White Lines (53 page)

Jada showed her all the money she had just gotten from Chance. She told Ingrid that she had taken that money for her and her unborn baby. But in her head, Jada knew that she had taken it for another reason. She knew that she would be going to get high that night, and she didn’t want to take all that money with her. She knew that she would spend every last dime if she did.

Ingrid listened to Jada’s story in silence.

She asked Ingrid to hold some of the money for her until she came back for it. Jada gave her five grand for doing her that favor. Then she put fifty-five thousand dollars of it in a bag, and gave it to Ingrid for safekeeping. Jada trusted Miss Ingrid, partly because of how she had talked to Jada when Born put her out. She had a motherly quality about her that didn’t end with her own child. Ingrid mothered everybody, and that was one of the reasons why she was so loved by all those who knew her. She had always been so nice to Jada. And most of all, Ingrid was her only option. There was no one else whom Jada could trust. She trusted that Ingrid wouldn’t spend all the money, because Jada knew she had her own money. Ingrid was a hustler, and so was her son. Jada knew that she was accustomed to seeing that kind of dough. Ingrid promised her that every dime would be there when she came back for it, and then she touched Jada’s hand and spoke to her from her heart.

“Baby, you got another life to think about now. It ain’t just you no more. You got a baby on the way, and you owe it to that child to do right. It’s time for you to get your act together. You’re a beautiful girl, and you got too much going for you to throw your life away so young.”

Jada told Ingrid that she would think about what she had said. But she knew that she wouldn’t think about it much. Jada left with fifteen thousand dollars, and went straight to West Brighton and copped from some niggas on Broadway. She headed back to Brooklyn, and rented herself a room. Then Jada got high for three straight days. She was fully aware of her pregnancy, but she didn’t care anymore. The high she experienced was powerful, but when she came down she felt like the lowest piece of
shit. She got high again and again to avoid facing reality. Jada stayed in that room from sun up to sundown. She was in outer space somewhere. But then she ran out of crack, and she went to Flatbush Avenue to cop some more. That’s when it all came to an end.

Jada had thought that being in Brooklyn would put her out of Ja-mari’s reach. She knew that he wasn’t familiar with her part of town, and she thought she had gotten away. But when she went to Flatbush to score more crack, Jada’s exchange with the dealer was witnessed by some plainclothes cops. She was under arrest, yet again, and headed back to jail. The
Daily News
ran a story, and that was it. Jamari knew where to find her, but he still had no idea what she had done with the cocaine.

By the time Jada went to court, Jamari was in the courtroom staring at her like she was a piece of shit. Jada knew he was in trouble with Elliot. And to be honest, she hoped that Elliot would kill him.

After her indictment, Jamari came to see her down in the pens. Jada had no idea who he knew or how he got down there to see her, but he came. He walked up to the bars, and Jada was glad that they were there to shield her. She could see the fire in his eyes.

Jamari was so angry that he was trembling. He stared at her for several long and silent moments before he spoke. “My nigga Wizz came to me, and asked me why I was trying to play him. I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. The nigga said that I got more than what I was supposed to get. He thought I was trying to cut him out of a deal. See, Elliot called Wizz and told him about the shit you pulled. Wizz thought that I was in on it with you, and he came to see me. Me and him were supposed to be partners, and I go and double the take and don’t tell him nothin’?! He was pissed off and ready to do me in. But then I told him that you never came back with the shit. I was confused, because I thought you got hurt, or got bagged, or something. I told him that I ain’t know what the fuck he was talking about. He thought I was being underhanded, and all the while it was you! That nigga called me a sneak thief, told me that I’m the type to wait till a nigga’s guard is down and his back is turned before they take from him. That’s the reputation I got now, thanks to you. And on top of everything, now I gotta hide until I
find a way to pay Elliot for that shit. How could you do this shit to me, Jada?”

Jada stared at him, coldly. “You did it to Born, didn’t you? It was my time to shine,” Jada said, mimicking Jamari’s own explanation for his betrayal of his former friend.

Jamari looked at her like he hated her. “Where’s it at, Jada? Tell me what you did with it.”

