Seth “Soul Man” Ferranti
“You know I hate fuckin’ Christmas, so forget about it,” Johnny Two-Fingers told his paisano, Big Vinny, who nodded in agreement. “How the fuck am I supposed to buy my fucking wife and kids presents from here?” Johnny Two-Fingers asked.
Just then Mikey P and Tommy Boy, two other New York wise-guys, walked up. Fats, who worked as an orderly in the unit, watched as he swept up the front entryway.
“Hey, Johnny, what the fuck is up?” Mikey P said, shaking hands with Johnny Two-Fingers and nodding to Big Vinny. Tommy Boy greeted them, too.
“Fucking Mikey P. We got a motherfucking problem here,” Johnny Two-Fingers said.
Mikey P looked on and pushed his glasses up. “Oh yeah, well, what the fuck is that, Johnny? We gotta bury somebody or what?” Mikey P joked, and all the Italians laughed as Mikey P jabbed Big Vinny in the arm. “Sounds like a job for Big Vinny, hey, Tommy Boy?”
As they all laughed, Fats thought about his own family and what he would get them for Christmas. Johnny Two-Fingers was saying how even for those with money, it wasn’t easy to get your family presents from prison. It wasn’t like prisoners could buy the presents and wrap them. The Italians kept talking, ignoring Fats as he swept up cigarette butts on the walkway.
“Now look here,” Johnny Two-Fingers said to Mikey P. “Youse a man with experience. Now I’m asking youse. How the fuck am I supposed to buy my fucking wife and kids presents from here? You know Christmas is right around the corner, and I gots to buy them something. They’re expecting it, locked up or not. I know youse been down a long time, Mikey P, and I remember your family getting all types of nice presents every year while youse was away. So tell us, how did youse pull it off?”
Mikey P got a real serious look on his face and pushed his glasses up his nose again. He was the reputed consigliere for the Luchasse family in New York, and as he composed his five-foot-seven-inch frame, Fats could see how he had risen to his position.
It wasn’t his stature, Fats thought, it was the way he carried himself. The way he walked and talked. Like he knew the answer to every question. Fats didn’t know the Italians real well, but he said hi and ’bye to them in passing. They were all in his unit. Fats continued to ear hustle the Italians while he swept.
“This is hows I pulled it off all these years, getting my family presents for Christmas or whatever,” Mikey P shared. “I just tells my cousin Johnny G. ‘Hey, Johnny, find out what the kids and missus want for Christmas and buy it for them, all right?’ Forget about it. That’s all you need to do, Johnny. A piece of work right?” Mikey P laughed and jabbed his partner Tommy Boy in the arm, and Tommy Boy took up the laughter, too. In a second all four Italians were laughing their asses off like what Mikey P said was the funniest thing they’d heard this year.
“So, what you gonna get ’em all for Christmas, Johnny?” Mikey P asked.
“Aw Mikey, I don’t fuckin’ know. I guess I better call my brother and tell him to get them something or I’ll never hear the end of it. Forget about it.” Johnny Two-Fingers laughed and looked over at Fats, whom he noticed for the first time.
“Hey, Fats,” Johnny Two-Fingers called. “What you gonna get your family for Christmas? I saw those little kids of yours in the visiting room. You gonna get them something nice, right?”
Fats looked up, making eye contact with the chubby Italian. He wasn’t used to them talking to him, but he guessed he’d been around the unit and on the compound long enough now for them to acknowledge him. It had been only eight months, but it seemed like much longer. All the Italians were waiting for him to speak.
“Yeah, I’m gonna get them something real nice,” Fats answered. All the Italians smiled.
Mikey P nodded and put his arm around Johnny Two-Fingers. “See Johnny, that kid ain’t even been here longer than you, and he already knows what’s up. He’s probably been planning it for a month already. And here we are two months away from Christmas, and you don’t even know what to get your fucking family, forget about it.” Mikey P clapped Johnny Two-Fingers on the back. Johnny Two-Fingers cringed from the clap, but he didn’t say anything. All the wise guys laughed, and Fats walked away smiling, but honestly, he didn’t know what he was going to do for his family at Christmas. Unlike the Italians, who were known as the “Big Willies” and big spenders on the compound, Fats didn’t have any money to lavish on gifts for his loved ones. Actually, he didn’t have any money at all.
Fats was fresh in on a ten-year bid for conspiracy to distribute crack. Twenty-four years old and not a dime to his name. Don’t get it fucked up, Fats was a hustler, but he wasn’t a big-time dude like the Italians, and he had no money saved up. All the money he made serving dudes from the block went to support his three kids and two baby-mamas, that is, whatever he didn’t trick or gamble away. Now he was doing time in a new federal prison in West Virginia, FCI Beckley. Five hours from home and broke as a joke. He was lucky he had the twenty-five-dollar-a-month unit-orderly job that his homeboy Mel-Mel had hooked him up with when he hit the pound. And now it was Christmastime. Fats didn’t even want to think about it as he made his way back into the unit.
“What up, slim?”
A downcast Fats looked up and smiled at his man, Rock. “Ain’t but a thing, moe. What’s up with you?” Fats asked as he pounded fists with Rock.
“You looking all sad and shit, slim! Let me find out this time killing you already?” Rock jigged at his friend.
“Naw, dawg, it’s all good. I’m just thinking about my kids,” Fats said.
“Well, that’s all good, slim. The lil’ ones coming up on the bus this weekend or what?”
“Yeah, I gotta holla at my babys’ moms, but I think they coming up for sure, moe. Why, your peeps coming up, too?” Fats asked.
“You know it, baby boy! I’m trying to get my shine on up on that dance floor. It’s the only time these crackers let a nigga live,” Rock said seriously, and Fats agreed.
Doing time was rough. Especially up in these hills, he thought. With all these redneck guards always sweating a brother. Getting time with the family in the visiting room was one of the only reasons dudes in prison stayed sane, Fats thought. But for real, this Christmas thing was killing Fats. He’d never spent a Christmas away from his family before. And now his kids Maurice, Yvette, and Demitrius—who were eight, six, and five—would not only have to spend their first Christmas away from their father, they might not even get a decent present from him. I got to come up with something, he thought. Hopefully I can holla at Laquesha about it on the VI this weekend.
His homie Rock had been down a minute, but he didn’t have any kids. Maybe Rock might know of a way to come up. Fats would have to holler at him later; it was still only October.
It was a long trip on the crowded bus with two kids all the way from D.C. to bum-fuck West Virginia, but to Laquesha it was worth it. Fats was her babys’ daddy, and when he was on the street he always provided well. It had been rough for Laquesha since Fats got locked up. She was surviving, but it was by no means easy, and it hadn’t even been a year yet. She was lucky she’d had her mother to fall back on.
“Damn, girl, ain’t we there yet?” Melissa asked Laquesha. Melissa was Rock’s girl. She was the one who hooked Laquesha up with the bus-trip people. They picked up families all over D.C. and took them to visit at different federal institutions in Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland, depending on the week. They charged only twenty-five dollars per person, and kids under twelve rode for free. After paying for a hotel and having money for the vending machines for two days, Laquesha could afford to do it only once a month. It was the least she could do—taking the kids to see their daddy—besides, Laquesha had a soft spot for Fats, too. Even though he was a no-good, cheating motherfucker, she thought. She was just glad that Kim, Fats’s other baby’s mama, wasn’t on this trip. She hated when she had to share the visit with that bitch, even though, Kim and Fats’s son, Demitrius, was cute as he could be.
It wouldn’t be long, and Christmas would be coming up, Laquesha thought. She knew it would be a rough Christmas this year because, with Fats in jail, money would be tight. Laquesha would do what she could, but it wouldn’t be the same. Fats had always spoiled the kids, buying them whatever they’d wanted. But this year it would be different. Maurice and Yvette would just have to face the facts that their daddy was locked up and money wasn’t coming in like it used to. She hoped they were old enough to understand.
“We almost there,” Laquesha told Melissa, who closed her eyes. The bus trip had picked them up damn near in the middle of the night so that they could get there by nine a.m. before the ten a.m. weekend count. Laquesha knew if they didn’t make it in before then, they would be waiting until almost noon before the count cleared and the prisoners were called. The prison staff acted like the families were the criminals, giving off attitude like they didn’t even want families to visit for real. It was an experience, but for the kids it was worth it to see their daddy.
Yvette opened up her big brown eyes, which were the focal point of her little face. “Mommy, are we there yet?” she asked.
“Yeah, we almost there,” Laquesha said, smoothing back her daughter’s hair which was braided the way Fats liked it.
Fats always insisted on Yvette having her hair neatly braided. Laquesha thought it was cute, so she always made sure to braid both her and Yvette’s hair before they visited. Maurice slept soundly in his Washington Redskins jersey. He was growing up real fast, Laquesha knew, and it wouldn’t be long now before he was a man. Fats didn’t want his son to follow his path, but Laquesha didn’t know how she would keep him off the streets. He was already starting to run wild with the neighborhood boys. As the bus pulled onto the road that led to the prison, Laquesha started getting herself and her kids ready for the visit.
* * *
“Daddy!” Yvette screamed as she flew into Fats’s arms. Maurice and Laquesha followed, and hugs and kisses were exchanged all the way around. They all took a seat off to one side.
Fats scoped out his man Rock and his girl, Melissa. He nodded at both of them saying, “What’s up.” “You be talking to Rock’s girl on the trip?” Fats asked Laquesha. “Yeah, boo, that’s my girl, why?” Laquesha said.
“Just wondering, that’s all.” Fats smiled. He was really wondering if Laquesha knew that Melissa was bringing in that tar for Rock. Rock had just informed Fats the night before that he had convinced his girl to bring him three grams of heroin packaged in balloons. During the visit Rock would swallow three balloons, containing a gram of heroin each, then shit them out later. He told Fats that he could make almost a thousand dollars a gram. Now that was a come up, Fats thought, heroin on the street cost seventy-five dollars a gram. If he could convince Laquesha to do the same thing, then it would be all good. But Fats didn’t know how to bring it up, so he’d hoped that maybe Melissa had told Laquesha what she was doing. But, obviously, she hadn’t.
“Daddy, Daddy, lookee here,” Yvette said, holding something up to her daddy’s face. Fats came out of his illicit moment and looked to his daughter.
“What’s that, baby girl?” he asked. Yvette was holding up a little bracelet that she wore around her tiny wrist. It was one of the last gifts Fats had bought her before he got locked up, a charm bracelet from Tiffany’s. His daughter held up the bracelet on her little arm, beaming with pride that she was wearing her daddy’s gift. “That’s beautiful, baby girl,” Fats said.
“I know.” Yvette grinned. “Will you get me more for Christmas?” she asked, looking into Fats’s face, batting her big brown eyes. “Please, Daddy? And get Mommy one, too?” Fats felt nothing but love for his daughter as she pleaded with him.
“And I want a new bike, too, Daddy,” Maurice chimed in as if on cue. Both Yvette and Maurice smiled. Fats felt all eyes on him, and he was thinking about how he wasn’t gonna be able to get them nothing, but he couldn’t tell his baby girl and son that.
He reached his arms around both his kids and held them close. “I’ll get you all whatever you want. Just let Daddy know, and I’ll make it happen.” Fats smiled. “You know I got a direct hookup to Santa Claus.” Yvette squealed with delight at that, and Maurice lit up, too. Laquesha gave them some quarters and told them to go get their daddy a soda and candy bar from the vending machine. When they ran off, she turned to Fats.
“Now, Felix, don’t be telling them kids no lies. You know we don’t have no money. How you gonna buy them presents for Christmas with money we don’t have?” Laquesha scolded. She loved Fats to death, especially for the way he treated and responded to the kids, but she knew the reality of the situation. And she didn’t like leading her kids on in any type of way.
“Naw, La, it ain’t like that,” Fats said. “You know I’m a hustler. I’m gonna figure something out.”
“Oh yeah, like what?” Laquesha asked. Fats wanted to blurt it out, but he didn’t know if it was the right time to bring it up. He knew that if he could convince Laquesha to bring the drugs, they’d be straight. For Christmas and everything else.
“You know I’m working on some moves, La,” Fats said. “I just need to know if you with me or what?”
“Of course I’m with you, boo. You know I got your back, but you need to let me know what you’re talking about.” Fats looked back toward the vending machine to make sure his kids weren’t on their way back. “It’s like this, La.” Fats lowered his voice. “We can come up.” He looked over toward Rock and Melissa. “You see, Rock got Melissa making moves for him on the balloon tip so that he can get paper from in here.”
