Nasty Girls (8 page)

“He down at Central Booking right now,” James told her. “They chargin' him with murder and shit.”

“Murder!” Shy shouted, looking baffled. “What the fuck happened?”

I saw the tears building in Shy's eyes. I thought she was bad last night; she damn near lost it right then.

“James, what happened? What did he do?” Shy asked, staring at James.

“Some cats wild out on us, and we did what we had to do.”

I looked at this muthafucka and shook my head. Okay, Roscoe's locked up, and he's free to come home. That shit didn't sit right with me.

“So, why didn't they lock you up too, if y'all were together?” I asked.

“It's a long story, Camille. I need a fuckin' shower right now,” he said offhandedly.

Shy was full of tears. Jade and I tried to console her while James went into the bathroom to take a shower.

“Why?” Shy sobbed. “What the fuck did he do? Why he couldn't stay his ass home?”

“We gonna find out what happened, Shy. Believe me,” I assured her.

I knew James wasn't telling us the full story, and he was acting funny and shit. Shy's man was locked up, and he ain't stressing it like that. James can be a shysty individual. I never trusted him.

 

T
hursday morning came, and I found myself down at the Queens criminal courthouse on Queens Boulevard with Shy and Jade. We got word of Roscoe's arraignment date, and I drove up there in my Beamer.

The line outside the courthouse was ridiculous. Everybody was waiting to go through the metal detectors and be searched. I hated this shit. The last time I came up here for a nigga was
when I was seventeen, and Michael, my boyfriend at that time, got his dumb ass locked up for crack possession. He got city time and did a year in jail.

In front of us stood a young mother with three kids, one infant in a stroller, and she tried controlling the other young'uns. She had to be no older than nineteen, and was probably going to her baby's father court date. She was young, but you could tell that time and life has not been good to her. She looked worn out, with her long hair in a shabby ponytail, and her clothing looked like hand-me-downs from the Salvation Army.

Even though the line was long, it moved kinda fast. The courthouse had plenty of court officers doing their jobs up front. And they moved the line along at a good pace.

I got up to the metal detector, and one of the male court officers smiled and tried to kick it to me while he ran the wand across my body. He was a tall black and kinda cute. But fucking with niggas that work for the law ain't my style. I smiled and moved along.

We got to the courtroom, where they were supposed to bring Roscoe out. All three of us took a seat in the third row from the front and waited. Shy was quiet the whole time. Jade peered off into space, and I wished I was somewhere else. But I had to be there for my girl, Shy. I knew what it felt like to have your man locked up, and there ain't shit you can do about it. All she could do was wait and pray.

One thing I've learned about these arraignments is that they can be a very stressful time for friends and family. People don't tell you shit, and you can be waiting for hours until your people's docket number is called by the bridge or court officer.

The courtroom was semicrowded. I glanced at the time, and
it was 9:55. There was minor chitchat in the room, which caught the attention of the female court officer. She stood off to the side, rigid and observing her territory with a taut look on her olive skin.

“Quiet!” the court officer said in her loudest tone.

The chitchat eased up a little.

One by one, docket numbers were being called for the judge to review, and the judge, a silver-haired white man who looked to be in his early fifties, would say a few words to the attorneys and briefly acknowledge the accused.

Cases from robbery, crack possession, and even felonies were being called. It was a tedious process. About an hour passed until Roscoe's case was finally called.

“Docket number 448524745, Roscoe Richardson,” the court officer announced.

Shy and Jade perked up, hearing Roscoe's name being called out. All eyes were up front.

Roscoe came into the courtroom, ushered out in handcuffs and looking mad at the world. He stood in front the judge and waited to hear his fate.

I noticed that his attorney, the one that came to represent him, looked different than the other cheap lawyers in the court. He had smooth white skin and sleek black hair, and he had on a gray pin-striped Italian suit, polished wing-tip shoes, and a Rolex around his wrist. I knew that Roscoe's lawyer wasn't one of these cheap CA (court-appointed) lawyers. He was the real thing.

