Tracy Brown - White Lines

WHITE
LINES

ALSO BY TRACY BROWN

Criminal Minded
Black
Dime Piece

TRACY BROWN

ST. MARTINS GRIFFIN
NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

WHITE LINES . Copyright 2007 by Tracy Brown. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brown, Tracy, 1974

White lines / Tracy Brown.

p. cm.

ISBN-13: 978-0-312-33648-6

ISBN-10: 0-312-33648-9

1. Cocaine abuseFiction. 2. African American womenFiction. 3. Inner citiesFiction. I. Title.

PS3602.R723W47 2007

813'.6dc22

2006052210

10 9 8 7 6 5

I grew up in the eighties and nineties, decades when the crack epidemic destroyed families and communities. I witnessed the epidemic up close and personally, and I watched people fall prey to drug addiction. Ive grieved with friends who lost loved ones to AIDS and other drug-related illnesses. At seventeen, I went to the first of several funerals for my peers, all gunned down in drug wars being waged in the streets where we lived. I watched helplessly as even more of my peers were hauled off to prison for crimes related to the game. The drug trade touched each of us in my generation profoundly. It affected our lives, our politics, the movies that we watched and the music that we listened to. And it destroyed our community piece by piece.

In telling the story in White Lines, I want to shed light on every aspect of the drug game to show that no one ever wins in this game. There are only losers. The hustlers, the drug addicts, the family members, the friends. Everybody loses in the game. We lose loved ones to addiction, young men and women to tragic early deaths, and we lose years of our lives to incarceration. We lose. In every possible way. Many times the game is glamourized in the entertainment industry. Movies glorify the game, as do music, magazines, and even books. In White Lines, my objective is not to glamourize the lifestyle, but instead to call your attention to the pain that the game inevitably causes those who are bold enough to play it.

This story is dedicated to the children of the drug game. To the lost little boys and little girls dealing with the pain of watching a loved one slip away a day at a time. To the husbands and wives forced to pick up the pieces for a spouse who cant kick their habit. To the dealers, the pushers, the hustlers who supply the needs of these victims without realizing the destruction of families and communities taking place at their very own hands.

This story is dedicated to love, which conquers all and costs nothing. May it help heal all our wounds, past and present.

Thank you, God, for both the sun and the rain. Without the rain, the sunny days would be taken for granted. So thank you for the lessons and the joy in all things good and bad.

My children, you make every sleepless night, every stressful deadline, and every early morning flight worthwhile. I love you. You are my inspiration.

And, to the love of my life, you inspire me every single day. Thank you for all the ways you contributed to this story and for all the ways youve opened yourself up to me without fear. Your insight helped me to breathe life into these characters, and your honesty made me fall deeper in love with you than I ever imagined possible. Even though I have a way with words, your love leaves me speechless. It feels like my life was lived in black and white until you came and filled it with color. Each day together we write a new chapter of our love storyeach one more beautiful than the last. I pray that our story never ends.

WHITE
LINES

January 9, 2007

Born placed the card inside the envelope and handed it to the clerk behind the counter. He walked toward the door of the flower shop, thinking about what hed written. He hoped Jada would know who the flowers were from, since he hadnt bothered to sign his name. But more important, he hoped she would be happy to hear from him. After all, so much time had passed, and yet sometimes the pain of their split still felt like a fresh cut. He walked out of the store and toward his Denali parked at the curb. Now all he could do was wait and see if time really did heal all wounds.

Born thought about something his mother had often told him over the years. She said that whatever you claimed to be in life, youd be tested at. He had always thought that he knew what she meant. God knows hed been put to the test in his life. Most times, Born had passed those tests. But when the time came for him to be tested at love, it was a different story. That was one test that Born wasnt so sure hed passed.

Jada opened the door and saw a deliveryman standing there, smiling. In his hands he held a huge flower arrangement. Jada Ford? he asked. Jada did not return his smile but nodded, confirming her identity, and signed for the arrangement.

Thank you, she said, in a soft voice. The deliveryman headed back toward the van parked at the curb.

Jada had been accepting flowers for the past two days, all condolences for her mothers death. Most of the flowers had been sent over by members of her mothers small Baptist church congregation, who had become the dead womans extended family for the past several years. For years Jadas relationship with her mother had been nonexistent. And then when one did exist, it had been complex. For years Jada had never seen her mother in charge or in control of her own life, or theirs, when Jada and her sister, Ava, had been kids. It had always seemed like they had been responsible for finding their own way in life, responsible for learning all their lessons on their own. The hard way.

But then Edna had finally come out of the shadows, and had claimed her place at the head of her family. She had fought the toughest battles and found solace in the only comforter she ever needed. Then cancer claimed Edna Fords life. It was a sad time for Jada, compounded by the fact that shed spent so much time consumed with the fruitless pursuit of happiness in the gutter of drug addiction. Prior to her death Edna had begun to pick up the pieces of her shattered relationship with Jada. She had watched Jada come back from the dark side, and seen that she had gotten her life together, that shed regained custody of her son. But there had been some unfinished business between the two of them. Things they still had yet to conquer together. And now it was too late.

Ednas passing made Jada think about so many things that she had not allowed herself to remember for so long. She could still hear her mothers terrified voice, still feel the fear that surged through her body every time she watched her mother beaten by J.D. Jada remembered the terror etched on her mothers face as she curled in on herself to block her husbands drunken blows. Jada remembered how she used to try and cover her little sisters