Mama's Boy (6 page)

11

G
loria didn't know if she was making the right choice, and she prayed that Jamal didn't hate her for it, but she didn't know what else to do. She didn't want to keep the lies going with her husband and at this point they needed him to do what God had called him to do—lead their household.

She'd made the decision to tell Elton about Jamal after she saw the news this morning. The local media had been covering the case nonstop. Gloria had watched in horror as the reporter interviewed a Jasper resident named Mickey.

“Why are you out here protesting?” the reporter had asked.

“ 'Cause that boy gunned down one of Jasper's finest, who only wanted to protect and serve.” The man leaned over and spit out some of the snuff that was stuffed in his bottom lip. “And the good folks of Jasper are waiting on him to be brought in—dead or alive.”

His words, and the way he'd peered into the camera with beady, evil eyes, let Gloria know that her son was in serious danger. If they had any hope of working this out, they needed to come together as a family.

“Woman, are you gonna tell me where we're going?” Elton said as they turned into Naomi's neighborhood. He'd been griping since he'd gotten in the car and Gloria wanted so bad to tell him to just shut up and ride.

She'd tossed and turned all night after her mother left. She'd prayed, then prayed some more before telling Elton. Well, she hadn't told him—yet. She'd fixed him a hearty breakfast, complete with his favorites—smothered biscuits and sausage and hash browns. Then, when he'd finished, she told him to come with her and ask no questions. Of course, he'd been asking questions ever since.

“You know I got a million and one things to do.” He leaned out the window to survey their location. “And are you driving around in circles?” he said, noticing the 7-Eleven they'd passed five minutes ago. She had already stopped at a church member's house to drop off something, then taken a back route to Naomi's. Her stomach was in knots because she'd been worried about the police following her. But the short staff must've been taking its toll on the police force because for the past three days, there had been large gaps in between the time the marked units were parked outside their house. As soon as she'd seen the cop car pull off this morning, she'd grabbed Elton and instructed him to follow her.

“I'm not trying to ride around with you while you run errands,” Elton said.

Gloria glanced in her rearview mirror as she made a quick right turn.

“Where are you going and why do you keep looking in the rearview mirror?” Elton asked. He was definitely getting agitated.

“I just want to make sure we're not being followed,” she said.

“Okay, Gloria, you need to tell me what in the world is going on,” he said, his voice firm. “Does this secret mission have anything to do with Jamal?”

When she was absolutely sure no one was following her, Gloria turned down the back alley that Naomi had shown her.

“Come on,” she said, stopping the car and parking.

“I don't like all of this Double-O spy stuff,” he huffed.

“Just come on, Elton. Trust me.” She exited the car without giving him a chance to respond.

He followed her up Naomi's back walkway and stood looking around nervously as Gloria reached under a flowerpot and got a key.

“Why are you going into Naomi's house? Where is she?”

Gloria wanted to tell him to shut up, but she had never been disrespectful to her husband and she wasn't going to start now.

She pulled him inside and toward the back room, flipping on the main light in the hallway. He followed her but asked no more questions.

She repeated the scene that Naomi had played out, moving the dresser and all of the clothes on the floor in the front of the closet door. She opened the door and whispered, “Jamal, it's me.”

“Jamal!” Elton bellowed.

Gloria motioned for him to keep his voice down. Jamal moved some clothes out of the way and peeked out, his eyes wide.

“You brought him?” Jamal cried. “I can't believe you brought him!”

“Jamal, what are you doing in there?” Elton hissed as he peered into the dark closet. “Come out here now!”

Jamal eased out of the closet. Thankfully, he'd cleaned up some
and had put on a fresh T-shirt. He still looked weary around the eyes.

“Are you hiding him here?” Elton snapped at Gloria.

“Good to see you, too, Daddy,” Jamal said, his voice a mixture of sarcasm and exhaustion.

Elton took a deep breath and pulled his son into an awkward hug, then quickly released him. “Of course I'm glad that you're all right, but somebody needs to explain to me what's going on.”

“I just found out that he was here,” Gloria replied as Jamal continued to look at her like he couldn't believe that she had betrayed him. “Baby, I'm sorry, but your dad needed to know.”

“You're doggone right!” Elton said. “You got your mama running around putting her freedom on the line! How would you feel if they threw your mama in jail behind this?”

Jamal bit his bottom lip as a thin mist covered his eyes. Over the past year, he'd become defiant whenever Elton chastised him, but now, he'd returned to his childhood response to his father's wrath—looking away in shame.

“He didn't have me doing anything, Elton,” Gloria protested. “We're trying to figure this out.”

