Thugs And The Women Who Love Them by Wahida Clark

Author:Wahida Clark
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2010-07-19T04:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

Jaz

Chapter 18

“Taylor! Bag and baggage!” C.O. Johnson coughed as the Camel dangled from her lips.

“Bust the fucking gates!” yelled Micki Taylor, Jaz’s twenty-nine-year-old sister.

“Don’t come back no time soon. Let us at least get a chance to wash your sheets,” C.O. Johnson barked sarcastically.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ma be a’ight,” Micki said with a nervous squeak in her voice. She picked up the army green duffle bag that held the stuff she’d collected over the last five years. Then she flopped down on the metal bench and stared at the sign that read “Receiving and Discharging—Clinton Correctional Women’s Facility.”

She let out a long sigh. The correctional facility had been her residence for the last half decade, ever since she was convicted for possession and trafficking crack cocaine. She rubbed her sweaty hands, then got down on her knees and prayed.

“Oh, Lord, please give me the strength to stay on the right path. Thank you for keeping my three daughters, Tameka, Shadai and Misa safe for me. Thank you for allowing them to forgive me and not forget me. I want to be a mother to them and take care of them. Please give me strength. Amen.”

“Good-bye, Pink. Take care of yourself.” That was her drug counselor, Mr. Rhames. He waved at her and kept on going. They had developed a pretty good friendship during the time Micki was locked up. He always teased her, telling her she looked just like the white punk rocker who went by the name Pink.

“Let’s go, Taylor,” another officer shouted.

Here goes to be being free, Micki said to herself as the metal gates clicked, clanged, and clacked to slide open and set her free. Then it clicked, clanged, and clacked to keep the rest of the sisters inside.

The sun was shining bright as she stepped outside on this crisp October day. Micki was looking forward to seeing her baby sister, Jaz. She set her green duffle bag on the ground, stretched out her arms, looked up at the sky and yelled, “I’m Freeeee!” as she twirled around in circles. People were passing by on their way to work or to visit relatives who were locked up, but no one paid her any attention. She slowed her circles and leaned over, resting her hands on her knees. That’s when she burst out laughing. She felt so good. At least, until she looked up and saw a white man with greasy, slicked back hair. He was blowing kisses in her direction. She stood up and glared at him.

“Well, hello, Mr. Hamilton.” Micki smirked, folding her arms. It was her jive-ass public defender.

“Hello.” He grinned as he extended his hand. “And you are?”

“Why do you want to know?” His sorry ass didn’t even recognize her.

“I was going to offer you a ride. It looks like you need one.”

“You don’t even recognize me, do you? You slimy motherfucker!” She spat. His face reddened.

“It’s Micki Taylor, Mr. Sign-this-MissTaylor-and-the-most-you’ll-do-is-two-years. You greaseball. I ended up doing five fuckin’ years thanks to your sorry ass! I hope you burn in hell!” She picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at him.

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