Last Laugh Page 3

  “I had a few other expletives to call you, but I was talking to our son,” Tasha said, and then added, “Breakfast?”

  Andre took a seat at the kitchen table, and Tasha slid a bowl in front of him. She then grabbed a box of cereal from atop the refrigerator and slammed it on the table in front of him.

  “What no eggs and bacon?” Andre asked and snatched a piece of bacon from his son’s plate.

  “Dad?” Amare said, and hopped up from the table. “You can have mine,” he said and raced off to his room.

  Andre slid the plate over to his place and Tasha slapped it onto the floor.

  “Oops,” she said and grabbed the broom. “I wouldn’t cook a meal for you if it’s the last thing I had to do in order to please God.”

  “Look, I am sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to stay out all night.” He sat there and looked out of the window onto Germantown Avenue. Cars zipped by and he wished that he was in one of them en route to the beach and far away from his family life. It was great in high school and college, but he was just not built for that life any longer.

  “Well, if you didn’t mean it, I wonder who did. You’re such a sorry piece of shit, Dre.” She dumped the broken plate and food into the trash can.

  “What do you mean? My brother is in a deep situation...”

  “Yes, one that he got himself into. I don’t have time for this my brother bullshit again. He was involved in a prison riot and that hardly has anything to with his case. That’s him involving himself in stupid shit in jail. And now his stupider big brother stays out all night and blames it on that stupidity. The stupidest person of all would be me, if I was to buy or involve myself in this again.”

  “What the fuck do mean?” Andre asked as the school bus beeped the horn out front for their son.

  Amare raced into the kitchen kissed both of his parents and then headed to the door. Tasha chased after him. “Now, you remember what I told you, right? When you get home Mommie won’t be here, okay. You be a big boy, okay?”

  “Yes, mom,” he said and smiled. “I’ll be a big boy and the man of the house cause dad is not the man just like you told me.”

  “That’s right,” she added. “Now have a great day in school.”

  When Amare boarded the bus, Tasha walked to the bedroom and returned to the kitchen carrying two large suitcases.

  “And where the fuck are you going?” Andre asked as he walked up to her and attempted to hug her.

  “Do not touch me,” she said and backed up. “Ever.” They stared at each other and looked deeply into each other’s eyes. When her tears began to fall she continued to stare at him, but did not wipe her face. She wanted him to look at her pain. Drown in it. “These are not tears of sadness. They’re filled with anger.”

  “I’m sor...”

  “You are very sorry. Yes. Yes. You are. But I am not angry at you,” she said grabbing a paper towel. “I am pissed at myself for allowing you to control me, my happiness, and my destiny for so long.” She looked in the mirror that sat on the side of the refrigerator and wiped the tears from her face. “I am leaving. It’s over, Andre.”

  “Come on, baby. You can’t just leave him in jail. I was trying to put a crew together to get him out of there.”

  “Now that’s clever. So, Amare can see dear old dad on TV next, just like his uncle for trying to break him out of jail.” She walked to the door. “You have to be the dumbest man on this side of freedom. I am done, Andre. I just can’t do this, and you’re not making it easy for me to try.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She chuckled. “You’re not even going to try to stop me. Just want to know where I am going. I’m not surprised and don’t even care, just thought I’d point that out, so you don’t think for one second that I am not on point here. I have a new place.”

  Andre furrowed his brows and walked closer to Tasha. Anger was splashed across his face as he got nose to nose with her.

  “Now you listen here,” he spoke with venom, “I don’t...”

  “No, you listen,” She pulled out a small gun, cocked it, and then put it inches from his face. “Back the fuck out of my face. The way I feel right now, I could splatter your brains all over this foyer, smile about it, and then report to the police how an intruder trying to rob you left you that way. Do not fuck with me, Andre Bezel. I love Jean-Mary to death, but I will take you from her.” He moved back as she went into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone and called someone with her free hand. “Come up here and get these bags for me, sis,” she said into the phone then pressed the end call button. “I am leaving Andre. You got that? And, I am leaving Amare.”