Laquesha got a real serious look on her face and pulled her hand away from Fats. “Felix James.” Her voice now stern. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. With the kids and all? I won’t do any such thing!” Fats grabbed his girl’s hands again and held them in his own.
“Damn La.” He tried to ease the tension. “Don’t be getting all excited.” He looked around to check on the kids again. “They doing it and it’s all good, so why can’t we be doing it, too?”
Laquesha saw the intense look in Fats’s eyes and took a minute to consider his proposal. She knew a few of her homegirls were doing stuff like that, plus when she was just a little girl she used to take weed up to her dad while he was at USP Lewisburg. But the kids, she thought. If not for the kids she would be down for it all the way. She wouldn’t think of subjecting her kids to that type of situation, though. What if something went wrong? Fats was asking a lot of her.
Fats saw Laquesha contemplating and figured that if he said the right thing, he could tip the scales in his favor.
Just then, the kids came back.
“Here, Daddy,” Yvette smiled as Fats took his soda and candy bar. Maurice sat down and started eating his Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, and Yvette chewed down on some gummy bears. Laquesha got up in a huff like she was mad, but really she wasn’t. She was weighing the pros and cons of Fats’s proposal. She strolled over to the vending machine and bought herself a cherry cola.
Laquesha watched Fats with the kids and was on the verge of deciding if she would go through with his suggestion when she noticed three COs walk into the visiting room to confer with the CO stationed at the desk. They all got up and walked over to Rock and Melissa. Laquesha knew exactly what was up.
Back on the pound the next day the whole jail was buzzing about Rock getting hemmed up on the VI. Homies stepped to Fats to find out how it went down. Foul play was suspected, but nobody was drawing any conclusions just yet. No one knew with certainty as to what really happened.
“Damn, slim,” said Country. “How they get my man like that?” Fats didn’t really know, but he wanted to oblige his big homie, who was one of the most respected D.C. dudes on the pound, and at least tell him something. Country had been down for over a decade and had seen time in all the pens, so this FCI shit was nothing to him; plus he’d been down Lorton back in the day, and all the young’uns had heard the war stories about Lorton. Country was known as a go-hard southeast gangsta through and through, and Fats jumped at the opportunity to be down with the big homie.
“I don’t know, moe,” Fats told him. “I didn’t see him doing nothing suspicious with his girl. Five-oh just rolled up and grabbed dude, no bullshit.”
Country rolled his eyes and screwed his face up. “Those fucking redneck crackers,” he growled. “Always fucking up a nigga’s move with they bamma-ass shit. You didn’t hear Rock telling nobody about what he was doing, did you, slim?”
Fats double-checked Country on that one because Rock had mentioned the move to him the night before. He moseyed up into Fats and Mel-Mel’s cell and could hardly contain himself knowing he was about to make a move and come up. The stupid nigga probably ran his mouth to everyone, Fats thought. Loose lips sink ships.
“Three grams of tar, moe,” he told Fats and Mel-Mel. “Straight from the city. We gonna get that bread, no bullshit.” Fats had also noticed that Mel-Mel had that glint in his eye. Let me find out this old-timer’s a dope fiend, Fats thought at the time. But it wasn’t to be. Something went wrong, and the move turned disastrous. Dudes on the pound were saying that Rock’s girl, Melissa, got arrested in the parking lot, and that Rock was looking at a street charge if he passed any balloons in the dry cell. And they sure as hell had him up in that motherfucking dry cell watching Slim’s every move, waiting for him to take a shit, Fats thought. The word was that they supposedly had the whole transaction on videotape from the visiting room, too. Fats knew from his limited experience in prison that dudes talked a lot of shit on the pound. Who knew what was really up?
Country was focusing in on Fats with a crazy look in his eyes.
“Did I stutter, little homie?” Country asked. “You can’t hear or what, slim?”
Fats came back to the present. “Yeah, I mean, naw,” Fats stumbled. “I didn’t hear Rock tell nobody nothing. No bullshit, moe.”
Country seemed to accept that and hit rocks with Fats. “Check it out, slim.” Country changed gears. “We balling later at the gym on the rec move, so bring your fat ass up there. You know we putting together a little team for the homies to represent in the winter league and for the Christmas tournament. I know you got a lil’ game, so I wanna see you up there. I need you to get your game tight because if you can hit those trays consistently, it’ll help us do something, awright?”
“Awright, moe, bet,” Fats said.
Country bounced, leaving Fats in the common area of Poplar B-Upper, wondering if he should call his girl Laquesha and find out what happened to Melissa. He knew the bus had gone back that morning, and he wondered if they made it to the city yet. Fats had really enjoyed his visit, even though it was only for one day. He already missed his kids. After what happened to Rock and Melissa, Laquesha wasn’t feeling that balloon shit. She wasn’t having no more of that kind of talk. Just when Fats felt like he had almost convinced her, Laquesha had shut it down, period. No ifs, ands, or buts! But Fats was still scheming. He had to come up some way.
Maybe I should get in hobby craft, he thought. Then I can make my kids something for Christmas! Fats knew a lot of dudes would be making leather-craft stuff—like purses and wallets and the like—then sending them home to their families. A lot of dudes used hobby craft to hustle by making things, then selling them to other people who sent them out as gifts. They did ceramics in recreation, too. Fats had seen a lot of nice pieces, but he didn’t have the funds to make any purchases. Shit, I don’t even have the funds to buy the material to get into the class, he thought.
He was gonna have to find another way.
He did have his other baby-mama, Kim, to consider, and she was supposed to visit him the first week of November. She was a little more gangsta than Laquesha, so Fats was thinking maybe he could put something together with her. Fats knew his big homie Country could make all the arrangements, but Fats couldn’t shake the feeling from what happened to his man Rock. Somebody snitched on his boy. But a nigga got to do what a nigga got to do, Fats thought. Snitches or not! Fats knew the snitches in the federal prison system were vicious. He’d heard a lot of stories since he touched down on the pound, and the deal with Rock confirmed all the rap. Fats would have to be real careful if bammas were working like that. He would have to put together his plan and make sure it was tight. He wasn’t trying to go out like no sucka.
“Hey, Fats, what’s up there bro?” Mikey P greeted Fats as he walked down the tier. “How was your visit yesterday? I heard you had the kids up.”
Fats stood up and shook the Italian’s hand. Mikey P was still in good shape for an older guy, and his grip was strong. “My visit was good Mr. P,” Fats said. “But you heard about my homie, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mikey P sighed. “Rock. He’s a good dude. I’ve been doing time with him for a minute. A stand-up guy. Hopefully they gots nothing on him, you hear me. A guy’s gotta be careful who he tells his business to in these joints. Forget about it.” Mikey P slapped Fats on the shoulder and went on his way.
Fats was left there pondering. Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas I gotta get mines together. Ain’t no ifs, ands, or buts about it, he thought.
Later that day, Fats was in the gym balling with his homies. The D.C. mob wasn’t looking too hot, but with Country as a motivator, they would do all right. Fats busted out with a barrage of threes, so he figured he had one of the guard spots on lock. He was a little overweight and wasn’t that tall, but he could shoot and handle the rock way better than a lot of the bigger or more athletic guys. Plus, he played smart ball. Fats had run his junior high and high school teams but at age sixteen he had gotten Laquesha, then fifteen, pregnant with Maurice. So he dropped out and started hustling full-time to make ends meet, but the game never left him. He always made time to play blacktop or whatever. If I could just get into better shape, I would be a beast! Fats thought.
Country was thinking along those same lines. He knew Fats could score and push the rock. He was just a little heavy around the middle. Country had a couple of go-hard bangers but what the homies was lacking was a true go-to scorer. They had a couple of athletic wing-type dudes who could throw it down, but they didn’t really know the fundamentals of the game. Hopefully, between me and Fats, we can school them and win this Christmas tournament, Country thought.
After the runs, everybody was chillin’ in the bleachers while Country held court. “Man, fuck all these rats, slim,” he said to no one in particular, rather addressing all his homeboys as one. “The feds is full of snitches!” Country continued. “Down Lorton, we didn’t tolerate that shit. We’d run those bitch-ass bammas straight up out the yard and into PC or they’d end up with six inches of steel in they eye. That’s how the fuck we was rollin’ back in the day, slim. No bullshit.” The younger homies like Fats listened intently. Although they had never done time in Lorton, they’d heard the stories of the notorious D.C. jail.
With complicit guards bringing in drugs and female CO’s selling their bodies, Lorton was sweet for the prisoners. The violence was everyday, and it was brutal. It mirrored the violence in the city, because back in the day D.C. was known as the murder capital of the world. It was rumored that dudes on the compound even had guns to settle their differences. In a way, the younger generation like Fats were glad they’d never had to step foot in Lorton. Because it was a dog-eat-dog world, either kill or be killed. Lorton was so corrupt that the feds shut the prison down and absorbed all the D.C. convicts into the federal system and now they were flung coast to coast all over the BOP. The feds were a whole lot tamer and safe even though all the homies were much farther from home.
At recall Fats walked with his homies back to the block. A shower was definitely in order. Good prison etiquette declared that a convict didn’t walk around like a Viking. The water was free, so fuck it. Fats was up on his personal hygiene anyhow, unlike a lot of these bammas whom he was forced to deal with on a day-to-day basis. A lot of them still had that crackhead mentality. After his shower, Fats knew it would be time to call Laquesha to see what was up.
* * *
Automated voice: “You have a call from a correctional facility. This call is prepaid. This call is from [voice of Fats] Fats. Please push five to accept this call; please push seven to block further calls from this person. If you accept the call, push five now.” The automated voice rattled off the instructions after Fats punched in Laquesha’s digits and his pin number. Laquesha pushed five.
“Hey, boo.”
“What’s up, La, you all made it home safe?”
“Yeah, boo, you okay?”
“I’m straight, La. What happened to Melissa?” Fats asked.
“They called the local hillbilly Five-oh and searched her and then they searched the bus and the driver, but they didn’t find nothing. They just made her sit on the bus for the rest of the day,” Laquesha said.
“That’s good. They got Rock in the dry cell, I heard. At least Melissa made it back with you. Did she tell you if Rock was dirty?” Fats asked. “What do you think, Fats? Melissa was real fucked up, boo. She was crying and worried for Rock the whole trip back. She said they gonna give him more time and ship him back out west to the pen. You know he was at Lompoc in Cali before? How the fuck is Melissa supposed to visit him if they send him back out there? One of the girls said that if Rock gets caught with balloons, they’ll take his visits for five years. Now you see why I ain’t doing no shit like that, right?”
Fats cringed at all the bullshit Laquesha was spilling on the phone. I hope them people ain’t listening right now, he thought. This girl trying to blow up the spot.
“Yeah, I hear you, La. Well, how’s the kids?” Fats changed gears.
“They good. I just put them to sleep,” Laquesha said.
“La, let me talk to my little girl.”
“Naw, boo, they asleep. I don’t want to wake them up.”
“Damn, La, just let me say hello.”
“Awright.” Fats heard her slam the phone down and a few minutes later he heard his baby girl’s voice on the line.
“Hey, Daddy, I miss you. I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby girl. Bye-bye and nighty-night.”
“Bye-bye, Daddy.”
Fats was all good then….
The next morning Fats was up early doing his orderly job. He peeped the Italians going out to the yard and overheard a couple of the gumps on his unit talking about Christmas decorations.
“Girl, you know we got to do something big here this year. We gotta put it down in this unit.”
“I know what you mean, when I was in Fort Dix, they used to have this competition where you decorated a whole TV room. They used to do it up, girl. We would get wrapping paper and cardboard and make little castles with ribbons and snowmen—all kinds of stuff. For real, it was off the chain, girl.”
“They not gonna let us do shit like that here. They probably won’t even let us get a tree or nothing. But if they do, let’s get boxes and wrap them up and put them under the tree like some gorgeous man is buying us presents.” Both the homosexuals laughed.
“You go, girl! You crazy, always dreaming of some real man, when all we got is these broke-ass niggas in here with us that just be wanting us to suck their dicks.”
“Yeah, you right, girl, but a bitch can dream, can’t she? I need a real thug who falls in love with me and buys me presents.”
“You can dream, girl, but ain’t no shit like that happenin’ here. Shit, they probably won’t even let us put up decorations or nothing.”
“Yeah, you right, but still, let’s go talk to the warden at mainline and run it by her bitch ass. We might be able to convince her.”
“Awright, girl.”
