Authors: Akilah Trinay
Jamie closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “My father works for the police department as an investigator. I called him after I dropped you off to keep you protected.”
“Protected from what?” he requested, letting go of her hand.
“When I went to see my father the other day; before we met, I saw this woman filing a report against you. I knew it was you from all the stories from your mom. She fit the description and so did you, so I decided to investigate.” Lance looked upon her with bewilderment as she continued. “Then it all made sense when I came down to The Shadow Bar and we ran into her outside, your girlfriend. She was at the station with Tanisha and they were plotting against you. When you had me drop you off at her house, I knew you didn’t have a clue; so I called my daddy to take care of it.”
“That bitch set me up? Is that what you are telling me?” he yelled in frustration that his boy had hit the nail on the head.
“Lance!” she harshly whispered back reminding him he was at an elementary school and she would not tolerate his inappropriate language. The recess bell sounded and all of the kids came rushing into the classroom taking a seat at their assigned tables. “We can finish this later.”
“Oh, so I can see you again?” Lance perked up a bit, licking his lips and smoothing his goatee with confidence.
“I guess…” she lowered her eyes, but smiled inside. She really couldn’t resist him and she had every intention of allowing him back in if he came and requested it.
“Oooo Ms. Johnson has a boyfriend,” one of the little girls sang out to the awaiting class causing all of the children to giggle, making Ms. Johnson feel appreciated and embarrassed all at the same time.
“How about this? Give me a call when you get off and we can meet up somewhere to finish this conversation.” He gently kissed her on her hand. “You kids make sure you take care of my girlfriend while I am gone.” He winked at her out the corner of his eye and walked out as all the kids laughed and giggled at their teacher.
Chapter 16
As soon as the confession left Samson’s lips, Edmond was livid. The fact that Calvin Rogers had gotten to his son disturbed his spirit. He fought hard to keep Calvin from destroying Charles’s life and right under his nose, Calvin was trying to tear his family apart. Calvin had love for Raquel, this is true, but he didn’t possess the unconditional love that ignited the fuse in a man to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe. He only knew money. It was his only motivation. If Edmond was to get through to Calvin and ultimately get even to free Samson from his binding contract, he had to meet him on his level.
“Did you tell anyone that you killed him?” Edmond paced back and forth scratching his head, uneasy about how Samson got mixed up in all this madness. “This is all my fault! I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight,” still pacing and shaking his head in disbelief. “Who am I foolin’? You would have done this anyway.” He remarked, to no one in particular, still pacing.
Where did he get a gun? Who sold it to him?
He couldn’t fathom how his son was able to get his hands on a real gun. Samson always spoke a good game and for him to finally back it up; in a strange and unusual way, made Edmond proud. He spent many years trying to get Samson to be about his business. This was not the road he envisioned, but it illustrated to him that his many lectures didn’t fall on deaf ears.
There was no way he would allow his son to go to prison. He had to devise a plan to ensure that his son would not go down for murder. Samson may have thought it was cool to be a thug until he would be forced to spend quality time with the real ones in prison. Oakland had enough young boys being killed daily or hauled off to jail. There was no eminent need for Samson to be a victim as well. It was his daily mission to keep his son from being a statistic. Samson was twenty years old and already blessed to have made it past his eighteenth birthday.
The day before Samson’s eighteenth birthday, he caught AC Transit with a few of his boys to the East Oakland Youth Development Center on 82nd and International for a pickup game of basketball. On his way back from the local liquor store, a slightly older young man, who didn’t recognize him as being favorable in his neighborhood, held him up at gunpoint. His saving grace came when a cop car rolled past and the boy took off running. Samson made up in his mind that if he was going to earn respect in the streets he had to be strapped. It was the only language the young men understood. Those who have, take from those who don’t. Simple.
Samson hesitated before responding, recalling his actions, “…I…I told the chick I was staying with, but I didn’t give her any names.”
