Choosing Sides Read online

  Halleigh hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about. “Huh?”

  “Ten thousand dollars. That’s my estimate on what your boyfriend’s bail is probably going to be.” Manolo thought for another moment. “Yeah, that is a lot of money”—he looked back at Halleigh—“especially for a girl who has nothing.”

  Halleigh’s head fell, her chin to her chest.

  “I could help you get that money.” Manolo was glad to see he had the girl’s undivided attention again. “But it won’t be easy. It’ll take a couple days, but I think we could do it if you work hard,” he stated, throwing out the bait.

  Relieved, Halleigh said, “I’ll do anything. I just want to fix this.”

  “You can even stay here until you find your own spot,” he said, knowing Halleigh would accept the offer.

  Truth was, Halleigh really didn’t have a choice but to rest her head under his roof. Any ho that had ever worked for him always lived in his house. My roof, my rules, Manolo thought to himself. He felt that it was easier to control his girls if he knew their whereabouts at all times.

  “Halleigh, why did you come to me for help? Where are your people? I mean, I know the deal with your mom, but haven’t you anyone else you can turn to?” Manolo wanted to make sure that she didn’t have anybody that could come and save her from the life she was about to get into. He knew that there would come a time when she would want out. By that time he would make her feel so hopeless that she would think that he was the only one who cared about her.

  “I don’t have anybody. Malek is the only person I can count on.” Halleigh lowered her head at the thought of her mother. She let them rape me.

  He took her hand and lifted her to her feet. “You can count on me, Sunshine,” he whispered softly in her ear as he wrapped his hands around her waist.

  “Sunshine?” Halleigh stated.

  “Yeah, Sunshine.” Manolo looked deep into Halleigh’s eyes. “When I look into your eyes, I see a rainstorm. There’s been so much pain in your life, so much thunder, I know you’ve felt as though a black rain cloud has just been following you around.”

  Tears began to fall from Halleigh’s eyes. Manolo couldn’t have been more right. Not only had it been raining on her, literally, for the last twenty-four hours, but her entire life was like one bad, pouring-down shower in which the rain just wouldn’t seem to let up.

  “Well, the rain is about to dry up, and there’ll be nothing but sunshine in your life from this day forward.” He then embraced her like a father would a daughter.

  Halleigh broke down in tears as she appreciated his embrace.

  “Shhh. I will help you get what you need.” Manolo began rocking her back and forth in his arms.

  He had sucked her in so deep that she was hanging on to, and believing his every word. He spat out so many broken promises and manipulated her young mind to the point that she didn’t even realize that his hands had found a comfortable place on her ass while he was grinding his crotch slowly against her.

  “Shh, that’s right. Get it all out, Sunshine,” he repeated over and over again.

  And just like Halleigh had once felt, only in Malek’s arms, she felt that same way in Manolo’s arms. Safe.

  Chapter Nine

  Malek took a seat on the same bench Jamaica Joe was sitting on. Everyone else in the bullpen was terrified of Joe, but Malek’s mind was elsewhere. He didn’t even have the energy to be terrified of a man. The only thing he was afraid of was what Halleigh could possibly be going through right now; not to mention what would become of his basketball career.

  He didn’t even notice that everyone else in the room kept their distance as they tried to avoid Joe. The truth was, he really didn’t know who Jamaica Joe was or what he stood for. He’d heard of his reputation, but he’d never seen him in person.

  As a single parent, his mother had done the best she could to shield him from the malevolent streets. Then when he was eight years old, she married his stepfather, who as far as Malek was concerned, was his father. Kind of like how Shaq feels about his stepfather.

  It was Malek’s stepfather who was behind his involvement in basketball camps every summer since he was nine years old. The camps not only developed his skills, but also contributed to him burning up a lot of energy. He was always too tired to get into trouble.

  Over the past five years, while his friends were going to Maxey Boys Training School for juvenile offenders, Malek had been too busy dribbling basketballs to get involved in crime. There were generally male mentors at the camp who spoke out against young black men getting caught up in drug dealing, crime, or substance abuse.

