Sinful (9 page)

Marvin ran down the giant's rationale, thinking why he should tell them anything about this private life; then he factored in the ridiculousness of his current plight. He was in midst of a pantless terror-wielding tyrant and his court, all awaiting his response. Marvin couldn't see himself still standing there once the man finished his business and then proceeded to get up, so he answered, although with an ounce of trepidation, “Man, they picked me up on some bull—”

“Yeah, you and me too. So, what did they bust you on?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

“Domestic abuse,” Marvin sighed, so quietly no one was sure what he said.

“Come again, college boy?”

“I said they brought me in on domestic abuse.” No one made a sound for a few seconds, then as if on cue, the entire cell erupted into riotous clamor. Marvin didn't understand it until the laughter subsided.

“No disrespect, college boy, it's just that we all thought you said you got popped for beating on your old lady.”

“Uh-huh, some bull—”

“Move back, college boy,” his majesty huffed finally. “I figured you for a meth' dealer out in the suburbs. We already got three of those, two armed robberies, a whole bunch of grand-theft autos, and one assault with a deadly weapon.” The way everyone was staring at Marvin, he knew who the most serious crime belonged to before the tyrant claimed it. “I'll be sent up tomorrow if that dude I shanked don't make it out of surgery. He should have kept to mail handling instead of trying to backdoor my old lady. She's got us both facing life now. Mine for his.” Marvin's eyes dimmed when he heard the bully gasp to keep from bawling. He waved Marvin away, dismissing him once and for all.

Three detention officers appeared just after midnight. They came to segregate the tyrant for early transportation when his victim died on the operating table. He didn't fuss when they shackled his hands and feet with chains, but he did take a minute to say his good-byes. “Don't ever let your love for no female get your freedom papers revoked, college boy,” he said jokingly to Marvin, who stood instinctive as a salute.

“All right, then,” he answered solemnly. “Take care up there.” Not that Marvin knew exactly where up there happened to be, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

Not another word was spoken throughout the night. Those who couldn't sleep traded uncomfortable glances and an unexplainable level of sadness for the man who intimidated them. A death row inmate was hailed as a man among boys in the joint, and they were there to witness his rise into the big time, an honor that no one aspired to.

A
s soon as the breakfast wagon made its run, Marvin gobbled up a runny egg sandwich and cold sausage patties, which he was glad to have. He didn't even mind it when some of the other men teased how “college boy” had found his appetite. Marvin's stomach was satisfied, but his nerves had worn thin. Having Chandelle come and bail him out wasn't an option as far as he could see. She was the reason he'd been incarcerated among felons and murderers. There had to be another way to turn.

The long line for telephone privileges provided him time to think. Who could he call to help him, he wondered, with enough money to make a difference? Five minutes before his turn came, so did his answer. Marvin discovered a piece of paper stuffed in his back right pocket. He hated to put someone in an extremely awkward position, but having to deal with Chandelle before he was ready weighed in as an ugly alternative. After flicking the small rectangular card over and over again in his hand, he lifted the phone receiver and made a collect call that changed his life.

With a long line of inmates stacked behind him, Marvin punched the numbers in a slow, methodical manner. He didn't think he'd get an answer, but the third ring proved him wrong. “Marvin,” he announced, when prompted by the automated operator to do so. Suddenly, his face softened when he heard her voice. “Who, Felton?”

“No, it's Marvin Hutchins this time. I don't know why I'm here, but I am. No, I've never been locked up before. Huh?” he said, turning to glance at the men trying to listen in. “It's hard to go into right now. So, you know I don't have a lot of time on this phone, but you're gonna make me come with it.”

Marvin had no choice if he wanted a shot getting her assistance. It was a discussion worth having despite its disparaging nature. “Okay, me and Chandelle got into it over me working so much and hanging out to blow off a little steam. Playing around got out of hand and the neighbors called the law. No, I didn't hit her,” he explained fervently. “I've never hit a woman and I'm not trying to start now. I don't know what to do. We have about three grand in savings after the down payment on the house, but that won't get a decent lawyer.” There was an interruption on the line, a beep signaling there were only ten seconds left before the call terminated. “Look, they're saying I gotta get off, but thanks for accepting the charge. I didn't know who else to call. Bye, Kim.”

Marvin stepped back from the phone, turned, and walked way. He'd learned from the attending CO that his case wasn't due to go before the judge to be arraigned until later that evening or on the morning of the following day because the men arrested ahead of him were awarded earlier appearance slots. Prepared to sit and wait, Marvin was surprised when an officer walked up to the cell door before lunch and called his name.

“Marvin Hutchins, you're up.”

“Whaaaat?” came from every direction at once from the others booked before Marvin. “I've been here since Friday night,” one of the men protested.

