Bad Things 2
By Bre Simone
()
About this ebook
With Richmond in prison, Jah’miya has to find a way to make ends meet and scrounge up enough money to get him out. Despite having saved for so long, it’s not enough to afford a good lawyer that will help to free Richmond from prison, especially with the news that he might have been set up.
Will Jah’miya have to resort to her old ways to get the money she needs, or will her friends Janiqua and Kizzie come to her aid? And what’s with this stalker still asking about her? What does he really want?
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Bad Things 2 - Bre Simone
Chapter One
Seeing the inside of a police station on television is a lot different than being in one in real life. For one, it isn’t as clean and organized as producers would like you to believe. Nor is there a functioning coffee machine that will take all of your troubles away. In fact, being in a police station is downright stressful, filled with noises and smells that make it difficult for anyone to think or even keep their cool.
It’s a wonder that Killion can even sleep through it all, but given that it’s way past his bedtime, it’s understandable. Glancing at the clock, Jah’miya realizes that it’s already past eleven at night, and the cheap paper cup of coffee to her right is already cold, forgotten in all of the hullabaloo that’s going on around her.
What seems to be every five minutes, an officer drags in an alcoholic in handcuffs—likely for public intoxication—and shoves the drunken individual into a holding cell with a few other people. She’s seen a few of them loudly protest, spitting on the cops and trying to squirm their way out of their grasp. Others are quiet, mumbling to themselves as they sit on the hard, tiled floor and accept their fate. Others say nothing; their eyes are too glazed over to focus on anything, and Jah’miya gets the feeling they’ve been doing more than drinking alcohol all night. Having Killion this close to such realities leaves her feeling uncomfortable.
Across from where she sits, there’s a row of vending machines, many of them mostly empty due to how many people are in here this late on a Saturday night. A good number of them are women who look older than her. She wonders if any of them are here to bail out any of the drunks. Or are they here to report a crime themselves?
And they’re wearing their Sunday best—either to make a good impression on whomever they need to talk to, or because their old-fashioned sense dictates they never go anywhere without looking their best—while Jah’miya sits in her pajama pants, faded t-shirt, and a jacket, which is thrown over everything to hide the fact that she isn’t wearing a bra. Given the state she’d been in when the cops barged into their home, she’d had to get dressed in a hurry to make it down to the station before they proceeded any further on Richmond’s case.
She can’t get the image of Richmond being taken away in handcuffs out of her head. It makes her question what he’s really been up to all this time, where he’d been when he’d suddenly changed their plans. She couldn’t be his alibi and save him from whatever he’d roped himself into. Nor could she rely on Keantay to get him out of this either. He was up a creek without a paddle, and she had no lifelines to throw his way. All she could do was wait for the truth to come out and decide what to do from there.
You’re gonna be alright, ‘miya. Everything’ll work out,
Kizzie offers, though she sounds half-hearted. Jah’miya can’t really blame her, given that there’s really no good way to handle this kind of situation. Still, being here with someone at her side has eased some of the panic she would have had if she’d come alone.
I hope so,
is the only response she can muster, and she tosses the still-full cup of cold coffee into the nearby garbage bin. Thanks for coming with me, Kizzie.
It’s no problem, really. I mean, I wasn’t gonna let my best friend deal with this shit by herself.
A strange thing to say, given how she’d abandoned her earlier that day to stay with Keantay. But Jah’miya feels that this isn’t the right time or the place to start airing out her friend’s dirty laundry, especially with the tension still high.
They both jump at the sudden sound of yelling, and a small sea of police officers rush through the front door. A chorus of sirens sound soon after and fade away into the night, leaving Jah’miya even more shaken than before.
Ms. Thompson?
The voice of the woman at the front desk rips her from her thoughts and drags her back into the now. Jah’miya shifts Killion from her lap to her arms, rushes to her feet, and strides over to the desk.
The woman is nursing a hot mug of coffee, likely from the coffeemaker they have in back rather than the machine, as it smells absolutely divine. Her dark hair, dotted with a few strands of grey, is done up into a short ponytail, and she has more girth to her than someone of her height should. She looks fresh too, probably just starting her shift for the night, which will likely last until the early hours of the morning.
Yes, that’s me.
Jah’miya does her best to put a smile on her face, but she’s sure it’s not convincing. Without making any eye contact, the officer on desk duty shifts some paperwork around and points to her right.
The sergeant will see you now.
Her voice is devoid of any empathy, and Jah’miya finds that unsettling, too.
Uh... which door...?
Her mind is still in a fog with all of the adrenaline and confusion coursing through her. Peering down the hallway, everything looks exactly the same.
The officer finally lifts her gaze from her paperwork, pinches the bridge of her nose, and gives her an incredulous look.
"You could try the one that says ‘sergeant’ on it," she replies snottily before going back to her work.
Jah’miya bites her tongue; the exhaustion makes it easy for her temper to flare up, but arguing with an officer in the middle of the police station is one of the best ways to get thrown into a holding cell for no reason. And where would that leave Killion? Calling Patricia at this hour would let another person in on what’s going on, and Jah’miya would prefer that as few people as possible know about her business.
The walk down the hallway feels agonizingly slow, and she tries to piece together the right words in her mind for what she’s going to say to the head of the police department. What can she say? She knows absolutely nothing about the charges, and she can’t exactly ask Richmond what’s going on either.
She finally stops in front of a door with the words Sergeant Geoffrey
on the sign near the doorframe. The blinds are drawn, and she knocks quietly on the door to ensure the room is occupied before entering.
Come in.
The voice is deep and commanding, though it is punctuated by an exhausted sigh. Or is that annoyance? It makes her feel like a scolded child, but she has to see this through.
She slowly opens the door and peers in to find the sergeant peering down at some papers on his large desk. It’s covered with memorabilia, including a tiny state flag and assorted pens sticking out of an empty mug. To the left of the desk is a large stack of manila folders, and on the right is a large, black phone. The handset is on the desk, and the fact that there isn’t a tinny voice coming out of it means that he’s not interested in taking any calls.
She thinks, How much worse is his mood going to be with me begging him for help?
Behind him is a large bookshelf, stacked to the brim with books and binders. Some