“How did you get locked up?” was his first question as he stared directly at Mimi.
“It was all a misunderstanding, Daddy. I promise it will never happen again,” Mimi replied. She didn't give him a chance to respond. She just rambled right into her next sentence. “This is my friend, Halleigh. I met her outside of the jail when I was waiting on slow-ass Tasha to come pick me up.” Mimi stroked a piece of Halleigh's hair and then pushed it behind her ear. “She is in a bind right now, and I told her that you might be able to help her out.”
The man didn't even look Halleigh's way. Instead, he looked at Tasha. “What do you think?”
She looked over at Halleigh and, once again, rolled her eyes. “I don't know.” She shrugged. “But I guess it could be a good move.” Tasha made her way over to the man and began to massage his defined shoulders. “What do you think?”
Mimi noticed the way he was now looking at Halleigh. It was the same look he gave her when she'd first met him, so she knew that it was a done deal. She had done good.
Slowly, without Halleigh even noticing, Mimi backed up and began to ease out of the room. Just as she was about to close the door, the man called out to her, “Mimi, you gon' work double to pay me back that bail money,” never taking his eyes off Halleigh.
Damn, this mu'fucka could've let me slide since I brought his ass some fresh pussy. Niggas don't appreciate shit, I swear.
Mimi walked out of the room without responding, and Tasha followed, leaving Halleigh in the room alone.
Now completely alone with this stranger and under his steely gaze, Halleigh pulled at the T-shirt that she wore, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms. The room was smoky from the weed, and Halleigh could tell that he was as high as a kite.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked as he continued to smoke on his blunt.
“Halleigh,” she replied, then took a gulp, trying to swallow the huge knot in her throat.
“Halleigh. Your name fits you.” He looked at her high-yellow skin tone and licked his lips as if he could taste her. Yeah, Mimi had done good.
Being in the pimping game for over ten years Manolo knew a lost soul when he saw one. Halleigh's eyes revealed her sadness. He didn't know what path she had followed that brought her to his doorstep, but he knew that he was about to lead her in a new direction. His eyes admired the proportioned curves of her young body, and he had to mentally tame his dick down when he noticed her hard nipples poking through her T-shirt.
“So why do you need Manolo's help?” he asked, referring to himself in third person.
Her thoughts instantly went back to Malek, and tears came to her eyes.
Manolo nodded his head toward his bed. “Take your time, baby girl. Have a seat. I won't bite you, I promise.”
Halleigh sat on the bed near his chair. “It's my boyfriend, Malek. He was arrested, and I need money to get him out.”
“What they holding him for?” Manolo tapped the blunt against an ashtray that sat on a glass table beside him.
Although hesitant at first because she didn't just want to be telling this stranger all of her business, she knew that if she was going to get him to help her, that she needed to tell him everything. “He robbed a store ... but he's not like that. He only did it because I needed the money.” Halleigh even told Manolo about the awful attack that took place at her mother's house and why she couldn't go back there. In fact, she revealed everything that had occurred, up to the point of stepping foot in his house.
“Sounds to me like your boyfriend ain't gon' want nothing to do with you when he gets out.” Manolo knew to begin planting the seeds of doubt into this fresh soil. “Sitting in jail has a way of making people think about things. He's probably thinking about you right now and how you've probably fucked things up for him.”
Manolo's words were harsh, but Halleigh wasn't about to kid herself. She knew there was plenty of truth to them, and that Malek probably was sitting in jail right now thinking how none of this would be happening had he never met her.
“Now I want to help you,” Manolo continued, “but I've got to be truthful. I'm not a liar, so I'm gon' keep it gully with you.”
Halleigh nodded eagerly, wondering what he would say next. Here she was traumatized, perhaps expecting a little empathy, but Manolo dished out anything but.
“I know you believe your man is probably just thinking it, but I'm going to tell you straight upâthis is all your fault. If it wasn't for you, your man wouldn't be locked up right now.”
Flabbergasted, Halleigh's mouth flew open. Manolo's words shocked her as sharply as an unexpected slap. With his harsh words, she began to let her tears flow freely. Believing it was all her fault was one thing, but hearing it was another.
Halleigh stood there doing what it seemed she'd been doing for the last twenty-four hours, crying. She was tired of crying though. Those tears weren't getting her anywhere. It was time to do something about the messy bed that was made.
“What do I do?” she asked, wiping her tears away roughly, as if she was angry at them for even falling from her eyes. But as quickly as she wiped them, more would fall.
