The Reason Why (7 page)

Chino pulled her close. “I didn't want to tell you at first, but this whole thing was arranged. I paid your father a bride price.”

“Oh, really? And how much did I cost you?”

“Three chickens, two cows, two goats, and my favorite bull.”

“Damn, that's a high price for a bride.”

“You're African? Damn, I thought I was getting an Asian chick.”

Pam nudged Chino in his side and the two of them laughed. They walked for a bit without talking.

Chino finally spoke. “Pam, what is it you want to do? You know, like really
do
. What are you in college for, anyway?”

Pam thought for a moment. “Well, I'm a business major. I've always pictured myself running something. My mom always said I was an entrepreneur. I had lemonade stands every summer, all summer long growin' up.” Pam paused and laughed to herself. “I didn't even care about going to the pool or playing in the sprinklers. I was out there stackin' quarters!”

“Nickelin' and dimin' at an early age. I knew you were the one for me!” Chino bent over laughing, and Pam joined in.

“You know it!” she exclaimed.

Chino sucked in his breath. “If you had to run something starting now, a business, what would it be?”

“Hmm . . .” Pam considered her options. Two children burst suddenly between them, yelling excitedly about their next ride. A frustrated mother trailed behind them, carrying coats and cotton candy.

“Excuse me,” she said as she passed through the couple.

Pam smiled at the woman and watched as she caught up with her children, calling after them, telling them not to go too far.

“A salon,” Pam said finally.

“You wanna do hair for a living?” His eyebrows were raised. “
My
woman gets her hair and nails done. She ain't gone be standin' behind no one's back, pampering them!”

“Chino!” Pam swatted his shoulder. “I want to
run
the place. That's a whole lot different than shampooing!”

They came upon a booth with a shooting gallery. Chino guided her toward it.

“It's time for the general to do his thing!”

“What?”

“It's time for me to show off my shooting skills,” Chino told her. “You don't get to be a general without being able to bust some ass.”

Pam laughed. “You have too many titles for me.”

“I was a general, then I conquered Ohio and became the Duke of Columbus,” Chino explained.

“And a very active imagination,” Pam continued.

Chino lifted the rifle. “How much?”

“Five tickets,” the booth operator told him.

Chino pulled a wad of tickets out of his pocket, tore off five of them, and handed them to the operator.

“You shoot ten ducks, you get to pick from these stuffed animals,” the operator explained. “You shoot twenty, you get to pick from these.” He pointed to another group of stuffed animals. “You shoot thirty, you get to pick from these. Forty will get you anything on the top rack, and fifty you get to pick from over there behind that case.”

“What's the catch?” Pam asked.

“You only have five misses,” the operator told them. “Miss five times, and it's over, the gun cuts off.”

Chino peered through the sights of the electronic rifle and took aim. He waited for the first of the tiny automated ducks to roll by and then began to squeeze the trigger. Duck after duck quacked and fell to its side.

“Go, baby, go!” Pam clapped enthusiastically.

Chino continued to shoot, nearly earning a perfect score. He shot forty-eight ducks before the gun cut off on his fifth miss. Pam jumped up and down.

“How many did I get?” Chino asked.

“A whole helluva lot,” the operator told him. “I'll count the tickets up for you.”

“Which one you want?” Chino asked.

Pam shrugged. “I don't know.”

“How about that big-ass Winnie the Pooh bear over there?” Chino said to Pam, pointing.

“Yeah, that's a nice one.”

“Yo, give me that Winnie the Pooh,” Chino told the operator.

“Sorry, you needed fifty for that one.”

“Damn, how many did I get?”

“You got forty-eight.”

Chino reached into his pocket and pulled out some more tickets. Pam stopped him.

“That's okay, you don't have to do it again.”

“You sure?”

Pam nodded. “Yeah. Let's go ride some more rides.”

“Well, what does forty-eight hits get me?” Chino asked, determined to win Pam an animal.

“You can have pretty much anything, except the stuffed Winnie.”

“Fuck it, give me that big-ass Tigger then.”

“This one's my favorite,” the operator told Chino as he pulled down the gigantic stuffed animal.

“Yeah, Tigger is cool,” Chino confirmed.

“He's not as big as Winnie to snuggle up with, but he'll do,” the booth operator told them.

“I don't need that Winnie,” Chino said, grabbing Tigger
away from the operator. “I got my own Pooh to snuggle up with.”

Pam smiled.

“Ain't that right, Pooh Bear?” Chino asked.

Pam nodded. She liked the name. He was her Chino, and she was his Pooh. It was the first time anyone had given her a pet name. It made her feel really special.

“W
hat's up, kinfolk?” Chino said, greeting Fabian as he strolled into the house. Fabian had two trap houses that he used for business, where big-timers went to score. He was meeting up with his boy to conduct business.

“What up, my dude?” The two exchanged handshakes and a quick embrace.

“Your world, baby,” Chino told him. “I'm just a squirrel trying to get a nut.”

“Right . . . right,” Fabian confirmed. “Come on.” He led Chino to the kitchen where two of his business partners from LA awaited him.

“Sup y'all.” Chino spoke to the dudes sitting around the kitchen table where twenty kilos were stacked.

Chino lifted one and examined the red scorpion on the packaging. “What happened to the tarantula?”

“New supplier, baby boy!” Fabian said excitedly. “This shit is coming up from Texas. Thirteen-five a key.”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Chino told him.

“I'ma hook you up with a eighteen-five ticket.”

