Two Thin Dimes (2 page)

T
he Wheatley Courts were some of the most worn-down, trashed-out, poverty-stricken, housing projects in America. Located on the east side of the city of San Antonio, they were home to a variety of sorts. From drug dealers to gang members to teen mothers and drug addicts, its tenants' lives mirrored the worst of society's ills. One apartment in this massive, bullet-riddled, rat-infested, broken-windowed, trash-strewn brick complex, was currently bearing witness to a heated discussion concerning one of America's social ills which knows no boundaries.

“I'm tired of coming home and having to clean up after you every day! Stop drinking and throwing up everywhere, and leaving your empty beer bottles all over the place!” Tameer kicked several of the empty bottles across the floor. “You get drunk, and you find the nearest corner thinking it's a toilet, and you piss all over the place! I can't even bring any of my friends over to study!”

Eddie Lee's answer was a solid, bellowing belch. A large-framed man now of expanding girth, Eddie Lee stood swaying in the center of the room. His muscle shirt now several times too small, and his once white boxers completed his unshaven scruffiness. Scratching his small, peppered, uncombed, and rapidly graying afro, he expanded on his first reply.

“You get the hell out, if you don't like it!” Swaying, Eddie Lee waved his massive arm toward the front door, almost losing his balance in the process. “Leave! If you would have kept playing football, instead of writing that gay shit, you wouldn't be here to see it!”

Eddie Lee's first step sent him stumbling. The floor of the apartment was littered with clothing strewn to and fro, and numerous crushed beer cans and bottles rested on top of the clothing. The coffee table, which had never hosted a cup of coffee, was covered with stacks of old newspapers, many of which had yellowed with age. The end tables were no better off, for they were turned on their sides indicating that once again, Eddie Lee had trashed the place.

“And leave Savion here alone with you? You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Tameer shouted. “You'd like to beat up on him like you beat up on the apartment, and like you beat up on my mom!”

Eddie Lee came alive like a bear awakening from a long hibernation. His inebriation seemed to decline.

“Shut up!” Eddie Lee shouted. “Just shut the fuck up! You don't know what happened between me and your mom, so just shut the hell up!”

Eddie Lee turned, lifted a nearby beer bottle, and tossed it against the wall. Only the tip of it shattered.

“Besides, she's the one who left your ass!” Eddie Lee continued. “So why are you always mouthing off at me?”

Tameer planted his feet and stood erect. “If I had some place to go, and take Savion, I would leave you too, Dad! Look at you!” Tameer's voice crackled, so he swallowed hard to try to get rid of the crackling. It didn't work. “You hurt your back, you retire from work, and you become a drunk. You sit around all day and drink, and then you want to fight. She couldn't take your punches anymore, Dad! I'm glad she left. I'm glad she jumped ship and saved herself! Somebody had to survive!”

With that, Tameer turned and jogged up the creaking stairs and into his bedroom.

Tameer's room resembled that of a high school's athletic department. All District, All City, All State, and All American pennants, banners, trophies, certificates and letters were spread all throughout the room. Three Five A state championship football trophies shared a desk with two Five A state basketball trophies, and two for baseball. The dresser held the state championship trophies for track and field, and swimming. Ribbons and plaques adorned the walls, sharing space with posters of great athletes and literary notables.

Of the two paths Tameer had to choose from, he took the one most disappointing to all, but most fulfilling to himself. He chose to accept an academic scholarship at a local university, declining several athletic scholarships from numerous national ones. In fact, many of the major universities had pursued him with considerable vigor.

Born with a powerful frame, natural speed, and unnatural maneuverability, he quickly transformed his body into a muscular sports machine. His father drove him relentlessly, and starting with his freshman year in high school, Tameer had dominated the Texas sports scene. He was a college coach's wet dream.

The boosters had offered him jobs, cars, credit cards, daughters, and everything else under the sun. The Catholic schools offered him God, Heaven, absolution, redemption, and salvation. The California schools offered him movie roles, Hollywood, a life of wealth, fame, and fortune, along with his choice of sunny bunnies to share it all with. The Texas schools offered him oil, oil money, cattle, cattle money, and Houston, or a nice patch of land comparable to. He turned them all down.

