“Uh . . . Who wants to know?” I stammered out, even though I thought I already knew the answer. I instinctively backed away from the man in front of me.
“The name's Bishop,” he replied, trying to sound legit. But I could hear the undertone of a voice that was much more educated. I had made a mistake. I almost laughed out loud, despite the seriousness of the situation. There I was, thinking I was dealing with gangsters, and I was so wrong. I looked in Bishop's eyes and saw something elseâpolice.
“What do you want?” I asked, less scared, but still cautious. Bishop was a cop, but that didn't mean he was a good cop.
“Can we talk?” he asked, gesturing toward a black Lincoln parked parallel to the driveway.
“You can't possibly think I'm going to get into that?” I said, backing away further, my legs preparing for a sprint.
“Look, we can make this easy, or we can make this hard. It's your choice,” Bishop said, this time flashing a smile.
“You don't even know who I am.” I folded my arms across my chest and twisted my lips, mustering up what attitude I could. The adrenalin started pumping through me. I balled my hands into fists and looked past Bishop to the Meadows.
“Don't think about it, Crystal. Just come with us.”
I didn't want to waste time with pretenses, so I just laid it out. “Aren't you going to blow your cover?” I asked. “I mean, aren't you supposed to announce you're cops before you go arresting people?”
Bishop turned to look at his partner before training his eyes on me. He smiled again. “Like I said, Miss Sells, we can make this easy or make this hard. Don't mistake my kindness for weakness.”
I smacked my lips and said, “So now it's Miss Sells, huh?”
I tried to stall Bishop and his partner. “I need to see some ID,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere unless I know who you are.”
This time, Bishop chuckled. “You're acting like you have a whole lot of choices, but you don't. You're coming with us, one way or the other.”
“I don't know who you are,” I said. “And I know my rights. So unless you plan on arresting me and committing police brutality by knocking me out to get me in your ride, I suggest you pull out some plastic with a picture.”
As if on cue, I heard the piercing warbles of police sirens.
Woop Woop
.
Woop Woop
.
Woop Woop
. Two Queens with blue and red stripes and gold emblems on the car doors traveled slowly down the street, coming from opposite directions. Their Crowns flashed, the lights circulating rapidly.
“So, what do you say, Crystal? You can see my ID,” Bishop looked in both directions at the approaching cop cars, “or you can see theirs.”
Bishop smiled again. I guess he was savoring his victory. My shoulders slumped as defeat washed over me. I looked back at my old house before turning back around. Bishop was walking toward me. He was taller than I thought at first, and his head blocked the sunlight as he stood in front of me. He reached for my arm but I pulled away.
“Whoa, Miss Sells,” he said, reaching for me again. “Don't worry, we don't bite and we're not going to hurt you.” I stiffened as his hand wrapped around my upper arm. Bishop's partner was already heading for the car. We stood there motionless until the light-skinned man opened the back door to the Lincoln.
“I'd be honored if you'd come with me.”
My face started to heat up as Bishop led me to the Lincoln. The sirens sounded again.
Woop Woop
.
Woop Woop
. Bishop raised his free hand and waved awkwardly. My eyes stung, but I batted away the tears. There I was, former honor student with great smarts, and I was headed off to the last place on Earth I wanted to be . . . jail.
Chapter Nineteen
But with promises of renewal comes rain . . .
Even though I did what Dymond said by not going to Ray's house, the cops found me anyway. Seems they were scoping out my old place on the chance I would return. As Bishop's partner, “Zach”, drove us downtown, I had grim thoughts about strip searches and orange jumpsuits. A girl I knew from the Meadows, Marie, had been shacked up over a weekend for a
PBC
charge and told me it was the worst experience she ever had. No privacy. Women looking at her like they wanted a piece of her. She told me she felt so grimy and nasty that she showered for an hour after they let her go. And then she soaked in the bath until her skin was wrinkled like one of those fancy Chinese dogs.
“I was only in lockup,” Marie had said frightfully. “I promised myself I would never write another bad check again. Shit, imagine if I had been in a real prison.”
I told her I'd rather not imagine it at all, thank you very much. And there I was, in the back of an unmarked Lincoln, on the way to the Franklin County Municipal Jail. The same place Ray was, although he was in a different area.
Bishop would look back at me every now and then, flashing that old crooked-tooth smile. I really wished I could pop him in the mouth.
“So, you have an interesting last name Miss Sells. Is that fate or what?” Bishop asked.
I shrugged my shoulders, but I didn't respond. He was a bit too happy to see me in the back of the car and I wasn't going fall into his little game.
