Page 38 of Only a Gemini Will Do

Chapter 12

Kareem

March Twelfth—Day Sixty-Seven.

I opened my eyes. I couldn’t fix my lips to say I was thankful to see another day in that dark fuckin’ cell. Another day of closed custody inside four concrete walls that trapped me in the silence. Most days, I passed the time by counting the cracks in the ceiling like they were fuckin’ sheep.

I sat up and stretched slowly. My bones were stiff from the concrete slab they called a bed. I moved sluggishly, like I was a zombie or just waking up from years of being in a coma. I heard the crack of my knees and felt the tension in my lower back as I reached out to scratch another mark into the wall. But at least I was still alive.

About three weeks in, I was yanked from my cell in the middle of the night and was told I was being moved to closed custody. No real explanations were given outside of the bullshit that, because I’d escaped before, I needed to be placed in a more “controlled environment.”

Nevertheless, I’d made it to March, which meant it was the month she’d be born—my baby girl. I hadn’t seen my shawty since the last time I was in the courtroom. I didn’t make anycalls. Didn’t write one letter. Not because I didn’t want to—but because I didn’t trust a soul breathing in this mothafucka. The phone calls weren’t private. Letters got opened, read, and screenshotted. I kept telling myself I was doing everything to keep her safe, even if that meant going ghost again. I had to sit down and do my time like a man without getting a stain on her image.

Aside from having my heart out on consignment, prison was prison. The shit wasn’t nothin’ new to me. The energy was stiff. The food was shit. I showed respect to the old heads and kept my distance from the young niggas trying to prove themselves. I wasn’t in this bitch to earn more stripes. All I wanted was peace, but if I had to check a nigga’s chin, I would.

When I was younger, I used to have a problem with niggas talking reckless and an even bigger problem with authority. I’d been boxing niggas in the streets since Kindergarten, and learned early on that most niggas couldn’t fight hand-to-hand combat. There was no weight class in the streets, and the same went for being incarcerated.

Kadeem and I used to show niggas what the term on sight meant. A nigga couldn’t run his face about us and not have to learn the consequences. We used to do damage with a lock and a pair of socks. But I was past that now. I had bigger things to focus on.

When you’re on lockdown for twenty-three hours out of the day, all you can do is think and listen to the voices in your head. But that hour? It was far from freedom. But at least it was a chance to remember I had working limbs, and an opportunity to wash my ass and breathe some fresh fuckin’ air at best.

I proceeded onto the yard with my head low and my eyes forward. I didn’t say shit to nobody unless I had to. There were too many ears and eyes around and too many ulterior motives. It was quieter than usual. Nobody was getting done dirty on thebasketball court and crashing out, and nobody was letting their mouth fly crazy over Dominoes. Just the low murmur of niggas trying to stay as invisible as I was.

I was halfway through my second set of push-ups, my palms kissing the splintered concrete and sweat sliding down my temples, when I overheard two men by the weights talking low and speaking in Portuguese. I didn’t look up, just slowed my pace and tuned in to their conversation, picking up on fragments of every other word.

“Vai acontecer na sexta-feira. . . vamos nos encontrar na lavanderia. Ele já confirmou.”

“Estou pronta.”

I paused mid-rep, muscles locked in place. I hadn’t become anywhere near fluent during my time in Rio, but I did pick up on a few things.

Sexta-feira—Friday.

Lavanderia—Laundry room.

Preparar—Ready.

Something was going down next Friday in the laundry room. But what? I didn’t have a time, but I had a gut feeling. I remembered the layout after visiting there a few times. The laundry room was a small space with limited exits and no fuckin’ cameras. I’d seen how quickly things could turn left for a nigga in a place like that. If something were to go down in there, it would have to be fast.

I wrapped up my set like nothing had happened, keeping my eyes forward. But inside my head, alarms were sounding off as I replayed their conversation and mapped out the schedule in my mind. Who moved when. Which COs rotated through the laundry room and which inmates they interacted with the most. What time the carts with the dirty laundry rolled in, and whattime the clean carts went out. I ran through the rolodex of faces I’d seen around the yard, recalling who had beef with who, who had reach outside of prison, and who had nothing to lose.

When the hour ended, I marched back into my box from the shower. I quickly scribbled the words I remembered onto a scrap of paper from the commissary and tucked it away for safekeeping. I didn’t know what the fuck was coming next, but it was clear that something was about to shift, and I hated that I didn’t have my twin by my side. All I had was my intuition and the knowledge that my daughter was a couple of weeks away from making her entrance into the world. If something was about to go down in the laundry room, I needed to be ready.

6:02 p.m.

Like clockwork, dinner slid through the slot just as it did every other night: a tray filled with cold, processed meat, soggy ass bread, and a watery scoop of unseasoned vegetables. I didn’t waste my time looking at it, let alone tasting it. All I did was chew a couple of bites and swallow it down, chucking it up as nourishment. I was halfway through the meal when something else quickly shot through the slot.

I paused, staring at the object wrapped in a napkin on the floor. I set the tray down and approached it with hesitance. I picked it up and unwrapped it to see a burner phone staring back at me like a twisted dare. I froze, thinking it was a setup. I was ready to push that shit back through the slot. But then it vibrated with a text.

Unknown Number:Twin, it’s me. You good?

My heart damn near stopped.Kadeem?We hadn’t spoken since we parted ways when we got to Florida. He went up toward Tampa with King, and I headed to Jacksonville to be with Sawyer.I stared at the screen. Somehow, the silence surrounding me got louder. I typed back slowly.

Me:Keeping my head low. You good?

Unknown Number:Holding it down.

Me:Something’s moving next Friday. Don’t know what.