After making their plans, the gumps bounced out the unit, too. Probably going to some illicit rendezvous, Fats thought. I don’t understand how some of these niggas can get with that. I’ll never do no shit like that, Fats told himself. He was repulsed by homosexuals. He could talk to them and shit like that, but he wasn’t down with none of that extra shit. But he knew a lot of brothers were into that sort of thing; they were closet-type dudes. Kept their shit on the low. Fats didn’t know for certain, but he’d heard that some of his homies were like that. It was just something that wasn’t brought up. Fats’s bunkie Mel-Mel called them homothugs. He used to hear Mel-Mel and the other old-timers joking how it was all legal after ten years. Whatever the fuck that meant. That shit would never be legal with Fats.
* * *
“Girl, you ain’t heard from Rock yet?” Laquesha said as they sat in the kitchen of her mom’s Barry Farms town house.
“Naw, they probably still got him in the dry cell,” Melissa said to Laquesha.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, Shanice said they kept Country in a dry cell at Lewisburg for eight days before he passed the balloons,” Melissa said. “Rock’s a dumb-ass for doing that shit. If he woulda got me locked up for that bullshit …”
Laquesha gave her girl a hug when she started to tear up. It’s always dumb-ass niggas getting us girls into trouble, Laquesha thought. And to think Fats had the nerve to ask her, with the kids and all, to try to do some bullshit like that.
“What do you think they gonna do with him, Laquesha?” Melissa asked.
“Damn girl, I don’t know. That one girl on the bus said they’ll probably take his visits, commissary, and phone for five years.”
“Five years,” Melissa said. “What the fuck am I gonna do?”
Laquesha consoled her again. “Maybe it’s for the best, girl. Maybe you should dump his scandalous ass.” Melissa looked up, not real sure what to say, and Laquesha was thinking that maybe she should dump Fats for even suggesting that shit to her. But the kids, she thought. They love their daddy.
Just then Maurice and Yvette rolled into the kitchen.
“Mo-mo, let me get you,” Yvette squealed. Her brother ran around the kitchen table dodging her.
Just as quickly as they had appeared in the kitchen, they were gone again, laughing and enjoying the pursuits of youth. It must be nice, Laquesha thought. Even Melissa smiled for a second, watching the kids, before the burdens that were weighing her down resumed. Laquesha looked at her watch. “Damn, girl, I gotta get to work.” It was eight-fifteen. “You’ll stay with them and get them off to school?” she asked Melissa, referring to the kids.
“You know I got you, girl. Go ahead.”
“Make sure they eat, okay?”
“I got you,” Melissa said, and yelled to the kids, “Maurice, Yvette, come eat your breakfast. It’s almost time to go to school.”
Laquesha took that as her cue to leave and hurried off to work. She was a hairdresser and she liked her work, but today Kim, Fats’s other baby-mama and her nemesis, had scheduled a nine a.m. appointment to get her hair done. Laquesha tried to stay civil with the girl, but she really didn’t like her. If it wasn’t for little Demitrius, Fats’s son by Kim, Laquesha would have knocked her out by now. Only for the sake of all three of Fats’s kids did she keep the peace. If only the ho didn’t try me so much, she thought, walking out the door.
* * *
Monique’s Hair Boutique was down on MLK. Kim pulled up in front of the hair salon in her red Honda Accord. It was one of the last things Fats had bought her before he got locked up, and Kim got a kick out of parading it in front of Laquesha’s face since Laquesha didn’t own a car. Kim got out of the car and walked into the boutique to keep her appointment. This bitch better be here, she thought.
Kim was all smiles as she walked in the shop. Laquesha saw her and waved her over.
“What’s up, girl, how are you?” Laquesha asked.
“It’s all good. You saw Fats?”
“Yeah, I was there on Saturday. He’s good. He told me to tell you hi,” Laquesha lied.
“Is he doing okay?”
“Yeah, he is, but you won’t believe what happened.”
“What, girl, tell me!” Kim said, on the edge of her seat, thinking that Laquesha better not drop no bomb on her about Fats.
“Well, girl, you know Melissa went up on the bus with me to see Rock. They got busted in the visiting room. They put Rock in a dry cell and almost arrested Melissa. She said she had just passed Rock the balloons to swallow when they got snatched up.”
“Damn, is that so?” Kim was thinking that Fats might ask her to do the same thing. She had been considering it for a while, but she was waiting for him to bring it up. She didn’t want to seem like the money-hungry bitch she was. Actually, she wasn’t sure if she’d do it, but she knew her brother had got his girl to do it for him before when he was locked down in Lorton, and Kim had helped her brother’s girl stuff the balloons. So she knew how to do it, and the extra money wouldn’t hurt. The stash Fats had left before he got sent away was drying up, and to think when Fats first got knocked he had told her to give half the money to Laquesha. Kim wasn’t having that, though. She told Fats that the cops had found and took the money when they searched her apartment. She didn’t like the bitch, Laquesha, and sure as hell wasn’t giving her no money. That was for her and little Demitrius. The only reason she even fucked with Laquesha was because of Fats’s two other children. She wanted little Demitrius to know his brother and sister. They were nice kids, no matter who their mom was.
Laquesha was nodding up and down as she started to do Kim’s hair. “And guess what?” Laquesha said conspiratorially.
“What?” Kim said, ignoring Laquesha. She was thinking about Christmas coming up. Some extra money would be right on the spot.
Laquesha was blabbering on as she did Kim’s hair, and all of a sudden something drew Kim’s attention. “Fats asked you what?” she blurted out, startling Laquesha, who quickly regained her composure.
“He asked me to smuggle some balloons in for him.” But she spoke real low into Kim’s ear, because the whole salon was ear hustling after Kim’s outburst.
Kim thought, This asshole Fats! He asked her before he asked me. She could still turn it to her advantage.
“What did you tell him?” Kim asked.
Laquesha looked taken aback by her question. “What do you think I told him, girl?” Laquesha replied. “I told him hell no. I think that nigga crazy. He already got himself locked up. Now he wants to jeopardize me and my kids. Hell no.”
Kim smiled inwardly, thinking, This dumb bitch don’t want no money.
“Hell no,” Laquesha continued. “And especially after what happened to Melissa. Not this girl.” Kim’s smile grew outwardly now, and Laquesha noticed.
“What are you smiling about, girl?” Laquesha asked suspiciously.
“Nothing. Why, Laquesha?” Kim asked, and checked her smile.
“You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you, Kim?”
“What do you mean?” Kim asked coyly. Too coyly for Laquesha’s tastes.
“Hell no, girl. Don’t do it,” Laquesha warned.
“Don’t do what?”
“It’s all over your face, Kim. Don’t even go up there and mess it up for all of us. My kids got a right to see their daddy. Don’t fuck that up, it’s all we got.”
Kim checked her hair in the mirror that Laquesha was holding up, took a fifty-dollar bill out of her purse, stood up, handed the money to Laquesha, and thanked her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Laquesha. Just so you know, I’ll be taking lil’ Demitrius to see his father this weekend. Thanks again for doing my hair.” With that, Kim was out the door.
Laquesha was mad at herself for putting Kim up on what was going on. This money-hungry dumb-ass bitch better not get Fats hemmed up. She folded the fifty-dollar bill and put it in her bra. She then looked around for her next appointment.
That afternoon Fats was playing ball with his homies in the prison gym. The games were intense and served as a stress release for the prisoners. Sometimes things got so heated, some drama would follow, but usually cooler heads prevailed. For real, dudes were just trying to get some rec and let off some steam.
“You can’t check me, nigga,” a cat named High-Top from Philly told Fats. Dude was good for real, Fats thought, but him and his homies had held the floor for three straight games and they weren’t looking to give up the floor anytime soon. As long as they kept winning the games, which went up to twelve by ones, then they didn’t have to leave the floor. If they lost, it would be a long wait, a rack of jokers had called next and were waiting their turn to play. Fats knew if they lost that would be it, because the CO would be calling recall soon.
High-Top had the ball and made his move. He crossed Fats up and went to the hoop, but Fats’s big homie Murk had his back. Murk skied in the air to meet the Philly cat, hitting him hard, knocking High-Top to the ground.
“Foul, nigga,” the Philly cat said from the floor as he watched the shot he had thrown up at the last minute roll around the rim and go in for the game-winning point. He jumped up. “That’s game,” he said.
But Murk quickly disagreed. “You called ball, nigga. Take it up top,” Murk growled.
But High-Top wasn’t having it.
“Naw, dawg,” he said. “That’s game. Who got next?” he screamed, looking to the bleachers. But the dudes from D.C. weren’t moving off the court. Fats stepped up to the Philly cat.
“Look, moe, if you hadn’t called foul, it would’ve been your game, but you called ball, so the point don’t count.”
“Naw, fuck that, that’s game. Who got next?”
As the other players on High-Top’s team argued his point, the team that had next walked onto the court. Fats and the other D.C. soldiers were ready to say fuck it, but their big homie Country came over and grabbed the ball.
“Fuck that, it’s ball up top,” he said, and stood there with the ball, daring the Philly dude or anyone else to say something. Fats and his other homies, knowing Country’s reputation on the pound, decided to hold their ground, come what may. It was a tense standoff that happened almost every day in prison. Dudes drew lines and dared other prisoners to step over them. If someone stepped over the line that was drawn, things could get violent quick. That was the way it was. Sometimes a man’s pride could get him seriously hurt or killed. Especially around the holidays, when some got in their feelings easier. All it took was a spark. But the Philly cats didn’t take the bait.
High-Top decided discretion was the better part of valor, and said fuck it. “Ball up top,” he said, and checked it to Fats. The game continued. High-Top missed the tray he put up, then watched Fats nail three treys in a row to win the game for his team. The dudes on High-Top’s team were salty, but that was how it went.
Fats and his crew lost the next game anyway, and afterward they were sitting on the bleachers drying off the sweat that had accumulated from four consecutive games, getting ready to go back to the unit.
“Country, you a crazy-ass nigga,” Little G said to his big homie. “You trying to start all types of shit up in here.” All the homies laughed.
“Naw, fuck that, slim,” Country said. “I’m about holding mine for my homies. That’s what it’s about. Unity. If we all stand together, then we’ll never fall. I’ll give these crackers what they want to see: all of us wild-ass niggas at each other’s throats. I ain’t for seeing my homies get roughed off for nothing, basketball or nothing else. And if we find out who dropped that note on Rock, we rolling on ’em. That’s no bullshit, slim.”
Fats liked listening to Country. He seemed to have his shit together. He was a good brother who looked out for his homies. Or at least that was what Fats thought at the time.
“Open up for the two-thirty one-way move from recreation to the housing unit,” the PA blared. Fats and his homies rolled out of the gym en masse. Everyone on the compound knew that the D.C. mob went hard when it came down to it. It was just the Lorton in them, Fats liked to think, even though he’d never set foot in Lorton. At the block, Fats ran into the Italians Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers, who were playing cards in the common area.
“Hey, Fats, what’s up?” Mikey P greeted him. “Say hi to Fats, Johnny.”
Johnny Two-Fingers looked up and obliged Mikey P.
“Hey, Fats, how you doing? Going hard in the rec, I see.” Fats stopped and pounded rocks with the two Italians.
“I’m doing okay,” he said. “Mr. P, Johnny, nice to see you guys. I’ll holla at you later.”
“All right, yeah, yeah,” Mikey P said as Fats walked over to his cell. “I’m telling you, Johnny. I like that kid. He’s a good kid. I’m telling you. He’s nice, respectful, and got manners,” Mikey P told his friend. “Not like a lot of these kids. They’re fucking animals. Forget about it.” Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers laughed and continued playing cards for twenty-five dollars a game.
At the cell, Fats walked in and found his bunkie, Mel-Mel, sleeping. This nigga trying to sleep away his time, Fats thought.
“Hey, old head,” Fats called out, waking Mel-Mel up. “I gotta take a shit, moe; let me use the room.”
Mel-Mel got up, all cranky and shit. “Dumb-ass young nigga,” he said. “Why you have to wake me up with your bamma ass?”
“Chill out, old head,” Fats shot back. “You didn’t want me in here shitting while you was sleeping, right.”
Mel-Mel didn’t say anything; he just walked out of the cell.
I guess I’m right, Fats mused, and put the towel up so he could shit in peace.
