Mama's Boy (2 page)

2

T
he beaming rays of the August sun tickled Kay Christiansen out of her sleep. She snuggled deeper into the Egyptian down comforter. Kay didn't want to get up, but duty called. Not only did she have to get some election paperwork finished in order to file first thing Monday morning, but she had to get ready for closing arguments in a case that was slated to go to the jury by Tuesday. So work on a Saturday summoned her.

Kay eased out of bed, yawned, stretched, then willed herself to her feet. She'd had a late night—after working until midnight, she'd played Romper Room with her husband until three in the morning. So her bed was begging her to snuggle just a little while longer. But it was already 8 a.m. She could sleep in her casket. Right now there was work to be done.

“Good morning, Mommy.”

If God had needed a person to accompany His sunrise every morning, Kay's four-year-old daughter, Leslie, would be the perfect candidate. With deep dimples and a head full of natu
ral light brown coils, Leslie was the pulse that kept Kay's heart beating.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Kay said, kissing her daughter on the cheek. “Why aren't you dressed for piano practice?”

“Daddy said I didn't have to go.” Leslie jumped up and down on the bed, her signature rainbow tutu fluttering as she bounced. “Daddy said I could stay home with Miss Selena,” she added, referring to their nanny/housekeeper/cook.

“Well, Daddy was wrong. Miss Selena is off today. And stop jumping on my bed. Go get dressed.” Kay lifted her daughter up, set her back onto the floor, and then playfully swatted at her to exit.

Kay couldn't help but smile as she thought about her picture-­perfect life. A life that she'd fought hard to achieve. She stepped into the shower, recalling something her father used to always tell her.
It doesn't matter where you've been. All that matters is where you end.
That was one of the few things Robert Matthews had ever said that Kay would agree with. Neither her father nor her mother, Gwen, had left her much else that she wanted to remember.

Twenty minutes later, Kay was making her way into the kitchen, where her husband was at the counter cooking the kids' breakfast. She and Phillip shared domestic duties, a gesture that made her love him even more. As a defense attorney, Phillip worked just as hard as her, but he believed in equitable distribution of duties. That's something that she couldn't say for most men, especially the men whom she'd dated before saying “I do” to Phillip.

“Good morning, honey,” Kay said as she walked over and planted a ferocious kiss on her husband. After ten years, his kiss still gave her goose bumps. His chiseled bare chest made her almost forget that she needed to work. “Why didn't you wake me up?”

“Because you looked so beautiful sleeping there.”

She picked up a piece of turkey bacon off the plate on the counter, took a bite, then leaned back against the cabinet. Leslie, now dressed for piano lessons, was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring.

“What are you watching?” Kay asked her husband when she noticed his eyes glued to the small television perched at the end of the counter.

Phillip removed the last of the bacon from the pan, then turned the fire off. “Sad story out of Jasper. Apparently, these kids were hanging out at a convenience store. Cop comes out. Some kind of altercation ensued. Long story short, one of the boys was recording. The cop told him to stop. He wouldn't and a scuffle broke out. The cop ended up getting shot and killed.”

“Wow,” Kay said, shaking her head at the TV. They'd frozen the video of the young boy as the anchor talked.

“Police have not yet identified the suspect, but they do believe he is a Jasper resident. All three suspects remain at large,” the anchor said.

“So, the kid is on the run?”

“Looks like it,” Phillip replied. “He hasn't been arrested.”

Kay opened the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of orange juice. “When did that happen?” she asked as she poured four glasses of juice.

“Last night. About one in the morning.” Phillip set a plate on the table. “Leslie, go get your brother and tell him to come eat breakfast.”

Kay slid into a seat at the table. “Doesn't surprise me. What kind of kid hangs out on the corner at one in the morning?” She
tsked. “But let me guess, the community is going to go crazy and say it was the cop's fault.”

The look on his face said Phillip was not pleased with her comment. Even though he was biracial, with a white father and a black mother, Phillip completely identified himself as a black man and he hated when she made those kinds of generalizations. But as a black woman, Kay felt completely entitled to speak the truth as she saw it. And as a prosecutor for Harris County, the largest county in Texas, she saw a lot of truths on a daily basis.

