Two Thin Dimes (17 page)

Jamaica nodded. “That's right! So you know that I didn't come here to fistfight you. I'm not from the ghetto, the hood, the Courts, or whatever the hell you want to call them. But you know what, I wish I was. I've met more people there with…with fortitude, dignity, and more class than you'll ever have! How dare you lord your life over your son! How dare you tell him that this cheap, material shit, is more precious to you than his life! How dare you tell him that he is not wanted! I want him! And you know what? Bitch, I can buy you, and I still want him!”

Jamaica unfolded her arms, and extended her finger into Cherice's face. “There are ways to say things to people, and there are ways to tell things to people. You had no right saying those things to him like that. No right! But I'm glad that you left them, because Mr. Harris was able to raise two of the most wonderful men I have ever met. And while we're on the subject, I'm glad that you left Mr. Harris. He's too good for you! He had more dignity, more class, and more kindness and sincerity in his little pinky finger, than you have in your whole damn body!”

With that, Jamaica turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned Cherice Harris in silence. Cherice turned, and slowly sat back down onto her pillow-top mattress, her mind, focusing on what she had just been told. She was staring at the floor when Jamaica stuck her head back through the bedroom door.

“And I'm calling the fashion police too! White, this far after Labor Day? I don't think so!”

J
amaica sat inside of the car and held Tameer for over an hour, before they finally left from in front of his mother's house. She caressed his head, and she sang to him, while wiping away his tears. When finally they left the residence, they decided to head straight to Oakdale, Louisiana, home of Federal Correctional Institute Oakdale. F. C. I. Oakdale, in turn, was home to Paul Jon Luc Rochelle, or P.J., for short. P. J. Rochelle was Jamaica's father.

Jamaica and Tameer rented a room in one of the town's many cheap motels. Oakdale, like many other small prison towns, was filled with them. The town was host to many things; prisons, guards, and inmates weren't the only inhabitants. They shared the community with mosquitoes, alligators, and encroaching swamp, and thick, walking globs of humidity.

F. C. I. Oakdale was a large institution. It housed over twelve-hundred inmates, and consisted within its razor-sharp, wire fences, was a virtual city. The institution was flanked on all sides by massive armed guard towers, staffed by trained sharpshooters. The perimeter of the institution was constantly patrolled by roving pairs of trucks, which circled constantly, like buzzards around a carcass. This institution was for the big boys. The sight of it all, made Jamaica shiver.

Tameer's and Jamaica's entrance into the prison, transferred them into another world. The guards wore white button-down shirts, with gray slacks, burgundy neckties, and dark-blue sports coats. The prisoners were clothed in dark-brown work suits, with their last names and inmate numbers sewn over their shirt pockets.

The visitation room was fairly large, about fifty feet by seventy feet. Its walls were stark, as they were covered in a dull, non-reflective white. The floors of the room fared no better, as they were covered by thin, well-worn, brown industrial carpeting. The walls were lined with snack machines, interspersed with soda, and change machines. The microwave ovens, water fountains, and restrooms occupied only the right wall, which they shared with the trash receptacles, and the painted backdrop for the numerous family photos which were taken during the five-day visitation week. A massive, large-screen television set off to itself against the far wall of the room, and it had already attracted a large and still growing audience. It was tuned to a cartoon station.

The room itself was a cacophony of people talking, children playing, and babies crying. Tameer and Jamaica chose an area to the far of the room, near the rear, where they waited patiently for her father.

When P.J. entered into the room, he was recognized instantly. She never could have forgotten his rotund appearance, his pale skin, and his large, round jowls. His features set him apart from most others. P.J.'s fat cheeks were splattered with massive brown freckles, and his ever-ready smile was deemed by many, to be wider than the Mississippi River, where he played as a boy. His hair was long, thick, wavy, and jet-black. He wore it slicked back over his head and allowed it to hang freely down his shoulders. Like his daughter's eyes, his were of the light-green, emerald-colored variety. They were alive, bright, sparkling. P.J.'s eyes were eternal.

Jamaica quickly stood, and waved for her father to come over.

“Daddy! Daddy!” She bounced slightly, smiling as she called to him. P.J. frowned at first. Then, he quickly tuned and looked behind himself. Seeing no one to his rear, he turned back toward Jamaica. His eyes flew wide. He couldn't believe it, it was his little girl. P.J.'s smile grew wider, with each of his steps toward Jamaica, until finally they embraced.