“With a name like that, you should have seen this day coming for a long time.” Bishop knocked on the passenger side window and drew my attention to the gray, windowless skyscraper on the edge of downtown Columbus. I was sweating bullets. The thought of some manly-looking woman cop seeing me naked and feeling me up made my skin crawl. I was ready to confess and we hadn't even entered the building.
Zach drove into a parking garage. I shivered as the sunlight disappeared and we entered a dark, dank world of gray. We parked between a couple of unmarked Crown Victorias, the Queens of the police department. Once Zach turned off the engine, Bishop turned and looked at me again . . . with that damn smile.
“You ready, Miss Sells?” he asked. His tone was almost gleeful, as if he took great pleasure out of my fear.
“Ready for what?” I asked, hoping my voice wasn't really trembling as much as it sounded like it was.
“We're going to take you inside the station. We're not going to have any problems out of you, are we?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head.
Zach exited the car first, followed by Bishop, who opened the door for me. When I didn't move, Bishop extended a hand toward me and said, “Let's go.” I complied with his order.
My legs started shaking when we went through a door with a sign that read:
PROCESSING.
I resisted for a second, and Bishop chuckled lightly.
“What you so scared for Miss Sells?” Bishop asked as we began walking down a long dimly-lit gray hallway. At the end of the hallway was a wall of bars and two scary-looking guards. “You won't have anything to worry about if you cooperate, right Zach?”
Zach nodded. I had yet to hear the man speak. Wondering if Zach had a tongue eased the stress for a bit as we neared the bars. A loud buzz brought me back to reality. The bars screeched as they opened.
The four men didn't speak to each other. The two guards stared at me for a moment, one of them taking the extra step of putting his hand on his piece strapped on his side. The other guard nodded and gestured to some point down the long hallway. Bishop and Zach responded with nods. I noticed a room with a large glass window to my left. Another male guard sat at a large desk inside of the room. He was looking up at me while speaking on the phone. He nodded when he ended his call.
Don't these folks speak
, I thought as we waited in the hallway. There was another loud buzz before light flooded the hallway. A door opened. I heard heavy footsteps before I saw anyone. Then, two female guards came into view. They were both black. One was heavy-set with beady eyes and a thick neck. The other one was tall, and she had broad shoulders, almost as broad as most men I knew.
Oh God
, I thought as a shiver crept down my spine.
Here we go
.
“Well, these fine ladies will take care of you. I'll be seeing you in a couple of minutes.” Bishop said.
“Where are they taking me?” I asked. My voice was barely a whisper.
Bishop smiled again. This time, his grin looked evil.
“You'll find out.” He nodded at the two female guards before motioning to his partner. They headed down the hallway.
“Come on,” the heavy-set guard said. Her voice was deep. She reached for my upper arm and we began walking down the hallway toward the light.
The door we entered actually led to another hallway. It was brightly lit with white walls and dingy floors. There were black doors on each side with small slits of glass for windows. My head moved from side to side as I tried to peek inside the windows, but we walked so fast, I couldn't make anything out. We headed down another corridor, finally stopping at one of the black doors. The tall guard pushed a key card into a slot next to the door and there was a buzzing sound. I heard the door click.
The inside of the room was not what I expected. It was a small room with a square table in the middle surrounded by four chairs. Two light bulbs, dangling on two thin wires, snaked down from the ceiling. There weren't any windows, however, there was a large panel that resembled a mirror. I heaved out a sigh of relief when I finally realized that I wasn't in a jail cell but in an interrogation room. Then, my sense of relief was somewhat shattered.
“We're going to need to pat you down,” the heavy-set guard said.
“What for?” I asked, my body tensing.
“Just turn around, put your hands against the wall, and spread your legs,” the tall guard commanded.
I started to protest, but my options were limited. At least they hadn't asked me to take off my clothes. I reluctantly followed the guard's command, getting into position. I heard snapping sounds. One of the guards had put on a pair of gloves. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt one of them near me.
I cringed when I felt the hands cup my tits, feel underneath my bra, pat my stomach. I started shivering when the hands traveled lower, in between my legs and down them. It seemed like an eternity passed before I heard, “You can turn around now.”
I don't know what my face looked like, but when I turned around, both of the guards looked at me like I had a large growth on my face or something. Maybe fear and disgust looked that bad, because that's what I was feeling.
“You can sit down now,” the heavy-set guard said as she pulled off the plastic gloves and gestured toward the table. “Bishop will be here in a minute or so.”