The pain he felt came not from disappointing so many people, but from a conversation between his father and his uncle. He had overheard Eddie Lee saying that he thought his son would rather have been in a cheerleader's skirt, than wearing a football jersey. It hurt. It had hurt more than anything in this world, as Tameer had always done his best to please his father. His desire to please Eddie Lee had driven him to greatness. It's what made him elevate himself to legendary, record-shattering, football demi-god status. He became the greatest student athlete in the annals of Texas football history, in an effort to make Eddie Lee say something nice about him. He would have almost killed for a smile or a pat on the back from his father. It never came.

Once again, Tameer found himself alone in his bedroom after having another argument with his father. Once again, Tameer found himself removing his journal of poetry to make an entry. Finally, like all of the other times, he found himself falling asleep on his bed, haunted by memories of his mother.

San Antonio International Airport was a thoroughly modern facility. Large, comfortable, efficient, and like most others, found itself not holding a candle to New York's massive JFK International.

“China, what is this God-forsaken place? Where have you brought me to?” Jamaica strode through the airport wearing a sizzling red leather ensemble from North Beach Leather. It was a three-piece with jacket, skirt, and a matching oversized leather hat. She completed her
Vogue
look with a red Chanel purse, and matching red oversized Chanel frames.

“Jai, I'm not going to put up with your whining.” LaChina strolled alongside her friend, dressed less ostentatiously. Her cream-colored, soft-cotton, pleated bell-bottom pantsuit, and reasonably-sized Fendi frames barely registered a second glance. “We're going to do the promo, then get the hell outta here and head for the Bahamas.”

Jamaica waved her hand through the air, dramatically fanning her face. “I don't see how Savannah and Jemia tolerate this awful weather. I feel like I'm going to bake.”

“You're the one who put on all of that leather,” LaChina told her. “Girl, this is Texas, not New York.”

“You said to dress incognito,” Jamaica countered.

LaChina stopped, turned, and stared at her friend. “Jai, girl, that hat looks like something out of a Doctor Seuss book. That is not discreet, nor incognito.”

“You bring me down here to take pictures of me kissing a big, slimy, black fish, and then you talk about me? If you weren't my sista, I would deck you.”

“It's a
whale,
and you have to hug it, and then kiss it.” LaChina smiled at Jamaica. “I hope it licks you in the face.”

Jamaica slapped LaChina across her arm. “Yuck!”

The airport was semi-crowded today, with people returning from the Thanksgiving holiday, or departing for their Christmas one. Airport patrons were darting to and fro, left and right, conducting their business. Still, the difference in atmosphere, ambiance, and energy made Jamaica yawn. She was anxious to conduct her business and leave the place.

“Did you tell your cousin what time to pick us up?” Jamaica asked.

Tired of answering the same question for an undetermined number of times, LaChina's answer was brief. “Yep.”

Frustrated, Jamaica exhaled loudly. “Do they have paved streets, or did she have to drive a mule cart?”

“Shut up, Jai.”

“Do they at least have indoor plumbing?”

“Shut up, Jai.”

“Well, what are we going to do about the luggage?” Jamaica inquired.

The question brought a smile to LaChina's face. She turned toward Jamaica, and upon visualizing her friend struggling through the terminal carrying her own bags, she laughed.

Jamaica didn't understand. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” LaChina asked.

“The luggage. What are you laughing at?”

LaChina shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Well, you know there's no limo, which means there is no chauffeur. There are no bodyguards, either, since we are going to sneak in, do the promo, and sneak out.” Jamaica whipped her head around toward her friend. “So, who's going to carry it?”

“We are.”

Jamaica shook her head emphatically. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Don't you started speaking French on me now, what do you mean, we?”

A voice from across the lobby called out excitedly, causing them to peer in that direction.

“China! China! Over here!”

A tall, slender young lady with caramel-colored skin and a short haircut approached waving. LaChina's face brightened instantly.

“Hey, girl!” LaChina shouted, as she rushed toward the oncoming young lady.

The young woman with the smart pixie cut outstretched her arms widely, welcoming LaChina's body. “Hey, cuz!”

They embraced tightly.

“Jemia!” Jamaica called out as she approached. She, too, outstretched her arms, and she and Jemia embraced.

After the hugs, Jemia stepped back from Jamaica and outstretched Jamaica's arms, examining her. “Oh, sister, you look so good! I saw you on the MTV Music Awards, strutting your thang!”

Jemia's hands flew up into the air, where she snapped them in a quick Z-type motion. “I said, you go, girl!”