P.J. was a large man, he easily lifted his daughter into the air and twirled her around.

“What in heaven's sake are you doing here?” he asked. His accent was thick, syrupy, Cajun. It bordered on Patois.

“I snuck here,” Jamaica answered. “Mommy doesn't know.” P.J. nodded. “I know your Mammy doesn't know, cuz, gal, she'd tan yo hide!”

Tameer could barely follow their conversation. P.J. sounded as if he were from the islands. His broken English was spoken in rapid-flowing, almost melodic tones. It seemed to be a combination of French, island Creole, and Louisiana Cajun speak, but oddly spoken in English words. He was shocked to hear Jamaica use some of the same kinds of words that her father was using, and even more shocked that she could understand what her father was saying.

P.J. waved to the cheap, plastic chairs that surrounded the equally cheap plastic table.

“Bunny, have seat,” he told her.

Tameer's eyes met Jamaica's.
Bunny?
he mouthed to her with a smile.

“Forget you heard that,” she told him. She turned back to her father. “Daddy, this is Tameer.”

Tameer extended his hand, and P.J. took it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rochelle.” P.J.'s forceful grip caused Tameer's expression to change slightly.

“Good to meet ya, son, the name's P.J. Everybody calls me P.J. The warden calls me P.J., the judge calls me P.J., the governor calls me P.J., the president calls me P.J., hell, the Speaker of the House calls me P.J., and I don't even like her!”

It made them all smile. P.J. turned to Jamaica. “What in the hell brought you down here, Bunny? I mean, it's a blessin', but it's a surprise blessin'.”

“Daddy, I've always wanted to come and see you. Mommy just wouldn't…” P.J. nodded and smiled. “I know, Bunny, your Mammy wouldn't let you.” He reached out and caressed his daughter's face. “It's alright. Bev thought she was doing right. Now, don't you go an' hold it against yo mammy. She just wanted to protect you, from all a my bad doings.”

Jamaica nodded. “I know, Daddy, she told me some things, but she kept some things secret.”

P.J. knew what his daughter was getting at. Like any normal person in this situation, she had questions. And he knew that she deserved answers. P.J. leaned back carefully in the small, white, plastic chair, and placed his hands over his massive paunch.

“What all did Bev tell you?” he asked.

Jamaica looked over at Tameer, and then back at her father. She wished that Tameer weren't sitting right there with them. She was embarrassed about her family's history.

“Well, she told me that you were sentenced to thirty years, but that you would be out in twenty.”

It was more of a question than a statement. P.J. nodded in acknowledgment, and Jamaica continued.

“She told me that it was some investment scam, involving you, China's dad, and Germany's dad, and a whole lot of others.”

P.J. nodded again, this time interlacing his fingers, which remained rested on his paunch.

“Well, Bunny, I guess you're old enough now.” He exhaled forcibly. “Me, and a bunch of other fellows, including China's dad, Mickey Anderson…” P.J. paused, and squinted his eyes, while staring at Jamaica. “Do you remember your Uncle Mickey?” he asked her.

Jamaica nodded.

“Well, we all sold a lot of bad bonds. They called them junk bonds, Sweetie. Well, we got busted, and the Feds came after me, Mickey, Cameron, and Bruce real bad. They gave all the white boys who were doing it, a slap on the wrist, and they all got out a long time ago.”

“Why did they make you, Uncle Mickey, Uncle Bruce, and Cam do so much time?” Jamaica asked. She wanted her father home now. She wanted him home long ago.

P.J.'s easy smile appeared. “Well, Bunny, they also want some bad money that got laundered, and I wasn't givin' it up.” He sat up in his chair. “They let me keep the measly two hundred million from the junk bonds, but they wanted the two billion in laundered money from our friends down south, which they can't have. That money is now mines!”

The numbers made Tameer swallow hard. Jamaica leaned forward to speak intimately with her father.

“Daddy, did you really launder the bad money?” P.J. leaned back. “Of course I did! Everybody did it back then. Just because I invested my profits well, and they can't trace them, they are pissed off at me. I mean, that prosecutor was hotter than a hooker in a…well, let's just say he was mad, Sweetheart.” P.J. blushed.

“So when are you getting out?” Jamaica asked him.

