Armored (16 page)

One day, he did and these guys came to the shop. She’d been working there at the time and when he went into the office for a closed door meeting, she knew, street instinct told her, Domingo
was heading somewhere he didn’t want to be. But when she tried to talk to him, he told her to shut up and she did.

“Family can be your worst enemy Selange.”

“Teresa, not when they really love you.”

“I thought that guy Matteo had Domingo’s best interest at heart. He was family in a way but what he did was help Domingo feed his greedy drug habit.”

Selange’s eyes were slits. “What does Matteo have to do with this?”

“Domingo was giving him a cut of the profits he made fr
om the distribution. I thought you knew.”

Selange was on her feet. “No the hell I didn’t. Alfonzo doesn’t deal with drugs Teresa!”

“Well apparently Matteo did.”

Selange blew hard. Her mind was racing a thousand miles per minute. Alfonzo couldn’t know, oh geez, Amelda, did she know about Matteo?

“Teresa, you better not be lying to me!”

“Girl, what the hell I have to lie about?” Teresa was tempted to tell Selange to leave, but it was too late, the police were coming.
They wanted to charge her with Domingo’s murder, although Jesús did the crime, the police couldn’t find him, he’d disappeared. She knew Alfonzo was responsible for him being MIA, and inadvertently she became a prime suspect. The cops offered her a low-down snake trade to avoid jail. They said if she helped them nail Alfonzo they’d offer her protection. The scheme was to have Selange on U.S. soil to face assault charges and they’d work on her, and get her to cooperate in their investigation concerning this drug triangle. She agreed. The police dangled her ass over a barrel. The police were threatening to put her girls in foster care. She hated the position she was in, but Alfonzo had clout and she didn’t.

Teresa despised herself for turning on the only person she trusted; the kindest of the bunch.

Selange read something in Teresa’s eyes. Women have premonitions that they should follow. Selange trusted her gut. Casually she strolled by the window and in a sideways glance viewed the street. Her guards had their arms spread on the hood of the rental car, being frisked by NYPD. Unmarked cars idled in the center of the block. Her initial thought was to slice Teresa’s throat, but then she thought about her children and Domingo’s girls.

The rays of a setting sun were karma shining through the windowpane on her face. She tried to rectify her wrongs, but it seemed no matter what she did or how much she donated, she had to feel the piercing sting of betrayal.

She scoffed at herself on this late evening, yes the hell she did because being good to people didn’t guarantee goodness in return. She’d come because she cared about Teresa and would do anything for Maria. This bitch used her kindness to set her up.

Goddamn you Teresa, her mind screamed!

“I need to use the bathroom,” Selange said casually and then hurried to the privacy of the waterproof enclosure to place a call.

She called Maria. She woke the poor woman up. She had to talk fast, so spoke fluently in Spanish. “Maria, you have to keep the kids for a few days. I’m going to be detained in jail. Please tell Alfonzo under no circumstances can he come to the U.S. or its territories. The police I suspect are going to detain me as bait to get him here for questioning concerning Matteo. Tell him please to trust me, I know he’ll want to come, but Maria, you have to convince him that he has to let me handle this one alone. The children need one of us and he can’t help. I’m hiding my cell in
Teresa’s bathroom under the sink so tell him that is where he can send someone to get it. And under no circumstances is he to trust Matteo. Marie, you got that?”

“Aye, what no, I will come. Teresa did this didn’t she?”

“Maria, mama, por favor, do not tell anyone but Alfonzo what I’ve told you. I have to go. I’m counting on you to make Alfonzo listen, please. Te amo mama.”

“T
e amo. I will tell him. Do not worry. I will take care of the children.”

“Yo sé. Gracias…gracias.”

She disconnected and choked quiet the sob as she worked loose the metal back on the device. In urgency, like a crackhead about to freebase, she shakily removed the data chip and flushed the damn thing down the toilet. Then she knelt to the cupboards and opened the door. Cleaning items, dust and grime met her. “Okay, well damn Teresa, I guess you don’t clean very often.”

She grimaced as she stuck the cell way back in a corner and then stood and washed her hands. She exited the bathroom and found Teresa in the center of the room crying.

“What are you crying for?” Selange asked, pretending she didn’t know the woman called the police.

“I’m sorry Selange.”

“About?”

“The detectives said they were going to charge me with suspicion of murder.”

“”Who’d you murder Teresa?’

“Nobody.”

“Exactly, so why are you crying?”

“Because they said if I got you here, they’ll consider that I have cooperated with their police investigation into organized crime and they’ll offer me protection.”

“They did, wow they’re generous?” Selange took a seat. “They played you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They don’t really want me; the cops are always trying to arrest Alfonzo.”

Teresa nodded, swallowing her stupidity. “They threatened to take my girls.”

“They always use the children.” Selange shrugged. “Can I use your phone before they get up here? I dropped mine down a grate right after I called you.”

“Sure-“

Banging. “Police open up!”

Teresa was nervous as hell. M
aybe, anger found a seat and compassion stood up. Whatever it was, Selange simply said, “Alfonzo’s your daughter’s godfather. He loves them, but if I were you Teresa, I’d disappear. You better hope the police keep their end of the bargain. I forgive you, but I doubt if anyone else will.”

The pounding was harder. “Police!”

“I’m really sorry Selange, I am.” Teresa whispered as she walked to the door. The minute she opened it the detectives hurried in. “Selange Diaz, we have a warrant for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent….”

They didn’t have to worry, she planned to.

