ISBN: 9781483501154

“BAD PEOPLE SOMETIMES
BEHAVE LIKE ANGELS”

BIRMINGHAM IS MY CITY. I’M DEVIN JAMES, THE PUBLIC DEFENDER OF MY CITY. THEREFORE I AM ALWAYS ON WATCH. THIS IS MY STORY.

CHAPTER 1

Jackson Wallace had the appearance down of a 42-year-old polished politician. His father the judge had molded him so he seemed perfect. Even so, Jackson Wallace hadn’t left his reputation to chance. Better than that he’d honed it, crafted it, and displayed it so skillfully and naturally his sincerity captured all “...in lower tracks, second-rate schools; to face a future of joblessness or marginal employment. We can’t hand down these disadvantages to future generations. Many of us are afraid of change, fight change of any kind. What we ought to be doing is creating change. Change that attacks poverty. Change that provides an economic network that brings jobs to our city...” Jackson Wallace knew all so well about networking. He’d married for political reasons, he’d moved up from court reporter to prosecutor to city councilman. His social skills had created a wide network of allies, linked him to the most powerful families and groups in Birmingham – the Battles, the James, the Wrights, the Happy Hour Fund and the Masonic Order – including the 5,000 people who had showed up to support his announcement speech for mayor of Birmingham. “...Yes there will be growing pains, and those stuck in the past who don’t want to move forward will eventually become extinct. Those rough edges have to be smoothed off. I’m tired of hearing ridiculous excuses. The companies are coming and jobs with them. If you want a piece of this payday, elevate your minds and get off your behinds and prepare for your future; jobs of tomorrow, that’s how we attack poverty! A good paycheck is how we maintain a good life! This is my top priority for our city!”

The crowd loved Jackson Wallace, and he fed on their praise – venturing through the crowd, shaking hands, kissing babies as well as the ladies. The women loved his charm, as well as the fact Jackson Wallace was a handsome man – tall, broad with a heroic flare to him – and the people believed in him because he had a plan, a vision, knew where he wanted to take the city.

Jackson Wallace was living out a role of his own creation, a role he’d fantasized about his entire life. As a prosecutor, he was a headliner, going after the big fish, the crime lords – the same people he’d grown up with, sat in classrooms with, played pee-wee and high school sports with. Being from Birmingham, Jackson Wallace knew personally who to target to brand himself as the city’s watchdog. He directed the investigations, rode shotgun literally.

Part of Jackson Wallace’s appeal was his dark side, his ruthless determination that bordered on being vaguely cruel to make sure justice was served – or he just got his way, which went unnoticed and unknown to almost everyone beside Jackson Wallace’s lifelong best friend and partner in crime, Pho.

Over the years, Jackson Wallace had cleared the competition while Pho had grown their crime syndicate that was basically adult after-hour spots, consisting of gaming and escorts, in a sophisticated atmosphere with heavily armed security.

Even though Jackson Wallace lived for the limelight, no one else knew of his partnership, not even the judge. When Jackson Wallace frequented one of the locations, he was wise enough to play the guest role of Pho but was only seen by few trusted eyes.

Jackson Wallace was in a cheerful mood, ready to celebrate – over the years his joy was derived from knowing he was successfully manipulating the masses. As he looked over the upscale casino-style establishment from behind the tinted window of Pho’s office, his blood pumped faster, engorged him, knowing his dreams were coming to full fruition.

“The city will soon be mine!”

“What’s gonna become of our businesses?”

“I’m going to fight to legitimatize them, but until then, they stay in the shadows.”

Jackson Wallace’s personal waitress slash escort entered the office. She was an exotic mix of Mexican and Black. Her body was so ripe in her skimpy, revealing uniform, she barely looked legal to pop the bottle of champagne she had. Once she’d filled Jackson Wallace and Pho’s flutes, she silently stepped to the side and waited while they toasted.

“To our future.”

“To our future.” Pho downed his flute and stood eyeing Jackson Wallace, then smiled at the escort. “I’m going to go walk the floor and see who’s cheating.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, the escort went to her knees while undoing Jackson Wallace’s zipper and digging out his primed erection. Her submissive position heightened his excitement, looking down at her as she served him.