Jemia leaned forward again, and embraced Jamaica tightly. “Congratulations.”

“Congrats to me? No, congrats to you.” This time it was Jamaica waving her hands through the air with fingers snapping. “Ms. Magna Cum Laude, future Berkeley Medical School Student!”

Again, they embraced.

“So, where is Kenya?” Jemia asked.

Kenya Roleisha Rochelle was the younger sister of mega star Jamaica Tiera Rochelle. Kenya was just as talented, and even more gorgeous, than her older sister. Fortunately, she was able to escape the grasp of their mother, who had been preoccupied with Jamaica. Kenya had been able to go her own way.

“She's coming down later,” Jamaica explained. “She told me to give you all her love, and to tell you that she misses you.”

Jemia smiled. “We had so much fun this summer, you wouldn't believe it! She told me that she was going to come back down this winter so that we could get some private time in, before the sorority sisters got here. We're all meeting here, and then heading for the beach on South Padre Island.”

Jamaica tilted her head to the side. “Beach, islands, sand, sounds wonderful.” She turned toward LaChina. “Christmas should be spent somewhere tropical.”

“C'mon, let's get your luggage, I have a porter waiting,” Jemia told them. She interlocked one of her arms inside of Jamaica's, and the other inside of LaChina's arm.

“I have so much to tell you, and we have so much to catch up on,” Jemia told them, as she led them off in the direction of her waiting porter. “Jai, what was that you were wearing on stage at the awards? It was stunning…”

T
ameer darted left, and then reversed himself and twisted to the right. The basketball landed dead center inside of the rusted, aluminum, garbage can and rolled around noisily inside.

“Yeah, boy!” Tameer shouted. “I'ma take you to the hoop.”

Tameer's smile was genuine, as was his brother Savion's. Savion jogged quickly to the brown spot on the lawn that played host to the garbage can, and retrieved the tattered leather ball. Bouncing it rapidly on the cracked, pebble-paved street, he dared his older brother to take it away.

“Come on with it,” Savion taunted. “You want this, come and get it.”

With that, a quick fake to the right, followed by a spin to his left, he was off. Savion's six-foot-eight-inch height, stretched over a lanky two hundred and twenty-pound frame, allowed him to outmaneuver his six-foot-five, two hundred and fifteen-pound brother. His shot landed dead center, knocking the badly beaten garbage can over onto its side.

“Yes!” Savion leaped into the air, pounding his fist.

“Shit!” Tameer's labored laugh flowed out between his heavy breaths. He placed his arm around his younger brother and smiled. “I taught you too good.”

The brothers' laughter came to an abrupt end, leaving only their smiles, when a convertible Mustang GT pulled up. The car was magnificent.

The Mustang's burgundy paint glistened like wet marble, while the chrome twenty-two-inch wheels sticking out from beneath the wheel wells gleamed brilliantly in the beaming South Texas sun. The Mustang's ground effects kit included not only lowered side skirts and front and rear air dams, but a massive burgundy whale tail that added a dramatic flair to the vehicle. The car screamed money.

The two occupants were shirtless, revealing heavily illustrated torsos that were draped in gold jewelry. Their smiles sparkled brightly in the sunlight, revealing gold and diamond teeth that looked as though their teeth were worth a fortune. Raising his arms high into the air, the driver spoke first.

“What's up, Tameer?” Anthony asked. “What's up, Savion?”

Still breathing heavily, Tameer stepped forward. “What's up, homie?”

Savion, entranced by the massive chrome rims, patrolled the car's perimeter, examining every inch of its beauty. When finished, he peered up at the driver.

“Say, Anthony, your shit is cleaner than a mother fucker!” Savion told him.

The compliment caused Anthony to sit up a little high in his seat.

Tameer reached over into the snow-white interior of the car and shook hands with the passenger.

“Alonzo, where's your Five Point O at?” Tameer asked.

“Getting painted,” Alonzo answered, motioning in the direction from where they had just turned the corner. “We're about to go and pick that bitch up right now.”

Anthony and Alonzo were both members of the notorious Wheatley Courts Gangsters, or WCG's for short. It was a brutal drug gang that infested the local neighborhood. In fact, it was the most violent gang in one of the hardest areas in the entire state of Texas. Anthony and Alonzo were two of its most prominent members.

“Shit, T, why don't you get down for the hood and get your serve on,” asked a smiling Anthony. “You could be rolling in a Five Point O, too.”

