A Dark Place, page 16
“Why didn’t you turn me in?”
“Like I said, I’m not working the case. I browse the system from time to time and came across your name.”
“But you know where I am. You are the only one who knows where I am. So why aren’t you taking me in?”
“Because I have the gift of discernment, and I believe that you are on the right path. However, you gotta get this taken care of,” he said.
“Marcus was my friend. Some white men killed him. They tried to kill me too.”
Officer Vargas frowned. “Do you know the men?”
“No, I don’t.” Jamillah hadn’t thought of a way to explain what the white men were looking for, so she felt it was best to claim ignorance.
“Give my sister a call. She does a lot of pro bono work, so she might be perfect for you. Tell her everything, and she’ll take good care of you.”
Jamillah was so overwhelmed, she couldn’t even speak. She couldn’t remember anyone ever being that kind to her.
Officer Vargas nodded his head. Jamillah wanted to hug the man, but he didn’t give her the opportunity. He nodded at her again and walked out of the room.
Jamillah stood at the door for a moment and then closed it. She walked back over to her bed. She sat down and thought about her next move. Then the tears came back as she realized there was no next move.
Chapter 30
Urban watched as Priest walked over to a closet, opened it, and removed his very own little torture kit. He had a rope, tape, some five-gallon bottles of water, and other paraphernalia. He walked over to their captive and tied one end of the rope around his legs. He then threw the other end over a hook in the ceiling and pulled hard until the spike-haired guy flew upside down. Though he was now hanging upside down, he still maintained his tough guy exterior.
“I have a quick question, man,” Urban said. “Why did we have to come all the way out here?”
“Because we don’t know who knows what, and as of right now, I need information without the parameters of the department. I couldn’t do this in a cell,” Priest said as he slapped the swinging man across his face. “I have all day. It’s only twelve o’clock. I don’t have anywhere to be until ten o’clock tonight,” he noted after turning his attention to the suspect. “Do you think you can take these ass whippings for that amount of time?”
“I’m not telling you anything, because I don’t know anything.”
“Oh yes, you do, and yes, you will, Spike,” Priest said as he cut the rope.
The spike-haired guy fell about six feet down onto his head with a big thud. He grimaced in pain and rolled over onto his back, with a look of pure shock on his face. “Dude,” he said. “What the hell is your problem?”
Priest casually walked over and lifted the guy to his feet. He was a little woozy, but he still had most of his bearings about him.
“Boy, you’re all in,” Priest said. “I admire your spunk, punk.”
“Screw you,” Spike muttered.
“Okay, tough guy,” Priest said as he punched the guy in the face, knocking him unconscious. “Urban, help me get this clown up on this table.”
Urban hesitated, but then he eased over and lifted the man up onto the table. Priest opened up a cabinet and removed some duct tape. He taped the man down to the table, smacked him a few times to rouse him, and once he was awake, Priest went back to his interrogation.
“Still don’t wanna talk?”
“Let me up, you dumb fuck—”
“Dumb? Who’s tied to a damn table in the middle of nowhere?” Priest said as he placed a cloth of some sort over the man’s face. He then grabbed a big bucket of cold water and poured it on the man’s face. Then he pulled back the cloth just enough that they could see Spike’s eyes.
This time fear registered in the spike-haired man’s eyes as he struggled to catch his breath.
“He thinks he’s drowning,” Priest said with a chuckle. “This is the shit that got Bush and Cheney in trouble at Abu Ghraib.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” the spike-haired guy pleaded.
Priest removed the cloth from his face, and the man gasped for air.
“You ready to talk?” Priest crossed his arms.
The guy looked at Priest with pure hatred in his eyes. Priest placed the cloth back over his face. “Wait!” the guy begged, but it was too late.
Priest poured another bucket of ice-cold water over his face. The man’s body convulsed, as his brain had told him he was about to die.
“Are you ready now?” Priest asked as he removed the cloth.
Spike nodded his head furiously, obviously not wanting to take a chance with his life.
“Reverend Perry at Zion Baptist Church in Alpharetta,” Spike said through big breaths. “He sent me. He’s getting babies from poor people and selling them to rich people.”
“What people?”
“All kinds of people. All rich. Overseas, out of state,” Spike said. “That’s all I know. I’m just a worker.”
Priest looked at Urban and smiled. He turned his attention back to Spike. “Now was that hard? You could’ve saved yourself a lot of pain if you’d come clean earlier.”
“I just want to go home,” Spike said through tears, as the tough guy act was gone.
“In due time. I’m going to have to lock you up for a few days. I need to check out your story.”
“Please, man, I told you everything I know,” Spike pleaded, still scared out of his mind.
“And I appreciate you doing that,” Priest said, cutting the duct tape with a big butcher’s knife he’d retrieved from his torture kit. “And you have my word that I will let you go home in a few days, with no charges, if your story pans out. If it doesn’t, then I’m going to kill you.”
“It’s the truth. I promise,” Spike said.
“Let’s hope so.” Priest pulled the man up to a sitting position and tossed him a towel. “Your life depends on it.”
