Prison Throne (22 page)

“So I guess ya’ll niggas believe in shooting the messenger?” He tried to joke around.

The crowd was tough.

Nobody even chuckled.

When he focused back on Rasim he was staring into the eyes of a killer.

Angry that Montana assumed that they were cool enough for him to discuss his wife, Rasim rocked the nigga’s chest plate until he was fifty shades of red. When he wanted a break, Shawn kicked him repeatedly in the chin while Parker took to mopping him on the floor.

Even Stanley got himself a free kick in, although he pretended as if it was because Montana was in his way.

The entire ordeal took less than two minutes and when Rasim was sure the coast was clear, they released Montana. Amazingly, he was able to walk out of Rasim’s cell alive and in a daze. But the next morning when it was time for roll call he would be found dead in his sleep.

****

              Rasim was on the yard with his son who decided that today was the day that he would talk to the man he believed was his father. The wire holding his jaw in place was removed and he was ready to use his lips. Not for snitching of course.

Shawn and Parker remained on guard, more perceptive than ever. It was quite unnecessary though because in the short time Rasim had been in prison one man received a fractured jaw and became his personal bitch, and the other died due to bleeding on the brain.

Wasn’t nobody trying to fuck with Rasim. He carried his legend inside with him and had activated it even though it wasn’t his plan.

             
Rasim was standing in the yard with an evil glare. Slowly Stanley raised his head and said, “I’m sorry about your wife.”

             
Rasim was about to crunch his jaw again until he looked to the right and realized he was staring into his own face…he was staring at his son. “Thank you,” he said under his breath.

             
Truthfully, with Snow gone he didn’t think he could do a year. Had he thought he would lose his wife, he would’ve never stepped a foot inside of that bitch. At least that’s what he told himself. He even wrote a letter questioning her about the nigga at the grocery store but she never responded.

             
“Can I talk to you? In private?” Stanley asked boldly.

             
There wasn’t shit going on in the yard so Rasim adjusted the Kufi on his head, rubbed his beard and said, “Come on.”

             
The four of them strutted to his cell as if on a mission. Parker and Shawn remained on the outside while Rasim and his son stayed inside.

             
Rasim flopped on the bottom bunk and clasped his hands in front of him as he looked up at him and waited for his question.

“Why don’t you want to be my father?” Stanley uttered. “I know you are my dad. I knew from the time I first saw your face. And my mama told me too.”

              Rasim hopped up and got so close to Stanley that Stanley could smell the remnants of the meat Rasim had for breakfast. He stabbed a stiff finger in his chest so hard it throbbed. “I told you once but I’m not going to tell you again,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “I am not your fucking father. If you say it again…just once more…the way I feel right now, I will hurt you.”

             
“But your face…you look li—”

             
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rasim screamed in his face, splashing him with spit crystals. “Didn’t you hear what I just said, lil nigga? I said I’m not your fucking father!”

Fuck wrong with this youngin?
He thought.

This was the last thing he needed.

Stanley looked into his pupils. He could see the tiny red veins in his eyes and his heart pumped. “Nothing is wrong I just want—,”

             
“What? Me to be your father?” He gave him the slow glare from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet and back. He rocked slowly. “You lucky you not on your knees sucking my dick right now, young boy.” He gripped his stick. “What would make you think even if you were my blood that I would have you as a son? A fucking snitch? Naw, homie, you could never have my last name.” Rasim pushed him with both hands so hard he bounced against the wall.

             
If Rasim was acting, he was doing a good got damn job.

             
Stanley ran out of the room and Rasim was about to follow him because he didn’t allow him to go anyplace without him. But his body was so heavy with the loss of Snow that he flopped to the bed instead.

             
“Want me to go after him?” Parker leaned his head in and asked.

             
Rasim threw his face into his hands. “No. Let him rock out.”

             
Parker nodded and held the line.

****

The visiting hall was bustling thanks to Mindy’s miraculous change of heart. More attractive women were allowed to meet with their loved ones and it was all because Snow orchestrated the proper beat down. When the battered C.O. returned, she decided to retire her hating ways. The last thing she wanted was to see a wolf sighting again. The females put more damage on her body than she could stand. Mindy knew she couldn’t take another bout in the hospital.

             
Rasim was sitting in a plastic orange chair next to Queen but he might as well had stayed in his room. He was hunched over and staring out into the visiting hall at nothing in particular. Ironically, he did bear an amazing resemblance to the jeans Snow threw on the floor in her shop that day.

No movement.

No life.

Snow knew her husband. That was for sure.

              “Rasim, are you okay?” Queen asked frustrated at not receiving any attention.

             
Rasim did not hear a word she said.

             
“Rasim,” she said louder, “are you okay?”

             
Rasim flapped his eyelids and turned around to face her. “Let me ask you something.” He pointed at her and his finger brushed against her nose. “You sure you didn’t tell my wife about us?” he glared. “Because I would kill you if you did. You do know that, right?”