He carried a real leather briefcase and had style to him, while these CA's wore cotton and polyester, sported bad scuffed shoes, and had busy head tops and five-o'clock shadows; they all looked like they've seen one too many cases.

The prosecutor spoke first. He opened up a manila envelope, peered up at the judge, and gave his deposition. “Your Honor, the people request that the defendant be held without bail, pending a grand jury investigation. He's the prime suspect in a murder five days ago. Also, he was found with a loaded nine-millimeter in his truck—” The male prosecutor went on putting Roscoe on blast, and his chances of freedom looked bleak.

Roscoe didn't flinch as he was being indicted on charges of murder, probably in the first degree, and criminal possession of a weapon.

A few more words were said by the prosecutor, including that Roscoe had a previous rap sheet which included drug arrests and other convictions.

Roscoe's attorney finally spoke. Standing next to his client, he stared up at the judge and stated, “Your Honor, my client claims that the shooting was done in self-defense. He feared for his life, and he also claims that the search of his truck was done illegally. . . .”

After all the bullshit was said and done from the defense and the prosecutor, the judge reviewed the case and said, “The defendant is remanded without bail. Next case.” He sounded arrogant and shit.

I swear Shy was about to bust out crying. But she held strong, and only a few tears trickled down her face.

The court officers ushered Roscoe away back into lockup. He didn't even look in our direction. I knew he knew we were seated in the courtroom. But I guess he felt ashamed and shit.

After Roscoe was led away, the three of us quickly got up out of our seats and exited the courtroom. We followed Roscoe's
attorney outside. Shy and the rest of us wanted to talk to the lawyer and get his insight and opinion on the case.

“Excuse me . . . excuse me,” Shy said, trying to catch his attention.

He turned around and looked at us.

He spoke, looking like he was in a rush. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Shy, Roscoe's girlfriend. I wanna know what's goin' on.”

“Well, your boyfriend is being charged with murder. He's looking at fifteen to twenty for murder in the first degree, which is an A-One felony; criminal possession of a weapon in the first degree; criminal use of a firearm in the first degree; and resisting arrest.”

“Ohmygod!”

“What's going to happen?” I asked.

“The murder charge, I'll try and get it dropped to a justified homicide. But the problem is that they didn't find the gun on the victim. And there's a witness that the D.A. has who is willing to testify against Roscoe. I don't know how credible the witness is, but I'm on top of it. If your boyfriend cops a plea, the D.A. may give him ten years. But if he's willing to fight and take it to trial, it gets risky. He might end up doing twenty years.”

Shy began to cry, and Jade consoled her in her arms, saying, “Shy, don't worry—we'll get through this.”

“He's going to need all the help he can in this case,” the lawyer said. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his card, which was off-white with raised lettering. “Here's my card. If you have any questions at all about the case, or his condition, don't hesitate to give me a call.”

I took his card and peered at it.

“Sorry, but I'm in a rush,” he said, and then turned and walked away.

Jade and I tried to ease Shy's stressful situation. We went to get something to eat at a nearby McDonald's, but Shy said she wasn't hungry. I knew she had Roscoe on her mind.

Shy was about to go through some bullshit. I know, because I've been there with two ex-boyfriends. The frequent trips to Rikers to go see your man and bring him a bunch of shit that he probably don't need, and the collect calls that total up and exceed your regular phone bill. When your man is home and he got all the free time to call a sista, he don't call. But the minute his ass gets incarcerated, he calling a sista everyday, talking about he need this and he need that. And most of the time he calls, it ain't about shit. He just want to hear your voice.

Shit, if Shy's dedicated and really loves Roscoe, she's gonna do time too if he's convicted and gets sentenced. And that shit ain't easy—going months, sometimes years without any dick—that shit gotta be love.

I
feel for Shy, damn, I do. She was a mess when I left her. The only thing I could tell her was to be strong, for herself and her man.