Chapter 31
Urban pushed the button over his rearview mirror, and the large wrought-iron gate to his subdivision swung open. He pulled in, looked to his left, and saw his neighbor Vincent giving the security guard a hard time. Urban wondered how long that old man had been out there cussing out the guard, but he kept driving until he made it home. His truck was in the driveway, meaning Sierra was there, and that made him feel better. He had called her once he got into range and had asked her to meet him at his house. Then he’d stopped to pick up the baby from Ms. Patty.
He hit the garage door opener, and after the door rose, he pulled the Porsche in. After climbing out from behind the wheel, he walked around to the other side of the car and opened the back passenger door. He lifted little William out and headed up the garage steps and into his home.
“Man,” Sierra said, reaching for little William, “are you trying to give me a heart attack? I happen to love you, man.” She used her other arm to hug him.
“Hey, baby,” Urban said, savoring the embrace. He leaned down and gave her a big kiss on her forehead.
“Hey, little man,” Sierra cooed to little William. “Did Uncle Urban make you fall out of that chair?”
Urban chuckled, walked over to the sofa, and plopped down on it. He was mentally and physically exhausted. All he wanted to do was relax. Two tortures and the revelation that his sister was involved in some form or fashion with a murder was more than he could handle in one day.
“Your mother called,” Sierra said as she sat down beside him, William in her arms. “She seemed to be a little frantic about the police coming over there, looking for Jamillah.”
“I’ll call her back later,” he said as he eyed a big hole in his wall. He jumped up and surveyed the damage. “Wow. That’s a big hole.”
“I saw that. You tried to turn this place into a shooting gallery, huh?”
“I’m glad I didn’t hit him. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“So nice that he broke into your house and tried to steal your nephew?”
Urban fanned her comment away. “He’s a pawn in someone’s maniacal little game. If he wasn’t on drugs, he could be a pretty good comedian and make himself a good living in the process. As mad as I was at him, I had to fight to keep from laughing. Remember I told you about the guy I had to smack outside the crack house when I was looking for Jamillah?”
“Yes,” she said, already laughing.
“That was him. What a small world. Then he had the nerve to apologize to me. He said he didn’t mean to beat my ass. ‘Man, I’m sorry I was about to whip your ass that night,’” Urban said, mocking Allen.
Sierra giggled at the thought.
“Unbelievable,” Urban said, still amused by the memory of Allen’s antics.
“That is hilarious,” Sierra said as she placed William in his bassinet and walked over to Urban. She wrapped her arms around him. “And that’s why I love you, white boy.”
Urban smiled. How he wished he could go back to the days when his only worry was what he and his girl were going to have for dinner or where they would vacation. He rubbed his temples to relieve the stress.
“Do you want me to get you something for your head?” Sierra asked.
“Yeah,” Urban said with a horny grin.
“Maybe I can take care of that head a little later.” Sierra winked and sashayed her hips into the kitchen. “What time does the baby need to eat?”
“Now.”
“Well, tell me what to do.”
Urban shook his head. “You mean to tell me your motherly instincts don’t just kick in?”
“Nope,” Sierra said. “I’m allergic to stretch marks, so God gave those instincts to someone who could benefit from them.”
“He has a bottle in the refrigerator. Put it in the warmer until it beeps.”
Urban sat down on the sofa again and took advantage of the rare moment alone and closed his eyes. He thought about the events of the day and how his life had changed in the blink of an eye. He looked around his opulent home, heard his woman fiddling around in the kitchen, heard his nephew cry for his food, and thanked God for all his blessings. Now all he needed to do was find his sister and get to the bottom of what had her popping up on police radars.
Sierra walked back into the living room with the baby’s bottle, a glass of water, and a bottle of Advil in her hands
“Oh,” Urban said, taking the water and the Advil. “You’re a mind reader. Thanks, love.”
“You got it,” Sierra told him. “I’m going to feed the baby and put him down. Do you need anything else?”
“A little peace and quiet.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
“Looks like that’s not going to happen,” Sierra said as she walked to the door. She peeped through the tiny hole. “It’s the guy from next door.”
“Oh, God. Leave it. I need to make love to my woman before she leaves me again.”
“If I wasn’t reading one of those Zane novels earlier, I might have something smart to say to you right now,” Sierra said as she walked away from the door. “But I was, so I’ll keep my mouth shut until my body is satisfied.”
“Thank goodness for literacy,” Urban said with a smile as he stood and headed to his bedroom.
Chapter 32
Jamillah packed up her belongings and headed for the door. She turned and looked back at the room she had called home for the past eight weeks. Lots of good had come from this place, and she was determined never to go back to where she had been before her time here. It was like she had been born again. She blew a kiss at the room, opened the door, and walked out into the hallway.
She went to the front desk and asked the receptionist to call Amani.
“Are you leaving us, Jamillah?” Sandy, the receptionist, said as she paged Amani.
“Yes. I don’t want to, but I need to move on,” Jamillah replied, wiping a tear away.
“You still have another two weeks.”