Manolo stood up and began to help her wipe her tears away. He knew that he had her in the palm of his hand. His main agenda was to get a woman to become and remain his ho. He called that “the pimp's creed.” Having taken advantage of some of the toughest bitches that Flint had ever bred, he knew this was going to be a piece of cake. He knew how to break a grown-ass woman down, so he knew it wouldn't be any problem with such a naïve teen.
“It's your fault that this happened, so you have to fix it,” he told her. “How you fix it is up to you.”
“But how can I fix it? Even when they set bail, I don't have the money to get him out. His parents work hard and everything, but it's not their fault he's in there, it's mine.” Halleigh knew that if Malek's parents had to come up off that bail money, Mrs. Johnson would do everything in her power to see to it that Malek never saw her again, and she couldn't let that happen. Manolo was right. It was her fault. She had to come up with the bail money.
Manolo questioned Halleigh the same way Satan had questioned Eve in the garden. “You don't have any money?”
“I don't even have a roof over my head right now.”
Manolo put his index finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “He's in for robbery, did you say?”
Halleigh nodded.
“Is this his first offense ever?”
Once again, Halleigh nodded.
“Let me see . . .” Manolo, with his street wisdom, figured out how much Malek's bail would probably be for a first-time offender. “Ten stacks,” he finally said.
Halleigh hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about. “Huh?”
“Ten thousand dollars. That's my estimate on what your boyfriend's bail is probably going to be.” Manolo thought for another moment. “Yeah, that is a lot of money”âhe looked back at Halleighâ“especially for a girl who has nothing.”
Halleigh's head fell, her chin to her chest.
“I could help you get that money.” Manolo was glad to see he had the girl's undivided attention again. “But it won't be easy. It'll take a couple days, but I think we could do it if you work hard,” he stated, throwing out the bait.
Relieved, Halleigh said, “I'll do anything. I just want to fix this.”
“You can even stay here until you find your own spot,” he said, knowing Halleigh would accept the offer.
Truth was, Halleigh really didn't have a choice but to rest her head under his roof. Any ho that had ever worked for him always lived in his house.
My roof, my rules,
Manolo thought to himself. He felt that it was easier to control his girls if he knew their whereabouts at all times.
“Halleigh, why did you come to me for help? Where are your people? I mean, I know the deal with your mom, but haven't you anyone else you can turn to?” Manolo wanted to make sure that she didn't have anybody that could come and save her from the life she was about to get into. He knew that there would come a time when she would want out. By that time he would make her feel so hopeless that she would think that he was the only one who cared about her.
“I don't have anybody. Malek is the only person I can count on.” Halleigh lowered her head at the thought of her mother.
She let them rape me.
He took her hand and lifted her to her feet. “You can count on me, Sunshine,” he whispered softly in her ear as he wrapped his hands around her waist.
“Sunshine?” Halleigh stated.
“Yeah, Sunshine.” Manolo looked deep into Halleigh's eyes. “When I look into your eyes, I see a rainstorm. There's been so much pain in your life, so much thunder, I know you've felt as though a black rain cloud has just been following you around.”
Tears began to fall from Halleigh's eyes. Manolo couldn't have been more right. Not only had it been raining on her, literally, for the last twenty-four hours, but her entire life was like one bad, pouring-down shower in which the rain just wouldn't seem to let up.
“Well, the rain is about to dry up, and there'll be nothing but sunshine in your life from this day forward.” He then embraced her like a father would a daughter.
Halleigh broke down in tears as she appreciated his embrace.
“Shhh. I will help you get what you need.” Manolo began rocking her back and forth in his arms.
He had sucked her in so deep that she was hanging on to, and believing his every word. He spat out so many broken promises and manipulated her young mind to the point that she didn't even realize that his hands had found a comfortable place on her ass while he was grinding his crotch slowly against her.
“Shh, that's right. Get it all out, Sunshine,” he repeated over and over again.
And just like Halleigh had once felt, only in Malek's arms, she felt that same way in Manolo's arms. Safe.
Chapter Nine
M
alek took a seat on the same bench Jamaica Joe was sitting on. Everyone else in the bullpen was terrified of Joe, but Malek's mind was elsewhere. He didn't even have the energy to be terrified of a man. The only thing he was afraid of was what Halleigh could possibly be going through right now; not to mention what would become of his basketball career.