“You know that you can get anything you need from any of us,” Alonzo added. “We'll front you. Your credit's good.”

It was an offer that had been made several times, and each time it had been refused. Tameer shook his head and smiled. His steps toward Savion were slow and deliberate, as was his arm's grip. Still smiling, Tameer pulled his brother close, and refused the offer for both of them.

“Thanks, homie, you know we down for the hood and all that, but we gotta try to do it another way,” Tameer told them.

Alonzo smiled. “I ain't mad at cha. I know that y'all down, and y'all know that y'all got mad love coming from the hood.”

“Shit, that reminds me,” Anthony said, snapping his fingers. He pulled out his wallet and removed several hundred dollar bills. He handed the bills to Tameer. “Here you go, homie.”

Tameer smiled and took the money. “Thanks.”

Alonzo put away his wallet and shook his head. “Ain't nothing. You know you got that coming from me. Say, if you ever need anything, any snaps for school, or anything, just hit me on my cell.”

Tameer and Anthony clasped hands.

“I know you ain't down for the dope game,” Anthony continued. “But it's all good in the hood, homie.”

“You know that y'all got much love coming from me too,” Tameer replied with a wide grin. His affection for Anthony was deep, as was Anthony's affection for him. The two of them had been best friends since kindergarten, and had done everything together while growing up. Although they had chosen different paths after high school—Anthony the drug world; and Tameer, the academic one—their bond remained strong.

“Shit, we gonna be kicking it around the corner later on,” Alonzo told Tameer. “Come on through and get you some of this bomb-ass boo-bonic.”

Tameer and Savion laughed.

“Lonzo, I knew you were the devil,” Tameer told him. He shifted his gaze toward Anthony. “I'll probably be through to kick it for a minute. Right now, me and Savion are gonna go to the mall.”

Tameer shifted his gaze back toward Alonzo. “You want me to bring you back a few job applications?”

Alonzo threw his head back in laughter. The sun reflected brightly off his sparkling gold and diamond teeth.

“I got a job,” Alonzo told him. “I make people happy.”

“Did you file income tax last year?” Tameer asked.

“Am I still out on the street?” Alonzo replied.

“Then you ain't got no job!” Tameer told him.

The boys all broke into laughter for several moments, before Anthony turned up the volume on his car stereo. The throbbing bass notes resonating from his trunk-mounted sub-woofers were almost deafening. They had to shout to be heard.

“I'll get with you later, T,” Anthony shouted. He raised his fist into the air.

Tameer returned the gesture, and then leaned inside of the vehicle and punched Alonzo lightly on his shoulder. “Y'all be cool.”

The burgundy Mustang pulled away slowly, with its custom stereo blaring and rumbling the windows of each apartment that it passed. The stop at the corner allowed it to trigger the alarm systems of several nearby vehicles, before taking off again.

A baby-blue 1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, traveling from the opposite direction, had a stereo system that matched Anthony's in volume, but its bass notes seemed to resonate somewhat louder. The Cutlass had a custom paint job, chrome twenty-six-inch wheels, and a custom dark-blue leather half-roof with chrome trimming all around it. This car, like Anthony's, was also a work of art.

As the Cutlass slowly passed Anthony's vehicle, its occupants opened fire.

Anthony Fernandez was twenty-one, and a father of two.

The park's aquatic stadium was the size of a large college football stadium. The main pool itself encompassed an area the size of a large suburban mall parking lot. It could best be described as a small ocean, or an extremely large lake. The seating was of the staggered-row, auditorium variety, except of substantially better quality. Anheuser-Busch owned the parks, and Anheuser-Busch had money—lots of money. For this even they had advertised well, and as a result, the stadium was packed to the rafters.

Jamaica stood waiting patiently in a shallow pool of water that was elevated to the point where it encompassed a shallow deck within the larger pool. She wore a snug black-and-yellow Gortex body suit, provided to her by the park. Her hair remained neatly tied in a long, flowing, ponytail, and fell like strands of silk down her back. It was held in place by a matching yellow tie, which accented her body suit.

Next to Jamaica stood Mark and Amy, two of the park's highly trained, and extremely well-paid, marine biologists. They were also the Orca's primary trainers.

The stadium remained lit by a constant bursting of flash bulbs and camera lights from all of the reporters present. The spectators also contributed a considerable amount of camera flashes, as they took untold numbers of photographs of their idol, Tiera.