“Fuck you.” Jada folded her arms across her chest.

Jamari stared at her with contempt. “You better tell me what you did with the shit, because my life is on the line here, Jada. I didn’t do nothing to you to deserve this.”

Jada smirked. “Sure you did. You
used
me to get back at Born, and you didn’t tell me the whole story until you had me in a position where I was stuck and couldn’t leave. You never cared about me. I was just a part of your plan for revenge. Now Born will probably never speak to me again, and you
know
that was your intention all along! I’m not telling you shit! The cops took the drugs. Just like they took the bail money that you had for Born that time.”

Jamari pounded on the bars, causing Jada to step back in fear. “I swear I’ll get you back for this. I swear I will. This shit ain’t over, Jada. Everything you love, I’m gonna take it from you. Everything. One by one.”

“Fuck you.” Jada said it calmly, and then went and sat back down on the bench in the cell.

Jamari nodded his head. He stared at her, still nodding, and said, “Okay. I’ll see you again soon. Real soon.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Jada to await her transport back to prison. She didn’t give a damn about Jamari or his troubles. At the moment, her only focus was on getting out of jail.

Strangely, the whole situation with Elliot was resolved in the most unexpected way. Jamari and Wizz knew that their days were numbered. Elliot had put a price on their heads, and the word was out that if someone could find Jamari or Wizz they would be generously compensated. This wasn’t just business. It was personal. And both Wizz and Jamari knew that Elliot would surely kill them as soon as he got the chance. Ninety
thousand dollars had been taken from him, and somebody was going to pay with their life.

But mysteriously, someone dropped dime on Elliot. Just as Born had been caught off guard with a law enforcement ambush, Elliot, too, was surprised with a DEA raid. The feds swooped down on him in huge numbers, after being tipped off by a confidential informant. But Elliot knew what fate awaited him. With the amount of narcotics he had in his possession, he would likely spend the rest of his life in prison. Elliot shot it out with the cops, alongside several of his boys. And he was killed. The newspapers touted the fact that a narcotics kingpin had been brought down, and Jada was sick to her stomach. She knew in her heart that Ja-mari’s punk ass had ratted Elliot out in order to avoid his wrath. And it didn’t take her long to come to the conclusion that he had probably done the same to Born. Jada cried for Elliot, feeling somewhat guilty that she had played a part in how everything had fallen apart. She wished that for all their sakes Elliot had survived and killed Jamari. It would have been perfect.

Jada was sentenced to eighteen months—nine months in prison, and nine months in court-mandated rehab. Her Legal Aid lawyer told her that she should be glad the judge had taken pity on her, because a lot of offenders were getting five years or more for having even small amounts of crack. She’d appeared before a sympathetic judge, whose own daughter was struggling with cocaine addiction. The judge had taken pity on Jada in her pregnant state, when a lot of judges would have sentenced her more harshly because of it. She was lucky. But Jada didn’t feel lucky at all. She was distraught.

She looked around the courtroom at her sentencing, wishing she would see a familiar face in the crowd. Her mother, Ava, Sunny—someone who cared about her. But there was no one, and Jada felt desperate to get out. All she wanted was to get out of jail, and get back to her money, so that she could get back to getting high.

While she was in jail they put her in a drug program. It was like being in rehab in jail. She went to talk to counselors, and to meetings and classes about drug abuse and what it does to an unborn baby. That’s
when she learned what she was really doing to her unborn child every single time she got high. They told Jada that once cocaine enters the baby’s blood and tissues, it stays way longer than it does in adults. Jada was getting high for maybe twenty minutes, while her baby would be high for more than an hour. Their undeveloped livers don’t filter the drugs that fast, and the drug gets broken down slower. Jada felt terrible for all the problems that her baby could have. She hadn’t felt guilty up until then, because she had been hoping that she’d have a miscarriage, so that she could rid herself of any traces of Jamari in her life—including the baby. But she hadn’t miscarried. And all throughout her seventh and eighth months of pregnancy, Jada was scared to death. She was worried about what her baby would go through because she had been so selfish.