“You did what? You are more stupid than I thought.” Edmond scolded. He tried his best to refrain from putting his hands on him again. Physical abuse would not assist in the situation considering it led to the initial reason for his leaving. “I know I taught you better than to run yo’ mouth in the streets.”
“I only told her!” Samson remarked hoping to get some slack for keeping the numbers down to only one. He shifted in his seat and braced himself for his father’s response. He evaded the question about the gun because he promised Elijah that he would keep it between them.
“Don’t you know telling a woman anything is telling the streets? Women talk. They talk to each other, they talk to their family and they talk to their man! Hell, you hear yo’ mama and sister gossiping all the time about other people’s business.” He continued to pace. “You sure you didn’t tell any of yo’ little patnas? You know how y’all youngsters like to brag.”
“Nah…I couldn’t get a hold of ‘em.”
“Samson, I need you to realize that, there is no viable reason for you to be in these streets. Did we not do our job as parents for you growing up?”
“Pops, that’s not it!”
“Well…what is it Son?” He questioned with frustration, throwing his hands up to the sky. “Tell me!”
“I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Do you think we don’t love you and you had to go out in the streets looking for love?”
“Nah…You are turning this into something it is not.”
“Maybe you just don’t understand what all this means.” Charlene remained silent to allow the father son exchange to happen. It was well overdue. It was rare that the two of them had a conversation devoid of raised voices. “I worked hard, so my children…scratch that, so my son would not have to worry about running the streets or taking another man’s life, and for what? Money?”
The guilt of Samson’s actions began to settle in and rest on heavy his shoulders. The impact of his actions on his family never crossed his mind. He thought he was retaliating against his father for threatening him into leaving the house. In his mind, he was teaching his father a lesson for allowing him to walk out of the protection of his care.
“I did it for the money and to prove to you that I am a man and I can get it on my own!”
“Okay. Okay. I think I have a plan. Call up Mr. Calvin Rogers and let him know you are ready to put in some work tonight. Tell him to pick you up from the house. I will work out the rest.” Edmond exited the room to the back house to enact the initial steps to his master plan. He didn’t want Samson to know what he was up to, because he was sure to blow the plan if he knew too many of the details. It was best for him not to know. Unfortunately, all this called for Edmond to retreat back to his former ways, but if it meant keeping his family safe, he was willing to go the distance.
He gently closed the door to the man cave and pulled out his cellular device. He knew the number by heart and didn’t bother scrolling through his contacts.
“Hey Rocky, it’s me Ed. I need you to do me a favor. It’s time that I cash in that
‘I’ll do whatever you need me to do
,’ for all the times I had your back.” She agreed, as he knew she would. He hung up the phone convinced that his plan would put an end to all of the drama once and for all.
Samson waited on the porch dressed in an all-black hoodie and his dark wash 501 Levis jeans and black gloves as Calvin requested. It was a quarter past nine, the sun had fully set, and the onset of the darkish blue night hue overtook the sky. He flopped down on the side of the porch, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm, waiting for the black Cadillac to pull up. He hated knowing that he willingly put his family in jeopardy.
Out the corner of his eyes, he noticed a black Lexus pull up and park in front of the neighbor’s house. The driver turned off the engine, but didn’t get out. From where Samson was seated on the porch, it was difficult to make out the identity of the driver. After five minutes or so of waiting and watching, he shrugged it off as someone who may be lost in the neighborhood. The Tuckers lived in a decent neighborhood where poverty and violence were almost non-existent. It was relatively normal to get outside visitors. Just as Samson contemplated backing down from the plan, the awaited vehicle pulled up in front of the house. The window lowered and a hand motioned for him to get into the car. He hustled over to the opposite side and let himself in. In his short time working for Calvin, he learned quickly not to keep him waiting.
“What’s up Young Blood? So you think you are ready to put in the real work now?” Calvin snickered at the thought of Samson feeling as though he was a man now. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age, always eager to get your hands dirty!” Calvin Rogers consistently stayed suited up, ready for business. His tailored gray suit sparkled. It wasn’t flashy, but it was clear it was expensive and he didn’t buy it out of a department store.
