By the time the government presented weak evidence that didn’t implicate me whatsoever in the two bodies in South Carolina, I began to feel a little better, knowing that they had no evidence or witnesses for that matter to tie me to Black’s and Qua’s murders. My lawyer said there was no reason for me to take the stand on those matters because the DA was killing himself. Even my lawyer really began to believe in me. Once my lawyer said no comment at this time, the DA preceded with the murder charges from Jersey.
The description of those deaths was so accurate when he spoke I wondered how Betty knew all that. She must’ve followed us to the abandoned building and watched. “Sneaky bitch,” I said under my breath.
When he spoke about how we had set Black up on South Second and snatched Quadir up on Sycamore, I knew Betty had to have seen us from her window and started following us then. As he finished his story, which he addressed to the jury, his next words almost caused me to choke. He told the judge that he wanted to call a witness. I looked at him, dumbfounded. He had this stupid grin on his face as to say, “Gotcha,” as they called the witness’s name.
“Your Honor, I’d like to call Mr.”—when he said Mr. instead of Ms. or Mrs. I knew who it was—“Shareef Richards to the stand.”
If there were ever a time I wanted to kill myself now would’ve been it. I couldn’t believe my ears. I grilled Shareef as they brought him out handcuffed to the front with a suit on. He was serving forty with a twenty-year stip for blowing trial on those cases. His record made him eligible for an extended term. The same cases that I tried to get the dudes not to come to court on. Now here he was taking the stand on me. He couldn’t even look at me while he was on the stand telling everything that happened verbatim. All I could wonder about was how much time they had offered to knock off his sentence for selling his soul and selling me out. It wasn’t until the DA asked him if he saw the man in the courtroom who was with him the night of the murders that he looked in my direction and pointed at me. I began to perspire heavily.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” the DA said.
My attorney did a hell of a job trying to shoot Shareef’s credibility down and poke holes in his story, but one thing about the truth, it’s always going to prevail, and that’s what Shareef had in his favor. There was no more to be said.
Without the jurors’ verdict I already knew I had lost the trial. I took one last look at my pops and by the look on his face I knew that if he had a gun in the courtroom right then and there he would have gunned Shareef down.
The jurors came back from deliberating.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor, we have,” a white lady said. Eight Whites and four Blacks from ages twenty-five to about sixty-five held my fate in their hands. I looked back at Lisa and shot her my signature smirk. She had her hands up to her mouth with a napkin in her hand. It was apparent she had been crying.
“On the charge of murder in the first degree of Travis Dempsey, we find the defendant, Kamil Benson, not guilty!”
It was the verdict I’d anticipated.
“On the charge of murder in the first degree of Marlon Jones, we find the defendant not guilty!”
That one I also knew. Now was the moment I had been waiting for.
“On the charge of conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree against Quadir Davis, we find the defendant, Kamil Benson, not guilty!”
I thought I had misheard her, until I saw a smile slightly come across my lawyer’s face.
“On the charge of conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree against Brian Taylor, we find the defendant not guilty!”
I didn’t even smile or cheer; instead, I began to shed tears. They were tears of joy, because for some reason my life had been spared.
Shareef wasn’t in the courtroom when the verdict was announced, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t even mad at him anymore seeing as how his flipping on me didn’t work. The judge said some things that I couldn’t even hear and then he banged his gravel to dismiss the court. They escorted me out after I shook Mr. Schmidt’s hand and thanked him.
As I was leaving I saw Lisa exiting the courtroom. That day I thought that she was the angel God had sent down to oversee my trial and protect me. I heard my lawyer tell the DA that he’d be talking to him, as he and my father walked out together.
My lawyer told me the next day the DA offered me a plea of 264 months, providing that I handed over at least a million dollars they were sure I had tucked away somewhere. I consulted with my lawyer and he advised me to take it if I had the money because the offers wouldn’t get any better than that, only worse, so I agreed. I gave them the address of where I had the bulk of my money stashed. I’d rather be broke and able to see light at the end of the tunnel than rich and sitting in prison for the rest of my life.
I was sentenced to twent-two years in federal prison. I called my moms and told them how much time I had gotten, and they went crazy as if I had gotten life. They didn’t understand that for 350 Gs to my lawyer, beating four bodies, handing over a million plus dollars, and only getting twenty-two years for drugs was a blessing in disguise. I’d be nearly fifty years old by the time I came home, just in time to see my grandkids grow up. That was better than a life bid any day.
When I called Tia to tell her she didn’t take it so bad. I wondered how many years I’d get out of her before she flipped too; because that was all a part of this game we played in. Nothing in the game was guaranteed. You’re loved for the moment.
Before the phone was about to hang up, Tia asked me what she was supposed to tell my son when he start asking for me. I told her to tell him the Bad People had me right now....
Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler Page 33