Along with LaChina for tonight's event, were her aunt, Savannah, and her cousin, Jemia. They stood watching the massive glass wall in front of them, which was actually a part of the main pool. They could see the massive size of the Orca each time it swam by.

“I hope that she does well,” a nervous Savannah said, clutching LaChina's arm.

LaChina smiled and patted her aunt's hand reassuringly. “She will, Jai's a pro at this.”

LaChina turned away from her aunt and uttered a quick, silent prayer.

“Are you ready?” Mark asked.

Nervous, but ready to get things over with, Jamaica nodded. To calm her jitters, she thought of the joyful revenge that she would wreak on her friend. Over and over she repeated silently to herself,
kill LaChina.
A smile slowly made its way across Jamaica's face as she thought of killing her best friend, bringing her back to life, and then killing her again.

Mark walked to the edge of the platform, where before him laid the main aquatic performance pool. He lifted his arm high into the air to ensure its visibility, and at the right moment, he gave his signal. From the water before him, a massive killer whale leaped into the air, and upon returning to the surface of the water, made a tremendous splash. Jamaica's heart fell to her bare feet.

The second signal Mark gave commanded the whale to leap onto the platform where he, Jamaica, and Amy stood. The Orca obeyed. Its massive size required that it slide some distance onto the platform, where it stopped just short of a terrified Jamaica. She continued to play her calm, cool, and collected superstar role brilliantly. Smiling for the cameras, she waded through the water, placed her arms around the head of the massive Orca, and then slowly leaned forward and kissed it on its mouth. The flashes erupted simultaneously, lighting up the stadium in such a way that it appeared as though an atomic detonation were taking place.

Holding her fingers crossed, LaChina silently begged Jamaica not to spit. On the platform, Jamaica prayed for the same.

Please don't vomit
, she pleaded to herself.
Please, just hold it in. Please don't vomit, you can make it. Smile, Jai. Just smile, and everything will be okay. Remember, after this, you get to kill LaChina!

Mark gave another signal and the killer whale slowly wiggled itself back into the main aquatic pool. The audience's applause had been deafening.

It's over! It's over! Caribbean, here I come!
Jamaica turned and waved to the crowd of adoring fans. The applause grew louder. It made her turn back toward the whale.

“Good-bye, my friend!” Jamaica shouted. “Good-bye! I love you!”
Kill LaChina,
she thought.
I'm going to kill LaChina!

Jamaica continued her smiles and friendly waves toward the crowd and the whale. She would have looked perfect on a float or in a beauty pageant. Her smile was as perfect as it was fake.

Yes, that's it. Wiggle your slimy butt back into the water,
Jamaica thought, while staring at the whale.
I wish that I could push LaChina's butt into the water when no one's looking, and make her kiss you. You big, slimy, son of a…

“Well, how about that, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls?” asked Amy. She waved her hand through the air like a circus ringmaster. “Tiera and Shamu!”

The crowd's applause grew once more to a thunderous level. Amy was a professional.

“Let's ask Shamu what he thinks about Tiera!” Amy told the crowd. She moved closer to the edge of the platform and waited as Mark gave a discreet signal.

Highly trained, the Orca stuck its head out of the water, obeying Mark's command. Lifting her large black-and-yellow, waterproof microphone, Amy stared directly at the whale and posed her question.

“Well, Shamu,” she asked dramatically. “What did you think about Tiera?”

Mark again signaled the Orca, giving it a command. The massive whale immediately rolled over quickly and swam to the center of the pool, where it performed a gigantic leap out of the water, making a large splash upon returning to the surface. The kids loved it, and again the cameras went wild.

Amy turned toward Jamaica. “Boy, Tiera, he sure likes you!”

Jamaica lifted her waterproof microphone and smiled. “Well, I like him too!”

The whale quickly swam back to the edge of the platform where its trainers stood, and Mark rewarded it with several fish and a few rubs on its head. Amy took her cue.

“Shamu, Mark says that he like Tiera too,” Amy told the whale. “What do you think about that?”

Another discreet signal from Mark made the Orca roll over on its back and flap its massive black fins. Water flowed all over the platform, most of it on Mark. The crowd loved it. Mark lifted another waterproof microphone and turned toward his fellow trainer. “Thanks a lot, Amy.”