Advantage Disadvantage (4 page)

By the next summer, Elizabeth announced to her
family that she became engaged to Marcus. She told her family that
she had achieved clarity about her future. No longer did it include
a law career, or any social-inspired work like the Peace Corps.
Instead, she was dedicated to this man with a radically different
background. She knew that her parents would have trouble accepting
her wishes, but she committed to her plans. Over the strident
objections of Elizabeth’s family (primarily her father and
brothers), Elizabeth and Marcus were married in a small, private
wedding. The modest wedding belied the big blowout parties expected
of a daughter of Jon’s social strata. He asked Marcus to stop
calling him Mr. Handelair - a nice gesture except that he told
Marcus to call him Jon, not Dad. Despite his misgivings about this
union, Jon Handelair outwardly embraced his new son-in-law and
privately promised Elizabeth to provide substantial financial
support beyond Marcus’ meager security guard pay. Jonathon set up a
sizeable monthly “allowance” which nearly tripled the Imari’s
household income, primarily so Elizabeth could maintain the
lifestyle to which she had become accustomed.

***

One year later Marcus and Elizabeth welcomed Jamal
Jonathon Imari into the world. He was a beautiful baby with the
best mixture of European-Dutch and African-American features.
Elizabeth’s family loved this boy but they never overcame the
awkward way they felt about their daughter’s mixed-race marriage.
This birth of Jamal solidified the marriage between Elizabeth and
Marcus, and no Chicagoland parents could be more proud.

After a few years, Jon Handelair won the election of
president of the Board of Trade. This prestigious position paid
well and propelled him into even higher social and political
circles. Not coincidentally, Marcus became the manager of the
Compliance and Security Department at the exchange. This was no
desk job. Although he no longer guarded the entrance to the trading
floor, he still carried a concealed firearm in his coat pocket in
case the exchange floor or members needed assistance. All threats,
and there were many, were taken seriously.

***

Jamal was 13 years old when one of Elizabeth’s
brothers was getting married. Marcus was included in the plans for
an elaborate Las Vegas bachelor’s party. All of her brother’s Ivy
League friends were flying out, as well as cousins and a host of
Chicago friends. Jonathon was going as well. As Jonathon had done
so many times in the past, he subsidized Marcus by paying for his
travel package to ensure that Marcus could attend the party. Jon
Handelair’s family survival strategy regarding his black son-in-law
evolved to outward support, inward trepidation.

Marcus arrived in their near west, suburban home
just in time to take a shower and leave for Las Vegas. Elizabeth
was excited that Marcus was included in the men’s weekend of fun.
She was going to hang out with Jamal for the weekend. Because
Marcus had little travel experience, Elizabeth checked his
overnight bag while he was getting ready in the bathroom. She
quickly decided that he had not sufficiently packed for the weekend
and replaced his clothes with her choices. Thinking about the cool
Las Vegas nights, she added his work jacket into the bag. Marcus
emerged from the bedroom and said his goodbyes to Jamal and
Elizabeth. He felt accepted as one of the guys and could not wait
to launch his exciting weekend.

The Handelairs had flown out the night before.
Marcus planned to relax on the plane in the first-class seat
provided by Jonathon. O’Hare Airport was bustling with weekend
travelers. Lines were long and Marcus was amazed that there were so
many people going somewhere at any moment. He marveled as he
strolled past the lengthy coach check-in line and walked right up
to the First-Class counter. Living large like this was part of his
mother’s goals for him from his birth. She saw college as the way
to the good life, and despite Marcus’ basketball and college hard
luck, this weekend offered Marcus another taste of Jonathon
Handelair’s lifestyle. Exactly what his mother wished for him. He
felt great.

His quick pace through the airport was indicative of
his excitement – First Class Flight, a big casino hotel, Vegas
Shows, a strip club (probably) and camaraderie with the fellows. He
whistled the theme song of one of the Las Vegas commercials and
ringing in his ears was the city’s travel theme, “What happens in
Vegas stays in Vegas”.

