Jamar’s influence over local law enforcement had been limited. The money that he paid them to look the other way only turned their heads so far and they have never been his lackeys. The police who have cooperated with Jamar to allow his drug dealers to operate with impunity when they sell around town, do so with a sense that they are doing their jobs by keeping the peace. They ascribe to the ideas that Jamar had previously espoused, that drug addicts exist and have a need that will be met and its best to help facilitate the satisfaction of that need with as little violence as could be managed. These police consider themselves to be public servants and they see a distinct line between themselves as members of law enforcement and people like Jamar who facilitated crime in the town.
Jamar’s influence over local law enforcement as of late has been expanded. Now they seem to be his own personal security team. The day that Ivan and Clay were arrested for the first time ever in their lives, Jamar was standing amongst a group of police officers after he had provoked Clay into an altercation, and they seemed to arrest the two at Jamar’s request. This is very uncharastic of the police; the criminal asset was their tool to use, and that could never be true in the reverse. But as Clay and Ivan allowed themselves to be handcuffed and put into the backs of two separate police cars, Jamar watched the scene with satisfaction. Everything was finally going his way.
Ivan stares at the local newspaper with tears in his eyes. They don’t roll down his cheeks, but they well up and make his eyes look glassy. Clay snatches the paper. He crumples it and tosses it at the trashcan in the dining room. It circles the rim and hits the ground. Ivan watches it come to a stop.
“You need to stop torturing yourself,” Clay says. “I’m not happy about this either, but it happened and we can move on from it.”
“I can’t believe they put our mugshots in the paper.” The pictures of Ivan and Clay from the day of their arrest had made the front page and Ivan had been staring at it ever since. They had described the two of them as a couple of perverts who threatened the safety of their neighborhood.
“It’s crazy,” Clay says, keeping an eye out of the window with the blinds drawn all the way up and the shades pushed to one side. They have been pariahs for weeks now and Clay likes to keep an eye on the sidewalk in front of his house to see who exactly it was throwing garbage and hate mail into the yard; the hate mail was usually homophobic and racist messages poorly written and usually misspelled on poster board or sheets of paper that told the couple to leave or die and go to hell. Clay never saw anyone, like the culprits waited until Clay wasn’t keeping watch at the front window. He is sure that Jamar is behind it somehow.
“I can’t take this. We don’t deserve this. You killed zombies that were gonna eventually make their way here and kill a lot of people. You you give so much of yourself to them. Wee get arrested on bogus disturbing the peace charges and none of that matters?”
“People don’t know about that stuff,” Clay says. A group of young men pass by on the sidewalk and they laugh and point at the house. “And the stuff I been doing around the neighborhood is all relative. Jamar was right. He do a lot for these people and it’s easy to convince them that I’m making trouble because they don’t know me like they know him. They know my family, but my daddy was a asshole before he got locked up, and I was different from my brothers. None of these people know me like that. And now we live together, glowing and floating, deciding who get to do what in they own backyard. I see how that could piss some people off. I did it wrong. I’m sorry. I shoulda introduced myself. I shoulda opened my life up to them instead of just reacting.” He watches the group of boys disappear into the distance and then he turns to Ivan. “That’s what Alia said, and then my auntie. They both right. So this is all on me, I see that, and you don’t deserve this. I’ll do my best to fix it.”
Ivan shakes his head. “Don’t do that. This is our life together, this is my life now, too. Stop trying to treat me like something you’re protecting and start seeing me as your partner. Talk to me about how you feel and what you’re planning, what you want to do. We have a problem to deal with. We fucked up together. We can fix it together.”
Clay nods silently and then he kisses Ivan’s forehead.
“What’s our next move?” Clay asks.
“We got court soon, we should use this opportunity to buy formal clothes like we’ve been talking about forever.”
Clay nods. Jamar has not been in touch, so it makes sense to deal with the most pressing matter of avoiding a conviction and whatever punishment awaited them.
There is a dark spot in Jamar’s house at the end of the long hallway of the second floor, right in front of the linen closet. It’s like an envelope of darkness, a blind spot that the architect of the house had ignored, where no light from any source in the house can reach.
Jamar’s son, Marquavius, always hides there when the two play hide and seek in the house. The first time he folded his little body into that darkness, Jamar ran around frantically, unable to find the little boy, and worried that he had wandered out of the house. But just before he ran out to look for him, Marquavius emerged from the darkness with a big smile on his face.
“You couldn’t find me!” he yelled, jumping up and down.
Jamar was relieved and then he puzzled at the dark spot that he had never noticed before.