“And me since Saturday morning,” another yelled.

“He's on the fast track,” the detention office said, guessing mostly. “And you're not. So shut up and move back,” he warned when they crowded behind Marvin.

At a loss for words, Marvin shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, fellas,” he muttered.

“Yeah right,
college boy,
” someone heckled from the pack of usual suspects.

Marvin walked in front of the man who'd arrived just ahead of the baloney sandwiches. “Hey, man, can a brotha get a toothbrush before I see the judge?” he asked.

“What, are you trying to get a date? This is jail, homie. Funky breath comes with the territory.”

“I'll take that as a no,” Marvin concluded. When the officer scoffed at his question, Marvin felt foolish for asking it. “Thought so.”

“When we get inside, keep your mouth shut and don't do anything unless you're told. I'll hitch you to the chain and someone will unhook you to go in front of the judge.” Marvin nodded that he'd understood. “They told me a lady pulled some strings to get you kicked this soon. You must be somebody.”

Marvin entered the cluttered courtroom thinking how insignificant he had become in such a short time. Then he remembered how Chandelle's boss Grace was married to a high-priced lawyer. Wallace was likely his ace in the hole. Who else had the clout to get him pushed up in the chain gang wading pool? After Marvin had taken three steps toward the pew of detainees, all connected to a metal wire running through their handcuffs, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the rear of the room. Kim Hightower was sitting in the last row near the door. Chandelle wasn't there, blubbering like the remorseful wife he wanted her to be. There were no “please, let my man come home” theatrics like he'd imagined a million times throughout the night. Chandelle wasn't anywhere to be seen. On the other hand, Kim's hopeful smile warmed Marvin's heart.

Thirty minutes later, after hearing one defendant after the other plead not guilty for a myriad of crimes, it was Marvin's turn to add his as well. “I'm innocent, your honor,” he said, to the chagrin of the judge. Marvin's public defender, an overworked 28-year-old-almost giggled. The arraignment segment of the process had been the most boring and uneventful, so his comment was actually funny.

“We have a habit of letting juries decide that, Mr. Hutchins,” replied the balding man behind the broad bench. “A simple plea of guilty or not guilty are your options this morning, your only options.”

“Not guilty, sir,” Marvin said, as assuredly as he could.

“I figured as much,” replied the judge. “Mr. Hutchins's bail has been procured, I take it?”

A uniformed bailiff flipped pages on a clipboard before speaking up. “Yes, your honor. His papers are in order.”

“Good, we'll set a trial date and get back to you, Mr. Hutchins. You can come back then and meet the jury,” he joked. “Next case, Houston Escobar come on down.”

“Your judgeship, I'm innocent too,” the defendant shouted, as soon as he faced the judge's bench.

“Yeah, us too,” the row of chained inmates cackled like an off-key choir.

“Thank you, Mr. Hutchins,” the judge said sarcastically, as Marvin eased out of the side door with an armed guard trailing him.

The checkout process took less than fifteen minutes. Marvin signed some documents promising to appear for trial; then he had his wallet and keys returned to him in a manila envelope. Kim was pacing in the hall when he exited through the inmate release doors. “I don't know what to say,” Marvin told her.

“You've already said thank you over the phone,” she replied.

“No, not for this. I mean, I wasn't even supposed to be in court until maybe tomorrow. How did you pull that off?”

“You've forgotten.” Kim blushed, with a soft smile. “My brother Felton, remember. I've met a lot of good people down here. Some of them owe me.”

“Now I do, too. How can I pay you back?” he asked, calculating a payment plan in his mind. “Hold up, how does a bond work anyway?”

“You don't belong in here, do you?”

“God, I hope not. I've seen some things that I'm ashamed of.”

“Then I don't want to know anything about them,” Kim said, passing on the chance to play catch up. “I have a long day ahead of me, but I can make time to take you home.”

“I'm not ready to go there yet, but I could use a decent meal and a bath.”

“And…a tooth brush,” Kim quickly informed him. “Yep, kinda stale.”

Shamed, Marvin placed his hand over his mouth. “I know I'm busted right now, but I'm going to prove myself worthy of your trust and all you've done for me. Besides, you must have believed I was innocent or you wouldn't have stood up for me.”

“For one, it's not guilty. Two, you didn't strike me as the wife-beater type. I can usually spot those. Three, you sounded like you really needed a friend. And four, you and Chandelle seem like a happy couple. Despite whatever happened, and it's none of my business, you should get a real lawyer and patch things up with your woman.”

