Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 32- Brielle

I spent a night behind bars, getting to know the Cartier's in lockup.

They don't care about Le'Shelle's position with the Queen Gs. In fact, many of them claim to have members within their families split among different gangs.

"Honey, you can't help who your family is," Mackenzie laughs and high-fives her girl Romil. "I got four brothers. Two Cartel Lords, one Crip, and one Blood. Trust me. It makes the holidays a fuckin' trip."

"All that matters now is that you're one of us," Romil cosigns. "You put in work, prove your loyalty to the Cartier's, and your ass is set. Fuck. You've already locked down the chief 's lil brother. In a lot of ways, you're already royalty, you feel me? You ain't got shit to worry about—especially this bullshit that punk-bitch Blalock is tryna lay on you."

That catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Mack laughs. "They keep coming back here for you every couple of hours tryna run some guilt trip on you, hoping you'll confess. That fat fuck thinks that because you're young and green to the game that all he has to do is put some pressure on you and your ass will sing like a bird. He ain't got shit. If anything, he's probably tryna impress the department's new captain. Your lawyer will pop you out of here in no time. Trust."

"Lawyer? I don't have a lawyer," I tell her. Mack and Romil laugh.

"Yeah, you do. You just ain't met them yet," Romil says. Mack nods.

"They'll be here before arraignment starts. You can bet on that shit." Hope flutters in my chest, but it dies when I remember the run of bad luck that I've been having.

What's the point of praying or dreaming? No matter what happens, I can never show my face to the Douglases and Sullivans again. I've been completely humiliated. Do they believe the charges? Will they sit in court and root for my incarceration—my death? My eyes burn with tears. This shit is not fair. Mackenzie tugs on her cigarette like it's her third lung.

"You know what? I like you," she says. "When we get out of here, you should kick it with us. We'll get you up to speed and introduce you to all the right bitches. It'll be fun."

"Yeah. That'll be cool." Romil grins. "You do know how to party, don't you? I mean, you kind of look like a lame."

"Sure." I shrug, not believing I'll be sprung any time soon. "That sounds cool." Friends. It's been a minute since I've made new friends—not since Jaleesa. I miss my girl. I can only imagine what she'd say about this shit I got myself into—but I doubt her being here would've changed anything, other than her sitting right next to me. Then again, that would be enough.

Minutes later, three jailers appear at the cell door. We line up to be shackled. They bind my wrist to a chain wrapped around my waist, and then I'm off to see the judge. So much for my lawyer riding to my rescue. Another hour passes before my name comes up on the docket. Four burly officers lead me into court. An assistant district attorney moves to a podium and starts rattling off my information.

"Brielle James is charged with three counts of murder—two of which were her foster parents: Tracee and Reggie Douglas and a Markeisha Edwards. It is believed that Ms. James and her boyfriend, Raymond Lewis, murdered the Douglases after an escalated argument that took place between them a couple weeks prior. At that time, gunshots had been reported by the neighbors."

I roll my eyes. The judge doesn't bother to look up from shuffling paperwork around her bench.

"How do you plead?" I open my mouth, but another voice booms from behind me.