Alibi II

by Teri Woods

“I got to go, I forgot all about court,” said Beverly.

  “Court, what you going there for?” said Tyrone, eyes shut, still half asleep.

  “What you think? My son is on trial and closing arguments is today,” said Beverly as she cupped her perfect size Cs in their holder and fastened her bra around her back.

  I know she not messing up perfectly good sleep for that no-good sorry-ass don’t know what the hell to call him son of hers.

  She slipped her legs into a skirt and put on a button-down top, looking more professional than most working women with a nine to five. “You act like you don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I wish you had told me that shit, I could have stayed at my momma’s house last night and got some damn sleep,” he said groggily, planting his two feet on the floor, scratching his head with one hand and his groin with the other.

  “What?” he asked wondering why she was staring at him.

  “I forgot. I’m sorry. Come on, I got to go,” she said, ready to throw him outside, his clothes right behind him.

  “Shit, man, you fucking me all up,” said Tyrone, still not fully awake.

  “No, you fucking yourself up, now come on, I got to go,” she mumbled from the bathroom while brushing her teeth. She walked down the hall, knocked on the door to Nard’s room, making sure Crystal was up and ready.

  Tyrone pulled on his pants and threw on his shirt. He put on his socks and his sneakers and grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair.

  “You ready?” asked Beverly as she finished combing her hair, looking at Tyrone in frustration.

  “Man, don’t worry about me, is you ready?”

  “Come on, you gotta go,” she said, ushering him out of her bedroom, wondering why she even bothered with him. “You get on my nerves, you know that, right?” she asked as they made their way down the flight of steps to the first floor.

  “Hey, Mr. Guess,” said Tyrone, showing respect to the old head as he made his way out the door. “Call me when you done,” he hollered at Beverly.

  “All right,” she said as she fumbled with a bottle of high-blood-pressure pills her uncle was suppose to take twice a day.

  “He’s a fool if I ever seen one in my life,” said Uncle Ray Ray, referring to Tyrone. “A goat,” he added, spooning a teaspoon of sugar into his morning cup of coffee. “What’s that story, the girl with the goats?” he asked calmly, his brain working slowly this early in the morning. “Heidi, that’s it,” he said, laughing. ’Cause you is a goat herder with that nigga right there. Heidi,” he said now in a full robust laughter.

  “Dag, Uncle Ray Ray, I can’t get the cap off,” she said as she read the safety warning, completely ignoring him. “Oh, here it is.”

  “Ignore me all you want to, Heidi,” he said, still laughing at the very thought of Tyrone.

  She handed him the pills and then made two slices of toast with grape jelly before passing him some cream.

  “Good morning Uncle Ray Ray,” said Crystal, making her way through the kitchen carrying nine-month-old Dayanna on her hip.

  “Yeah, good morning to you,” he answered, being as polite as he was going to be this morning.

  “This the last day of the trial, closing arguments today, Uncle Ray Ray.”

  “I don’t know what to say about that boy,” Uncle Ray Ray retorted, feeling sorry for the youngster. “You know these young people today don’t make much sense to me,” he said, looking at Beverly as she slipped on a pair of black heels and her jacket. “Look at Bernard, he could have been anything he wanted to be, but he wanted to run in them streets and be a gangster. Now, he’s facing life in prison. Just don’t make no sense, no sense at all.”

  “All right then, I’ll be back in a few hours,” she added, a little louder.

  Ray Ray looked up from his cup of coffee, wishing Beverly would stop talking so loudly. All she was doing was yapping. He could hardly hear the television.

  “Uncle Ray Ray, did you hear me, make sure you take your pills, too,” she added, watching him mosey into the living room.

  “Dagnabbit! I told you, I told you,” he said, pointing at the game show host on the television.

  Beverly stopped and looked at the television monitor at a young woman who was jumping up and down for joy.

  “Did you hear me, Uncle Ray Ray? You got to make sure you take your medication.”

  “I sure do wish you’d go on somewhere,” said Uncle Ray Ray, now clapping and laughing at the television.

  “I got your go somewhere,” mumbled Beverly as she opened the door, letting Crystal and the baby pass. They walked to the corner and hopped the bus, which was visible from two blocks away. It was a dreary, chilly fall day, and it had begun to rain just as soon as she parked the car. Beverly pulled her jacket hood over her head and made her way to the front entrance of the courthouse. She zipped through security and rushed upstairs to the fourth floor. She opened the left side of the heavy wooded double doors. Judge Means’s courtroom was packed. She walked inside and took a seat next to Crystal and the baby. She looked at her best friend, Donna, seated on the other side of Crystal.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll work out,” whispered Donna, as if she had been given a sign from God and could predict the future.

