PART 1
FEBRUARY 1946
“Are you sure about this, Red?”
Shorty paces, still in the same clothes they arrested us in five weeks ago, the cramped quarters of this cell making us feel like we’re living inside an icebox.
“Man, you know I can’t go to jail. I’m a musician. I got plans!”
“Don’t sweat it, homeboy, it’s cool,” I reassure him. “We went over this. Just tell the judge and that jury it was my idea. Those cats will take it easy on you, for sure.”
“But it wasn’t your idea,” Shorty counters, his voice sharp. “It was them girls! We’re in here and they’re out there jivin’ us, man.”
I shrug. “They ain’t putting pretty girls like them in here. It’s all a part of the play, you see? Sophia is just gonna tell them that we’re not real robbers. Got it?”
And it’s true. Sophia’s idea to snatch loot from those empty homes was brilliant, but we’re not hard criminals. We could barely break open a back door. Only reason we got caught was because I took that watch and tried to get it fixed. Should’ve just walked myself right into the police station. It would’ve been faster.
“We’re not going to get any real time. We’re too young,” I say. “They’ll see neither of us have ever been to jail a day in our lives. Hell, we’ll probably be out by the holidays, maybe even fall. I guarantee you, homeboy, they’ll see we ain’t no real criminals and let us go.”
Plus, with Sophia sticking up for us, I have the ace of spades in my back pocket. We just have to play it cool.
Shorty rubs the back of his head. “You sure you trust her?”
“She don’t want to lose me. She loves me, man. And maybe, maybe when this is all over, we’ll be together for real, you know.”
Shorty’s lips press into a hard line.
“Don’t know about this, Red. Something don’t feel right. Those girls haven’t even checked on us. It’s been five weeks! They got us in here trapped like some slaves!”
Shorty shakes his head, chewing on his nails, eyes wide and jittery. It’s strange to see him this way. He’s cooler than a cucumber any other time. With so many days since my last high, it’s hard to keep my composure. But I have to, for Shorty’s sake. He’s been there for me when I needed him the most. Only right to return the favor.
“Remember that day you told me you got cleared from the draft?” I ask. “And I caught the first thing smoking out of Harlem. Had to celebrate with you, man! We had on our clean threads, all them pretty girls eyeing us. And you and your band up on that stage at the Crow? Boy, you were something else. I had no idea you could blow like that!”
He chuckles. “Yeah. I remember. That night was something.”
“Well, today is gonna be just as smooth, homeboy. Then … you’ll be back with your band, playing that sax in supper clubs and ballrooms all over this city. Maybe even on tour. And I’ll be your road manager.”
“Hey! Who said I was hiring?”
“You know you gonna want your main man with you!”
He nods. “You brilliant, you got that gift, Red. Can’t take credit for that. Aight, sounds good!”
We slap skins, a small smile returning to Shorty’s face.
“We’ll be back in Roxbury before you know it,” I say.
Even if my heart is in Harlem.
* * *
Shorty and I enter the courtroom together. The charges:
Breaking and entering
Possession of stolen property
Grand larceny
Carrying a firearm
The words sound heavy and full of time.
On the stand, Sophia sniffles, her blond hair pinned back off her face. I’ve never seen her dressed this way before. Not a slice of skin to be seen. She even has on eyeglasses. They make her look real sophisticated … and innocent. Something doesn’t sit right in my gut. Maybe it’s her getup, maybe it’s because she won’t look at me. I’ve tried for the last twenty minutes to smile at her so she knows I’m all right.
But why won’t she look at me?
Head bent low, holding one of those little embroidered hankies, Sophia begins to whimper and the jury hangs on her every word. She licks her pink lips a few times. Something I’ve seen her do before … when she’s about to lie.
“They’re just so big,” Sophia says. “I was scared to say no.”
I sit up straight as my heart starts to race, my mouth going dry. Shorty’s face crumples and pales as he turns to spot his mother in the audience. I don’t move, can’t look at Ella’s face. It’ll break me.
I turn to our lawyer, who seems uninterested in the proceedings.
“Aren’t you gonna ask her questions or something? She’s supposed to be on our side!”
“Nothing to say. She’s not my witness. Prosecution brought her in.” He rests his hands on the table. “She’s their witness, not ours.”
“They said if I didn’t help them,” Sophia cries, “they would … they … I was just trying to protect my little sister. She’s only a kid, you know.”
But I’m only a kid, I thought. And I was a kid when I met her.
“So this wasn’t your idea?” the lawyer demands. “You had nothing to do with this plan.”
“No. It was them. They took advantage of us. The tall one.”
“What?” I mumble.
“They tricked us. I didn’t know what I was doing,” she says.
“But you drew the map!” I burst out. “You picked all the houses!”
The judge slams down his gavel three times. “ORDER! Counselor, control your client!”
My lawyer shushes me as Sophia’s guilt-filled blue eyes finally meet mine.
“She’s lying,” I whisper, insides burning, as I watch her sit up there sniveling while we’re down here in handcuffs.
“Be quiet. You shouldn’t have been with a white woman anyway.”
The jury leaves the courtroom to deliberate, a few of them staring me down on the way out, like they’ve already made up their minds.
Shorty palms the side of his head, and any confidence I had quickly dissolves into fear.
Eight to ten years.
The moment after our sentences are read, I look at Ella.
“I’m sorry,” I cough out, just as Shorty faints, slumping to the floor.
The officers kick him a few times, yank him to his feet, and usher both of us out of the courtroom. I try to take one last look at Sophia, but she’s gone.
Shorty and I are put on separate buses. I have no idea where he’s going, they won’t say. Fear spreads through my bones, pulsing.
The men on my bus are the kind of men I’ve met a hundred times before. Their faces stoic, eyes hard, staring straight ahead as we’re driven over to Charlestown. The state prison on Lynde’s Point. We are unloaded at the gate, ushered through a long dark corridor to frigid, windowless cement rooms. In an instant, I gag at the revolting, suffocating smell. Boots and screams echo all around us. Something squeaks under my shoe and I stumble.