Again, Marvin found himself speechless and nodding his agreement. Only this time he wasn't so sure he really agreed. Chandelle's carelessness was the cause of his troubles, he reasoned. Her thoughtlessness put him face-to-face with a killer and in the debt of another woman. As far as he was concerned, his wife was zero-for-three. In no hurry to fight it out with Chandelle, Marvin called the apartment to see if she was there. “Hello,” Dior answered, groggily. She told him that her cousin went to work, then asked a barrage of questions. “Marvin, tell me how it went down? Did those police jack you up? You know Chandelle can't ever get no story right. Anyway, what are you doing already out of jail? Who bailed you this quick? Your boss? Was it your boss?” she asked repeatedly until he hung up the phone.

Dior was at it again when Kim's Escalade dropped him off at the apartment. She met him at the door with a shrewd leer. “Who's this?” she snapped, like a jealous lover.

“Nobody,” Marvin sighed, waving good-bye to Kim from his doorway.

“Then why are you waving bye-bye while
Nobody
is pushing her twenty-inch rims down the block?”

“Dior, I am not trying to have this conversation with you right now,” he argued, after closing the door.

“We'll see how much conversatin' Chandelle is going to be about having when I tell her about
Miss Nobody.
”

“Mind your own, Dior. This is married folks' business.”

“Yeah, I see, and it looks like
Nobody
has her nose stuck in it, too,” she challenged.

Marvin pitched a look so brazenly spiteful at Dior that she cowered back on the sofa. His brow wrinkled after she slinked against the cushions. “Oh, you're scared of me now.”

“I don't know Marvin,” Dior pouted. “I ain't never seen you like this and you did just get out of the clink for smacking Chandelle.”

“But I didn't…!” he yelled, before calming his voice. “This whole mess has got me twisted. I'm not sure what to think of me either. Tell Chandelle that I'm getting some clothes and staying in a hotel for a few days.” Dior nodded her head slowly, confirming that she'd pass the information on. “Sorry Dior,” Marvin apologized, for frightening her.

“I'm sorry too,” she whispered, as Marvin marched into the master bedroom and closed the door. “I didn't get to tell you that I got a job. You said I would land on my feet and I did. I came up on some money to get my place back too.” If she did have the chance to run it down to him, Dior would have omitted the part about her new gig being illegal. She wouldn't have received any “atta-girl” points for that, not from Marvin. He hated the idea of anyone going to jail. It was his worst nightmare, haunting him during the daytime, so he did what made sense in his head. He got a room at the Holiday Inn and fell into a very deep sleep on rented sheets far away from his misery.

Meanwhile, Chandelle spent all morning at her desk dialing extensions at the Dallas County Courthouse. “What do you mean he's not in the system?” Chandelle hollered. “I know he's in the…system because I'm the one who got him arrested. What? I'm his wife. I'm calling now to get him out,” she explained bitterly. “Yeah I'll hold. I don't see why not, I've been holding all day.”

“Chandelle, in my office now,” Grace ordered, after overhearing her phone conversation.

“Yes, Ma'am,” she said, while ending the call that'd taken several hours to land. She was close to finding Marvin and learning the particulars of his case, she thought, if she hadn't been discovered while doing it.

“Why didn't you tell me Marvin was in jail?” Grace fussed. “Ahh, why didn't you tell me you had him arrested? Ahh, what did he do that made you call the police on him? Ahh, why did you come into work when your husband is locked up in God knows where?”

Chandelle was afraid to speak, fearing that the company's junior partner had another question loaded to spring on her if she did. “I…I…”

“Speak up Chandelle, we've got to fix this.”

“I'mmmm so sorry!” Chandelle whined with tears flowing effortlessly from her eyes. “I didn't mean for anything like this to happen. I made a mistake.” Grace handed a box of tissues to Chandelle while she described how the episode began and ended with the police taking Marvin downtown to the county lockup, although she couldn't say for certain because no one knew exactly where he was. The group in his cell had yet to go before the judge but he wasn't on any of the afternoon or following day dockets.

Grace had heard enough. She slipped on her comfortable flats and called her husband's cell number. “Wallace, this is an emergency. Yes, I'm fine, Andre's fine and the baby's fine. We're all fine. However, I've just learned that Chandelle and Marvin are not fine. No violence was involved in what they'd gotten into, but the neighbors sent the police over to see about the noise. What? No, she told them that Marvin did cause the bruise on her leg, but not intentionally. Yep, that's when they took him.” Grace watched Chandelle knotting up into a ball of guilt. “Uh-uh, you stop feeling sorry for yourself. People make mistakes everyday. Let's just hope this is one we can unmake. No, honey, I wasn't talking to you. I was fussing at Chandelle. Okay, I'll have my phone with me. We're going there now to see about getting him out. What do you mean
be nice
. Of course I'll be nice.” Chandelle recognized the tight expression on Grace's face. It said loud and clear, “Chile, get your purse because I'm about to raise some Cain.”