  “You can’t do that, Tasha. Don’t do any of this, babe. And please put the gun down,” he said as Toi came through the front door. “Oh, so Toi you’re in on this bullshit?”

  “Whoa, I have nothing to do with this. I am just helping out my friend. Her decisions and actions have nothing to do with me,” Toi said and grabbed the two bags.

  “You’re staying at my grandmom’s house and you’re going to come here and destroy mine. I got a trick for you.”

  “Oh, man, please. Grandmom Jean-Mary ain’t kicking me out, dumb ass,” Toi shot back. “I have nothing to do with this. She asked me for a ride and I am going to give her one.”

  “Don’t argue with him, Boo Boo,” Tasha said and smiled. “I’ll see you in the car,” she told Toi. “Andre, I don’t know how you’re going to rip and run with a first grader, but I suggest you do the right things by my child, or I will have all of your parental rights taken and move to Istanbul. I have told him that I was moving, so don’t tell him any lies.” She backed out of the door and put the gun back in her pocket.

  Andre stood there and looked at her. He rubbed his right temple before he threw his hands into the air evidencing his defeat. “I don’t know what you want from me, but you know that I cannot move in the streets with no one to look after my son.”

  “That’s the point. Perhaps you’ll stay out of the streets and realize taking care of your son is more important.”

  When the door shut Andre’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was a Private number. He knew that was one person: Kareem Bezel. What was he supposed to tell his younger brother at that point?

  9

  PHILADELPHIA,

  30TH STREET AMTRAK STATION

  Amtrak red caps was on the train platform helping an elderly passenger detrain at the Philadelphia 30th Street Station. The man wore a cape with a hood and sported a beard and mustache so long that he could be mistaken for Santa Clause. The hunchbacked man walked with a cane, as he was assisted off the train. One red cap carried the man’s small bag while they escorted him to the station’s main waiting area.

  “Do you need a cab, sir? Or will someone be picking you up?” one of the red caps asked him.

  “I will be needing a cab, son,” the man said, as they reached the top of the escalator. “Thanks for the help. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Davenport, sir. And you are?”

  The man stopped walking and smiled. “I am agent Lucas McKenzey,” he replied. He was sure a red cap was too busy gossiping about what was going on at the train station to be concerned with his escape six years ago.

  “Okay,” the red cap replied and looked at his partner. He twirled his finger near his temple indicating that he thought that the man was crazy. “This way,” he said, snickered, and then added, “Agent McKenzey.” The absurdity was comical to him but he went along with what the man wanted to be called.

  “Yeah, Agent,” the other red cap said. “Right this way.”

  McKenzey stood at the top of the escalator and pretended to catch his breath. He was in the best shape of his life. He had to be. The tests that lay in his near future would truly test his agility and stamina. And all of those late night workouts at the Four Seasons gym prepared him for this moment. The man’s gesture that he was crazy did not escape McKenzey either. I’ll give this one a pas
s. After all, I just got here, and I’d hate to turn the town upside down before, I get to my prize.

  The former agent looked up and was sniffed by an Amtrak police dog. He reached out to touch the animal, but was warned against that.

  “Oh, he can stiff me, but I can’t pet him. Sounds like rape,” McKenzey said and then burst out with, “Taxi.” As he began to move away from the Amtrak cop.

  “Don’t mind him officer,” one red cap said. “He’s undoubtedly crazy.”

  “Indeed,” the cop replied. “Get him to a cab before I get his crazy ass in a jail cell where he needs to be.” He cocked his head to the side and then gave the red caps a psychotic grin and then walked off.

  * * *

  McKenzey boarded the back of a cab and headed down Market Street. He admired the town and knew that it needed to be shaken up, but he didn’t want to be exposed or jailed prior to accomplishing his mission. There was something out of place for him. Knowing that he could not maim, kill, and rape at will affected him. If left up to him, he could create another angel daily.