Handcuffs were tightened and she was marched downstairs, put in a car, which was uncomfortable when hands are awkwardly angled behind the back. She didn’t cry, not one crystal drop. Years of liquid overflowing had dried up the well.

She had faith in herself and trusted Alfonzo had covered both their tracks.

***

A warrant was issued for Selange’s arrest in absentia. Inside the police station is when she was presented with the document, but it didn’t matter, an assault charge isn’t comparable to murder, neither is the sentence if convicted. There’s the standard 48 hour waiting period before her hearing in front of a judge, where she’d listen to the charges, say ‘not guilty’ of course and then learn her trial date, that is if things went that far.

The case might be dismissed for lack of evidence along the way or the court, which she confidently believed may be the case.

Meanwhile, she had to undergo the process of being booked at the local precinct, which recently received a fresh coat of paint. She smelled the turpentine. Amelda would hate the harsh lighting and probably try to speak with the person in charge and implore them to splurge on the softer illumination.

She stood beside the uniformed officer as he pressed her hand forcefully in the ink, rolling her fingers and not saying a word.

She laughed quietly at his stern demeanor; somebody might assume she personally insulted him with ‘your mama’ jokes.

He didn’t look in her eyes, not once and she wondered if he was too afraid. The officer needn’t
worry; Alfonzo wasn’t a maniac, in spite of the false rumors. The only men in uniform he ever harmed were vile criminals.

The procedure was really antiquated. Cell phones have a fingerprint recognition system, the city of New York needed to catch up with the times and go high-tech.

“You can go a bit easier on my hand,” she said when he pressed her thumb down with undo pressure and the other fingers.

He remained silent. Selange figured he was told not to talk to her, which was fine, but the rough handling went a tad far.

“I’m wondering if you’re deriving any form of sexual gratification by punishing my fingers.”

He glared at her then. “What are you talking about?”

The mute can actually talk. “I gave you the definition of a sadomasochist. Punishment tied to sexual gratification.” Selange sighed. “Never-mind, I see you lack humor. Can I make my call now?”

The confidence slightly faded when she observed Mr. Johnson enter with another guy and her situation suddenly became realer. This wasn’t simply a set-up, but also payback. The men entered a room and Selange asked the mute officer who broke his code of silence to use the phone –again.

A detective sauntered over, and she was ushered to a messy desk. “You want to call the hubby?” he asked with a patronizing drawl. “You’d think you rich people would at least have a cell phone. There wasn’t one in your belongings, or in the rental, did you leave it at home?”

“I lost it.”

“Okay gimme your husband’s number so he won’t worry. I hear he’s got a temper. We don’t want to be accused of mistreating his woman now would we?” The insincere detective smirked.

Selange’s eyes narrowed. “I’m calling a lawyer.”

He lifted the receiver, put his ear to the device and then said, “Shucks, looks like we’re having technical problems on the line. I’ll let you try again later or how about you give me the contact information and when the line’s fixed I’ll inform somebody where you are?”

Selange’s lips pursed tight. Today was Sunday; she had planned to be in the air, en route to her children and then home before Alfonzo returned. This unexpected change in plans had an open end closure date.
When a person is taken into police custody, the person should have at least a brief opportunity to meet with their attorney before their initial court hearing. Selange was aware of her rights and so were the officers, however they wanted something. By the detective’s omission, that something was Alfonzo’s contact number. She would never give anyone that information.

She was escorted to a holding pen with other female detainees except there was a girl who really looked like a guy. Selange sat on the hard bench and prayed Teresa fled somewhere far.

Selange noticed the woman in Timberland’s, jeans and tank top eyeballing her and she didn’t try to hide it either.

The boot wearing woman sought to engage in conversation. “What the po-po holding you for Miss Universe?” she asked in a masculine delivery, even the tilt of the chin was less than feminine.

Selange chuckled, ah, yep; time to go back to the streets. “Same reason they holding you Mister Universe.”

The other ladies in the cell shifted uncomfortably. The weather was nice but the tiny shorts on a female detainee barely hid her crotch. Sitting in a prim outfit, scared shitless was another woman, perhaps in her fifties practically hugging the wall.

The conversationalist apparently didn’t like Selange’s acerbic response because she abruptly stood. “You trying to be cute up in here, ‘aint no niggas’ in here to fight for your ass bitch!”

And so it began.

Selange was hungry and irritable. She sighed because it was a damn shame she received flak about her appearance even when sitting and minding her business. What the hell was wrong with the crazy woman she wondered, that her looks had her riled up so bad?

Thank goodness, she’d changed out of Amelda’s expensive dress for more comfortable clothes. Maybe, the form fitting outfit, and moderate heels with a signature logo discreetly on the bottom was a form of jealous stimuli that caused a form of epileptic rage.

What else explained the zeroing in on another woman for no damn reason?

How was Selange to realize she’d end up in jail with a hater who had a problem because she hadn’t worn the stereotypical, ‘Hoochie Gear’ or ‘Gutter Persona’ to appease her hateful ass?

Selange had taken precautions, flown in on a private jet under Amelda’s name to avoid detention. Now she wished she’d worn jeans and sneakers in preparation for the initiation which ultimately determined if she was a punk or a pussy. Take it to the street was the mess she did when she was a kid. She was a mother; and a person with a measure of self-respect.

Selange scoffed and opted to reserve her energy for the legal fight ahead. The crass comment didn’t warrant a response.

A roll of the woman’s head occurred. As long as the he-she kept a safe distance, Selange didn’t care what she said.

“Oh, somebody got quiet, real good bitch because if you open your mouth again I’m gonna’ put my fist in those pretty lips.”