“There's nothing to figure out. You have to turn yourself in,” Elton said.

“See, Ma!” Jamal exclaimed, a look of panic spreading across his face.

“You just have to cause havoc!” Elton said. He shook his head as he paced in the small bedroom. “Do you know the shame you have brought to this family?”

“It's all about the shame,” Jamal mumbled.

Elton spun toward him, jabbing a finger in his face. “Don't you
dare get smart. Do you know what the last few days have been like for us? A nightmare! And the police are following us everywhere. They're even at church! Defiling God's house. Harassing the members. Harassing us. They were convinced we were hiding you somewhere!” He turned and glared at Gloria. “Little did I know they were right.”

“Dad—”

“Don't
dad
me,” Elton snapped, turning his venom back in Jamal's direction. “Do you know your mama could've been arrested if they caught her coming here?”

“Elton, now is not the time!” Gloria snapped, trying to cut off his rant. “We need to help our son.”

“This is ridiculous. I'm gonna help him all right. Let's go,” Elton said, grabbing Jamal's arm.

“Go where?” Jamal asked as his father literally dragged him toward the door.

“We're about to go to the police station.”

Jamal broke free and darted across the room. “Mom, see, this is what I'm talking about!” he cried. “This is why I didn't want him to know where I was!”

“So, on top of everything else, you wanted your mama to lie to me?” Elton said.

Panic swept through Gloria's body. “Stop it! Just calm down. Both of you,” she said. “We need to talk about this.”

“There's nothing we need to talk about.” Elton looked back and forth between the two of them, then settled his gaze on Gloria. He took a deep breath and stepped toward his wife as if he desperately wanted to reason with her. “He has to turn himself in, Gloria. There is no other way. They'll come in here shooting at me and you.” He
turned back to Jamal. “I'm not going to let you ruin this family, son.”

“I
am
this family,” Jamal cried. “Does anyone care about me?”

“Of course we do,” Elton said, “but we're not going to condone you shooting a police officer.”

“I didn't mean to shoot him!” Jamal cried. “It was an accident.” He turned to Gloria. “Tell him, Mama. Tell him it was an accident.”

“Okay, fine. It was an accident. We'll tell that to the police,” Elton said, trying to remain calm.

“Mom . . .” Jamal turned to Gloria like he knew there was no getting through to his father. “I'm not going to jail. Those racist cops will kill me. I will never survive.”

“Stop trying to make this about race,” Elton said. “You did something bad and we need to deal with it.”

Gloria stared at her husband in disbelief. Surely he couldn't be that delusional. If those Jasper cops got her son, this would definitely be about race.

“Are you serious?” Jamal said. “You know how these people are.”

“Of course I know, son,” Elton said. “But you can't run. Plain and simple.”

“I'm not going to jail,” he repeated.

Gloria stepped up and took her son's hands. She was glad when he didn't jerk them away. “Baby, no one's trying to make you go to jail. Your daddy will call Perry and he'll represent you, and we'll tell them. We'll get the police to understand that this was all a horrible accident.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew better. The look on Jamal's face said he didn't believe her, either. But she had to stay hopeful.

“We're a family. We have gotten through things worse than this,” she continued.

She glared at Elton. “Haven't we?”

He didn't reply.

“No, I'm leaving,” Jamal said, reaching for something in the closet. He pulled out a pink and purple kiddie backpack, no doubt belonging to Naomi's granddaughter. “You can either help me or I'll make it on my own.”

Elton must've decided to take a different approach because he said, “Son, a life on the run is not the way to go.”

Jamal ignored his father. “Mom, I waited here because you told me to trust you. I thought I could.”

“You can, baby. You can trust both of us.” Gloria was trembling. She'd hadn't expected Jamal to run. “Your father will tell you, he's not gonna do a thing until we've all worked this out. Right?”

Elton just stood there.

“Right?” she demanded.

He nodded, although his displeasure was evident. “Fine, we'll work it out. I don't know how, but I guess we will. Let's just hope all three of us don't end up in jail before that happens.”

Gloria felt sick to her stomach. Once again, she'd made the wrong decision. Telling Elton was the worst thing she could've done. Why she expected any reaction other than the one he was giving right now proved that this situation was causing her to lose all rational thinking. Now the question was, how was she going to clean up the mess she'd made?

12

F
or someone who was on the brink of what could be a very ugly divorce, Kay's best friend, Camille, was in a pretty good mood.

“Girl, I have to give you major props,” Kay said, turning the volume up on her car phone speaker so she could hear Camille better. “I just could not have the same upbeat attitude as you if Phillip and I broke up.”