Jamar is not home right now. He is at the courthouse, spectating late afternoon court sessions. he didn’t need any trickery to get a seat in the pews of the courtroom, they are open to the public, and he made himself comfortable in the back. There are three judges that oversee criminal offenses in the city, and the one sitting the bench today is an older white woman with thick-rimmed, black glasses that she only uses to read paperwork in front of her. She seems to be a nice lady, very open to hearing the stories of the defendants and very lenient for first time offenders.
After the session, the judge gavels a recess. Jamar slinks his way through the people in the room and he keeps an eye on the judge as she slips into a door behind her bench. One guard follows her and another mans the door. Jamar stand in front of the guard and smiles. The guard returns it.
“Can I help you sir?”
“Egduj eht htiw enola su evael ot dneirf ruoy llet dna, edisni em tel. Nac uoy sey.” The words issue from Jamar like a whisper or a hiss.
The guard is suddenly transported to a black place and he smells food cooking in the distance as the smells waft through the darkness. He runs in the direction of the smells, but the dark is practically infinite and unchanging.
Meanwhile, Jamar follows the guard to the judge’s chambers where he distracts the other guard long enough for Jamar to slip into the judge’s private office and sit down in the chair across from her.
“How did you get in here?” She asks, ripping the glasses from her face in her anger.
“Easy, now,” Jamar smiles, “I’d just like a moment of your time. I admire the work you do, I been watching you all afternoon. You got a heart, you trying to fulfil the lofty goal of our system of law and order; rehabilitation. ‘Cause you know a nigga ain’t never got better after spending time in jail.”
“Sir,” the judge says as she crosses her office and opens the door to look for her security guards. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
“I’m serious!” Jamar says and he stands to face her. “Esaelp nwod tis dna rood eht esolc,” he hisses and the woman closes the door and returns to her seat. “I really want to talk. I enjoy conversation these days. I learn so much. So like I was saying, I admire you. Em htiw esrevnoc.”
“I do care about my community. And yes, I am aware that jail or prison time rarely has the desired effect of rehabilitation. I’m not lenient, I’m fair with defendants in my court and I recognize that each offense has an appropriate punishment. Imprisonment should not be a catchall for people who step out of line. Not if we want to teach a lasting lesson of care and responsibility to our neighbors and the community at large.”
Jamar nods. “I admire that. I really do. But there are so many communities, ma’am, so many competing allegiances. To which do we adhere the strongest?”
“To God, to family, and then to country,” the judge says without hesitation.”
“And what if my God is not the same eight legged being that you call God? That’s how wars start ma’am. There should be only one loyalty, one thing to which everything owes its attention. And that’s a nigga like me. You had the God part right, but you thinking of some church shit. It’s a God right in front you ma’am. And you owe your loyalty to me. You know why?”
The judge doesn’t say a word. She is petrified and she feels glued to the seat, though, when he hisses, she finds herself in a dark place and she can hear a faint, far away sound of gospel music, but then she gets jerked back to the present and she has to do what the young man says even though she wants to run.
“Because I’m crushing shit that’s slowing me down. And you don’t want to be under a God’s heel. Ma’am uoy od?”
“No I don’t,” she says with a tremble in her voice.
“Well, I got some people I need you to get off the streets. Starting with them west side niggas that’s polluting the community. They beyond redemption ma’am. And then in a few days you got some public nuisances coming before you that need the book thrown at them. You can’t send them to prison for it, but thirty days local will definitely teach them a lesson. Thgir taht htiw eerga uoy?”
The judge nods. They smile together, but the judge is quaking with fear.
After leaving the courthouse, Jamar takes a trip to the local jail. He hisses his way inside and he stands in the hallway that connects to all of the cells. He hisses loudly for everyone to hear.
“Ecin yllaciysiretcearhcnu eb ot lla uoy deen I.”
Ivan and Clay appear separately before the judge. Both are dressed well, ties and shiny shoes that they had spent a full weekend, Saturday and Sunday, shopping for. They got a whole wardrobe for themselves and they hoped to project a more adult image. They traded in some of their jeans for khakis and cargo pants and their sneakers for loafers.
They are each found guilty and as Clay watches Ivan take his turn before the judge first, he is shocked at how harsh she is.
“With the abilities you have displayed,” the judge says passionately, “I would be warranted in locking you up in some military facility somewhere. But my authority can only give you thirty days in the local jail. Hopefully you and your friend will be more considerate of normal people in the future. And I will be making some calls, it can’t be right to let people like you roam the street like living weapons. You could probably break free now, can’t you? You’re being noble and submitting yourself to the justice system. That’s admirable son, but the facts are the facts. You and your friend are dangerous menaces to society and I will make it my mission to clear the streets of your brand of nonsense.”
Ivan is shocked, stunned completely silent and he looks back at Clay helpless as he is handcuffed and led away. After another lengthy lecture from the judge, Clay is led out like Ivan. They are processed close to one another and they are transported to the jail together.
PRL Serials 