             
Queen sat back in the hard plastic seat and folded her arms over her breasts. She was trying to be strong but her ass cheeks were clamped together to prevent from shitting in her thong. “Why do you keep asking me about that?” she frowned. “I’m sick of coming down here every week to see you only to not be appreciated.” She stared directly into his eyes. “If you keep this up, I’m not coming back anymore.”

             
“Did you tell my wife about us?” he repeated, fully expecting the right answer.

             
“No, Rasim,” she said with her tongue fluttering around again. It was obvious that she was not on his mind. “But I do know she’s moved on.”

             
She turned away from him, thinking the matter was over when he gripped her arm, reducing the blood pressure in that particular limb.

             
“Nami!” Officer House yelled from across the room. “Hands off of that visitor!”

             
He slowly peeled his hands off of her flesh.

             
“Another move like that and the visit is over,” he continued.

             
Rasim didn’t give a fuck. He wanted this bitch to clarify her statement and after that she could go about her skanky way. “Queen, what do you mean she’s moved on?”

             
“Rasim, I don’t want to get involved—”

             
“Bitch, you already involved,” he yelled. “Now what the fuck you talking ‘bout?”

             
Queen knew that if she didn’t give him the full story he could care less about the C.O. and would place his palms around her neck. By the time the officers got to him, her beating heart would be break dancing on the floor. “I don’t know much.” She shrugged. “I will say that she’s moving in with some dude she met a while back. That’s all I know.”

             
A while back?

             
What the fuck?

             
Half of Rasim wanted to cry and the other half wanted to die. His wife, his precious wife was with another man and he couldn’t fathom it in his mind. It was like reading a book full of Chinese script. He simply wasn’t fluent in that particular language.

How was it possible for Snow…innocent Snow…to authorize another man to touch her body, to kiss her lips, to hold her when she knew full well that she belonged to him? It was like the nigga robbed him at gunpoint. What type of bullshit was that?

              Rasim moved uneasily in his seat and stood up. He didn’t want to talk to that bitch anymore. It wasn’t personal; it was just cold hard facts. What they had was over anyway. It wasn’t like he could fuck her.

So he strutted to the C.O. and said, “I’m ready to go back to my cell.”

              “Well you have to wait. It’s not—”

             
Rasim cut him off with a cold glare. Either he walked him back to the block or he would hurt somebody or something to get a rougher escort. At any rate, the visit was over.

             
Officer House knew when a prisoner was on the verge of a breakdown and he didn’t want to taunt him and showcase his authority. Rasim was a respectful man. So he escorted him to his block without confrontation.

             
Rasim didn’t give Queen the common courtesy of even saying goodbye. He couldn’t even remember what she was wearing. It was as if she were never there. As if she never existed.

             
Unfortunately for Rasim, when he made it back to his cell he was awarded with more bad news.

Shawn and Parker slowly walked into his cell. Shawn opened his mouth to talk to Rasim but the words wouldn’t come out, so he turned around and hung in the doorway instead.

Parker looked back at his friend and then at Rasim. He realized it was up to him to bear the cross alone. “Rasim, I gotta talk to you, man.”

             
“What’s up?” he asked with wide eyes. He could tell whatever it was it was going to be bad.

             
“Some nigga name Terry stabbed Stanley an hour ago,” he whispered. “He said he looked like you. Like the last time he saw your face when you killed some nigga name Levi.”

             
“Where is my son?” Rasim roared.

             
“In the infirmary. They saying he might not make it.”

****

Rasim hung in front of the mosque within the prison. He wanted to walk inside and ask Allah for help but he didn’t know how. Where would he start? He never bothered to rap to Him before.

             
An older Muslim saw Rasim pacing and stood up and reached out his hand to pull him in. Rasim was so broken down that his legs could barely move so he could use the help. So much happened in his life that he realized he couldn’t do it alone. It was out of his hands. It was time to surrender.

             
“How can I help you, young brother?” the man asked, seeing the despair on his face.

             
He was an old black man with a baldhead and bushy grey eyebrows. He turned his life over to Allah ten years ago when he accidently killed a child. He had been doing time and God’s work ever since.

             
“I just need…I just need to pray.” His voice was so high pitched it was cracking.

             
“Would you like my help?”

             
Rasim nodded.

             
“I take it you want to ask for Allah’s assistance in your life?”

             
Rasim nodded again.

             
“Okay, you’re going to prostrate by placing your forehead on the ground to show humility and submission before Allah.” He paused and eased on his knees to demonstrate. “Come down here, young man. Let me show you.”

             
Rasim eased down.

             
“Good. Now place your hands on the floor and then your forehead.”

             
Rasim followed instructions like a G.

             
“Good. Now repeat after me.
Glory be to my Lord, the most High
.”

             
Rasim repeated the precious words.

             
“Okay now I’m going to give you some privacy. I want you to take the time to ask Allah for what troubles your soul. And when you’re done, sit on your legs for a few seconds and prostrate again. Allah will hear your call. He always does.”