“Of course, I'm sad about it. I gave this man fifteen years of my life,” Camille replied. “But man sharing is against my religion so he had to go.”

Camille and her husband, Vincent, owned a bail bonds company, so Kay had met them eight years ago through their legal interactions. The two of them were so close because Camille was everything that Kay was not—bold, outspoken, and vivacious. A gorgeous, statuesque woman, Camille was actually the brawn of their bail bonds business. Her father had been a private investigator, so she knew the art of tracking down people to collect her money.

They didn't get to talk as much as they used to, something Kay hated. But between her job and the mayoral race, Kay was always on the run. Their sons were both the same age, attended the same private school, so if Camille and Kay didn't manage to talk about things in general, they kept in regular contact because Ryan and Charlie were always together.

That's why Camille had called today, while Kay was on her way to speak to Phillip's mentoring group. Camille wanted to let Kay know that she was picking the boys up after school. Their conversation had quickly shifted as Camille started telling Kay some more details she'd found out about Vincent's twenty-two-year-old jump-off.

“Girl, she had the audacity to call me and tell me that she would be the new Mrs. Bailey soon and she wanted us to have a good relationship for Charlie and Zola's sake,” Camille huffed. Kay knew neither Charlie nor Camille's seven-year-old daughter, Zola, was happy about the divorce. “Vincent hadn't even been gone two weeks and she's calling me with that mess,” Camille continued. “I told Vincent he'd better get his hoes in check before he ends up having to post bail for me.”

Camille was joking, or at least Kay thought she was, but knowing her quick-tempered friend, Kay wouldn't want to test her.

“What did you tell, what did you say her name was?” Kay asked, referring to the other woman.

“Misty. Sounding like a two-dollar stripper,” Camille replied. “I told that trick not to ever call my house again. She can post all the Instagram photos she wants. I'm too old for that mess.”

“For real, who does that?” Kay replied. “You post lovebird photos of the guy you're cheating with on social media?”

“Twenty-two-year-olds do that, that's who,” Camille snapped.
“But it's cool. I told her karma would deal with her. Then I hung up on her.”

Kay said a silent thankful prayer for Phillip. While she would never say never, she just couldn't imagine ever going through some mess like that with him.

“Okay, I have to go. I'm here,” Kay said, pulling up to the Acres Home Community Center, where the mentoring luncheon was being held.

Kay made it a point to visit with Phillip's mentees at least once a year. She saw enough of the juvenile delinquents in the courtroom, but this was something that meant a lot to Phillip, so she came to this event each year.

“All right, girl. Thanks for letting me vent.”

“You sure you're okay?” Kay asked, pulling into a parking space.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Or I will be. You just make sure you lock up your purse,” Camille said. “You know those little deviants will see that Jimmy Choo and start calculating how much they can get for it.”

“I doubt they even know who Jimmy Choo is,” Kay replied. “Speaking of calculating. How much will you be donating to the Community Center for their annual fund-raiser?”

“Fifty thousand dollars,” Camille said.

Kay gasped. She had no idea the bail bonds business was doing that well.

“And I'm gonna give you a pair of Jordan's, too, so that you can play with that bounced check I write,” Camille added.

Kay cracked up laughing. “Girl, I thought you were serious.”

“Child, all these felons jumping bail. And now this divorce; I need to hold on to every nickel I have.”

“You need anything?” Kay asked.

“Seriously, I'm good. You just go in there and get your pin for sainthood and I'll talk to you later,” Camille said.

Kay hung up and made her way inside. The program was just getting started, so she waved to her husband and slid into her seat at the front table.

She watched with pride as Phillip gave a brief introduction, then proceeded to talk about his reasons for working with the center.

It was moments like this that Kay understood why Phillip did what he did, why he would leave his cushy corporate job to provide defense to indigent young men. His passion for these young men was evident in every word he uttered.

As Kay looked around at the sea of black and brown faces, she felt a small tug at her heart. Being a prosecutor had taught her to automatically think the worst when she saw boys who looked like this, the baggy pants, the tattoos, the backward hats. But seeing these young boys here, she wondered, if they had been like Ryan and given half a chance, would their circumstances have been different?

The second speaker in the youth empowerment seminar wrapped up. A former gang member, he had held the group's attention by talking about life behind bars. At first Kay balked when her husband asked her to be one of the speakers for this event. But because he didn't pull that card very often, she gave in. Now she was glad she did. A police officer had gone first and now it was her turn and these young boys seemed poised and ready to ask questions.