* * *
Later on Fats made a call to his babys’ mama, Laquesha. He had to check on the home front to make sure everything was cool. As Fats dialed the digits and his pin number, the prerecorded message came on. Fats had heard that all this new phone shit was recent. Mel-Mel had told him that back in the nineties you could call straight through back-to-back after every fifteen-minute call, and there was no three-hundred-minute-a-month limit like there was now. Mel-Mel told Fats that it was big ballers like Rayful Edmunds, who were selling kilos of cocaine and running criminal empires from the pens, who jerked the phones off. Just Fats’s luck, he had come in after these bammas fucked the whole system up. A lot of people said the feds was sweet, but Fats didn’t think so. This new joint he was in, FCI Beckley, sucked for real. Three-hundred minutes, that’s only five hours, he thought. Fats could use the phone for only ten minutes a day. Imagine that. How’s a motherfucker supposed to keep good family ties with only three-hundred minutes a month? He had heard that you got an extra hundred minutes at Christmastime. That was better, but it was still some shit. The call went through, and Laquesha pushed five to accept it.
“What’s up, boo?”
“What’s up, La? How’re you doing?”
“I’m good. You wanna say hi to the kids?”
“Yeah, put them on.”
“Hi, Daddy, I love you,” Yvette greeted her father.
“I love you, too, baby girl. Let me talk to your brother.”
“Hi, Daddy, what’s up?” Maurice said.
“What’s up, Maurice, are you being good and listening to your mom?”
“You know it, Pops, it’s all good.”
“Awright, son, put your mom back on the phone.”
“Awright, Pops, ’bye.”
“’Bye. So, La, it’s all good on the home front, right?”
“Yeah, boo. But guess who I saw the other day?”
“Who?” Fats said, wondering what she was gonna drop on him now. “Kim.”
The phone was silent for a second. “Oh yeah?” he said, trying to be indifferent where his baby-mamas were concerned, but it was hard because they were always trying to stir up shit with each other.
“Yeah, and Fats, you better not be trying no shit with her when she visits. I’m telling you, don’t even go there. Don’t mess shit up for the rest of your family. I won’t put up with that bullshit.”
Fats had been thinking long and hard about the move, and he’d figured Kim was his ace, but now this? For real, he didn’t need this shit. He hadn’t even said nothing about it to Kim yet. She was coming up this weekend and bringing lil’ Demitrius, and he was gonna feel it out with her. He expected her to go for it because she was very money motivated, but he hadn’t even reached the subject with Kim yet, and Laquesha was already sweating him about it. He had to dead this quick before World War III erupted between the two. If the shit was easy, though, everybody would be doing it.
“Laquesha, what the fuck are you talking about?” Fats hollered into the phone before he checked himself. “Better yet, don’t even tell me. You know they record all these calls. I ain’t got shit going on, so stop acting like a nigga is doing something behind your back.”
“I’m just telling you, Fats. We gonna be okay. I love you, and I don’t want you to do anything stupid to jeopardize your situation.”
“Awright, La. I feel you,” Fats said. On the inside he was mad as hell, but he decided to try to play it off. No reason to keep Laquesha suspicious. “Look, ain’t nothing happening, La, for real. I gotta go. Awright?”
“Awright, boo.
“’Bye.” “ ’Bye.” Fats hung up the phone, thinking, That bitch Laquesha must be a fucking mind reader or something. How does she always know his next move before he does? But for real, he needed Kim to do the move. As soon as she agreed, Fats would get with his homie Country to set it up. Fats was a man on a mission, and he was determined to make good on his promise to the children.
Back in the cell at lockdown, Mel-Mel was telling Fats about the bags that the prison gave out for Christmas.
“Yeah, joe, back in the day they used to hit a nigga up,” Mel-Mel was saying. “I remember when I was at Manchester before they transferred me to this spot, we used to get a big-ass bag with candy, shorts, socks, and some mo’ shit. And them shits weren’t no generic-type shit like they sell in the commissary here, either, joe. No bullshit. I’m talkin’ bout Nike and shit. Nigga was styling.”
Fats listened in, hoping that they would give some shit like that here, but from what Mel-Mel was saying, he doubted it.
“And, joe, they used to give out pizza and shit, too. They gave out those little-ass personal pan lunch pizzas from Pizza Hut in the little box and all. Those Italians, like Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers, would be going around buying all the pizzas up for a book of stamps each, no bullshit, joe. A nigga could come up by catering to them at Christmastime. They’d be buying the bags and everything. But last year at this joint, they didn’t give us shit but this weak-ass little bag of candy and cookies. But still, joe, them joints were selling for a book of stamps a pop!”
Fats took it all in, wondering if he’d sell his bag. He doubted it. He had a severe sweet tooth. He was just looking forward to his visit so he could get his move on. That was the only thing on his mind. He needed some real paper. Fuck a book of stamps.
The weekend came, and so did the visit. Fats was happy to see his little boy Demitrius, and it was nice to see Kim again, too. He and Kim weren’t as close as him and Laquesha, but she still brought his son to see him. He was surprised that when he brought up the move Kim readily agreed. So it was all set. Now he just had to make the arrangements with his homie Country. Fats was sad to see Kim and Demitrius leave, but he got a chance to take some photos with them. The gumps had brought in a Christmas tree while Fats was visiting, and he got the picture dude to take the photos in front of the plastic tree. So everything was looking up.
Christmas was getting closer. The environment at the prison stayed the same, but little Christmas decorations started popping up at the different units. On ESPN and BET Fats started seeing all the Christmas advertisements, but it was nothing like being on the streets. At times the staff seemed happier. Maybe it was because of the Christmas bonus or the extra pay they could get for working on the holidays, but for Fats the days all blended together. The mailbags got bigger as Christmas got closer, though, and that put smiles on a few cats’ faces. In prison a lot of convicts lived for the mail. For some reason, it was the only outside communication they got. So at mail call, a lot of dudes would be down there expecting something, but it seemed to Fats that most of them never got anything. But the closer it got to Christmas, a few more dudes got mail. Not that he felt sorry for the ones who didn’t. He figured you got what you gave, and thought a lot of dudes in the feds were grimy niggas who never did nothing for nobody and that was why nobody ever did anything for them.
The holidays could also be a very gloomy time for some prisoners. Fights and arguments would pop off with little to no provocation. Being in prison at Christmastime sucked all right. There was no presents, no Santa Claus, and definitely no partying. Dudes might drink some hooch or smoke a little weed, but it wasn’t like there were big parties celebrating the holidays like on the street.
* * *
As Fats washed his clothes in the laundry room, Mikey P came in to do the same.
“What’s up, Fats?” he asked. “How you doing, boo?”
“It’s all good, Mr. P. Is everything good with you?”
“Yeah, Fats, it’s going all right, except they locked up my laundry guy, so I’m stuck doing it myself. Forget about it.” Mikey P laughed.
“It ain’t all that bad,” Fats said, looking at Mikey P, who looked lost on how to operate the machine. Fats helped him get set up.
“Thanks a lot, Fats. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Mr. P,” Fats said.
Mikey P was on the verge of saying something, but was unsure if he wanted to say it.
“You know, Fats, every Christmas we make a meal, you know, to sort of celebrate the holiday and such. Why don’t you eat with us this Christmas? You know, as long as you’re not doing something with your homeboys.”
Fats was taken aback at first, but he thought it was cool of Mr. P to ask him.
“That sounds good, Mr. P, thanks,” Fats said, hoping that they wouldn’t ask him to put anything in, because, for real, he didn’t have anything. “But I think I’ll have to pass.” Fats went by the old prison maxim: you didn’t take anything from anybody except your homeboys.
When he said that, Mikey P looked a little insulted. “Oh no Fats, we ain’t having none of that. When a man asks you to join him at his table, you don’t decline. All you need to do is bring your bowl. We’re having pasta, and there’ll be sodas, doughnuts, and I’m getting somebody in the bakery to make a cake. So you be ready, and I’ll let you know when. I won’t take no for an answer.” Mikey P smiled, clapped Fats on the back, and left before Fats could object again.
At the four P.M. count, Fats told Mel-Mel that Mikey P had invited him to eat with them at Christmas.
“Damn, joe, you all mobbed up,” Mel-Mel joked. “But for real, that’s cool. You know them Italians do it big. They’ll probably have a nice spread. You know the chow hall will have something nice, too. Probably some kind of Cornish hen or something. You know me, joe, I gotta get that bird. I’m not big on pasta, but you would be a fool not to eat with them Italians. They know how to cook for sure, joe, and they go first class all the way.”
Fats felt foolish for having told Mikey P no at first; now he reveled in his good fortune. He just hoped everything else would come together as well. He really needed to get proper so that he could get his kids some nice presents. Before Fats was aware of it, he had voiced his worries aloud.
“Mel-Mel, I gotta figure out a way to get my kids something nice. I don’t got no money to buy them nothing, and neither do my baby-mamas. My kids are used to getting a lot at Christmas. I can’t let them down, moe.”
“I hear you, young’un,” Mel-Mel said. “It’s rough in here.” Then Mel-Mel sat up as if he remembered something. “Check it out, joe. They got this program called Angel Tree. You can sign up for it, and they’ll buy your kids presents.”
Fats looked up and felt some hope for a minute, but then he dashed it.
“Fuck that, moe. I ain’t trying to get no jive charity presents for my kids. I’m trying to get them something nice, no bullshit.”
“Naw, joe, my man said this Angel Tree shit is good. It’s a church program and all type of big corporations donate stuff to them every Christmas, and then the churches in the local areas, by request from prisoners, call their kids to the churches and give them the presents. The kids that don’t have transportation get presents delivered. My man said they give out real nice stuff. They gave his son a digital camera last Christmas. That’s a nice gift, joe.”
“And you don’t gotta pay nothing?” he asked. It sounded too good to be true.
“Naw, joe,” Mel-Mel said. “You just go up to the chapel and sign up, and it’s all good. You put your kids’ names, ages, and where they live, what you want to say on the card, then they take care of the rest.”
“That sounds real good, moe. I’ll have to go sign up for that. I need that, for real.” The wheels in Fats’s head were now spinning. With the Angel Tree program and the move, his kids would get all they wanted and more.
The next morning Fats woke up with two things on his mind: setting up the move with Country and signing up for the Angel Tree program. Both things involved doing something for his kids. That’s just what type of time Fats was on. He would try the Angel Tree program first. Fats saw Mikey P and decided to ask him about Angel Tree, just in case Mel-Mel was playing some kind of joke on him. That’d be just like that old-ass bamma, Fats thought.
“Hey, Mr. P.”
“Hey, Fats. How you doing? I see you’re up early and all. Another day, another dollar, right?”
Fats wished that was the case, but it wasn’t, still he had pressing matters to discern. “Mr. P, can I ask you something?” Fats asked.
Mikey P gathered himself and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Well sure, Fats, go ahead.”
“You heard of the Angel Tree program?” Fats asked. “Yeah, yeah,” Mikey P said. “Isn’t that the thing where they buy gifts for your kids at Christmas?”
“Yeah, that’s it, Mr. P,” Fats replied. “What do you think about it?”
“Well, I never used it,” Mikey P said. “But I know some guys that did. Said their kids were real pleased with the gifts.”
That’s all Fats wanted to hear. “Thanks, Mr. P,” he responded, and headed to the chapel to sign up.
“Ay, Fats, hold up. If you like, I can get you in the arts-and-crafts class. They’re doing something special.”
“That be great, Mr. P. What are they gonna do, make those little demonstrations?” Fats asked.
Mikey P looked perplexed. “Those what? I don’t understand.”
“Those demonstrations, you know, the cards.”
“Yeah, that’s what they’re gonna make, Fats. That’s it,” Mikey P said. “Awright. Count me in. Bet.” Fats said, and hit rocks with Mr. P. When security called for movement, Fats bounced to the chapel. On his way there he was on the lookout for his big homie Country.
After Fats signed up for the Angel Tree program he went up to rec, but Country wasn’t there. Finally he ran into Country at lunch. They were serving fried chicken, so the chow hall was packed. Fats noticed some wreaths and holiday decorations— ribbons, cardboard cutouts of Christmas trees, and different colors of wrapping paper hanging on the walls at various points around the chow hall. He guessed the gumps had been at work. He’d seen them all up in the warden’s face talking ’bout their plans the day before.
“Let me holla at you after we eat, moe,” Fats said to Country, who in turn looked at his little homie, like, what the fuck?
“Awright, slim, sit down,” Country said. All the homies were chowing down, and Country, in his element, was holding court as usual, telling his little homies what they needed and didn’t need to do. Then somebody brought up Rock’s situation.
“They said slim got caught with three of them demonstrations,” one of his homies said.
“Word,” Big Murk spoke up. “That’s some fucked-up shit. Slim gonna be hemmed up for a minute. I hope they don’t give him an outside case.”
Country looked up.