  Up until his arrest last night, Malek had never had any trouble with the law. Now he’d just turned eighteen. He wondered, with this being his first offense, if the judge would be lenient on him and give him probation. He sure didn’t want a felony on his record. He wondered if this would affect his chances of getting into the NBA. What a mess he had made of things.

  In disgust, Malek buried his face in the palms of his hands as he blocked everything out that was going on around him. He was so busy regretting his foolish acts, he was oblivious to all the noise and chatter of the jail cell. Even if he had gotten enough money from the robbery for a night at a hotel, then what? Would he have to keep knocking off corner stores to pay for additional nights? He hadn’t even bothered to think that far in advance. All he was worried about at the time was Halleigh. Speaking of which, he was worried about her now.

  Malek took a deep breath as he stared down at his feet. All of a sudden some words his stepfather had spoken to him some time ago came back to haunt him. “You don’t even know how much danger is out there in the streets. You don’t want to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and wind up in jail or prison, which is no place for a Black man.” His father may not have been in the home as much as Malek would have liked him to be. He may not have been able to attend his basketball games as much as he wanted him to, but his love for Malek went without question. He had done nothing but work hard since marrying Malek’s mother.

  Before Malek was even two years old, his real father was shot dead in a drug deal gone bad. And in an unrelated incident, his stepfather’s dad had been sentenced to life in jail for a murder that took place during a drug deal gone bad. Prior to their deaths, the men had played no role at all in their son’s lives, choosing the streets over their own flesh and blood. So Mr. Johnson knew what it was like to need and desperately want a man in the home to teach him how to be a man. To teach him how to be a provider and to take care of his family the right way. And for that, Malek had the utmost respect for the man his mother married. The man he called Dad.

  Once again, Malek sighed and shook his head thinking about what his father would possibly think about him if he saw him right now; sitting in a jail cell for robbery. A blitz of reporters suddenly stood on the opposite side of the bars, and cameras were flashing away once again. Once the word that Malek was in there leaked to the media, the reporters flocked to the jailhouse to get a photo of the jailed star, first to the visiting room with him and his mother, and now right there in the jail cell. They were relentless and wouldn’t let up. “Not this shit again,” Malek said. He put up his hands up to shield his face.

  Jamaica Joe discreetly turned his back, trying to avoid being photographed. After three straight minutes of constant flashing, the second wave of reporters left satisfied.

  The criminals and drunks in the bullpen began an uproar. In spite of the stench coming from the one backed-up toilet in the corner and the crowded conditions, they all felt as important and as special as a group of rappers, several even posing for the cameras. Others threw up gang signs. They’d never seen anything like it.

  One particular Latino man was the first to speak to Malek. He wore a tight T-shirt over his ripped, muscular upper body and had at least ten tattoos on his neck alone. He was obviously intoxicated, and in his mind, for some reason, he felt that Malek thought he was better than th
e rest of them. Well, that’s what he told himself. He didn’t want to admit that it was pure jealousy that caused him to dislike Malek.

  “You must be somebody important, huh?” the Latino man yelled across the room.

  Malek looked around and then focused on the man. “You talking to me?” he asked, placing his index finger on his chest.

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you,” the Latino man yelled in a drunken slur. “I don’t see no other bitches in here.”

  The other men began to laugh at his comment, gassing him up more. Malek stared at the man for a second to see if he was serious and then dropped his head in an attempt to ignore him. He ran his hands over top his head, feeling the ripples of the few waves in his hair that still remained in spite of the rain.

  The man wasn’t done with Malek though. He hated pretty boys and felt obligated to tell Malek about himself. He staggered over to Malek to give him a piece of his mind.

  Before Malek even realized that the man was headed over his way, the Latino man was standing directly over him. “You’s a ol’ bitch-ass, pretty boy. Who the fuck is you anyway? You got these mu’fuckas snapping photos and shit. You ain’t nobody. You in here just like the rest of us. You ain’t no better than none of us.”