“Okay, boys,” Phillip said as he came up to the podium, “let's
give Officer Robinson another round of applause and, hopefully, you all learned something valuable from him.” Phillip turned and smiled at Kay. “Our last speaker this afternoon is actually my wife.”

Several of the kids started oohing and aahing. One little boy yelled, “Mr. Christiansen, your wife is hot!”

Phillip looked at him and grinned. “I know.” He turned back to the crowd. “Please join me in welcoming my wife, Harris County prosecutor and the next mayor of Houston, Kay Christiansen.”

The boys clapped. Kay could tell it was them being polite and not because they were really interested in what she had to say. She took a few minutes and told them about her job. That part was easy. But on the next part she knew she was going to catch it.

“Okay, anybody have questions?” she asked. Several hands went up.

She pointed to a teenage boy with cornrows sitting in front. “My cousin got caught up on a case,” the boy said, “and he was supposed to have a jury of his peers, but it wasn't but a bunch of old white men and women on the jury. That ain't his peers. What's up with that?”

Kay flashed a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, our jury rolls are chosen from people who are registered to vote and in the African American and Latino communities, many people don't register. They don't realize that decision has far-reaching effects.”

“I don't get it,” another boy said.

“It simply means that if you don't register to vote, you'll never be called to be on a jury,” Kay said.

“So, you mean if I don't turn in that voter registration card Mr. Christiansen had me fill out, I won't ever get called for jury duty?”

“You can't vote,” the little boy sitting next to him said.

“Yes, I can. I'm eighteen.”

“Eighteen and in the ninth grade,” a boy sitting next to him said, laughing. “Dumbo.” The guy swung at him, but the smart-mouth kid ducked.

“Settle down,” one of the mentors standing near them said.

“He's right. He can vote,” Kay continued. “He's eighteen. And yes, if you don't register to vote, you'll never be called for jury duty.”

“I don't know why y'all waste your time with trials anyway,” another teenage boy said. “Y'all just gonna find the black man guilty.”

“Shoot, least y'all get a trial,” a young Hispanic boy chimed in. “They threatened to deport everybody in my family if my cousin Oscar didn't plead guilty to something he didn't do.” The boy scowled in Kay's direction.

“No,” Kay countered, shifting under his unwavering glare. “There really isn't a conspiracy to throw black and Hispanic boys in jail. We like to think that everyone who comes through our courts will have a proper defense. Although we know that's not always the case.”

“Especially when you're giving them the janky public defenders,” the boy said.

“Unfortunately our public defenders are overworked and underpaid,” Kay said, “so you might not always get the best defense. But most of them are good people who are committed to their jobs.”

“The system sucks. All the prisons are filled with minorities. We ain't the only ones committing crimes. So you can't tell me it ain't something jacked up about it,” he argued.

“Yes, the system has its flaws,” she said, “but it's the only one we have.”

Several of them moaned.

“Why the cops always harassing us?” someone from the back asked her.

“Yeah,” another boy added. “Like that dude out of Jasper. Five-O messing with him when he wasn't bothering nobody.”

Kay didn't want to touch that one, so she stepped back and looked at the officer who spoke first. “Maybe you can answer that.”

He stepped up, answered the question, and fielded a few more. When they were done, Kay couldn't help but feel that she hadn't made any inroads with these young men. Phillip must have known she was feeling down because he came up to her afterward.

“They're a hard group,” he said, rubbing her arm. “But believe it or not, some of what you said will stick.”

“You think so?” Kay said. “Because it sure doesn't seem like it.”

Phillip nodded. “We do just have some straight-up bad kids. But for the most part, everybody here wants better. Many of them just become victims of their circumstances. If they're not in a ­single-parent home, they're following in the footsteps of brothers and uncles who are in prison. We're trying to change that by showing them positive role models. You know I was even thinking of bringing Ryan over here. Let him hang out. See them.”

Kay's eyes bucked. “They would eat our son alive.”

Phillip glanced around the room. “Yeah, you're right about that.”

“No, Ryan is just fine in our little world. We can ready him for the real world.”

She saw a fight almost erupt in a corner of the room. Two of the organizers quickly broke it up.

“And this,” she whispered to her husband, “is not his world.”

Phillip's lips brushed hers. “Okay, I get it. Ryan is privileged. We
are blessed to be able to give him a better life. I just hope that when you become mayor, you'll reinstate city funding for our program. These kids need it.”

“I will,” Kay promised. She planned to honor her commitment, and not just for Phillip. Something about these boys made her wonder if he was right. Maybe all they needed was a chance.