“That shit probably won’t happen, but Rock gonna be in the hole a minute, and he’ll probably get a disciplinary transfer. Plus, them crackers will hit him for his visits, phone, and commissary hard,” Country said. Fats listened intently, taking it all in.
“But for real, homies, we need to find out who the fuck snitched on our man, no bullshit,” Country said, looking around sternly at all the homies at the table. “We can’t let bammas be snitching on D.C. niggas and not get punished. It makes us look soft, and we ain’t soft, right, slim?” Country asked, looking directly at Fats.
“Fuck no, we ain’t soft, moe. We from D.C. The chocolate city. Murder capital of the world. We go hard,” Fats said, and Country clapped him on the back.
“That’s right, and when we find the snitch, we got a little Christmas present for him. A shank in his motherfucking eye. Merry Christmas, bitch.” Country pantomimed stabbing somebody with his fork.
All the homies laughed.
“Check that demonstration out, moe.” The little homie who brought it all up in the first place laughed.
Fats hollered at Country when they left the chow hall. “I’m trying to get down, big homie,” Fats said.
Country double-checked his man to be sure that he was talking about what Country thought he was. “What you mean, slim?”
“I’m trying to make a move in the visit.”
Country stepped back and looked at Fats. “You serious, slim? Because I can make it happen, just say the word.”
“I’m saying it, moe. How much can we get off them demonstrations?”
“Shit, little homie, you gotta bring more than one. You bring in three balloons, and we split it fifty-fifty. I set it up and get it delivered to your peeps. We can get about a grand for each joint.”
That’s three grand! Fats thought. Well, half of three grand. That’s a good come up for one weekend.
“Awright, bet,” Fats agreed, and hit rocks with Country. “Set it up.”
“Who’s coming to see you and when?” Country asked.
“My baby-mama Kim. I gotta find out when, but before Christmas.”
“Awright, bet. I’ll get it moving. Holla back, Fats.”
“Yeah, moe.”
“Don’t even think about fucking this up.”
Fats walked away thinking he needed to call Kim.
After Fats called Kim and gave her the 411 on the move, he went with Mikey P up to recreation to sign up for the card-making class. Mikey P’s buddy, the Italian who was running the class, told Fats to show up the following Monday. Kim had to get with Country’s girl Shanice. He hoped she would do her thing.
At the same time Fats was signing up to make Christmas cards for his kids, Kim was planning to meet with Shanice to get the balloons and the drugs for the move. She had called Shanice right after Fats gave her the word, and now she was waiting for her to drop by with what Kim needed to get the business right. Kim looked out the window and saw Shanice drive up in a blue Caddy.
“What’s up, Shanice?” Kim said as she opened the door.
“What’s up, girl. How you doing?” As they both went inside the house, Shanice took off her jacket and settled down on the couch.
“Look, girl, are you sure you’re up for this?” Shanice asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” Kim said, but as the moment of truth arrived, she was having second thoughts.
“You can’t think so, girl,” Shanice said. “You either gotta be all in or all out. You can’t leave niggas hanging. If you gonna do it, then you gonna do it. If not, then I’m wasting my time coming up here.”
Kim felt kind of offended at Shanice’s words. “Naw, Shanice,” Kim said. “I’m gonna do it.”
“That’s good, girl. You can make some good money doing this….” Shanice smiled. Then she handed Kim a plastic bag with three balloons stuffed with heroin. “All you have to do is hide them good and when you go in the visiting room before Fats comes out, go into the bathroom and put two balloons into your mouth. When he comes in and you hug and kiss him, transfer the balloons into his mouth. Have some soda ready in case he needs to drink it to help him swallow the balloons. Then at the end of the visit, you can do the same thing to get the third one off. This is heroin, girl. This ain’t no joke,” Shanice warned. Kim looked at the balloons in her hand and imagined doing as Shanice suggested. Sounds easy, she thought. But still she was having some serious second thoughts, and the indecision was killing her, but she put on a brave front to Shanice.
“What are you thinking, girl?” Shanice asked.
Kim looked up from the balloons. “It’s safe, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, this heroin being in Fats’s stomach. It won’t leak out, will it?”
Shanice giggled a little. “Naw way, girl,” she said, “that shit is triple-wrapped in a nonbiodegradable balloon, honey. It isn’t dissolving for shit. Ain’t nothing gonna leak out in your man’s belly, so don’t worry about it.”
Kim was relieved to hear that, but she still felt some trepidation. Still, she would do what she had signed on to do, or at least she hoped she could keep her resolve. Fats was depending on her.
* * *
That weekend, Fats got a surprise visit from Laquesha and the kids. Fats didn’t like surprise visits, he had a basketball game; but it was all good when he got out there.
“Hey! You all surprised me. What’s the special occasion?” Fats asked as he gave hugs and kisses all around.
“Grandma let us use her car, daddy, so we decided to come out,” Yvette said, and Maurice nodded his head.
“Yeah, Daddy, Grandma said we might as well come visit you.” Fats looked at Laquesha for confirmation.
“It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. We just decided to drive up yesterday afternoon. My mom went on a church retreat and said we could use her car, so we did.” Fats smiled into his baby-mama’s face, then his eyes shifted to his kids. He loved them so much. As they settled down and the kids went to watch TV in the playroom, Fats decided to tell Laquesha about the Angel Tree program.
“You know they got this program here, La,” Fats said. “It’s called the Angel Tree program, and I signed up for it. They gonna contact you to go to the local church to pick up presents for the kids from me.”
Laquesha looked mad for a minute. “We don’t need their charity, boo. I can handle it.”
“Naw, La, it’s not like that,” Fats said. “These big corporations donate the gifts for tax write-offs, so it’s all good, and all the dudes in here use the program. One dude told me his kids got gifts from the program even when he was home. They give good gifts, too. You just gotta tell them what the kids want when they call, and they’ll get it for them.”
Laquesha sat quizzically for a minute. “Well, it’s better than what you had planned before,” she said, and smiled up into Fats’s face. Her smile made Fats feel guilty because he still had the move planned. Just not with Laquesha.
“I want you to get the present for lil’ Demitrius, too, because Kim will forget to do it, okay?” Fats asked.
“Okay, boo, I got you,” Laquesha said, knowing Fats was right. She didn’t care for Kim—that conniving bitch, she thought—but she would make sure Fats got a present for his son, bitch or no bitch.
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” Fats said. “I’m in this Christmas card–making class, too. I’m gonna make cards for all of you.”
Laquesha sat there admiring her man. He was such a good father. And even though the little demonstration he was trying to make didn’t work out, Fats was rebounding and coming up with other alternatives so that his kids got something for Christmas. Laquesha was proud of him. “See what you can accomplish when you put your mind to it, boo?” Laquesha said. “You need to leave all that street shit behind.”
Fats felt even more guilty with that remark, and Laquesha noticed the subtle change in his eyes.
“What’s the matter, boo?” she asked.
“It ain’t but a thing,” Fats answered with a smile.
But Laquesha felt like maybe Fats was scamming her; she got a serious look on her face and looked Fats right in his scheming eye. “You better not even think of trying to do that shit with Kim, Fats!” She cut straight to the chase.
He felt like she could see through him. But he knew he had to continue to deny it; if not she would go all out trying to convince Kim not to do it. “I’m not doing nothing, La,” Fats tried to reassure her. “You can bet on that.”
Laquesha looked him up and down and tried to find the truth in his face, but Fats was playing it cool, and Laquesha was placated for the moment, but she still had her doubts deep inside.
This nigga better not play me, she thought. Fats quickly changed the subject. “This Italian guy on my unit was telling me about a videotape program, where you can make a videotape with a Christmas message for the kids,” Fats said. “Kinda like a videotaped Christmas card. I’m gonna look into that, what do you think?”
“That sounds good, boo.” Laquesha said as the kids came running up and screaming their daddy’s name. I’m glad they got all these programs in here for prisoners to make stuff for their kids for Christmas, Laquesha thought. Because she knew money was tight, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to buy the kids anything for Christmas. She knew her mom was planning a meal, but that might be about it. If this Angel Tree program that Fats was talking about came through, and he made cards and the videotape, it might not be a bad Christmas at all. She was interrupted in her thoughts with the kids jumping up and down and pointing.
“Presents, presents!”
Laquesha looked over and saw two feminine-looking prisoners arranging gift-wrapped boxes under the Christmas tree in the corner. That’s nice, Laquesha thought. She would have to try to at least get a Christmas tree for the house. She would talk to her mom when they got home.
“C’mon, let’s go take a picture sitting in front of the Christmas tree,” Fats said, motioning for the picture guy sitting in the corner. The gumps admired Fats and his family discreetly as they decorated the tree.
“Aw, isn’t that sweet—a regular family guy,” one gump said to the other. Fats kind of looked back at them, and they moved out of the way so he and his kids could take a picture.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Yvette squealed. “Are all those presents for me?” Fats smiled down at his little girl and picked her up. “You know it, baby girl. They’re all for you.”
“What about me, Daddy?” Maurice said, not to be left out. Fats hugged his son close. “You got something coming, too, Maurice, don’t worry.” As the picture man commenced to snapping photos of the family, Fats’s kids and Laquesha beamed, just happy to be in the presence of their man.
The visit ended all too soon. If the stupid-ass cracker COs wouldn’t take so long to process people in, then maybe we could visit for longer, Laquesha thought as she drove home. The BOP was notorious for having visitors wait for hours on end before they would let them in to visit. It made no sense to complain because then the power-tripping guards at the desk would just make the visitors wait longer. It was hell on the nerves, but when loved ones were in prison, visitors had no choice. Either wait and suffer the indifference of the prison guards, or don’t visit. Laquesha always felt like they treated her as if she were the criminal. Always looking down at her and suspecting that she and her kids were smuggling drugs or something. It didn’t matter that Fats was already doing time; it seemed the prison guards wanted to punish her, too. It bugged her, but what was she to do? She looked back at her kids, who were sleeping in the backseat. Laquesha still worried about Fats. No matter his reassurances, she had a nagging feeling that behind her back he was trying to do something with Kim.
* * *
The next day, with her suspicions still worrying her, Laquesha called Kim.
“Hello?” Kim answered the phone.
“What’s up, Kim. It’s Laquesha.”
What’s this bitch want? Kim thought. “Hey, how you doing? Have you talked to our man?” Kim humored her.
“Yeah,” Laquesha said. “I was up there all day yesterday. He’s good.”
“Oh yeah?” Kim responded. She didn’t know Laquesha had planned to visit Fats again so soon. She had to one-up her, though. “I’m going next weekend,” she said.
Fucking bitch, Laquesha fumed. Fats better not use up all his visiting points with her.
“That’s good, girl. I’m sure lil’ Demitrius wants to see his daddy.”
“Yeah, you can bet he does, and I need to see that nigga, too,” Kim said, trying to cause some friction.
Laquesha ignored it. “Look, Kim, I know you two got something planned, and I’m calling to beg you not to do it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Laquesha.”
“Don’t come at me with that bullshit. I know what you two are planning to do, and I’m telling you, don’t do it. Don’t get Fats hemmed up. I know he means well, but it’s not worth it. You could go to jail, Kim. Did you ever think about that? What will happen to lil’ Demitrius then?”
Laquesha threw a low blow at Kim’s motherly instincts. And for real, the same thing had been playing on Kim’s mind. She was scared to death something would go wrong, but she didn’t know how to back out of it. She sat on the phone not saying nothing.
Laquesha took this as her cue to press on. “I’m just saying, Kim, think of the consequences. Think of the worst possible outcome. Is that something you want to have to deal with?”
Kim was quiet. She knew she didn’t want to go through with it. Her own fears coupled with Laquesha’s words had just reaffirmed her own doubts. She slid the phone down into the receiver.
“Kim,” Laquesha said. “Kim, hello?” But Kim was no longer on the other end of the phone.
Fats was in recreation the next day working on the cards for his kids. Recreation supplied all the materials: cardboard, coloring pens, glue, little Christmas designs, glitter, Santa Clauses, Christmas trees, reindeer, snowmen, and so on. All Fats had to do was put it all together and arrange it. He was busy because the class only lasted three sessions, and Fats had to make cards for his three kids and his two baby-mamas. Plus, he had a basketball game at seven p.m., so he wasn’t trying to bullshit. His homie Country saw him and came into hobby craft to holla at his boy. “What up, slim?” Country said. “I see you jive making the little Christmas cards. What’s up with that?”
Fats looked up from his work. “You know how we do, moe,” Fats said. “I gotta do big things for the kids.” Country smiled admiring his homeboy’s tenacity. “So what’s up with that demonstration?” Country asked, referring to the move. “You got it all set up or what, slim?”
