Amir Bezel sat in front of the family room TV on the floor playing with a Tonka truck. He had a bowl of ice cream on a fold-up table that was being ignored in favor of playing. It was 10 p.m. and for a three-year-old, bedtime was approaching fast. He wanted to have as much fun as possible before his day ended.
“Andre Bezel has held himself hostage in his prison cell,” a newscaster said. That caught Amir’s attention.His face lit up like fireworks and he yelled, “Mommie.”
Tasha poked her head through the kitchen door and looked at her son pointing wildly at the televison. She donned an apron over boy shorts and a tank top and yellow cleaning gloves covered her hands. “Amir, what did you say? I am trying to clean the stove, baby,” she said to her boy. He was a bright toddler and worked overtime to garner attention, despite the overwhelming amount that she had been giving him.
“What did you say, honey?” she asked and stared at him from the kitchen doorway. She then heard the distinct sound of a newscaster as she approached the family room. She wore a worried mug and hoped that her son was not exposed to another media storm about his father. She had worked double-time to protect him from the foolishness that was aired in the news. She sat on a lovely crocodile sofa that she had imported from Spain and curled her feet up under her. Tasha had prepared herself for the late-night movie tentatively titled, “Hanging Andre Out to Dry.”
In a box above the newscaster’s head was her fiancé in a mug shot taken two years earlier. In her entire life, and all of the times that she had reinvented it, she had never been so confused. She had endured weekly searches as she visited the Philadelphia Federal Detention Center with her son. She had no desire for her boy to lose sight of who his father was. She was in the world alone with a baby to protect from news reporters looking to badger her with questions about her man, but she had nothing to say. She lived in a clandestine home in Upper Merion, just a few blocks from Andre’s high school. She really wanted to Tivo the broadcast or catch it later on the station’s website, but she knew that she was in for a rude awakening if she tried to change that channel. Amir would have showed his ass, and there would not have been much that she could have done about it. Oh, my fucking God, why is this happening? I have enough to deal with, hiding from federal agents and news reporters looking to badger me without regard to my son and family. Shameful, and now this she said and listened intently to the reporter on the TV screen.
Newscaster Jason Martin was on the pavement in front of the African American Museum with a silver microphone in his hand. He was directly across the street from the Philadelphia Federal Detention Center, and Tasha saw several other news vans. Everyone was vying to get the latest gossip about the Bezel Brothers out to the jury voir dire. She never understood why they placed a federal jail across the street from a museum with such a rich root in history. On the other corner was a Federal Reserve Bank. There was something symbolic about the prison’s location, she thought.
“It was a rare state of panic today at the Federal Detention Center. There were smoke bombs let out in the Special Housing Unit after inmate Andre Bezel tossed feces at his cell window and encouraged fellow inmates to flood their toilets and caused the entire unit to be filled with water. This flooding has extended beyond the SHU, also known as the hole.” The reporter paused and showed still photos of the SHU. “In these prison photos, you can see that the wing is shaped like a narrow triangle and none of the inmates can see what’s going on more than six feet from their cells; hence, this was a very coordinated prison riot and it comes as no surprise that Andre Bezel is the ring leader. He is scheduled to begin trial this Monday for crimes ranging from drug trafficking to murder. The United States Attorney’s Office has estimated that the Bezel trial may last two months and court records indicate that in excess of 30 people are scheduled to testify for the prosecution.”
“At this point, the U.S. Marshal’s Office has deployed agents to the prison to generate order. The entire prison is locked down. Apparently, inmates have an in-house communication system unlike the old fashion passing of kites that they use. Because they are locked on their respective floors and are only allowed to leave for personal/legal visits and trips to medical triage, they push the water out of their toilets and use rolled newspapers to yell through the system from floor to floor. It seems that that has happened here, as each floor including the women’s floor has refused to lockdown and has flooded their units. Each unit is staffed with one officer who has either made it off their assigned units, or are locked in the staff office for their protection. There is not enough staff to go and lock down each unit at once, so it’s assumed that the marshal’s have arrived to help the prison staff go unit by unit and lock the prison down.”
Prison officials have not communicated with the media to make a public statement, but we will bring any statements to you live when they happen.”
Tasha panicked and immediately picked up Amir. “Come here, baby,” she said and held him tightly.
Two years ago, Andre was arrested and in an effort to have easier access to him, she left their home in New York. She wanted no parts of the inner city, nor did she want to expose Amit to it, so she lived in Upper Merion, a middle class enclave 15-miles from Philadelphia. Her home had four bedrooms, a 50-foot driveway that led to a three car garage and a pool shaped like a tear drop.
“Mommie sad?” Amir asked. He had a loving tone designed to comfort his mother, and wished that he could comfort her further. He had no idea what bothered her, but he knew his mother well enough to know when she was upset. Her mood had shifted downward, and he did not like that. He would console her the best he knew how and when things were too much too bear, he would cry, which was the only mechanism that he had mastered. He realized that when he cried, his mother became stronger. What he did not know was that she had to be stronger for him and that she would deal with her pain internally to care for him.
“Go to your room and get your emergency bag, Amir. You can bring some toys too,” she said when they reached the top of the stairs. She looked over the banister into the living and through the window out into the dark night.
“Why mom? Call cops,” he said in his toddler drawl and pulled her toward her bedroom. “Come on mom. ”
“No, son. It’s not that sort of emergency. Daddy needs us. He’s in trouble at the jail. So, we’re going to Grandmom Jean-Mary’s, ok? That’s why we have our emergency bags, so that we can leave quickly, if we have too, ok?”
“Yes, mommy,” Amir said and raced off to his room.
Tasha grabbed a checkered Louis Vuitton duffle bag and her cell phone off the night stand. She picked up her phone and pressed speed-dial number 2.
Into her phone she said, “Kareem there is a problem at the jail with Dre.”
“I know,” Kareem was calm.
“I am worried, so I am headed to Mama’s house right now. Can you meet me there?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know what this is about?”
“No, but I am on the line with Ravonne trying to get an understanding of this. What is going on with this man throwing shit at the fucking cell window and barricading himself inside two days before he’s scheduled to start trial? This is a goddamn shame and I’m irked.”
“Ok, I have no idea what is going on. None. I just saw him on Friday and he did not mention this stunt.”
“And a stunt it is. I know him. He has some reasoning for this, but how the hell he managed to get the media outside the prison at the precise time that he was going to do this is confusing me.” I am so going to hell for this butchered acting job, but there was no way that I would let her in on my brother’s and my vision. We had it all figured out.
“Me too, but I will see you at Mama’s. I am leaving now.”