Neither guard showed any expression. Their eyes were emotionless, their faces almost slack, and their lips were set in straight lines. I nodded and walked over to the table, choosing one the chairs on the end. As if on cue, I heard a click and a squeak as the black door opened. Bishop stuck his head inside and looked at me. “Everything ready?” He directed the question toward the heavy-set guard.
I stared at the panel, which shimmered from the light. My reflection was blurry. It was then I realized that Bishop must have been on the other side of that panel, staring at me as I got a pat-down. He probably enjoyed it. He entered the room and stood by the door as it closed behind him. His left hand was behind his back. The two female guards moved to opposite corners of the room, standing straight and staring at the door.
“Now, you haven't been treated that bad, have you?” he asked, his voice a bit too cheerful for the situation at hand.
I ignored him and continued staring at the panel. Obviously, Bishop was about to question me. I steeled myself and thought about what Dymond had told me when she was questioned. She had used tears to get out of her situation. I tried to conjure some up by blinking a couple of times, but my eyeballs were as dry as a bone.
What would the Hustlette in me do
? I asked myself, trying to figure out a way to handle the situation.
“Can you hear me?” Bishop asked as he approached the table. He pulled out a chair adjacent to me and sat down. He was close. Too close. I could smell the Unforgivable cologne he had sprayed on his body and the coffee he drank. I refused to look in his direction.
“I hear you,” I replied, blinking a couple more times.
“And?”
“I feel like I'm on an episode of Law and Order.” I smiled slightly at my sad attempt at a joke.
Bishop leaned closer. “This isn't a television show, Miss Sells. You're in serious trouble.”
“I haven't done anything wrong.”
“Really?” Bishop asked in disbelief. “You think we're going to fall for that?”
“I'm telling the truth.”
“We'll see about that.”
I shifted in my chair and looked into Bishop's dark eyes. I had figured out what the Hustlette in me would do. “I want to speak to my lawyer,” I said seriously.
“You're not under arrest,” Bishop said. “So that's not going to fly.”
“I don't have to speak to you. I have the right to remain silent.”
I could have sworn I heard a muffled giggle from one of the female guards.
Bishop sat back in his chair and regarded me. I kept my eyes trained on his. “So, you're reading your own rights now. That's a switch.” He smiled, and I resisted the urge to stick up my middle finger.
“You can arrest me, or let me go.”
“And you can answer a couple of questions and get out of here, or I can let you sit here for a while and think about your future at a correctional facility.” Bishop leaned in on me again. This time, I shifted my chair away from him.
“I don't know what you think I know, but I can't help you.”
“Let's start simple.” Bishop held up an index finger. “One quick question. How 'bout that?”
I shrugged and said, “Shoot, but I don't have to answer.”
“It's really up to you.” He leaned back again. “First, can I call you Crystal? Miss Sells is so formal.”
My first thought was
Hell no! You can't call me Crystal
. But I nodded.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Good. Can I ask another question?”
“Whatever.”
“I'll take that as a yes. Do you know RayKwon Jackson?”
“Sure,” I replied. I knew there was no point to lying about that. Knowing Ray was the reason I was there in the first place. Bishop raised his eyebrows as if I was supposed to elaborate, but even I knew to answer the question asked with the least amount of words.
“How well do you know him?” Bishop asked.
“Don't you already know?” Another tactic. Answering a question with a question. With luck, maybe Bishop would answer my question and show his hand.
“I'd rather hear straight from the source.”
Oh well
,
I tried
.
“There's not much to tell,” I said, still unwilling to dish out much info.
“You sure about that?” Bishop asked, raising his eyebrows again.
“I'm sure you've heard everything you need to know about that,” I said. I straightened up in my chair. This so-called investigation wasn't all it was cracked up to be. “So, you have any more questions?” I asked.
Bishop frowned. “You're not being helpful.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I'm only answering the questions asked.” I smiled wryly.
Bishop looked up toward the large shimmering panel and nodded. Then, he looked down at the chair next to him. “Well, maybe you can answer some more questions.”
“I aim to please,” I said sarcastically.
When he pulled up his hand, the flash of red and gold made my heart stop. The largest lump I had ever felt in my life formed in my throat. I unfolded my arms and reached for my neck, massaging it lightly so I could get some air. My face got hot and my stomach began to churn.
Bishop smiled, his teeth gleaming. “So, maybe you can answer some questions about this,” he said, sliding his hand across the table. Underneath his hand was the thing I feared seeing the most . . . Bishop had my journal.