The Union by Tremayne Johnson

over here before you give it to him.”
     
    Botta Bing screwed his face up. “That’s askin’ a lot.” he looked down at what Mox had given him. “I’m sayin’ that’s the nigga Rudy’s cell, right? Check it,” he looked down the tier. “I don’t like that nigga anyway, so whatever problems yall got, that’s between yall. I’m just sayin’” he shrugged his broad shoulders and made a gesture with his hands. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you.”
     
    Mox smiled. “Exactly.”
     
    The next morning Botta Bing tapped on Mox’s cell and slid his breakfast tray through the feed up.
     
    Mox got up and went to the gate. “Did you get it?”
     
    Botta Bing passed him a small, plastic tube that looked like perfume. “Yo, what the fuck is that shit?”
     
    “Ebony Dream.” Mox grinned. “Make sure you bring that tray over here at lunch.”
     
    Later that afternoon, Rudy Foster had to be rushed across the street to Westchester Medical Center to get his stomach pumped, but the doctors couldn’t figure out what caused it.
     
    The following day, Mox made bail and walked out of the county jail a free man.
     
    As soon as he stepped into the parking lot, a black guy in a grey suit approached him. “Mr. Daniels,” he called out.
     
    Mox kept walking. He sped his pace up. If it was the feds, they were going to have to wrestle him down.
     
    The black guy in the suit called again. “Mr. Daniels, I’m a friend of Juan Carlos.”
     
    Mox stopped and turned around. “Who?”
     
    “Juan Carlos.” He gave Mox his card. “I just spoke with Priscilla. She told me to meet you here. My name is Charles Woods and I’ll be representing you throughout this process.”
     
    Mox took the card and looked it over. “Where my girl at?”
     
    “I told her we had a few things to discuss about your case, so she went home to wait for you.”
     
    “Ain’t nothing to discuss.” Mox started to walk off.
     
    Charles pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and tapped Mox on his arm with it. “Somebody was there Mox.”
     
    He spun his neck around quickly. “I don’t know what the fuck you talking about. Nobody was nowhere.”
     
    Charles opened the folder and handed Mox a photo of a young white kid with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and a few freckles on his nose. “Billy Worsham; works the overnight shift at Stop & Shop on the weekends. Apparently, the night of said murder, Mr. Billy here went to take his break and had his little girlfriend meet him in the back lot. He was giving it to her from the back when he says he heard shots and looked up.” Charles and Mox locked eyes. “Billy says he can identify the shooter.”
     
    “Fuck!” Mox almost knocked the folder out of Charles’ hand.
     
    Charles took a step closer to Mox. “Mr. Daniels, we both know what needs to happen here, if you want to continue to operate on these streets. The gun charge is the least of your worries. Ballistics came back and it wasn’t the gun that Deandre got killed with.” Charles put his hand on Mox’s shoulder. “Most you’ll do on that is five. I’ll see to that, but it’s on you to handle this other thing.” He grabbed Mox’s arm, shook his hand and turned to leave. “Oh, there’s a car at the end of the lot waiting to take you to see Priscilla.”
     
    Mox stood in the middle of the parking lot looking into the sky at a school of birds dancing through the desiccated, wintry air. He wished he could be a bird and fly away from all the trouble that was bringing him down. He wanted to know where those birds had come from and where they were heading.
     

    He breathed...

 

     

     
    SIX
     

     
    The night Mox was bailed out of the county jail, he went directly to Priscilla’s apartment. It would be one of the last nights they would get to spend together for a long time. When he walked into the apartment, all the lights were dimmed or completely turned off, but the soft, angelic voice of Whitney Houston