As he headed toward the gate, he proudly displayed
his first class ticket to one of O’Hare’s Transportation Security
Administration employees. He had to remove his shoes and place them
on the conveyer belt along with his overnight bag, keys and wallet.
He walked through the metal detector and waited for his stuff to
descend through the conveyer belt ramp. The attendant stopped the
belt and called over one of the other TSA guards. He looked at the
monitor and asked Marcus,

“Sir, did you pack your own bags?

“Yes, sir, I did. Is there something wrong?”

Marcus felt the presence of other people from
behind. “This must be a practical joke by one of Elizabeth’s
brothers,” he thought. “They have pulled some wild pranks.”

“Well, Mr. Imari. We have a little problem.”

He heard those last words before three huge TSA
guards tackled him to the ground. Despite being a big, strong
person, Marcus respected authority and did not resist. It is what
he did for living and he understood the consequences of being
uncooperative. With a huge crowd watching, the TSA agents helped
Marcus to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two agents
with their guns pointed squarely at his chest. His felt the heat on
his face, as he turned flush. They led him away to a back room,
which looked like the interrogation rooms on the Law and Order
television shows. It had a long glass mirror, and there were
cameras and microphones hanging from the ceiling. He had never been
in trouble before. They shoved him into the chair with his hands
cuffed behind his back, and left the room. He was so stunned he
momentarily forgot that he was still in O’Hare. Spanning the room,
he saw a wall-length mirror amongst the other starkly tiled walls.
He sneered at the overhead camera and microphone. He sniffled
trying to compose himself from the confusion he felt. The room
could have easily been a precinct interrogation cell. It might have
been ten minutes but it seemed like hours before someone came back
into the room.

“Do you want to tell us what’s going on?” a
well-dressed man with a million-dollar-smile asked.

“I’m confused. I don’t know what you mean,” as the
sweat began to bead on his forehead.

The TSA agent reached over and put his overnight bag
on the table. He put on a pair of protective examination gloves. He
slowly took garments and shoes out of the bag. Marcus became
confused. Yes, these were some of his clothes, but not the ones he
remembered packing. As the agent emptied out the bag, he finally
pulled out Marcus’ work jacket. The agent pulled out the gun that
Marcus carried legally for work.

“Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit. I can explain!”

“We’re listening.”

Marcus tried to explain that he had a permit to
carry a concealed weapon for work, that he was a security officer
at the Board of Trade, and that his wife must have erroneously
packed his bag for his trip to Vegas.

“Well, you’re changing the story. You reaffirmed
that you packed your own bag. What are we to believe?”

“There’s a full explanation for this. Please, you
can call my wife. This is just a misunderstanding.”

“We don’t listen to explanations. We have you on
tape trying to take a loaded gun into the terminal, we have
recorded your voice, and we have the gun. You need a good lawyer,
my friend. It will be in the district attorney’s hands now.”

Marcus had no idea what was in store for him as they
led him out of the airport. He was headed to the weekend lockup at
Cook County.

Chapter Three. The Cousins

Bobby Jones was a happy-go-lucky west side, black
kid. His loving grandmother stepped in to raise Bobby in the
absence of his mother. Life during elementary school was tolerable
despite the rough neighborhood in which they lived. Each block on
the west side had gang markings. These indicated the local gang’s
claim on that territory. Gangbangers regularly harassed Bobby, but
they never physically hurt him. It was harmless teasing. During
summer recruitment drives, they bought the neighborhood youngsters
ice cream and supported the local sports teams. Gangs courted the
block’s tenants with other goodies but most important was their
promise of protection against rival gangs. Bobby’s grandmother had
a love/hate relationship with the block’s punks. She loved the
protection from outside gangs they provided, but hated the
intimidation around the block. She hoped that Bobby could avoid a
short life expectancy by avoiding any gang affiliation. Perhaps,
she envisioned, after Bobby G. graduated from high school he might
find his way out to the safety of the nearby suburbs.