“In about three, maybe four, years.” His smile appeared again. “I'm going to throw the biggest bash Switzerland has ever seen!”

It was now Jamaica who leaned back in her seat.

“Daddy, what do you know about Switzerland?” Jamaica had long thought that Switzerland belonged to her and her friends.

“Bunny, that's where a lot of the cash is. I was going to Switzerland before you were born. Why do you think your mother takes all them trips there?”

Jamaica's mouth flew open. “Mother's been helping you?”

“Of course!” P.J. told her. “Your mother loves me, we're partners. Jai, how do you think we paid for the karate lessons, the piano lessons, the singing lessons, Juilliard, the art lessons, the Porsche for your sixteenth birthday, the Ferrari for your high school graduation, the house in the Hamptons, the vacation home in Oak Bluffs, the apartment in Manhattan, the Château in Brittany, the town house in Paris, the ranch in Mexico, the…”

“Daddy!” Jamaica shouted. “How do you know all of these things!”

“Why, Bev,” P.J. told her, “Bunny, your mammy kept me up on everything you gals ever did. I got pictures of you from the day I left, up until your last con…”

Jamaica's hands flew to her father's mouth, and she quickly turned her head toward a confused Tameer.

“Could you go and use the restroom real quick?” she asked him. It was obviously a command.

Tameer nodded. He knew that she needed to speak to her father in private for a few moments, and he wouldn't deprive her of that. Besides, he needed to splash some water on his face, anyway. He was not bewildered by Jamaica's hands over her father's mouth, but by P.J.'s wealth. Yeah, a splash of water would suit him just fine, he thought. Quietly, he rose, and departed for the restroom.

Jamaica removed her hands from her father's mouth, and again, P.J. smiled.

“That was absolutely the sweetest hand that I have ever tasted,” he told her. Together, P.J. and Jamaica shared a laugh. He turned to the restroom door, which Tameer entered.

“He doesn't know about you, does he?” P.J. asked.

Jamaica shook her head. “No.”

“He brought you down here from New York?”

“Texas.”

“Texas!” P.J. exclaimed loudly. “What in the…”

“It's a long story, Daddy,” Jamaica interrupted. “I'll tell you some other time, I promise. Please don't tell him.”

P.J. leaned back inside the chair, and shifted his marblelike eyes toward the ground.

“Hmmmm, some other time?” He glanced up at Jamaica. “Does that mean I'm going to get more visits from my Bunny?”

“At least once a month.” She nodded slowly. “Nothing can keep me from you now, Daddy.”

Jamaica rose, and hugged her father tightly. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Bunny.”

Jamaica sat back down, and quietly began to study her father. She resembled him in many ways, yet in many ways she also resembled her mother.

P.J. smiled at her. “Bunny, I think that you are one of the luckiest people on earth.”

“Why is that, Daddy?”

“Because, if that there fella likes you, and he don't even know that you are some big star, then you have a chance at true love.”

It made her smile.

“He loves me, Daddy, and I love him.”

P.J. slapped his knee. “Then it's a match!”

Tameer exited the restroom wiping his hands. He quickly made his way across the room, and rejoined them.

“Is it okay for me to come back now, Bunny?” he whispered into Jamaica's ear.

Jamaica pinched him on his side. “You call me that again, and I'll punch you.”

P.J. reached over, and slapped Tameer across his knee. “So, young man, what are your intentions with my baby?”

It made Jamaica smile.

Tameer swallowed hard. “Well, sir…I mean, P.J., I really love Jamaica. I want her to be a part of my life forever.”

It was a decent answer, P.J. thought to himself. The kid's a charmer. It didn't matter anyway, charmer or no charmer, Bunny was in love. P.J. shifted his glance toward his daughter.

“Well, that's wonderful. Has Bev set to making wedding arrangements?”

Jamaica squirmed. “Well, Daddy, she hasn't met Tameer yet.” P.J. broke out into a bellowing laughter, as he thought of Bev's face when Jamaica finally took this boy home to meet her.

“Well…,” P.J. said to Jamaica. “You be sure to have a camera ready when you break the news to Bev. That is an expression I certainly must see!”

After several more chuckles, P.J. turned to Tameer. “Where are you from?”

“San Antonio,” Tameer answered uncomfortably.

“Texas, I see,” P.J. replied. He now knew for sure that Tameer was in trouble. The fact that he was not from New York, would be a major strike against him.