I mean, why the fuck did Roscoe do what he had to do? Why don't niggas listen? He was home, with his girl, but the minute some shit breaks out, they gotta go prove themselves in front of their boys and test who got the bigger dick, and end up getting killed or locked up. I was mad, I'll admit. But I was also thankful that I wasn't in the same predicament. Because it coulda been me too, and James's ass coulda been behind bars, and stressing me the fuck out. He came home.

I was lying on my bed, and James was in the shower. I was still curious about that night. James wasn't really saying shit about it. He left just like Roscoe did that night, and I knew that they both were furious about something. I just didn't know what. He asked about Roscoe and his predicament. I don't know why he didn't come down to the arraignment with us, but I guess he had his reason. Shit, thinking about Shy's situation made me forget about my own with James.

I was sprawled out on my bed in some panties and a large T-shirt, staring at the TV. I wanted to call up Shy, but thought against it—give her some alone time, and let her be.

I heard the shower stop running. I glanced at the bathroom. I sighed, because I wished I could be there more for her. But I was clueless about the judicial system just like the rest of my clique.

James walked into the bedroom with a blue towel wrapped around his waist, and his muscles gleaming from the water still on his skin. Damn, he looked so fucking sexy when wet.

James looked at me and smiled. “What you lookin' at?” he joked.

“Nuthin',” I sheepishly replied.

He walked up to the bed, still peering lustfully at me. “I know what you want, baby,” he said.

“You do? And what's that?” I asked, trying to play along.

He slowly unwrapped his towel and dropped it to the floor, stood butt naked in front of me. “You lookin' for this?” he asked, smirking down at me.

I tried not to smile, but I couldn't help it. His big dick dangled in front of me like an anaconda swinging from a tree. My baby got the body of a god.

“You like this, right?”

I sighed.

“Don't front, Jade. . . . He takes care of you,” James said, confidently.

“He a'ight,” I said, resting my back against the headboard.

James slowly gripped his big dick and started stroking himself gently. I hadn't had sex in days. I was so busy looking after Shy and making sure that she was okay that I forgot to take care
of my womanly needs. And right now, my thighs were tingling and my vagina felt really vibrant.

James came closer to me, and his dick got harder. He climbed onto the bed and approached me hungrily. The mattress sunk in a little as his thick frame rested against it. I just sat there and waited.

He grabbed me by my thighs and pulled me toward him.

“What you doing?” I asked, staring up at him.

“You know what I want, baby,” he said.

He hovered over me, and I removed my panties and tossed them to the floor. James smiled. “That's my girl.”

“I'm your girl, huh?” I stated.

“You know you are, baby,” he said with passion in his voice.

I smiled.

“Just me and you, Jade . . . no one else. One day, we gonna get married and have kids. I promise you that shit. I'm gonna quit the game one day, and we gonna do us,” he assured me. “I ain't tryin' to get locked up like Roscoe, and be away from my girl so long. It ain't happenin'. I'd go crazy if I don't see your face every day.”

I swear, a huge smile spread across my face, and I felt like I was on cloud nine.

“You promise?” I asked.

“I promise,” he returned.

It felt like a waterfall was rushing in between my legs. I wanted this man so fucking bad. I wanted to fuck until we couldn't fuck anymore. He leaned forward, and our lips connected and we started to kiss and tongue each other passionately. His warm fresh breath filled my mouth lovingly as our tongues entwined.

“Roll over on your back, baby,” I said.

That smile James gave me . . . he knew what was up. He did so quickly, and his erection stood erect like a flagpole. I made my way down to his stomach, kissing him soothingly until my mouth came across his manhood. And I gulped him down like fine wine. I tried to take all of the dick in my mouth, deep-throating him, but the most I could take in was seven inches of his erection. But the way my man moaned, whined, and quivered, clutching the sheets, I knew my head game was on point. I was sucking my man's dick until his forehead caved in.

“Baby, stop,” James pleaded. “You gonna make a nigga come up in your jaw, you keep suckin' me like that.”