CHAPTER 2

The placement director of the Gate City Development Housing Units seemed to be an odd career choice for my wife, Pearl. Her elegance didn’t fit – even at 40 with very little makeup and dressed in modest clothing couldn’t tone down her beauty, her sophistication, her statue – being a maple complected amazon with the thighs, ass, breasts and hips of a goddess – she stood out in the poverty-stricken, crime-ridden projects, but her caring, compassionate heart made the position a perfect match for her.

Pearl’s office was connected to the recreation center. An elderly woman entered the office with her three young, unruly grandchildren, the youngest close to three years old, the oldest no older than six.

Pearl immediately gave each child a piece of candy from a jar; she kept on her desk just for that purpose. She’d worked for the county close to 20 years and always with the underprivileged.

The elderly woman didn’t give Pearl a chance to speak. “I’m sorry about disturbing you honey. ...Stop that! ” Without any pause, she popped the oldest child’s hand who was about to go back into the candy jar. “... Boobe got life. Missy and these damn kids been staying with me since he was arrested. They took their house and every penny. She’s found a piece a job, but. ... I love ‘em, but the apartment you got me in is too small for all us.”

The youngest child started crying, backing away from the elderly woman’s intense look. The little girl stumbled and fell.

Pearl quickly picked her up; comforting the child on her shoulder, “Mrs. Moore I can put you on the list for a three-bedroom apartment or I can put Missy on the list for an apartment...” The child had stopped crying, but Pearl was still holding her, pacing with the child. “...I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“Put Missy on the list. How long do you think it’ll take?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll see if I can expedite it.”

“That means speed it up right?”

“Yes me’ am.”

“Thank you honey. Thank you...You can put her down. She’s got to walk. ...You can put her down. She’s got to walk...” Seeing the reluctance of Pearl to release the child, sympathy filled her tone. “You and Devin should try one more time. Thank you again, honey.”

It was a difficult time in my wife’s life as well as mine. We’d unexpectedly lost our second child less than a half of a year earlier. Neither one of us had properly grieved.

Once Pearl was alone, she called me. “...Are you going to be home for dinner?”

“Probably, haven’t enough people signed up for the tournament.”

“Good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll see you when you get home.”

After the death, we both had become distant, neglecting each other. Our sex life had become less frequent to none existence. She was such an affectionate person and longed for it. She knew she was sexy but needed to feel it. Not from the cat calls from the guys in the gym that were made toward her as she headed out, ending her day’s work, though they did help her self-esteem. She was a little self-conscious. She was now middle-aged, and her body to her wasn’t as tight as it once was.

Pearl stopped by the market. She’d decided to prepare a romantic dinner with my favorite bottle of wine. The galleria was across the street, and she was drawn to Victoria’s Secret.

Candle-light lit the dining room. Smooth mood music played in the background. A romantic dinner for two sat on the table, while Pearl sat in front it dressed in a sexy silk night gown. Everything seemed perfect – except the tears in Pearl’s eyes and the empty bottle of wine and the fact she sat alone all told the real story of how dissatisfied, disappointed, just plain unhappy she was. Really of how we both felt.

Pearl’s cell rang, and she knew it was me, “What happened?”

“More people than you can imagine signed up at the last minute. Don’t wait up. I don’t know how much longer this will be.”

Pearl ended the call, and her tears fell. What she couldn’t imagine was how the happiest, healthiest relationship had become so rocky and rough.

CHAPTER 3

I’m Devin James; my life was at across road. I was fighting personal issues that haunted me. I was possessed by them. My entire life I’d been stable and secure, but at that point in my life, all I wanted to do was crawl into my shell and focus all my attention on the memories of my daughters. I had quit practicing law. Mentally, I was too disturbed to represent anyone. Fortunately, I could focus at my children’s clothing store, Tiny Tots’ Closet. Pearl and I had opened it after the twins were born, so there, the essence of my angels was with me.

Business had slowed with the economy but the side hobbies I’d started with my mother and Melody my daughter that was 17 – promoting spade tournaments, dance contests and small blues concerts had become highly successful. They were for the older crowd, but Melody had been mature beyond her years – it came from hanging out too much with her grandmother. I could concentrate, actually enjoy myself while promoting.

As I cleaned up and locked up the recreation center with my mother and a few of her friends I’d hired to help – it felt as if Melody was beside me, just as exhausted, just as excited about the turnout.

Once I entered my home, I saw the remains of Pearl’s attempt at a romantic evening.