“Shit, bet!” Chino said.

“Hey, you remember Lupe and Pepe, don't you?” Fabian asked.

“Yeah,” Chino nodded, and shook each one's hand in turn. “What's happening, fellas?”

“Shit, long-ass drive,” Lupe told him. “I'm about to get outta this muthafucka and go get some sleep.”

“Hell, yeah!” Pepe agreed, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Damn, you short today.” Chino examined the pile on the table.

“Man, you crazy,” Fabian told him. “You just late, kinfolk. I done already moved thirty of these things.”

“Damn, what was it, a fifty stack?”

“You know it!” Fabian said, holding up his hand.

“All right, you the man!” Chino said, shaking his hand once again.

“You muthafuckin' right, I'm the man.” Fabian grinned. “With this new connect, I can come up strong within a few months. A few months I'll be out of this shit for good!”

“Damn, you thinking about getting out?” Chino asked.

“That's the object of the game, holmes,” Fabian told him. “Get what you need and get the fuck out. Don't make a career of this shit. I'm trying to sit on a coupla mil so I can bust out in a “fat ass” crib, some “tight ass” whips, open my own business, and never have to worry about shit for the rest of my life.”

“Sounds like a winner,” Chino said, nodding.

“Take my advice, bro. Get your money, and get the hell out the game.”

“When I get to where you are, then I can talk about getting out,” Chino said with a smile.

Suddenly a loud noise resonated from the living room. It sounded like glass and wood shattering, then came a barrage of voices.

“Police!” several voices shouted from the living room. “This is a narcotics search warrant!”

Pepe raked the keys off the table into a metal bucket of acid that they had sitting next to it. A couple of the kilos burst open, scattering powder as they struck the corner of the bucket. The vast majority of the kilos landed inside the large vat of acid and dissolved instantly.

“Let me see your hands!” “Hands!” a second officer shouted. “Get down on the ground!” yelled the first officer to enter the kitchen.

Chino held his hands up. “Damn!”

“Slowly, with your hands above your heads, turn around!” the first officer shouted.

Chino, Fabian, Pepe, and Lupe all turned around, leaving their backs to the officers.

“Get down on the ground!” another officer commanded.

Chino dropped down to his knees, with his hands held high above his head. Suddenly he felt his wrists being cuffed.

“You gentlemen are under arrest,” one of the masked officers told them. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You
have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

One of the officers turned Chino around. “Do you understand your rights?”

“Yeah, man.”

The officer turned Pepe around. “Do you understand your rights as they have been read to you?”

“Sí!”
Pepe confirmed.

An officer turned Lupe and Fabian around. “Do you understand your rights?”

Lupe nodded but Fabian spoke.
“No habla Inglese.”

The officer's masked face looked at Fabian. He could tell by the squint of his eyes that he made the officer mad.

“We need a Spanish-speaking officer in here!”

“Right here!” one of the masked officers said, walking over to Fabian.
Tu hablas español?
”

“Portuguese,” Fabian confirmed, smiling.

“He speaks Portuguese,” the Spanish-speaking officer told his counterparts.

“This muthafucka speaks English,” one of the masked undercover officers declared. “He's just trying to bullshit us. Fabian, you know yo ass speaks English!”

“Who do we got here, gentlemen?” another masked plainclothes officer asked.

“We got our target. Quintanilla is here, so are the two drivers, and we got Christonos here as well.”

Another officer scooped some of the wasted powder into a test tube and shook it. The blue liquid inside the tube turned red. “We got a positive for cocaine here!”

The officers cheered.

“Quintanilla, Fabianico, is going away for a long time!” one of the officers declared.

“We got trace residue in the van as well,” the other officer chimed in. “We can connect the two drivers to the conspiracy. Bring me Christonos.”

Two officers grabbed Chino and led him into the next room. A chair was brought in behind him, and he was shoved into it.

The officer bent down and stuck his face in Chino's. Chino could see the officer's day-old stubble sprouting from his face. “Your partners are going away for a long time,” one of the undercovers told him. “You're in a shitload of trouble too. The only question is how much trouble. I'm going to give it to you straight with no chaser. You have two choices. One, you can get a little bit of time by helping us out, or you can get a lot of time by not helping us out. But let me tell you this, it's time to help yourself. Those guys in the other room, they're going away regardless. We just need you to fill in the blanks for us on some things. We want to know how much they had, how often those guys brought the drugs, where they came from, and who has been sending the drugs up here to Columbus. Help us out with that and we'll tell the judge that you cooperated, and we may even work you a supersweet deal where you walk with just probation.”

Chino laughed in their faces.

“What's funny?” The officer asked. “I didn't say anything funny.” He turned to the other officers. “Did you say something funny?”

“Nope,” the older officer replied, “but what's funny is this
nigga right here going away for a long time. You son of a bitch!” the officer shouted at Chino. “Let's get that straight right now! You can do a lot of time, or no time at all. It's your choice!”

“I want a lawyer,” Chino said calmly.

“You ain't getting no fucking lawyer, you black muthafucka!” the officer shouted.

“Fuck you!” Chino shouted.

“Fuck me? No, fuck you!” The officer swung and struck Chino in his jaw. “Talk, you black muthafucka!”

“Fuck you!” Chino shouted.

“Where are the drugs coming from?” the officer said, striking Chino again.

“Fuck you!” Chino shouted.

“How much did they have?” the officer said, striking Chino again. This time, blood flew from Chino's lip.