Fats looked back at his homie. “It’s all good for this weekend, moe,” Fats said.
Country clapped him on the back. “Good deal, good deal, slim. You ready for the game or what?” Country asked.
Fats nodded. “I’m ready,” he replied. The game was big, but to Fats his kids were bigger.
Don’t get it twisted, he was ready to do his thing with the rock. It was the first game of the Christmas tournament, and the whole pound would be out to see what mob was up to win the whole thing. Dudes would be betting mad cheddar on the games, and all the homies would be out representing for the D.C. mob. Fats knew he had to do this thing, he was being counted on to distribute the ball, run the point, and hit the trey when needed. But Fats was confident in his game. So he would just ball. His mob stood a good chance to win it all if the things fell right. Although they didn’t have one dominant player, the D.C. dudes played together. Everyone played their role and hustled. Plus, Country was a good motivator and wasn’t afraid to call his players out when needed. It will be what it will be, Fats thought, and got back to finishing his cards.
The next morning, the gumps were decorating the unit with more cardboard designs of Santa Claus and the like. These gumps really get into this shit, Fats thought. But he didn’t give a shit for real. Actually, he was shining like a motherfucker. The glow from last night’s game was still on him. He and his mob had put on a show. Fats hit two crucial treys in the last two minutes to give his team the win over the dudes from Baltimore. They had one of the best players on the pound, a kid they called DJ, who had Superman cuts and a game like lightning. DJ dropped thirty-five on Fats’s mob, but he was the only threat on his team, and the chocolate city team prevailed in the end after trailing most of the game. The homies won mad books, and they were all on Fats’s jock for his game-winning efforts.
Fats saw Mikey P and went over to join him.
“Hey, hey!” Mikey P said. “It’s the basketball star. Hey, how you doing?” Fats nodded to Mikey P and the other Italians playing cards at the table.
“What’s up, Mr. P,” Fats greeted, pounding rocks with the old mobster.
“Will you look at this guy?” Mikey P said. “Forget about it. Look at this kid.” He told all the other Italians, “This kid is a helluva ballplayer. Who would of thought? I mean, look at this kid.” All the Italians laughed at Mikey P and nodded to Fats.
Fats didn’t know if they were laughing at him or with them, but he didn’t care. He knew Mikey P was a good old dude, so he could take the ribbing if that’s what it was. A lot of dudes underestimated his athletic skills because of how he looked. Fats was a little rolypoly-looking dude. That was how he got his name Fats in the first place, so it was all good.
“Mr. P, I wanted to ask you if you know who’s running the videotape program?” Fats asked, getting down to more serious business.
Mikey P looked at his buddies again, and Johnny Two-Fingers held up his hands.
“Damn, Mikey, you letting this guy in on all our rackets or what,” he joked.
Mikey P looked at Fats and pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“Well, let me introduce you to these guys,” he said, and looked to Fats. “This is a friend of ours.” And all the Italians laughed again. It was an inside joke.
“But hey, really Fats, I know the guy who runs the program. You want to make a videotape to send to your kids? I’ll set it up for you, all right?” Mikey P smiled. “We can go down to rec this afternoon and do it, is that good?”
“Yeah, that’s good Mr. P, thanks a lot,” Fats said, and was about to turn to leave.
“Hey, Fats, did you bring those cards you were making back to the unit?” Mikey P asked.
“Yeah,” Fats said. “I got them upstairs.”
“Well, bring them down and show the old lugs what you got.”
“Awright,” Fats said, and went up to get the cards he made for his kids. On his way back he heard Mikey P telling the guys, “This kid is really talented. I’m telling you. He could be some type of designer. Here he is. Show ’em the cards, Fats.”
Fats showed the Italians the three cards he’d made for his kids.
“Those are nice,” Johnny Two-Fingers said. “Are you sure you made ’em?”
All the Italians looked to Fats and laughed again.
“Shut up, youse lug,” Mikey P said. “I watched him make them with my own eyes.”
“Hey, Fats,” said Big Vinny. “You ain’t trying to sell none of them cards?”
Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers looked at Big Vinny sharply.
“Naw, you big lug, he ain’t trying to sell those cards,” Mikey P admonished. “He made them for his kids.”
“Oh,” Big Vinny said, and Mikey P and Johnny Two-Fingers shrugged, as if to apologize to Fats.
“I can’t even invite my friends over with this guy,” Mikey P said, nodding toward Big Vinny.
“Naw, it’s okay, Mr. P. It’s all cool,” Fats said, trying to soothe over the matter.
“Lookee here,” Johnny Two-Fingers said. “Fats is always the gentleman. Bravo, bravo.” He did a little golf clap with his hands.
“Don’t mind these guys, Fats, they’re just a bunch of morons. Forget about it.” Mikey P laughed out loud at his joke, and all the other Italians started laughing, too. “I’ll see you after chow, and we’ll go up to rec, okay, Fats?” Fats nodded and made his departure.
Fats ran straight to the jack to call Kim. After Fats pushed all the necessary numbers to place the call, Kim answered the phone.
“What’s up, Fats?”
“What’s up? How’s my lil’ dude?”
“He’s all good. He’s at school right now.”
“That’s good, and how’s my baby-mama?”
“I’m good, Fats, and looking forward to seeing you this evening.”
“That’s good, is everything all good with that little demonstration?”
“Yeah, it’s all good Fats,” Kim said, but in her heart she knew she wasn’t going through with it. She couldn’t tell Fats that over the phone, though. She would just have to tell him in person and keep lil’ Demitrius close to her in case Fats got mad. Surely he wouldn’t flip out on her if their son was right there. Kim didn’t even know what to do with the balloons. She wanted to get rid of them. She had become increasingly paranoid since her conversation with Laquesha. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She wanted to call Shanice and give her the balloons back, but she was scared of the big girl. She felt it would be better for Fats to take care of everything and get her off the hook from inside. He was the one who set it up and pressured her into doing it, so he could handle the fallout.
Fats hung up with Kim and looked at the clock. He had to wait half an hour before he could call Laquesha because of the way the phone system was set up. It sucked, but that is the way it was. Exactly half an hour later and right before lunch, Fats called his other baby-mama. She scolded him again and reminded him not to be fucking up. Fats wanted to lash out at her, but he held his tongue and maintained that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. She told Fats that the Angel Tree people had contacted her and that she was supposed to go next week to pick up the presents for the kids. Fats was happy to hear that.
When Laquesha got off the phone, someone was at her front door. Her girl Melissa was the unexpected visitor.
“What’s up, girl?” Laquesha said in greeting.
“What’s up?”
“Did you ever hear from Rock?”
“Yeah, he called me the other day. He can only use the phone once a month from the hole. He said they got him under investigation, and when I tried to ask him if they got the balloons, he said he didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, girl, at least you talked to him and he’s all right.”
“Yeah, but it is what it is, right?” Melissa resigned.
“Yeah, that’s right. It is what it is,” Laquesha echoed. “You know Fats signed up for this Angel Tree program and they called me this morning about getting some presents for the kids? That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, girl, I heard about that program before,” Melissa said.
“This girl I know from Northwest got some stuff from Angel Tree one year when her man was down Lorton. She said they called her up and told her son and her to come to the church. The little boy wanted a bike, and they didn’t have no bike on the premises, so the church lady got in the car with them and took them to this big-ass bike factory down in Virginia. They went in and there was like a thousand bikes all lined up. Different colors and types. The church lady turned to the boy and said to go get a bike. The kid was like which one, and the church lady said, ‘Whatever one you want.’ My girl said watching her little boy run around the bike factory and trying all the different bikes was the best present ever for him and her, and when she told her man down Lorton, he was really happy about what happened, too.”
Laquesha was eager to see what would happen when she took her kids to the church. Something like that would be fascinating. She just hoped something half as good would happen to her family.
“That’s a beautiful story, Melissa. I would have loved to see the look on that boy’s face.”
* * *
That weekend Kim and little Demitrius visited Fats. It took forever for them to get processed in. Fats was up on the tier stressing. He was already nervous as it was, with plans to do the move, and now that they hadn’t called him yet, Fats was hot. He sat and looked out the door watching dudes from other units go to the visiting hall.
Mel-Mel saw his bunkie pacing. “Damn, young ’un, chill out. They gonna be here,” he said.
“I know, I’m just mad ’cause I know they probably sitting out front with some jive-ass crackers fronting on them,” Fats replied.
“I hear you, joe,” Mel-Mel said, and just then the CO came out of the office and looked down the tier.
“James,” he called. “You got a visit.” About fucking time, Fats thought. All his pent-up anxiety left him as he walked to the door of the unit and waited for the big fat-ass redneck CO to let him out.
“We got one to the visiting room,” the CO said into his walkie-talkie. When the compound officer responded in the affirmative, the CO unlocked the door and let Fats go.
Only two more weeks to Christmas, Fats thought.
As he entered the visiting room his little boy ran up and jumped him. “Daddy, Daddy, hey Daddy!”
Fats grabbed his son and hugged him tight. “What’s up, little man?” he said, then turned to Kim. He could tell something was wrong because Kim had that look on her face. Fats frowned at her. “What’s up, Kim?”
“Nothing, Felix.” She gave him a hug and a kiss. Fats was expecting her to push the balloons into his mouth, but there was nothing. Only Kim’s tongue. When Kim pulled away from him, he knew that she hadn’t brought the balloons. It was all in her face. To say the least, Fats was mad. The look he gave his girl was so severe that lil’ Demitrius noticed.
“What’s the matter, Dad?” he asked. “You got gas or something?” Fats looked down at his little son, like, what the fuck? But he smiled and picked the boy up again and moved to sit down. Kim used that as an excuse to walk over to the vending area.
“I’ll get you guys some sodas,” she said, and made her escape.
Fats looked on in displeasure.
Lil’ Demitrius sat on Fats’s lap, studying his dad’s face again.
“Daddy, Daddy, what’s wrong?” he asked, and grabbed Fats’s hand. Fats looked down and felt fucked up for his son. He was mad, but it wasn’t his son’s fault.
“Ain’t nothing wrong, little man. It’s all good. Mommy just makes me mad sometimes,” Fats told his son.
“Why’s that, Daddy?” Demitrius asked.
Fats looked down at his ever-inquisitive son. “Well, Demitrius, that’s for me to know and you to find out.” Fats started tickling his son, who screamed, got up, and dared his dad to chase after him. The CO sitting at the guard station glared over at Fats. Fats returned the glare. Fuck that cracker.
Kim came over with some Cokes and candy bars.
Fats brooded, refusing to look at her.
“Felix, look at me,” she said.
Fats mumbled something under his breath.
“What’d you say?” Kim asked, and Fats looked up into her eyes.
“I said, why didn’t you bring it?”
Kim looked over to see Demitrius running around with two little white girls.
“Well, Fats, I was gonna bring it, but then I talked to Laquesha, and she told me I better not. She said if I got you in trouble that I was in trouble with her. I was scared, Fats. I’m not trying to fuck with your psycho hood-rat baby-mama.” Fats couldn’t believe Kim was telling him this bullshit. Kim was looking into his eyes to see if he was buying it.
Finally he said something. “Kim, you were never gonna do it, you shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place. Now you put me in a bad spot. I set something up with someone, and they’re expecting something, and I don’t have it.” Fats squared off with Kim. “That’s just not how you do things around here. All you got in here is your word and your balls, and now, because of you, it’s gonna look like my word is some shit because you didn’t bring me that little demonstration.”
“Blame it on me,” Kim said, grabbing Fats’s hands.
“You really think that jive-ass shit is gonna work in here? I’m supposed to go to the dude and tell him, ‘Oh, she decided not to do it.’ Get the fuck outta here,” Fats said. He spent the rest of the visit in brooding silence. He was too busy sweating what he was gonna tell Country. He knew his big homie was gonna be pissed. Kim had left Fats in a real bad spot. She could just go home and not think about it, but Fats had to deal with the situation head-on. He tried not to be in his feelings for his son’s sake, but it was hard. When the visit was over, it wasn’t a minute too soon.
Later on, during count, Fats told Mel-Mel what was up and asked his advice on what he should do. Mel-Mel told him the best thing to do was to be straight up with Country and hope for his mercy.
That night, Fats and his homeboys had a second-round game in the Christmas tournament. Fats didn’t say anything to Country before the competition, and luckily Country was too hyped by the game to press Fats about the balloons. But Fats could tell as the big homie kept looking at him that he was waiting for him to say something about the move. Even though Fats was fucked up and feeling sick on the inside at having to explain the fuckup to Country, he played real well and the D.C. mob won again to all their homies’ delight. Dudes were running around the gym like they won the NBA championship after the game, and then came the moment that Fats was dreading.