Our bedroom was dimly lit by moonlight, but I could see Pearl’s figure in bed. I knew she wasn’t asleep. She couldn’t sleep without me being home. Once upon a time, she would’ve been at the spades tournament with me. We would’ve even entered as partners. But we were handling the death differently. I was holding on while it seemed Pearl was trying to forget.

Pearl snuggled close to me. I needed her warmth, “I’ve got a new marketing strategy I want to use for the store. I want to tap into the girl’s college funds.”

Pearl was still at the stage where she was uncomfortable discussing our daughters. “I closed them already. I mentioned it to you about using half to buy CD’s...” She rolled over facing me. Her expression told she had something serious she wanted to discuss but knew it was touchy. “...I want to use the other half to buy a new home....”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t believe she could even think of such a thing.

“...Since the sales are dropping, we could accept the last offer.”

People were offering to buy Tiny Tots’ Closet all the time, but I wasn’t going to sell. We’d opened it for our girls. It was theirs. Pearl was trying to erase my daughters from my life. I felt like I was laying next to a stranger, not the women I’d loved for 23 years of the 42 years I’d lived.

I got out of the bed without saying a word, then went to Ivy, my five-year-old daughter’s room. I could hear her crying.

Melody was rocking her, comforting her, “It’s all right. Daddy isn’t going to allow mommy to sell the house or the store. Right Daddy?”

It wasn’t my imagination or subconscious. I could see, feel and hear, plus talk to my daughters – but to Pearl who was standing in the door way, I seemed disturbed, rocking while lying on my daughter’s bed. We’d left her room the same for twelve years since her death. It had been too emotionally painful for us to change the room. So I’d cleaned it while Pearl avoided it. She wouldn’t dare enter the room, so she backed away.

To keep from going totally insane, I was seeing a therapist to help deal with my grief. My doctor was the youngest of the Wright sisters, Annette. I’d attended high school with two of her older sisters. They shared the same beauty and brains as my doctor. She was the city’s psychiatrist, and since I was on leave from my public defender job but still listed as a city employee, the city paid for my sessions.

I’d tried to get Pearl to attend the sessions with me, but she wasn’t ready, as she’d put it.

The sessions were useful because they gave me a release, someone to vent to.

“...If we do, I won’t be able to talk to my angels,” I felt as if I was fighting to keep my daughters alive.

“They can hear you wherever you are.”

“Yes, but their essence is at home and Tiny Tots’ Closet.” I hadn’t told Annette I could actually see them and converse with them. I was afraid she would admit me to the mental ward.

CHAPTER 4

Late February, spring had come early. The high school day had ended. My niece Jasmine and her friend Angel were headed to cheerleader practice. Both girls had mature bodies for being only 16. They looked grown and thought they were, but they were actually daddy’s naïve little ambitious girls.

The baseball team was stretching and warming up for practice. Jasmine was scanning the field when she spotted Misty, who was also a cheerleader, playfully coming out of the dug out with Monte – Jasmine’s supposedly boyfriend. He was a corn-fed muscular country boy, handsome, and came from a good family, plus he was the best friend of A.J., Jasmine’s brother.

Once Monte’s eyes noticed Jasmine, he instantly started explaining, “I was helping her –”

“I don’t care.” Jasmine was doing everything in her power to keep a calm demeanor.

“Tell her?” Monte was somewhat begging Misty to speak up, but Misty only smirked and trotted totted off. “She tricked me into going down there!”

“I said I don’t care.” Jasmine did, but really didn’t. She was like her father, my big brother – focused on bigger things in life. She participated in extracurricular activities: the mathematics team, dancing, the school newspaper, and the cheerleading squad but each served a purpose. She was politically minded but still a young girl who dreamed of fairy tale romance.

Later that evening, Jasmine was still pissed, ripping the poster of Monte off her bedroom wall, balling it up and throwing it into the trash. She then focused on the outfit lying across her bed, before grimacing at Angel who was dressed, looking out of the window into the darkness.

Angel felt her stare, then turned to see Jasmine was dressing for bed. “You know how Misty is.”

“I do. And I know what’s on Monte’s mind, too. I’m not going. But you have a good time.”

“You sound like an old woman.”

A car pulled up with its headlights off. A.J., my nephew, got out. He was my brother’s son by a woman other than Jasmine’s mother – but he and Jasmine were as close as any brother and sister could be.