  Malek looked up at the man, with a confused look at his face and thought, What is this mu’fucka’s problem? He watched as the man swayed from side to side and struggled to keep his balance. “Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, fam,” Malek told him.

  The man must have felt that Malek was trying to be disrespectful, because out of nowhere, he swung on him. But before the man could connect, Malek moved to the side, causing the man to spin around and almost fall.

  Malek quickly rose to his feet and caught the man with two swift punches. The man didn’t know what hit him. Jamaica Joe slightly grinned as he stepped to the side to give the two men room to get their brawl on. Malek followed up with another punch, connecting with the man’s nose.

  The Latino man held his nose in agony as he fell flat on his back. Malek smiled when he realized how quickly he had dropped the man. But the smile quickly dropped when he saw two other Latinos, that closely resembled the man he had just beat down, emerge from the crowd. From the way the men were dressed alike, it was obvious that they were from the same gang or set.

  “Aye, homes, you done fucked up,” one of the men said just before he ran up on Malek.

  Malek shifted his stance and put up his dukes. He kept his eyes steady, and he stood his ground, refusing to back down.

  Jamaica Joe just sat back and watched as Malek showed no fear. Li’l man got mad heart, Joe thought to himself as he leaned against the brick wall.

  The men in the bullpen gathered around the fight to witness the unexpected entertainment.

  “Get him.”

  “Fuck him up, hombre.”

  “Fight, fight,” the sideliners instigated.

  Just like the first man, Malek laid the second one down in a matter of seconds, without as much as a scratch on himself. And the second one didn’t even seem to be as drunk as the first one. Now, both men lay on the ground next to each other.

  The third Latino man sized Malek up and circled him as he contemplated the best way to get at Malek. His chest heaved up and down from trying to catch his breath. Malek was tired from the scuffle with the two previous men, but he didn’t show it. He was ready to drop this one the same way he had dropped the rest. The first man that Malek dropped returned to his feet, blood dripping from his nose. He might have been injured, but he was still ready to fight. Malek was outnumbered at that point and prepared himself for the worst.

  “That’s enough,” a calm voice said. It was Jamaica Joe. He had seen enough and respected Malek’s braveness. “Leave li’l man alone,” Joe demanded of the Latinos, not even respecting them enough to look at them.

  The men’s demeanor totally changed at Joe’s request. They all dropped their fists as they looked at Joe nervously. It was evident that Joe had control of the situation, because the three Latino men weren’t even focused on Malek anymore. They were worried about Jamaica Joe.

  Malek, on the other hand, didn’t drop his guard and was ready to knock out whoever ran up on him.

  “Ay, Joe, I didn’t know he wuz with chu,” one of them said in broken English.

  Malek balled up his fist, his adrenaline pumping. “Run up, nigga!”

  As much as the Latino crew wanted to, they did nothing. Malek finally realized why everyone was on the opposite side of the room from Joe when he first came in. They feared him.

  “Joseph Holland!” the guard yelled as he approached the cell.

  A middle-aged white man with a neat tailored suit walked alongside the guard. It was Jamaica Joe’s attorney, Anderson Wallace, one of the most prestigious and sought-after attorneys in the Midwest.

  File in hand, Wallace was noticeably upset. “Release my client immediately! This is preposterous!”

  Jamaica Joe headed out of the cell after it was opened for him, but not before Malek called out to him, “Thanks.”

  Joe simply nodded his head in acknowledgment and exited the cell. Malek watched as the guard closed the steel gate behind Joe, and then he focused his attention back on the bullpen. He was sure that the Latino gang would try to finish what they’d started, but to Malek’s surprise, they didn’t do as much as look at him.