“Little homie, what up, slim,” Country said. “You played real good, but what’s up with the work? It went good, right, slim?”
Fats looked up at his homie. “Country, for real, the shit’s fucked up. My girl didn’t bring it.”
Country double-checked his homie for a minute, mean-mugging him. “Don’t say that slim.”
Fats nodded, confirming the bad news.
“Damn, slim, then shit’s fucked up.” Country started to walk away before adding, “You better come up with a plan and get that shit straight because I gotta have my shit. This ain’t a joke.” Fats just stood there, waist-high in deep shit.
The next morning Fats was reading over the holiday flyer that the institution had put out. It was done up all fancy like they were really doing something special. It listed the Christmas meal they would be having: Cornish hen, corn on the cob, applesauce, green beans, muffins, and Italian sausages. Sounds good, Fats thought. But he knew the reality of prison, that although the meal might be better than normal, it would still be some shit. Nothing like the spread Fats would be eating if he were on the streets. Another flyer listed the activities that were planned for the holidays. They had all types of Christmas tournaments like the one Fats was playing in basketball, including a pool tournament, Ping-Pong, three-point shot, and a dunk contest. Not to mention the concert put on by the prison bands, the talent show, the soccer shootout along with an indoor soccer tournament, a volleyball tournament, and various board-game and card-game tournaments, too. There would be plenty for the prisoners to do. Fats figured the prison tried to keep the inmates busy during the holidays—the busier they all were, the less violence or trouble they’d get into. The administrators must have figured that out from experience.
They also gave out little prizes, like twelve-packs of soda and bags of candy for the victors in all the holiday activities.
Fats was trying to get that case of soda that they gave out to each member of the basketball team that won the Christmas tournament. Bragging rights and that case of soda is what most dudes played for. They could either drink up with their homies or sell the case to one of the big willies for a book of stamps. It was something, Fats thought, but he’d be drinking his. There was also a holiday-movie list, but most of the movies were some pure garbage. The BOP had this policy that grown men in prison couldn’t watch rated R movies, so they got all this Harry Potter–type shit. Fats never understood the logic of it. They had some type of feel-good Christmas movie. Fats wouldn’t be watching that shit.
Fats turned around in the unit and saw Johnny Two-Fingers and Tommy Boy putting down bids for dudes’ Christmas bags. They were offering a book of stamps a bag. Mikey P had told Fats that the Italians liked to buy up all the bags to send them home to their kids. It was like a regular thing they did year after year. But just like he wanted to drink his own soda, Fats wanted to eat his bag. He didn’t have it like the Italians, who would be spending their limit every month and going to the vending machines to buy sodas, sandwiches, and pastries every day. The bag of candy would be a treat to Fats and most of his homies, too. They weren’t getting that much money in at all, and when they did they usually spent it on shoes. D.C. dudes liked to keep their gear fresh.
Fats decided to give Kim a call. He walked over to the phone and punched in his girl’s digits. He thought, This girl really got me in some shit. A nigga could end up getting shanked because of her bitch ass.
“Hello,” Kim said, after pushing five to accept the call.
“What’s up?” Fats asked.
“Oh, you want to talk to me now?” Kim replied.
“Yeah, you need to come back and handle that, for real, Kim.”
“I can’t believe you, Fats. I told you I’m not doing it. So why you calling me with that shit?” Kim said.
“Look Kim, you about to get a nigga hemmed up in here.”
“I’m sorry Fats, but I ain’t doing it.”
This fucking bitch! Fats thought. “Well, what’d you do with that demonstration?” Fats asked. He was getting nowhere with Kim; therefore, he had to come up with an alternative, fast.
“I still got it,” Kim said.
“Well, since you won’t do what you said you’re gonna do, you need to give that demonstration to Laquesha.”
“Laquesha? Why would I give it to that bitch?”
“Because she’s gonna do what you too scared to do.”
“Fuck you, Fats.”
“Fuck you, Kim. Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”
“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to,” Kim said, before crying, “Fuck you, Fats, don’t be calling me no more.”
Ain’t this some shit. Fucking jive-ass bitch. Fats would have to call Laquesha later and beg her to help him out. If she wouldn’t, then the alternative wasn’t going to be nice. Fats didn’t like his chances with Country. He knew Country would go hard for his. Not that Fats was some type of sucker, but his big homie was like that, and deep down Fats knew he was in the wrong.
After lunch Fats went up to rec to chill. He saw Mikey P in the hobby craft.
Mikey P waved him over. “Check it out, Fats. Look what I got my wife and daughter for Christmas.” Mikey P showed Fats two leather purses and some ceramic figurines that were displayed on the table. Fats checked them out. They were nice. He wished he could have gotten Laquesha, Kim, and his daughter some. Well, maybe not Kim. Fucking jive-ass bitch.
“Those are nice, Mr. P,” Fats said. “I bet they were expensive.”
Mikey P pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Not that much,” he said. “I had a guy owed me some favors.” Fats wished he had some dudes who owed favors and could do work like that. But all of Fats’s homies were broke just like him. All of them except Country, that was. And the homie who had the most was the one breathing down Fats’s neck. I guess that’s why he has the most, Fats thought. He be about his business. Fats’s choices were limited; he knew that he had to convince Laquesha to do the move. She either did it or he’d get fucked up. But Fats was still skeptical. And if he had to get fucked up, then so be it. He just hoped his homie wouldn’t murk his ass. He just wanted to be able to provide his kids with gifts from their daddy. That wasn’t a crime, was it? Fats felt Mikey P staring at him.
“Fats, you all right?” Mikey P asked.
“It’s all good, Mr. P.”
But Mikey P sensed that something was wrong. “Well, look, kid, if you need something, you let me know, okay?” he said, and shook hands with Fats.
“Awright, Mr. P,” Fats said. “I’m about to bounce.”
“Oh yeah, Fats. I signed you up for that videotape program. You have to do it tomorrow. They said they’ll put you on the call-out. All right?”
“Awright, thanks Mr. P.” Fats walked off thinking about what he was gonna do and how he was gonna pull it off. It always seemed in Fats’s life that everything he tried to do always fucked up no matter how good his intentions were. As he waited for the announcement so that he could move back to the unit, he walked by the band rooms and saw some white dudes jamming. Fats stopped for a minute. They were playing “Jingle Bells” really fast, like a heavy metal version. Probably practicing for the concert. In the next band room some brothers were singing Christmas carols a cappella. It sounded pretty good. He wondered if they would win the talent show.
Back in the unit Fats overheard some of the Nation of Islam dudes talking about the celebration of Christmas. Fats listened in to see how these brothers were kicking it.
“Christmas is the result of WASP capitalist beliefs,” said one NOI brother to the other. Both of the dudes wore their khakis pressed and fitted. “You see, my brother, there is nothing Christian about it. It is a made-up holiday for the WASP capitalistic elite to get the masses to spend money. They aren’t celebrating anything religious, they are celebrating the spending of money, plain and simple.”
The other brother nodded and looked over to Fats like he was eavesdropping or something. “How you doing, brother?” he said.
Fats nodded and walked away, not wanting to disrespect the NOI brothers. He wasn’t feeling what they were saying anyway. Shit, Christmas is Christmas, he thought. It is what it is. Buying presents for your kids is cool; fuck all that bullshit they tripping off.
Fats went in his room and decided to get the cards he made for his kids ready to send. He would put them in the mail today. It was only a week before Christmas, and he wanted the cards to get to them on time.
The gumps were busy at work retaping the Christmas decorations that they had plastered all over the unit. Some of the ribbons and stuff had been ripped down by unruly prisoners. Naturally, Fats’s homeboys, but it was all good.
“Why these dumb-ass niggas rip down the shit we work so hard to put up?” one gump said to the other.
“These little-dick niggas don’t got no Christmas spirit,” the other one replied.
“You right, girl, you right.” They both giggled as they continued their work fixing the decorations. Fats watched and laughed, thinking about what little-dick niggas they were talking about. They don’t wanna fuck with this Mandigo, Fats thought. But he wasn’t serious. He wasn’t on that type of time. But there were plenty who were. He didn’t understand how a man could get off with another man. That shit is sick, Fats thought. Fats still wasn’t sure what to tell Country. He had a game that night, and he knew tomorrow he would be on the callout to do the videotape message for his kids.
Fats lay down and took a nap to try to forget about his problem and the pressure that was closing in on him.
That night at the game the homies advanced to the semifinals. It was all good for the D.C. mob. Country was really standoffish toward Fats, but he was happy the homies won since he was the coach. He didn’t really talk to Fats during the game except to pass on game instructions. After the game he called Fats over while all their other homies were running around the gym, crazy with energy and mad hyped because they’d won.
“Fats, you gotta make that happen or face the consequences,” Country told him. Fats didn’t know what he was gonna do, but he didn’t tell his big homie that. “I got you, big homie. I got it all smoothed out, it’s in the works for this weekend,” he lied. “My bad, moe. It won’t happen again.” Country looked at Fats like he wanted to believe him, like he wanted to trust him, but he didn’t say anything. He just gritted on Fats and turned to celebrate with his other homeboys.
Fats was really in a jam. He was fucked up, and he only had one person to turn to. Laquesha. He called her up.
“What’s up, boo?” Laquesha said.
“What’s up, La.” Fats decided that he might as well break it down to her straight. “Look La, I’m in a serious bind, and if I don’t get straight some drama might be jumping off, and it ain’t looking good for me.”
“Tell me what’s up,” Laquesha said with concern in her voice.
“Well, it’s that thing with Kim. Since it didn’t happen, it looks like I’m the fall guy, and dudes are getting ready to fuck me up if I don’t come up with the demonstration or the paper.”
“Oh, Fats, I told you so. I told you that shit was nothing but trouble.”
“I know, La, but I really need your help. We gotta make this work, or shit’s gonna jump off.”
Laquesha was upset at Fats but she also recognized the severity of this situation. She knew when push came to shove she would hold her man down however and whatever way she could. But she didn’t just want to come out and say it; she wanted to make Fats sweat a little. Serves the nigga right, she thought. Fats was waiting for her to respond to his predicament, but Laquesha went another route.
“Fats, you know the church contacted me about the presents. I told them Maurice and Demitrius wanted bikes and that Yvette wanted a dollhouse. They said it would be no problem and told me to bring the kids to pick up the presents on Christmas Eve. Isn’t that great?”
“La, didn’t you hear anything I just said?” Fats screamed into the phone, clearly desperate and at the end of his rope. Laquesha realized that the situation was more serious than she’d thought and worked quickly to defuse it.
“I’ll handle it, boo. I’ll come this weekend. Who got the demonstration, Kim?” Relief flooded Fats. He felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. Laquesha would make everything all right, just like she always did. Thank God.
“Thanks, La! Yeah, Kim got that so get it from her, and I’ll see you on Saturday,” Fats said. “And La?”
“What, boo?”
“I’m sorry for yelling at you. You’re the greatest, La, and I mean that.”
As Fats hung up the phone, Laquesha thought to herself, Yeah, I know, but what the hell have I just gotten myself into?
Later that day Laquesha went over to Kim’s house. Kim had been expecting her so she wasn’t surprised to find Laquesha at the door.
“What’s up?” Kim said. “You came to get that?”
“Yeah, girl, I came to get that. Since you couldn’t handle yours, now I gotta handle mines.”
Kim couldn’t believe the nerve of the bitch. “You the one who convinced me not to do it, Laquesha, so why you coming at me like that. What happened to all that don’t fuck it up for me and my kids shit?” Kim said.
Laquesha wanted to lash out but didn’t. It would only make matters worse. The situation was already complex, and Laquesha knew if she let Kim get her in her feelings then they would all end up losing.
“I don’t want to do it, Kim, but Fats said if I don’t then something might happen to him. I can’t let him go out like that.”
Kim looked up at Laquesha and realized she was right. She started crying, and Laquesha consoled her, hoping that she was doing the right thing and that everything would turn out all right.
That Saturday Laquesha took the bus up. She didn’t bring the kids. If anything went wrong she didn’t want them around to experience it. She was a chick on a mission, and she was flying solo. It was her and Fats against the world, or at least that was Laquesha’s attitude. She would ride or die for her man. Fuck the consequences. She couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening to Fats, the father of her children. When she got on the bus she was surprised because Shanice, Country’s girl, was taking the trip, too. It struck Laquesha as kind of funny because Fats hadn’t said nothing about her coming up to see Country, and it seemed to her that on the trip Shanice was mad-dogging her like she’d done something wrong. Laquesha tried to holler at the girl, but Shanice brushed Laquesha off and acted like she was all up in her feelings for some reason. What is up with that? Laquesha thought.