“I know, but it’s time,” Jamillah said as she walked over to one of the windows and looked out. It was raining pretty hard, and all she really wanted to do was cuddle up with a good book and enjoy the sound of the raindrops hitting the roof. But Officer Vargas’s visit was a warning, a sign that it was time for her to leave here.
Amani walked out into the lobby and stopped when she saw Jamillah standing there with her packed bag. She placed her hands on her hips. “What’s this all about?”
“Hey,” Jamillah said, easing her way over to Amani. She rubbed her sweaty palms together. Telling the woman who had played such a major part in her recovery that she was heading out wasn’t going to be easy.
“Where are you going?” Amani asked.
“I have to leave.”
“Okay,” Amani said. “But where are you going?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t stay here any longer.”
“Did you call your brother?”
“No. And I’m sure he wouldn’t accept my call even if I did. He hates me,” Jamillah said as she dropped her head. She hated that her relationship with Urban was irrevocably broken.
“Okay, Jamillah,” Amani said as she walked over to a set of chairs. She sat down and waited for Jamillah to do the same. “Talk to me.”
“The less you know, the better, but I will get it all straightened out, and when I do, I’m going to come back here and take you to lunch.”
Amani nodded her head and smiled. It was obvious that Jamillah wasn’t going to share too much information, and Amani didn’t want to pry so hard that she pushed her away.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
“I do,” Jamillah said. “A ride.”
“To where?”
“A hotel for now. I can pay you.”
“Girl, hush,” Amani said, fanning her off. “Let me get my bag. I’ll sign out a little early tonight.”
Jamillah went over to the receptionist’s desk and filled out her paperwork to check out. Sandy gave her an envelope, which contained the money Urban had given Jamillah. She had almost one thousand dollars in her possession now, and she didn’t give one thought to spending it on crack. She smiled to herself, pleased with her growth.
“Thanks,” Jamillah said.
“Jamillah, you take care of yourself, honey,” Sandy told her. “And please come back to see us. I can honestly say you were a pleasure to work with.”
“Thank you, and I will definitely come back,” Jamillah said, reaching out and giving Sandy a hug. “I promise.”
Amani stood by the front door and waited for Jamillah to finish her good-byes.
Jamillah paused and gave the facility one last look. She had both fond and not so fond memories of the place. She looked at the table where she had played cards with some of the other patients. There was the big television on which she had watched reruns of American Idol and laughed until she couldn’t laugh any more at the wannabe stars. She looked back at Sandy and waved.
“One day at a time,” Sandy said. “Keep that in mind. You can do it.”
Jamillah nodded and walked out of the place with Amani.
Once outside, Amani and Jamillah broke into a run and tried to dodge the pelting raindrops as they made their way to Amani’s Honda Accord.
“Geez,” Amani said as she jumped behind the steering wheel. “I’m soaked.”
“This is great weather to run in,” Jamillah observed.
“Girl, you’ll run in a blizzard. You need to join a track team and make you some money.”
“I wish.”
“Don’t wish. Do it. Stop telling yourself no. Let somebody else tell you no, and then still find a way to make it happen.”
Jamillah smiled and wrapped herself in the seat belt. She looked out the window and wondered where her life was headed. She took a deep breath and exhaled. There was a nervous energy bouncing around in her stomach, but there was also a calmness in her brain, which was telling her that she was going to be okay.
Before Jamillah knew it, Amani had made a few turns and was driving down a residential street that couldn’t have been any more than five miles from the Harmony House.
“You can hang with me until you decide what you want to do. I don’t want you up in a lonely hotel,” Amani insisted.
“I don’t want to impose,” Jamillah said. She was hesitant to get Amani caught up in her foolishness, but she really didn’t want to be alone.
“Nonsense.” Amani drove up a driveway, came to a stop, then pushed a button that raised the garage door to a cute little bungalow at the end of a cul-de-sac.
They got out of the car, and Jamillah just stood there in the garage, listening to the downpour. “I love the rain. I don’t know why, but I do.”
“Well, come on in. I have a sunroom, and you can see the rain from there without catching a cold.”
Jamillah walked into the small, yet tastefully decorated home. Hardwood floors were throughout the house. Contemporary, yet comfortable-looking furniture sat in all the right places. Eclectic artwork adorned the walls, and a cozy fireplace made it all seem so perfect.
“This is right off of HGTV, girl,” Jamillah said, setting down her bag and looking around the place, in awe.
“Girl, you know that’s my favorite channel. That Candice Olson is going to send me to the poor house. Make yourself at home,” Amani said, and then she disappeared into a back room.
“I’m so jealous,” Jamillah said, eyeing every detail of the home.
“Don’t be. You can have one too. And you will,” Amani called.
Jamillah walked over to a custom-made bookcase and perused the shelves. There were so many books. She could see herself curled up on a chair with a blanket as she devoured each and every one of them. She had always been a voracious reader, even when she was strung out in the streets. She couldn’t get over how nice Amani’s house was. It was funny how when she was living on the streets, her idea of nice was four walls and a floor, but now she wouldn’t be caught dead in some of the places she used to feel lucky to call home.