Calvin’s phone chirped taking his attention away from Samson for a brief moment to handle the incoming call. He cleared his throat and slightly lowered his voice. “Rocky, what do you want? I’m trying to take care of some business. I don’t have time to go back and forth with you.”
“I need you to come down to the shop. There are some men here that I think you may want to speak with. And they have guns.” Raquel responded through the phone, unfazed by his unwelcoming greeting. She didn’t appear frightened, but he knew her to handle her own and mask her fear when she was truly afraid.
“Why didn’t you call your son,
Rambo?
I think he is quite capable of taking care of this situation for you. Plus, I am not going to take too many more threats from him if he decides to show up again.”
“I can’t reach him! Please come and help me. Plus, they requested you specifically. They mentioned that you have something that is extremely valuable to them and are willing to pay you a hefty amount to retrieve it.” Raquel cried out, exposing her shielded emotions and desperation. She hoped it would be enough for him to come to her rescue.
“Dammit! How much money are we talking? Forget it…I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone and turned to Samson. “I guess we are going to take a quick detour, Young Blood.”
The block in which the salon was located lay barren, no cars or people in sight. The businesses in the community were closed for the evening not to return until sunrise. He instructed his driver to pull around to the back of the lot. Piedmont was known for being a quiet, White neighborhood. Any Black men with guns would immediately alarm the neighbors and the police would be present in five seconds flat.
It seemed slightly too suspicious for Calvin to go in and assess the situation, his years of dealing in the streets, and with Raquel, taught him a great deal about being cautious. He tapped Samson on his shoulder and slid him the Glock 9mm pistol. “I want you to go inside and shoot anything moving. Do you understand Young Blood? Anything.” Calvin nodded his head for reassurance and to let him know he was free to go handle the task. Piedmont Police Department did not fancy Calvin, yet he had a few of them on his payroll as well.
“Are you sure about this Calvin? It doesn’t look like anyone is here,” he eased out. He didn’t want his apprehension to show. Calvin turned his head away communicating to him it was time to get out of the car and take care of business.
Samson slowly navigated his way out of the car contemplating what his father had got him wrapped up in. The lot had no sign of light from light posts or buildings nearby. He crept closer to the back entrance, clenching the pistol in the palm of his hand. He whispered the Lord’s Prayer with each step he took. Although he had made it through the first portion of the initiation process, he was not prepared for what lay behind the doors possibly lurking in the dark corners of the salon. It could be an ambush attack. For all he knew Calvin could have set it all up for him to get killed.
He noticed the same car that was parked outside of his parents’ house must have been trailing them because it was parked in the lot of the salon. Everything about the scenario did not sit right with Samson. He thought back on all of the times he wished for this type of lifestyle or bragged about living it; but at this very moment, he wanted out. The idea of being killed or somehow endangering his family removed all desire of the thug life. It seemed like the likely road to take for his peers. It was saturated in the culture, the music, and society. Even with his knowledge that his father had lived the same life. It was like it was a set-up from day one for him to get involved in drugs and violence. Unsure of what lay behind the walls of the salon provided him his moment of clarity, but he refused to turn back. It was his decision to get involved in this predicament and he was going to see it through. Samson griped the gun in his hand and raised it up in front of his face about a few inches from his nose for the best aim. As he stepped closer, the sound of rustling in the salon made his heart beat faster.
“Calvin! I am so glad you are here.” Raquel rushed to his passenger side door. “Why are you sitting in the car?”
“I sent the Young Blood in to check everything out.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You know Edmond’s boy, Samson? I sent him in to take care of the situation. That is what you wanted right?”
“Why is he working for you?” she demanded.
“He wanted to make some money. It was the least I could do.”
“You sent a little boy in to handle it? Are you crazy? He could get hurt or killed?” The panic in her tone became more apparent.