As they got closer Laquesha was thinking about something Melissa had said about Shanice one time. It was something that Shanice had said to Melissa that struck her as kind of odd. Shanice had told Melissa when she gave her the balloons that if Melissa and Rock fucked up the move then she would have to start making the trips again. But she was trying not to make the trips because of something that happened before. A close call or something like that had taken place when Country was in USP Lewisburg. Supposedly she told Melissa they had got hemmed up, but Country had gotten them out of it someway. Now as she was thinking about it Laquesha wondered how it was that they got out of it. If Shanice is on this trip at the same time as me, could she be doing the same thing I’m doing? Laquesha thought. Is that why she’s mad at me, because she feels it’s Fats’s fault that she has to make this trip? Laquesha couldn’t shake the feeling that something was definitely up, and whatever it was it wouldn’t be good news for her or Fats.
At the prison Shanice was first off the bus to be processed. Funny thing was that she kept looking back to Laquesha like she was making sure that Laquesha was coming in, for some reason. While Laquesha was waiting to go in, she got a sudden premonition that she was about to be set up. She was spooked, and she didn’t pass it off as being paranoid. She panicked right before going in the visit and decided to ditch the drugs. She went into the ladies’ room, took the balloons out, and flushed them down the toilet. She hoped that she was doing the right thing, because if her premonition was wrong, then Fats could end up getting hurt really bad because of her being spooked. Laquesha trusted her instincts, though.
When Fats entered the visiting room, she could tell he was nervous and kind of tense. But he was determined to make the move. When he saw Country and Shanice in the visiting room, his eyes lit up. He nodded to his big homie, who nodded back. Fats walked over and gave his girl a kiss, expecting her to push some balloons into his mouth, but again, like the ordeal with Kim, it didn’t happen. Fats disengaged from the kiss and looked inquisitively at Laquesha.
“I couldn’t do it,” Laquesha said. Fats looked at her. Mad at first, but then resigned to his fate. Fuck it, he thought. I’ll do what I gotta do. Come what may.
“It’s awright, La. I’ll make do,” Fats said, as a thousand possibilities ran through his head.
Laquesha looked up to see Country and Shanice staring at them intently. What are they up to? And as she looked away, she noticed that some COs were rolling in and coming right toward her and Fats. It looked like a repeat of what had happened to Rock and Melissa.
Laquesha was so happy she’d trusted her instincts and hadn’t brought in the drugs. She knew their visit was over and that they’d put Fats in a dry cell, but she knew that Fats wouldn’t pass anything. As the COs escorted Fats away and got ready to take her out of the jail, Laquesha glared at Country and Shanice. She couldn’t prove it, but she knew in her heart that her and Fats had been set up by them.
Laquesha didn’t have any drugs on her, so even though she was searched and detained by the local police for a minute, they didn’t have anything to hold her on. She waited on the bus the rest of the day with the driver in the parking lot, and when all the people came out for the return trip to D.C., Laquesha wanted to bust Shanice in her face, but she restrained herself and decided to play stupid and feel Shanice out. She was pretty sure the whole thing was a setup, but it was better to play it cool. Maybe Shanice would let something slip. But on the bus trip back Shanice ignored her like she didn’t even exist. Every time Laquesha tried to make eye contact Shanice would look away.
All right, then that’s how it’s gonna be then, bitch, Laquesha thought. With Shanice’s avoidance Laquesha was sure that she and Fats had been set up to take the fall. Some of the other girls on the bus asked Laquesha if she was okay, and she told them it was all good, but she still worried about Fats’s being subjected to those white people’s wrath in the hole when they found out he didn’t have any drugs. She also worried about how Fats would react when he hit the compound. She knew her baby’s daddy wasn’t no killer, but Fats was known to handle his own.
When she got back to the city the first person she called was Melissa. “What’s up, girl?” Laquesha spoke into the phone.
“What’s up? How was your visit?”
“You’ll never believe what happened, girl.”
“Tell me then, girl.”
“Fats is in the dry cell.”
“Is he clean or dirty?” Melissa asked.
“He’s clean. I flushed the balloons down the toilet before I went in. I just had a funny feeling, and I was right. And guess what the worst of it is?”
“What?” Melissa said.
“I think that Country set Fats up.” There was silence on the phone for a minute. “Damn, girl, say something.”
“That’s funny,” Melissa said. “I just got a letter from Rock today, and he said the same thing. He thinks that Country set him up, too.”
“Is that so?” Laquesha said. “Is that so.”
* * *
Fats was in the dry cell tripping. They had him stripped to his underwear in a cell with no toilet, no sink, and a metal bed with no mattress and only a sheet to sleep with. There was a CO sitting and watching Fats through a big window and videotaping his every move. The lights were glaring, and Fats couldn’t turn them off. They fed him and let him drink water but they wouldn’t even give him a toothbrush, a facecloth, or anything. It was the next day and Fats was ready to shit. He knew he was clean, so he didn’t have anything to worry about. The lieutenant had told him he needed to shit like five to eight times and if he didn’t pass anything they would let him out. The lieutenant told him it could take anywhere from two to five days. Fats was like, fuck that, I’m gonna get my shit on. He banged on the window.
“Hey, CO, I gotta shit, slim. Let’s do this.” The CO got a look on his face like, what the fuck. “Hey buddy, I’m almost off. Why don’t you wait for the next shift,” he told Fats.
“Naw, slim, I gotta shit now, no bullshit.” The CO looked resigned and got up to enter the dry cell with Fats. He had a little plastic bedpan, some plastic gloves, and a wooden tongue suppressor. The CO called the lieutenant and two others. They all entered the room with Fats and held the video camera on him while he squatted down and shit in the little plastic bedpan.
“I need some toilet paper, slim,” Fats said. There was a scramble because the COs had forgotten to bring some. Fats watched as the one CO used the tongue suppressor to mash through his shit looking for balloons.
“It’s clean, Lieutenant,” the CO said, and they all exited the cell and disposed of the shit. Fats had four or five more shits to go.
Later that same day, Fats saw his homie, Rock, who was an orderly in the hole. Fats motioned him over, but Rock shook his head and looked around. He continued doing his orderly duties and slowly made his way over by the dry cell.
“CO, I’m gonna clean up right here,” he said, motioning to some debris in the corner.
“All right,” the CO said. “But no communication with the guy in the dry cell.” Rock nodded and started cleaning up, waiting for his opportunity to talk to Fats, which came a minute later when one of the other COs called over the CO who was watching Fats.
Rock crept over, keeping a constant watch for the CO, who would return in a minute.
“Damn, homie,” Rock said. “We in here for Christmas.”
Fats shook his head. “I’m not dirty,” he said. “They got me fucked up, moe.”
“Oh yeah,” Rock said. “You didn’t talk to Country about doing something, did you?”
Fats nodded.
“Damn, slim, that’s fucked up. I think I’m in here because of that nigga.”
Fats looked at Rock quizzically, making sure he’d heard him right.
Rock nodded. “Yeah, slim, it’s true, Country set me up and probably tried to set you up, too.”
Fats could only shake his head as the CO came back over glaring at Rock, and Rock made a quick retreat from the dry cell.
Three days later Fats was back on the pound. He knew he had some business to take care of, but he wasn’t sure as to how to go about it. One of the first people he bumped into when he came out of the hole carrying his bag was Country. Country looked surprised as hell to see Fats.
“What’s up, little homie,” Country said to Fats, trying to hide his surprise.
“What’s up, Country.” Fats said, thinking, This nigga got a lot of nerve. Fats didn’t know whether to jump on the dude right then or to wait and think things through. He wasn’t 100 percent sure in what he thought, but what Rock had told him had a lot of merit. I gotta rock this nigga to sleep, Fats concluded.
“I’m glad you made it back out. You know we got a game tonight. The final, slim,” Country said, and Fats nodded. “We’ll talk about that other shit later. You gotta let me know what the fuck is up.”
Fats nodded again and walked away to his unit. As he entered the block and made his way to his cell, he was at a loss as to what he needed to do, but that all changed when he walked in his cell and saw Mel-Mel nodding. “What up, moe.” Fats said.
Mel-Mel looked up, scratching his head. Mel-Mel was whacked out on heroin.
“Merry Christmas, joe,” Mel-Mel said, and broke out into a wide grin. “You know Country hooked me up with a little something, something.”
“Oh yeah, is that so?” Fats said. So Country made his move and I got busted, Fats thought. He looked up to see Mikey P at his door, motioning him out of the cell. Mikey P shook Fats’s hand, and they exchanged greetings.
“Good to see you, Fats,” Mikey P said. “I thought you were gonna be gone for a while.”
“Naw, Mr. P. I was clean. They didn’t get nothing on me.”
“That’s good. That’s real good, but I got something to tell you,” Mikey P said real serious-like. “I didn’t want to say anything before, because I didn’t really know you, but when I was doing time in Lewisburg, they said your homie Country was setting dudes up to get his heroin in. I’m not saying anything, but it seems to me that he did the same thing to you and Rock.”
Fats hadn’t wanted to accept the truth of the matter, but now he had no choice, it was staring him in the face point-blank.
“Thanks for letting me know, Mr. P.,” Fats said, and hit rocks with the old mobster.
This nigga got some serious problems now, Fats thought. He knew he had a game that night, and he would play. He would make Country think that nothing was wrong, but after the game Fats would get his. At least my kids got some presents from the Angel Tree program, Fats thought. Because after I do what I gotta do, they might not see me for a minute. All because Fats wanted his kids to get something for Christmas. Fats felt good knowing that they got something even though he didn’t come up. That’s what I get for fucking with treacherous niggas, Fats thought. All that bullshit about finding the snitch and giving him a Christmas present. I got a motherfucking Christmas present for that bitch. Fats started planning the night’s activities.
After dinner Fats went up to rec to see the Christmas concert that was put on by the prisoners. They had a rap band, a heavy metal band, an R&B band, a country band, some Jamaican MC’s, and Fats’s favorite: the go-go band. Fats sat with his homies and watched them all. He noticed that Country hadn’t shown up yet. Fats had gotten a shank from Mel-Mel earlier, who copped it from some other old heads. Fats was ready to put in some work; he wasn’t fucking around. He didn’t know what Country was saying about the whole affair, but he wasn’t waiting to find out.
As far as Fats was concerned Country had put his family in jeopardy, and Fats didn’t fuck around where his family was concerned. After the concert it was game time, and on the move Country showed up in the gym. He was psyching the homies up for the finals. The D.C. mob wasn’t favored to win. They were playing a team comprised of North Carolina dudes that was led by the Monkey-Man, a fan favorite. Monkey-Man could shoot the lights out and was considered the best player on the pound by far. As the game tipped off, Fats was just thinking about what he had to do after its completion. He kept seeing Country looking at him like he was trying to feel him out, but Fats didn’t really say nothing to the dude other than what he was expected to during the game. Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything, Fats thought. The Monkey-Man’s team jumped out to a big first-half lead, but with Country exhorting his team the D.C. mob clawed back to within five points. Big Murk was grabbing boards like crazy and putting back all misses.
In the second half the Monkey-Man came out on fire, and his team looked to win for sure, but in the last eight minutes of the game Fats found his shot and the Monkey-Man went cold. Fats drained five threes to end the game, giving the D.C. mob a one-point victory to win the Christmas tournament. The homies were going crazy, running all over the gym and screaming. It was pandemonium. Just the cover Fats needed. He took it all in stride. The congratulations and accolades. Fats had only one thing on his mind. Retribution. Country came up to Fats and slapped his homie five. Apparently all lost love forgotten. He was all on Fats’s dick, talking with that that’s his man and shit. All the homies were gathered ’round, and there was a big cheer for D.C.
“Merry Christmas,” Country told all his homies. “I told you we could win this shit. Chocolate city all the way.” Congratulations went around one more time, and everybody ran around wildly celebrating. When Country turned his back, Fats went and got the shank out his gym bag.
In the crowd it was easy to approach Country from behind. Fats was focused. More focused than at any time in his life. He closed in on Country from behind. All the cheering and noise receded in Fats’s mind as he came upon Country. Country turned around with a big smile on his face. When he saw the shank, his smile quickly vanished. Country put his hands up, but it was too late. Fats sank the shank swiftly into Country’s chest.
“Merry Christmas, moe,” Fats said as the shank bit deep.