  “Right here is good,” McKenzey told the driver as they pulled along Macy’s at 13th and Market Streets. The driver hopped out and walked around to help his crippled customer to the curb.

  When the cab driver arrived to the back and observed that the man was paying with his credit card, he huffed and sucked his teeth. “Awe man. It takes me three weeks to get paid when you pay by credit card. Do you have cash?”

  “I do,” McKenzey said. “Not for you, though. You should take that up with the company. They offer us the option to pay by credit card, and I am using it.”

  The driver shook his head, and then stood there and watched McKenzey struggle to get out of the car.

  “Oh, so you’re not going to help an old man get out of the cab over $6. Think about that. What the hell would $6 really do for you? I could see if we were talking money here.” McKenzey folded the cane, tucked it under his arm, and pulled his travel bag out of the cab. “Good thing that I don’t need your help, asshole. I will be disputing that charge, too, so look forward to it being reversed.” He began to walk away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Thanks for the free ride.”

  10

  PHILADELPHIA, HOUSE OF CORRECTIONS

  It was too late to back track, and Ravonne knew that walking into the county jail. It never seemed to amaze him how the women living on the dole filled the prison waiting area to see the hoodlums housed there. What really aggravated him most was when one was in the lobby on a cellular phone arguing with the very man that they were in line to see.

  Approaching the check in desk, Ravonne handed the CO his credentials, and then signed the official visitor’s book. The CO looked at his ID and Bar Cards, and still they demanded that he sign in. That was the second thing that he hated about visiting the jail. Demanding officers killed his lawyerly spirit. He typically had a desire to verbally shut them down, but he always realized how futile downgrading a CO would be. They were already so far down the criminal justice ladder.

  Right on cue the CO bought him back to reality. She asked, “Did you know that this inmate...”

  “Kareem Bezel,” he said, cutting her off. He absolutely hated calling his clients anything other than their commitment names. He didn’t like them called client, inmate, or number, because they were all men just like the prosecutor, judge, and prison staff. All they had left was their name, and Ravonne didn’t want to strip them of that. Just a little something that he decided after a lecture up at Harvard University Law School.

  She seemed to have gotten his drift. “I know his name. But as I was saying,” she said and twisted her head in that fashion that all ghetto girls knew how to do, “the inmate is on lock down and I don’t think that he can have visits.”

  “That’s nice. I am not a visitor. I am an attorney. Mr. Kareem Bezel’s attorney. And if I’d like to see him at four a.m. this jail will make him available. Now call whoever you need to, but I am here to see Mr. Bezel, and I will.” He reached for his cell phone to make a call. Before he dialed the phone, he told the CO, “Please, and thank you.” And hoped that brought her back to reality.

  The CO rolled her eyes and simply picked up a telephone and dialed Lt. Brown, the security lieutenant in charge of the Kareem Bezel in-house riot case. The CO explained the situation and then waited on the line for the lieutenant to give her some guidance. She said “yes” a few times and nodded her head some, but then she hung up.

  “The lieutenant,” she said, and frowned “is coming down to meet with you. He will decide then if it’s safe for you to visit, Kareem Bezel.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Lt. Brown emerged into the prison lobby and held his hand out to Ravonne. That was a first. He had never encountered such a kind gesture from prison staff. Ravonne wore a blue pinstripe suit, white dress shirt, and a red tie. He looked extremely patriotic while shaking the man’s hand, but he got right down to business.

  “I am here to see my client.” Ravonne skipped the small talk and eliminated any guessing with regards to what he wanted.

  “I see,” Lt. Brown said and offered Ravonne a faux grin. “We need to chat. Let’s convene in a legal visiting room.”

  “Sure,” Ravonne answered and grabbed his briefcase from the counter. This ought to be fun.

  When they were seated in the interview room, Ravonne had a neutral look, but he was severely irked. This little tête-à-tête was rewriting his schedule and he didn’t like that. Especially not by a prison staff.

  “Are you aware that your client was the center figure of a riot that took place in my prion?”