“We don't know whose fault it was, Madam Prosecutor,” Phillip said.

“I'm sure it's the criminal who is on the run, Mr. Defense Attorney,” Kay countered with a smile.

Phillip didn't return her smile. She hated that he got so worked up over these kinds of issues. But if it dealt with young minority males, he was passionate about it. He worked at a downtown law firm but he spent just as much time volunteering with at-risk teens.

“I'm just saying, how about we reserve judgment until we know the whole story?” Phillip added.

“Maybe if the little thug had a curfew, this wouldn't be an issue.” Kay shrugged nonchalantly.

Phillip stopped fixing her plate and stared at her. His right eyebrow inched up just a bit, the first sign that he was about to get upset. “Why does he have to be a thug?”

Why did she even start this conversation? If Phillip had his way, every wayward minority kid in the country would get a second and third chance.

Still, as passionate as he was, so was she. And she was just as committed to ridding the streets of riff-raff. “You said the shooting
took place at one in the morning, on a street corner? And did you see that tattoo on his neck? Ugh. Yeah, he's a thug.”

The look on her husband's face was one of disgust.

“What?” she said.

“Really, Kay?”

“Oh, don't be so sensitive.” Kay flashed a smile, hoping to ease the building tension.

“I'm not being sensitive,” Phillip corrected. “This is just a really sad case. That boy looks about fifteen or sixteen. I can only imagine how he's feeling.”

Kay rolled her eyes. “Forgive me if I'm not moved. The feelings I care about are those of the family members of the poor officer he killed.”

Their discussion was interrupted when Kay's fifteen-year-old stepson walked in.

“What's up, fam?” Why he tried to be cool was beyond her. Ryan was a self-proclaimed nerd, so the slang talk didn't even fit him. While most kids would still be in their pajamas, Ryan was already dressed, in a polo buttoned all the way up, khakis, and spit-shining penny loafers.

“Good morning, Ryan,” Kay replied, patting her stepson's cheek as he sat down at the table. His real mother, Phillip's first wife, had been killed when Ryan was just two years old. So, really, Kay had been the only mother he'd ever known. “Maybe if that boy hung around people like Ryan, he'd have a different path in life.”

“Aw, come on, Ma,” Ryan said, ducking out of her reach.

Even though Kay had become his stepmom when he was five, she loved that boy with all of her heart. He was the exact opposite of the boys she prosecuted on a regular basis. Ryan had his head
on straight. An ambitious, studious child, he'd never been in any trouble. Granted, they sent him to the best schools, but he was still self-motivated, with a 3.9 GPA in all advanced courses. And even though he was only a sophomore, two Ivy League scholarships already awaited him.

“Ryan is just like that boy on television,” Phillip said.

Kay frowned. “Uh, Ryan is nothing like that boy on television.”

“His circumstances could be different, but that doesn't make him any less of a person.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Ryan asked, digging into his food.

“Your father has such a bleeding heart.”

“What happened?” Ryan asked as he pulled out a book to read while he ate, a habit they'd tried to get him to break and then eventually stopped fighting him on.

“Some hoodlum on the news. He shot a police officer,” Kay replied.

“Dang,” Ryan said. “For real?”

“And back to your point,” Kay continued, returning her attention to her husband. “Number one, Ryan wouldn't be hanging out at a gas station at one in the morning. Number two, Ryan knows that when an officer questions him, he obeys, right, son?”

“Right.” He chomped on his food and continued reading.

Phillip looked like he didn't even feel like arguing about it any longer so he just let the conversation drop.

Ryan didn't look up from his book as he said, “Dad, Mom's right. That's not me. I'm a good kid.” He stated that like it was an undisputed fact.

“I know that, son.” Phillip sighed. “I was just making a point with your mother.”

“No need to make a point with me,” she replied. She knew she could be a little harsh, but in eleven years in the DA's office, she'd seen her share of ungrateful young men with no home training trying to take advantage of the system. And no, the system wasn't geared in their favor, but as she used to always tell them, if they stayed out of trouble in the first place, they'd never get caught up in a system that meant them no good.