He didn't even notice that everyone else in the room kept their distance as they tried to avoid Joe. The truth was, he really didn't know who Jamaica Joe was or what he stood for. He'd heard of his reputation, but he'd never seen him in person.
As a single parent, his mother had done the best she could to shield him from the malevolent streets. Then when he was eight years old, she married his stepfather, who as far as Malek was concerned, was his father. Kind of like how Shaq feels about his stepfather.
It was Malek's stepfather who was behind his involvement in basketball camps every summer since he was nine years old. The camps not only developed his skills, but also contributed to him burning up a lot of energy. He was always too tired to get into trouble.
Over the past five years, while his friends were going to Maxey Boys Training School for juvenile offenders, Malek had been too busy dribbling basketballs to get involved in crime. There were generally male mentors at the camp who spoke out against young black men getting caught up in drug dealing, crime, or substance abuse.
Up until his arrest last night, Malek had never had any trouble with the law. Now he'd just turned eighteen. He wondered, with this being his first offense, if the judge would be lenient on him and give him probation. He sure didn't want a felony on his record. He wondered if this would affect his chances of getting into the NBA. What a mess he had made of things.
In disgust, Malek buried his face in the palms of his hands as he blocked everything out that was going on around him. He was so busy regretting his foolish acts, he was oblivious to all the noise and chatter of the jail cell. Even if he had gotten enough money from the robbery for a night at a hotel, then what? Would he have to keep knocking off corner stores to pay for additional nights? He hadn't even bothered to think that far in advance. All he was worried about at the time was Halleigh. Speaking of which, he was worried about her now.
Malek took a deep breath as he stared down at his feet. All of a sudden some words his stepfather had spoken to him some time ago came back to haunt him.
“You don't even know how much danger is out there in the streets. You don't want to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and wind up in jail or prison, which is no place for a Black man.”
His father may not have been in the home as much as Malek would have liked him to be. He may not have been able to attend his basketball games as much as he wanted him to, but his love for Malek went without question. He had done nothing but work hard since marrying Malek's mother.
Before Malek was even two years old, his real father was shot dead in a drug deal gone bad. And in an unrelated incident, his stepfather's dad had been sentenced to life in jail for a murder that took place during a drug deal gone bad. Prior to their deaths, the men had played no role at all in their son's lives, choosing the streets over their own flesh and blood. So Mr. Johnson knew what it was like to need and desperately want a man in the home to teach him how to be a man. To teach him how to be a provider and to take care of his family the right way. And for that, Malek had the utmost respect for the man his mother married. The man he called Dad.
Once again, Malek sighed and shook his head thinking about what his father would possibly think about him if he saw him right now; sitting in a jail cell for robbery. A blitz of reporters suddenly stood on the opposite side of the bars, and cameras were flashing away once again. Once the word that Malek was in there leaked to the media, the reporters flocked to the jailhouse to get a photo of the jailed star, first to the visiting room with him and his mother, and now right there in the jail cell. They were relentless and wouldn't let up. “Not this shit again,” Malek said. He put up his hands up to shield his face.
Jamaica Joe discreetly turned his back, trying to avoid being photographed. After three straight minutes of constant flashing, the second wave of reporters left satisfied.
The criminals and drunks in the bullpen began an uproar. In spite of the stench coming from the one backed-up toilet in the corner and the crowded conditions, they all felt as important and as special as a group of rappers, several even posing for the cameras. Others threw up gang signs. They'd never seen anything like it.
One particular Latino man was the first to speak to Malek. He wore a tight T-shirt over his ripped, muscular upper body and had at least ten tattoos on his neck alone. He was obviously intoxicated, and in his mind, for some reason, he felt that Malek thought he was better than the rest of them. Well, that's what he told himself. He didn't want to admit that it was pure jealousy that caused him to dislike Malek.
“You must be somebody important, huh?” the Latino man yelled across the room.
Malek looked around and then focused on the man. “You talking to me?” he asked, placing his index finger on his chest.
“Yeah, I'm talking to you,” the Latino man yelled in a drunken slur. “I don't see no other bitches in here.”
The other men began to laugh at his comment, gassing him up more. Malek stared at the man for a second to see if he was serious and then dropped his head in an attempt to ignore him. He ran his hands over top his head, feeling the ripples of the few waves in his hair that still remained in spite of the rain.
The man wasn't done with Malek though. He hated pretty boys and felt obligated to tell Malek about himself. He staggered over to Malek to give him a piece of his mind.