  After an hour of keeping his eye on the gang, when he figured that they weren’t going to try anything, Malek, once again, began to think about his current predicament. He knew he had acted on impulse by trying to knock over the convenience store; an impulse that could change his life forever. But what could he have done? What other choices did he have? Should he have gone and tried to retaliate against the drug dealers who raped his girl? Those type of people didn’t play, and they would have come after both of them and probably killed them. Absently, he shook his head. He was caught in a quandary. What else could he have done? What was he going to do now? He dropped his head in defeat. His whole world was tumbling down. When it rains, it pours.

  Chapter Ten

  “What am I gon’ do?” Halleigh asked aloud. She was sitting in the bedroom that she now shared with Mimi. The room was just big enough to fit two twin beds inside, but she was grateful just to have a place to lay her head. She had taken a shower, and Mimi had loaned her some of her old clothes.

  Manolo had told Halleigh that she could stay as long as she needed to, and he had assured her that he would help her make the money she needed to get Malek out of jail. The fact that she still had four more months of high school crept into her thoughts. How on God’s earth was she going to be able to get back and forth from school, let alone, be able to focus on things once she was back at school? After a couple of minutes of sifting a few options and ideas, she decided that she couldn’t worry about that now. Perhaps she could go back to school once she got a job and saved up some money.

  Mimi sat on her bed with her back against the wall, painting her toe nails. “How much did you say ol’ boy’s bail is probably going to be?”

  “Ten thousand,” Halleigh replied.

  “Damn! He gon’ rot in that mu’fucka.” Mimi let out a low whistle. “He ain’t got no family that can get him out?” she asked. “I wouldn’t be spending my hard-earned money on nobody’s bail. His family would be going half or something.” Mimi blew on her toes, attempting to dry the wet paint.

  “His moms don’t like me. She can’t stand me. She won’t even talk to me, so I don’t know what is going on. His pops, I don’t even know if he knows what went down yet. He was out of town for his job. He’s always out of town working hard.”

  “Good. Then let his hardworking ass pay the bail, and you hit the Genesee Mall and go shopping.”

  Halleigh just shrugged her shoulders. She had already decided that she couldn’t put that burden on Malek’s parents’ shoulders. Her heart was heavy, and whenever she thought about Malek sitting locked up in jail, she felt as great of a pain as
when the two men had pulled the train on her and raped her.

  At Halleigh’s silence, Mimi continued her reasoning. “It ain’t about you, it’s about their son. They want him out of there just as much as you do. That’s who I would be going to see if I were you.” Mimi hopped up off the bed and left the room.

  Halleigh tried not to let Mimi’s words override her own thoughts on the situation, but she couldn’t help it. It will take me forever to make ten G’s by myself. I don’t even know what type of job Manolo gon’ give me. What if it’s only making minimum wage or something? Maybe I should go to Malek’s parents and let them know that I can at least pay half of his bail. It will probably be a whole lot easier for me to come up with half of the money rather than all of it. Besides, if they can put up half, we can get Malek out faster. And on top of that, maybe my sacrifice to get the money will finally show Mrs. Johnson how much I love her son. Then she’ll finally accept me.

  The next day, Halleigh found herself breathing erratically as she stood on Mrs. Johnson’s doorstep. She was nervous, and she knew she looked a mess, but she hoped that Mrs. Johnson would put their beef to the side and agree to help her get Malek out of jail.

  I’m just gon’ tell her that this is not about us. Her son is sitting downtown in jail, and if we work together, we can get him out. I love him, and so does she. I know she won’t just let him sit in there. She has to help me.

  At first, when Halleigh asked Mimi to take her to Malek’s house, she realized that it was Sunday and that Mrs. Johnson might probably be in church praying for her son to get out of jail. But when they pulled up in front of the house, her car was parked right outside.

  Mrs. Johnson had decided against going to church for two reasons. One, the reporters were still outside her doorstep early morning, only vacating the premises when they realized that she wasn’t going to answer the door to comment on her son’s situation. Secondly, the last thing she wanted was for all those gossiping heifers at her church to pretend to comfort her and pray for her, just so they could have something to talk about. Hell, she might as well have talked to the reporters in that case.