Davis Fryer was Bobby’s cousin. He lived with his
family in the same apartment building as Bobby and his grandmother.
Davis’ mother was somehow related to Bobby’s dad, which had no
significance to either of them. Bobby never knew his dad – he
hardly knew his mom. “Grandmom” did the best she could to keep
Bobby focused on his school responsibilities, and occasionally
protected him from the gang’s benign teasing. Davis and Bobby
walked to school together from the time they ended up in the same
apartment building to the end of their school days. Davis struggled
in the early grades and by sixth grade, he was “one child left
behind”.

Bobby Jones was a much better student than his
cousin was. He excelled in any subject that related to numbers,
logic/reasoning, and science. He loved to read stories about
sports. He could quote player statistics for each of the Chicago
Bulls six-championship teams: points, assists, average minutes,
rebounds and a host of other statistics for players such as Michael
Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, John Paxon, Toni Kukoc and
Dennis Rodman. Bobby had an exceptional memory and a capacity to
analyze numbers. Despite his academic talents, the educational deck
was stacked against him. Out of the hundreds of residents on his
apartment-filled block, none of them ever knew anyone who moved on
to college. Hardly any males from these circumstances ever made it
to their senior year. This was such a rough place that it boasted
more convicts than high school graduates. Pressure was intense to
join a gang after the bangers provided protection and garnered
favors with the youngsters.

Older kids regularly chased Bobby and Davis off the
basketball courts at the end of the block. Kids had low priority.
Bangers always owned the court, first, next unemployed adults
hanging around the park, then the few teenagers still in high
school, and finally the local kids. The best time for the little
ones was right after school and during the normal dinner hour.
Bobby and Davis were regulars at the park even when they could only
watch the elders play. In return for running to the local
convenience store to fetch drinks, the bangers would let the boys
get something for themselves. Playing, watching or fetching was the
regular routine after school in the spring and fall, and all-day in
the summer. They progressed into decent players as they rolled
through middle school, but not stellar. Davis admired the bangers
most of all. While Davis dreamed of becoming a “
big boy
” (a
member of the gang’s upper echelon), Bobby reluctantly participated
in a citywide Mathematics Bee at the urging of a not-yet-burned-out
middle school teacher. No one except his teachers reinforced
academic achievements in his neighborhood. He hoped that no one
would find out about the math competition. Davis spilled the beans
and the gang poked fun at Bobby for a long time.

The cousins began attending the local high school.
Chicago Public Schools had an open enrollment policy and so the
cousins could have gone to most any city-run high school with the
exception of the hard-to-qualify magnet schools. In the absence of
the magnet school option, they chose the local secondary school a
couple of blocks away. At least there, they knew who ran the
neighborhood. Both boys made the freshman hoops team but played on
the “B” team. Skilled or tall players played on the “A” team. Bobby
and Davis had some skills but were too short to play much further.
It soon became apparent that they could not play at a higher level
than freshman ball.

By the end of Bobby’s first year, his grandmother’s
health was failing. She could not control Bobby, nor could she
leave the house. He took care of her basic needs such as picking up
groceries, emptying the garbage, and minor apartment cleaning. By
now, he was staying out all night long, sleeping until noon, and
she suspected both cousins were dabbling with drugs. She was
correct.

“Hey dawg,” Davis said. “The veteranos of the block
club jammed me up for a little discussion today.”

“Yup, they’re leanin’ on me too. The guy told me
that they we can earn some decent scratch for joining in,” replied
Bobby.

“If we take this route, there’s no turning back,
bro.”

“I gotta be thinking 'bout me.”

“Are you being straight with me?” asked Davis. “I
didn’t think you were ready to sign up.”

“You know in order to gang bang with these brothers
we have to
court in
?”

“What the fuck does that mean Bobby?”

“I think it’s some kind test, a ritual. Two maybe
three guys beat on you for 30 seconds.”

“Can you fight back during the ritual?” asked
Davis.

“Sure, but they pick the biggest and strongest mo
fo’s .”

“Look Bobby. You are my Ace. You know I’ve got your
back. We’ll take care of each other. Let’s sign up.”