A.J. helped Angel out of the window, then peeped back in. “Are you coming?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re tripping. The only reason Monte’s going is because he thought you were coming.”

“I’m not, so bye.” To finalize her statement, Jasmine turned off the lamp and got under the covers.

CHAPTER 5

Amere was my older brother. Our lives as children had followed a bumpy, winding road. Our mother had raised us alone but had taught us to earn our chances. I’d become a private person; we both were, sort of. I held back, only speaking on things I was sure of while Amere would more often than not, came up with ideas that bordered on the fantastic. He wouldn’t tell anyone, he would just try to bring them to life. He liked to do things his way, in his own time, in his own inimitable style. No set plan. He would explore all his ideas, to see which made money, which worked.

Despite the contrast in personalities, in some ways my brother and I were twins. Our looks stopped people but our brains captured them. We both understood human nature – the reason for our chosen professions. Amere was a businessman, a genius when it came to making money – Wingouts, unisex salons, a reality company, shopping plaza, 12 homes and two sets of 42-unit apartments. He wasn’t the richest man in Birmingham, but he was wealthy and appeared healthy – the only sign of any problem was the small bottle of milk of magnesia he carried in his pocket.

People would say my brother was a player or a rolling stone – but he didn’t play. He was straightforward with everyone, especially both of his households. He was married to Belle, Jasmine’s mother – but he’d been dating both Belle and Viola since they were in the eighth grade. Viola was A.J.’s mother. Both of his relationships with the mothers of his children were entirely different as were Belle and Viola’s attitudes. His relationship with Belle was based on their bickering – their form of intimacy, but neither would permanently leave the other. Viola played her role with no complaints, happy with their arrangement. Neither relationship was a master and a slave thing. My brother didn’t use his wealth to exert control over them. To both women, he was the very air they breathed. I can honestly say he loved them both too. Both women were trifectas – face, body and brains – and financially independent. ...

Amere only had two children but he treated his pits and his street fighters as if they were his children. He’d bought a ranch along the Warrior River where he trained his dogs and his street fighters. Amere was as tough on his dogs as he was on his street fighters. He took a hands-on approach and wasn’t above getting in the pit with either dog or man. He would go toe-to-toe with anyone, and used the same mentality in business and at everything else – Amere took risks but they were calculated.

Beside the love for his family and for making money, Amere next greatest passion was gambling. He toured the southern cities with his team of pits and street fighters. If there was a big stake or even a chance at a big pot, Amere and his teams were there.

The street fighters’ matches were just as brutal and bloody as the pit bulls, mountain men battling with every ounce of energy in their bodies. The only rule was doing whatever to win. One of Amere’s fighters appeared close to being choked out but somehow managed to reach back and take hold of the guy’s nuts, squeezing and pulling as hard as he could. The fighter released the choke hold and delivered two powerful punches to the back of Amere’s fighter’s head. But when the fighter tried to re-establish the choke hold, Amere’s fighter bit down into the other fighter’s forearm; locked on like a pit bull. Blood oozed from his mouth and the fighter’s arm. The pain was so severe that all the other fighter could do was give a blood-curdling scream. Amere’s fighter’s teeth met and a hunk of flesh was gone from the other fighter’s forearm. Blood squirted from it like a fountain. Two quick elbows to the face stopped the screaming but didn’t knock the fighter out. Amere’s fighter was just as dazed and tired but went on the attack. Once he realized his punches didn’t have the power to finish the guy, he started biting along with punching. The screaming immediately started, and the other fighter quickly tapped out.

CHAPTER 6

The physicality of my brother and Belle’s relationship was ridiculous. Often words weren’t enough to express what Belle was feeling. Through confrontation was how they communicated their affection; fussing and fucking or fighting and fucking. She needed the connection, and over the years it had become a cycle.

The time was one in morning when Amere got home. Belle was in bed when he entered the bedroom headed for the shower.

“You can do that in a little while. Come here. Please.”

“I’ve been fighting dogs all night. I smell like them.”

“I don’t care.”

Amere knew she just wanted him because she thought he’d been over to Viola’s. “Let me take a shower first.”

Belle sat up and watched him undress. “Why you didn’t take a shower before you left the bitch’s house?”

Amere’s none reply; him just staring at Belle infuriated her more than anything he could’ve said. She quickly got out of bed and tried to block the bathroom entrance.