Mal would whip his ass, because Mal-Mal was eleven years old now and big as a house. He was also bad as fuck.

I kept getting pages from that broad out in Bowie, Maryland. This bitch was blowing my shit up with 911-911-911-911. She used to page me so much when I was out with other bitches that I ignored it when she put in 911 because most of the time, she'd just be trying to find out if I was with another bitch or not. Damn, she was getting on my nerves, but at the present time, I needed her. She had a nice apartment in Bowie, which was twenty minutes away from the city, and she had a nice job working for the Department of Labor, so I needed her credit.

She was the one who co-signed for the 300ZX, and when I got my bank right, she was gonna sign for a Mercedes 300CE for me. Plus, she was a stone freak in bed. She loved sucking my dick, and I loved it too. One thing about her I didn't like was that she was a Bamma-ass broad. She talked loud, she couldn't dress, and she wore cheap shit. Even when I'd try and buy her some fly shit, she still looked fucked up in it. She couldn't even rock it right. To add to all this, she had a two-year-old daughter by some punk-ass nigga that used to beat her ass.

As I looked down at my pager while Mal-Mal was still arguing with his buddy, I figured I'd use Gloria's phone to call her back. As soon as I entered through the front door, I could tell that Gloria was in a rush. She was running back and forth from the bathroom to the living room, as if she was in a hurry to go somewhere. She was fixing her hair and ironing her clothes at the same time.

“Hey, Gloria, can I use your phone real quick?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Hello,” a female voice said.

“Why the fuck are you blowing my pager up like that?” I said with an immediate attitude.

“Jovan, somebody broke into the apartment!” the female on the other end of the phone yelled hysterically.

“What?” I asked, not sure I had heard her correctly.

“They came in through the balcony.”

“Is there anything missing?”

“I dunno! The furniture is all ripped up, the TV is broken. It doesn't look like they were trying to steal shit. It looks more like they vandalized the place. Jovan, I'm going to call the police,” she said.

“No! Hell no! Don't call the police. I'm on my way,” I said quickly.

“Jovan, please hurry up. I'm scared.”

When I hung up the phone, Gloria could see that I was mad as hell.

“Is everything all right?” she asked me.

“Yeah, I'm cool. Look, I gotta go right now. I got something to do.”

“All right, Jovan. You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay,” I said, walking out the door.

When I came outta Gloria's house and walked toward my car, Mal-Mal came running down the street.

“Hey, Uncle Jay, where you going? I thought you were gonna stay and light the fireworks with me.”

“I'll be back, Mal-Mal. Right now I've got something to do.”

“Can I go with you?” he asked me.

“Naw, man, this is important; but I'll be back,” I told him.

“Hurry back, Uncle Jay, 'cause it's almost dark now.”

“Okay, youngin'.”

As I pulled away from Wyle Street, I saw Ms. Cookie walking toward Gloria's house. She was walking real fast. I rolled down the window and said, “Hey, Ms. Cookie.”

“Oh, hi, baby. Where you going?” Ms. Cookie asked.