Angry, this time Sykes jumped out of bed barefoot and marched over to the cell door.
“C.O., stop playin’ wit’ me, yo!.....” Sykes yelled.
The Correctional Officer snapped. “Sykes, you wanna go home or what? If so, let’s get a move on now. I got other inmates to process out on bail. If you don’t wanna go now, then you can try your luck on the next shift. The choice is yours. Make up your mind quick my man.”
There was honesty in the man’s voice, which led Sykes to fully believe him now. He saw past all the tough talk to the heart of the matter, the truth. Now something told him that the Correctional Officer wasn’t playing at all. Sykes rushed back into his cell, quickly got dressed, grabbed a few meager belongings, some commissary items, and exited his cell.
Suddenly the tier was in an uproar. Prisoners began to call out to Sykes from nearby and down the tier as they bid him farewell.
“Sykes, stay out there this time, yo!....” someone yelled.
“Sykes, this Bey, holler at my people for me,” another man shouted. “Tell ‘em I’m short. All I need is a thousand dollars to get me out yo!”
“Alright, Bey!” Sykes lied, knowing damn well it would be the last thing on his mind once he hit the streets. “I got you, yo.”
Happily, Sykes rushed down the tier, not believing his luck. In the back of his mind he thought it was a clerical error and it might be discovered once he got to admissions. He still was unsure. So on the way off the tier, he stopped at an old comrade of his that he had done some serious time with in the old jail in Hagerstown, Maryland.
“Chicken!” he shouted. “Here yo! I’m leavin’ out. I just made bail. Take this commissary. If I come back, I want my shit. If I don’t, it’s yours, yo.”
“Alright yo,” Chicken replied, accepting the prison items. “Stay strong soldier. I’ll see you when I get uptown.”
“Sykes!” the Correctional Officer shouted. “We ain’t got all day!”
“Alright, here I come,” Sykes announced as he walked away from the cell door. “I’ll holla at you niggas later yo. Y’all stay up!”
“You’ll be back!” someone hollered out.
“Fuck you, you jealous whore!” he yelled back while strutting down the tier.
Sykes was still in denial by the time he got down to the admissions area of the jail. He was placed in a holding cell along with a few other inmates fortunate enough to make bail. Sykes exhibited a nervous energy that made him very talkative.
“Hey C.O., I wanna know, who bailed me out?” Sykes inquired nicely, with his face pressed to the steel bars.
“Listen Sykes, for the umpteen time,” the Sergeant groaned, “you’re not going to keep bothering me. I’m very busy. I have a job to do and that’s to get you guys out of here and off the morning count. And, I don’t have that information in front of me. End of story.”
He continued to press. “Could you find out who it was? Please?”
The Sergeant snapped. “Jesus Christ! You wanna go home or what? If so, excuse me while I get back to work. You’re about to go home now, that’s all you need to know. If you really want to know, take it up with your bail bondsman tomorrow.”
“Sorry Serg,” Sykes spoke. “I just was wonderin’, that’s all.”
The Sergeant was right, Sykes mused. He decided to give the man a break, relax and wait for his name to be called so he could go home. Suddenly his mind began to race about the things he wanted to do when he got home. The first thing he planned to do was get a shot of dope. That had been on his mind since he got arrested. So much so he had dreamt about it several times, even while he was dope sick.
Soon those thoughts would manifest themselves into reality as Sykes planned on visiting his old haunts in search of some good dope. A few days in jail weren’t enough to kick his heroin habit. He had been shooting heroin on and off for twenty something years. The swelling in his hands and the nasty abscesses and scabs on his forearms were proof of that.
In an hour or so, Sykes was released after signing the necessary legal documents. He was given some court paperwork, telling him his next scheduled appearance in court. In the wee hours of the morning, he and a handful of other prisoners were released back into society, onto a dark block, on East Eager Street in East Baltimore.
“Lemme get a cigarette, yo,” Sykes asked another recently released inmate who was smoking nearby.
The man handed over a cigarette and a lighter, which Sykes placed between his lips and lit. He handed him back his lighter and proceeded to go about his business.
“Thanks, yo,” Sykes stated through a cloud of smoke.
“No problem,” the man replied.
Quickly, Sykes began walking away from the jail as fast as he could, trying to put as much distance between him and the correctional institution as possible. He was nervous that his release had somehow all been a mistake, yet he was anxious to get to a dope spot. He knew an all night shop up on Greenmount Avenue, where he could get some credit or at the very least bum a blast. He had no inclination that he was being watched, followed, and stalked from the moment his feet hit the concrete pavement.
The further away he got from the jail, the more at ease he became. Sykes stopped looking over his shoulder for a police car a few blocks ago. At the moment his actions were primarily being dictated by his insatiable thirst to get high. The anticipation of his drug use put Sykes in a very vulnerable state. He wasn’t moving as safely as he normally would.
Tone crept through the dark alley, gun