Luckily for her, Ryan had listened and she never had to worry about him becoming a statistic like that kid on TV. That kid had made a bad decision and now his life was ruined. Watching her children as they sat at the breakfast table, Kay couldn't help but feel grateful that they were destined to go down a different path.

3

G
loriaaaaaa!”

The bellowing sound of her husband's voice confirmed it. Elton knew.

As soon as she heard the screech of his tires in the front driveway, Gloria knew that he knew. She didn't know if he'd seen it on the news or if someone at church had told him about it. But he knew and was about to raise holy hell.

“You know, don't you?” he yelled before he even got all the way in the door. She stood in front of him, not saying a word. “You saw it on TV. That's what you were watching.” It was a statement, not a question.

Gloria shook as he spoke. “I . . . I . . .”

“Since when did you start lying to me? And how could you let me walk out of here when this was going on?” he barked.

At one time, back when he was wooing her in high school in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Elton had been a handsome man. But as much as she loved him, over the years his ugly ways had diminished
everything she'd found attractive back then. It wasn't the thinning hair or even the forty pounds he'd put on—it was how any and every thing caused him to lose his temper. Gloria had spent many years living on edge because of that. And now his anger was about to go full metal jacket.

Gloria couldn't help it. She lied again. “I . . . I wasn't sure. I was praying that it wasn't Jamal and I . . .”

“Where is he? You said he went with Brian!”

She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out.

Gloria had been crying since Elton left. She had committed the video on the news to memory. Frame by frame, she knew it well.

“He didn't come home last night,” Gloria confessed. “I didn't discover it until this morning. I was just so scared. I was hoping that he'd fallen asleep over at Brian's or something. I've been calling all morning, but I keep getting voice mail on his cell. Nobody's answering at Brian's house, either.” Gloria sank down into Elton's favorite chair and sobbed. “Oh, my God. Where is my son?”

She expected Elton to fuss some more, go ballistic, anything. But he stared at her for a moment, then walked over and grabbed the remote.

“Deacon Wade said that it's on every channel.” Elton flipped through the news channels. The first two were talking about something else. But the third, the local CBS affiliate, had just begun playing the video. Again.

Elton watched in horror. “My God,” he muttered.

When the part where Jamal turned the camera on himself came up, Elton pressed pause on the DVR, then spun around to face his wife. “You weren't sure?” he screamed. “There is no doubt that's our son.”

Gloria cowered in her seat. Her whole world was unraveling and she had no idea what to do about it.

“They don't know who he is, but it's just a matter of time! ­Everyone in Jasper knows that is our son!”

Gloria responded with more tears, but Elton wasn't moved.

“I knew I shouldn't have listened to you,” he shouted as he paced back and forth across the living room. His six-foot-three frame was shaking. Gloria was sure that it was more anger than fear. “Always babying him,” Elton continued. “I've been telling you for years you making him into a mama's boy.” She wanted to ask him what did that have to do with anything. Their son was wanted for killing a cop. What did being a mama's boy have to do with that? He must've read the expression on her face because he continued yelling. “He needed a foot in his behind! But you were always taking up for him. ‘Go easy on him, Elton.' ‘Just let him go with his friends, Elton,' ” he said, mocking her from yesterday. “ ‘He'll be okay, Elton.' ” Elton jabbed the remote in the direction of the television. “Does that look okay to you, Gloria?”

She flinched at his tone. But before he could say anything else, someone started banging on their door.

For a moment, her heart fluttered, praying that it was Jamal. But that thought was quickly dispelled when she heard, “Police! Open up!”

Elton shot his wife one last disgusted look, then walked over to the door. He swung it open. Gloria stood, her heart dropping at the sight of the two plainclothes police officers on her steps. In back of them were several uniformed policemen.

“Mr. Elton Jones?” the first cop, a short, stocky black man, asked.
Jasper only had one black police officer on the entire force of thirty, so of course, they'd send him out.

“Yes, that's me,” Elton replied.

The second officer, who wore a scowl across his face, quickly stepped up. He was a bald man who looked like he'd spent two minutes too many in a tanning salon. His too tight polyester suit squeezed his robust frame.