Prison was not a new experience for Jada, so she knew to watch her back, and not run her mouth. Sometimes bitches would try to test her, and Jada got in her fair share of trouble. Some of the other incarcerated mothers would have given anything to be with their kids. And there Jada was—incarcerated for endangering her child’s welfare by abusing crack cocaine while in her last three months of pregnancy. She wasn’t a favorite among the other inmates. But for the most part, she managed to stay to herself, and she tried to mind her own business. She had enough to deal with in her own life, and had little time for the usual female “she said” shit.

Jada went into labor in August of 1999, at the end of her eighth month of pregnancy. They didn’t rush her to the hospital. They let her pace the jail for a while, until she couldn’t take the pain. This would be no easy delivery, where the pain was lessened by drugs. Instead, she felt every contraction, causing her to stop walking every few minutes, until the contractions subsided. Her water broke on the way to the hospital, and she had a police escort with her the whole time. They even shackled one wrist to the bed rail. Jada felt like an animal. But she stopped thinking about that whenever one of the contractions shook her. She was a mess in there, and she felt so much pain. There was one nurse—an Indian woman—who took pity on the poor young thing with no one to help her through the birth of her first child. The nurse held Jada’s hand
and talked to her nicely. She told her to breathe, and to relax between the pains. She probably never realized how much she helped Jada that night. But for Jada, the woman was a godsend. For months she’d become accustomed to C.O.s barking orders and inmates yelling obscenities. For once, it was just nice to have a soothing voice in her ear—especially at a time like this.

Sheldon Marquis Ford was born after putting Jada through ten hours of labor. He was so tiny and so fragile that Jada cried openly when she saw him for the first time. He weighed barely five pounds, and he was pale and scrawny. He cried so much, and they poked many needles into him, hooked him up to a machine, and put him in an incubator. As soon as Jada laid eyes on him, she fell in love.

Jada wanted to stay in that hospital for as long as possible so that she could be close to him. She faked aches and pains that she didn’t have, so that they wouldn’t release her to be returned to jail, and make her leave her baby in that hospital. From the moment she saw him, she stopped thinking of him as Jamari’s baby, and she saw him as her child. Her son.

Jada was determined that they wouldn’t put him in foster care, and she hated herself for what she’d done to him. But the saddest part for her was knowing that if she wasn’t in jail, she would have smoked crack again in order to escape that guilt. That was the point when she finally admitted to herself that she had a problem.

After four days, they told Jada that she was being released in the morning. There was a guard right outside her door. With no place else to turn, Jada called her mother. She had to do something. Jada placed the collect call, and was relieved when Edna accepted the charges. Jada told her the truth of how she’d gotten in trouble. She described how frail and small Sheldon was, and how she had named him after her father—the man in the five-by-seven picture she had stared at every single night before she fell asleep when she was a little girl. Edna listened, and Jada thought it sounded like her mother was crying. Jada begged her to come and get her baby, and help her keep him out of the system. Edna listened, and didn’t say anything for a long time before she answered.

Finally, she said, “Jada, this is terrible, and I’m sorry you gotta go
through this. But I can’t get involved in all this mess. God is in control, so you need to let him have his way. It sounds like your baby has the odds stacked against him already. I’ll do what I can to help you. But it sounds like it’s up to the authorities now. They got you up there in—where are you again?”

Jada didn’t answer her. She held the phone, and she just felt like,
Damn! Can’t you ever be there for me, even once?
Jada just hung up the phone, cried her eyes out, and prayed for a miracle.

Jada sat in her bed and summoned up the nerve to call Sunny’s mother. She hadn’t heard from Sunny in more than a year, and she wasn’t even sure if she would want to hear from Jada. She dialed 411, and asked for the number for Marisol Cruz in Brooklyn, New York, and was relieved that her number wasn’t unlisted. As the telephone rang, Jada prayed that Marisol would accept the collect call. She wasn’t disappointed, and hearing Marisol’s thick accent was like music to her ears.

“Thank you for accepting the charges,” Jada began.

“Don’t worry about it,
mami.
Are you okay? Where are you?”