  Ravonne absolutely hated when prison staff referred to the jail as theirs. Who claims a fucking prison? The lawyer stood and pondered a second, a habit that he had which assured he said what he meant and would stand by it. “I am sure all of the world does. You have a celebrity designer in your jail, and any news regarding him makes its way around the world. So sure, I have heard about the riot.”

  “Please do not be a wiseass, Mr. Lemmelle. I really have very little patience with Mr. Bezel and his team.”

  “That’s simple to handle, sir. Have him sent back to the feds where they can and would handle his team. As the leader of his team, I think that would be wise.”

  “Sadly, it’s not that simple. We can’t decide who they send over here, or send them back.”

  “But certainly you can decide who you can’t handle.” Ravonne smiled. One of those cocky, I-am-in-charge kinda smiles. “If you can’t handle him, sure the feds will get that and come get him.” It was what he did best. Subtly he forced people to feel beneath him. He joined the rank of criminal defense attorneys after having watched corrupt policeman and even corrupter prison staff run his community men into the vast vat of the prison system. He was on a mission to curb that sense of self-importance displayed by either of the two that he encountered.

  “You’re even wiser than I have been told.”

  “You can say it, Brown,” Ravonne said, and leaned in to continue. “I am an asshole. And I live knowing that. But we are here to discuss why I am not sitting across from Mr. Bezel, but across from you? You have legal issues you’d like to discuss? I have a hefty retainer fee, and bill at $200 an hour.”

  Lieutenant Brown ignored the lawyer’s comment. “I am not going to address any of that as I am fully aware that I am in charge here. Talking to you is at my discretion. I am doing you a favor. Now that that is clear, I need to be sure that your goal here is not to turn this riot into more of a fiasco. I am asking that you not go to news broadcasters as his representative and make comments about the prison or my running of it.”

  “In other words you want to silence my first amendment right to freedom of speech. I don’t think that you could do that, sir. But I will say that, I am not here to talk about the riot. I have a case to defend here and that is my reason to visit. Great timing, I know, but I am not here to chat it up with him about a riot.”

  “
Great,” Lt. Brown said, smiled and stood. He walked to the room door and opened it.

  “Yes, great,” Ravonne said and opened his briefcase, prepared to work.

  “Well, greater for you, because had I not been able to get you to commit to not making this news, I would have used the power that you claimed that I have to have you prohibited from visiting your client.” Lt. Brown walked through the door, and said, “I’ll have your client sent down. Thanks for the chat.”

  * * *

  Ravonne sat at the table fuming, as steam escaped his ears. For the sake of Kareem Bezel, he had to bow down to a prison official and that sickened him.

  Kareem was handcuffed when he was ushered into the official visitor’s room. He was sat down, and the cuffs were removed, as Ravonne looked on in disgust.

  When the CO’s left the room, Kareem spoke, “You look like shit, man. What’s going on?”

  “You are what’s going on. Worried about you in here, cuz, is taking a toll on everyone, me included.”

  Kareem clasped his hands together and sat them on the table. “I am great, Ravonne. You guys do not have to worry about me. These people are no match for my will power. I am innocent of the crimes that they actually charged me with and I am certain that I am going to be released. The riot is just a part of my prison stay. I can handle all that goes on here.”

  Ravonne smiled. That was Kareem Bezel. The over confident man in and out of jail. His spirit was awesome, and that was a true game changer on what Ravonne planned to discuss with him. He pulled out the motion, and pushed it across the table to Kareem.

  “I am not usually into stroking client’s confidence or egos, but in this case, I will say that you have a very excellent chance of having this matter withdrawn.”

  Kareem snatched up the motion, and read the heading, “Motion to Dismiss.” He looked at it and gave a curt grin. “Why this all of a sudden and not a trial. They accused me of working to help McKenzey escape, and that is just the dumbest thing on the planet. No jury would convict me for that. That corrupt bastard lied on me and my brother. He even kidnapped my grandmother. Why the fuck would I work to help him escape?”