“We're looking for your son, Jamal Jones.”

“He's not here,” Elton said.

The scowling officer leaned in to try to look over Elton's shoulder. “You sure about that?”

Elton stepped aside, not bothering to hide his aggravation. “You're more than welcome to come in and see for yourself.”

That's all the cop needed to hear because he motioned for the other officers to enter. And come in they did. Four entered first, barreling like Jamal was waiting for them in a back bedroom. Two more followed and went into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Elton said when one of the uniformed officers knocked over a picture frame. “Can you ask your men to respect my home?” Elton said to the scowling officer.

The officer took a step forward. “You'll have to excuse us. When we're hunting for a cop killer, decorum isn't our strong suit.”

The black officer quickly stepped forward. “Mr. Jones.”

“Reverend Jones,” Elton corrected. Even in their darkest time, Elton wanted to make sure he was revered.

“Reverend Jones,” the officer said. “I'm Detective Joseph King. This is my partner, Billy Martin. I'm not sure if you know what's going on.”

“I just saw the news.”

“So you know your son is a cop killer?” Detective Martin's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Martin!” Detective King snapped.

Elton wasn't rattled. He was unblanched in his reply. “I know from the news that my son is
alleged
to have shot a police officer. But I'll let a court of law determine his innocence or guilt.”

“No court needed when you have video.” Detective Martin sneered, as he opened a hall closet door and looked inside.

“You'll have to excuse my partner. As you can imagine, we're all on pretty high alert,” Detective King said.

“If my baby did what they said he did, he didn't mean it,” Gloria said, her voice quivering.

“Gloria, be quiet,” Elton snapped.

“We need to bring your son in, so we can get to the bottom of exactly what happened,” Detective King said.

“Well, we can't help you with that,” Elton replied. “Because like I said, we haven't heard from our son since he left home yesterday evening.”

Detective Martin continued grilling Elton. Exactly what he was saying, Gloria didn't know. She actually felt like she was going to pass out and all of the words had become jumbled.

“Ma'am, are you all right?” Detective King asked. His gentle tone snapped Gloria out of the daze she was slowly drifting into.

This was not going to end well. While Detective King looked calm, all of the other officers looked like hungry wolves. Then the expression on Elton's face only made her stomach knot up even more. Elton was a private man and this inquisition from police would surely send him over the edge.

“I told you, we have not seen our son,” Elton said, his agitation evident.

“So, you mean to tell me that he has not been in contact with you at all?” Detective Martin asked. This time he looked directly at Gloria.

“I haven't heard from him.” A sob escaped her even though she'd been trying her best to stay strong. “I just want to hear from him.”

“If you'll excuse us, this is very upsetting to my wife,” Elton said, finally coming to Gloria's side. “I'm sure you're going to leave a police officer outside of our house. You'll know if he comes here.”

“You're sure he hasn't called you?” Detective Martin asked again, his glare penetrating Gloria. “We already have his two little friends, Brian Waters and Dix Jacobson, in custody. They were with him at that store. And I assure you, they'll give your son up if you don't.”

“I'm also sure you will have our phones tapped soon,” Elton snapped as he stood protectively in front of Gloria. “So, you'll know if and when he calls. But he has not been in contact with us. I don't know how many more ways we can tell you that.”

“You do know harboring a fugitive is a federal offense?” the detective asked.

“What part of ‘we haven't heard from him' do you not understand?” Elton yelled. This time it was his voice that was on the verge of cracking.

“Reverend Jones,” Detective King calmly said. “We understand that this is very difficult for you. We're just trying to do our job.”

Elton took a deep breath. Gloria didn't think she'd ever seen her husband so rattled. “I understand that. Believe me, I want to find my son,” Elton said, his voice leveling off. “I want to make sure he's safe, and if we hear from him, I assure you, we'll let you know.”

Gloria remained silent. She wasn't about to make that promise. The way the cops were swarming around her house, the anger that she saw in Detective Martin's eyes, she wasn't assuring anyone of anything when it came to her son, especially not this man who seemed like he'd have no greater pleasure than to kill Jamal with his bare hands.