Before Malek even realized that the man was headed over his way, the Latino man was standing directly over him. “You's a ol' bitch-ass, pretty boy. Who the fuck is you anyway? You got these mu'fuckas snapping photos and shit. You ain't nobody. You in here just like the rest of us. You ain't no better than none of us.”
Malek looked up at the man, with a confused look at his face and thought,
What is this mu'fucka's problem?
He watched as the man swayed from side to side and struggled to keep his balance. “Look, man, I don't want any trouble, fam,” Malek told him.
The man must have felt that Malek was trying to be disrespectful, because out of nowhere, he swung on him. But before the man could connect, Malek moved to the side, causing the man to spin around and almost fall.
Malek quickly rose to his feet and caught the man with two swift punches. The man didn't know what hit him. Jamaica Joe slightly grinned as he stepped to the side to give the two men room to get their brawl on. Malek followed up with another punch, connecting with the man's nose.
The Latino man held his nose in agony as he fell flat on his back. Malek smiled when he realized how quickly he had dropped the man. But the smile quickly dropped when he saw two other Latinos, that closely resembled the man he had just beat down, emerge from the crowd. From the way the men were dressed alike, it was obvious that they were from the same gang or set.
“Aye, homes, you done fucked up,” one of the men said just before he ran up on Malek.
Malek shifted his stance and put up his dukes. He kept his eyes steady, and he stood his ground, refusing to back down.
Jamaica Joe just sat back and watched as Malek showed no fear.
Li'l man got mad heart,
Joe thought to himself as he leaned against the brick wall.
The men in the bullpen gathered around the fight to witness the unexpected entertainment.
“Get him.”
“Fuck him up,
hombre
.”
“Fight, fight,” the sideliners instigated.
Just like the first man, Malek laid the second one down in a matter of seconds, without as much as a scratch on himself. And the second one didn't even seem to be as drunk as the first one. Now, both men lay on the ground next to each other.
The third Latino man sized Malek up and circled him as he contemplated the best way to get at Malek. His chest heaved up and down from trying to catch his breath. Malek was tired from the scuffle with the two previous men, but he didn't show it. He was ready to drop this one the same way he had dropped the rest. The first man that Malek dropped returned to his feet, blood dripping from his nose. He might have been injured, but he was still ready to fight. Malek was outnumbered at that point and prepared himself for the worst.
“That's enough,” a calm voice said. It was Jamaica Joe. He had seen enough and respected Malek's braveness. “Leave li'l man alone,” Joe demanded of the Latinos, not even respecting them enough to look at them.
The men's demeanor totally changed at Joe's request. They all dropped their fists as they looked at Joe nervously. It was evident that Joe had control of the situation, because the three Latino men weren't even focused on Malek anymore. They were worried about Jamaica Joe.
Malek, on the other hand, didn't drop his guard and was ready to knock out whoever ran up on him.
“Ay, Joe, I didn't know he wuz with chu,” one of them said in broken English.
Malek balled up his fist, his adrenaline pumping. “Run up, nigga!”
As much as the Latino crew wanted to, they did nothing. Malek finally realized why everyone was on the opposite side of the room from Joe when he first came in. They feared him.
“Joseph Holland!” the guard yelled as he approached the cell.
A middle-aged white man with a neat tailored suit walked alongside the guard. It was Jamaica Joe's attorney, Anderson Wallace, one of the most prestigious and sought-after attorneys in the Midwest.
File in hand, Wallace was noticeably upset. “Release my client immediately! This is preposterous!”
Jamaica Joe headed out of the cell after it was opened for him, but not before Malek called out to him, “Thanks.”
Joe simply nodded his head in acknowledgment and exited the cell. Malek watched as the guard closed the steel gate behind Joe, and then he focused his attention back on the bullpen. He was sure that the Latino gang would try to finish what they'd started, but to Malek's surprise, they didn't do as much as look at him.
After an hour of keeping his eye on the gang, when he figured that they weren't going to try anything, Malek, once again, began to think about his current predicament. He knew he had acted on impulse by trying to knock over the convenience store; an impulse that could change his life forever. But what could he have done? What other choices did he have? Should he have gone and tried to retaliate against the drug dealers who raped his girl? Those type of people didn't play, and they would have come after both of them and probably killed them. Absently, he shook his head. He was caught in a quandary. What else could he have done? What was he going to do now? He dropped his head in defeat. His whole world was tumbling down. When it rains, it pours.