  The district attorney was already on his feet. As Beverly settled into her seat, she heard him directing the jury to find her son guilty. He kept repeating that the only person one could blame for the deaths of Jeremy Tyler and Lance Robertson was Bernard Guess, as it was his gun that had killed both of them. However, the jury had technically already heard that story when Nard took the stand claiming self-defense, and then his lawyer, Bobby DeSimone, backed his theory with hardcore evidence of the break-in. After Zone finished his closing argument, Bobby DeSimone took to the floor. His demeanor was confident and sure. He had everything he needed to remind the jury that they could not find his client guilty of murder in the first degree, and with the way things looked, he could possibly get the kid off altogether based on the claim of self-defense.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the state has done a wonderful job of wasting our time in this courtroom,” he said, indicating Zone, seated to his right. “And all this time was wasted attempting to prove a double homicide occurred on the night in question. However, that simply is not fact and it certainly is not the case. As we clearly proved to you, my client was left with no options by the hands of two intruders with loaded handguns. And while the state would have you think differently, you can’t, because the evidence clearly shows the truth. Remember when you go back in that room, you have a young kid’s life at stake. The state has a job to do, they are suppose to prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that my client murdered those men in cold blood, and, you know what, ladies and gentlemen?” he said, spinning around and pointing his finger at them, staring each in the eye. “They just haven’t done that.”

  DeSimone smoothly turned around and strolled back to his table. If he wasn’t in a court of law he’d smack high fives with Nard himself.

  “We got ’em, you’re gonna be all right, kid,” whispered DeSimone as the judge gave out instructions. The courtroom watched as the jury rose before deliberating.

  It was 10:21 and DeSimone wanted a cup of coffee. “I’m going downstairs, don’t worry, kid, they won’t be too long.”

  “You think they’ll make a decision before the day’s out?” Nard asked hopefully, as the sheriff came to cuff him and escort him into the back holding area.

  “I think they’re gonna make a decision in the next hour.” DeSimone smiled, winking at Nard.

  DeSimone had barely taken his first sip of coffee before the vibration of his pager caught his attention. He reached in his jacket pocket and looked at the number of his office. He went over to the pay phone and called Sandra, his secretary.

  “They’re ready,” she said, hearing his hello.

  “The verdict’s in on the Somerset case already?”

  “That’s what they called and said,�
�� she said, a slight hint of aggravation in her voice.

  “Great.” He hung up the phone, went back over to the tiny newsstand inside the courthouse, placed fifty cents on the counter for his cup of coffee, and headed back upstairs.

  It had only been thirty-five minutes that the jury had deliberated. The case didn’t need a group of rocket scientists to conjure up a verdict, DeSimone had made sure of that. He had done his job, and Zone; well, let’s just say that in DeSimone’s opinion, Zone had put all his eggs in one basket, a stripper named Daisy Mae Fothergill, and thought he had an ace in the hole, but he was terribly wrong. DeSimone flipped the tables on the courtroom, fed the jury what they needed to hear so they could give him what he wanted—a not guilty verdict—and that’s exactly what had happened.

  “Have you reached a verdict?” asked Judge Means, peering over the frame of his reading glasses as he questioned the foreman responsible for reading the verdict to the courtroom.

  “Yes we have, Your Honor,” said the colored man now standing, reading a three-by-five index card in his hand. “On the charge of murder in the first degree of Lance Robertson, we find the defendant not guilty. On the charge of manslaughter, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty.” The foreman then sat down as the courtroom began to buzz with the finding.

  “Sentencing will take place in two weeks, counsel, you’ll be notified of a date, court is adjourned!” The judge banged his gavel, rose from his chair, and walked off the stand, through a door, and into the back offices.

  “Yes!” exclaimed DeSimone as he hugged Nard. “This is great, just great. I told you, you’d be okay. Do you fucking believe it, even with the girl turning state and testifiying against you, we still won!” DeSimone was so elated he couldn’t help but hug Nard again. Nard, on the other hand, didn’t seem too happy.

  “What, kid, ain’t you happy?”

  “Manslaughter? They still found me guilty,” he said, feeling as if all was lost.

  “Yeah, but, kid, trust me, the district attorney’s office charged you with murder one. You beat a murder one charge, we got it down to manslaughter and aggravated assault, what’s wrong with you? Nard you still have your life.” DeSimone didn’t care if he sat for the next couple of years, as far as he was concerned, the case was a win. Nard wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life locked behind bars. Instead, he’d spend three, maybe five years tops in a state correctional facility. DeSimone didn’t understand why he wasn’t happy. “You got the best deal you could’ve gotten, kid, the absolute best.”

  Behind him, Nard could hear his girlfriend and his mother. He turned around and smiled at Beverly, who couldn’t hold back tears of joy.

  “You coming home, baby,” said Donna, waving her fist in the air as she hugged Beverly, who felt faint at the sound of the words.

  His girlfriend, Crystal, hugged their baby, Dayanna, smiling and waving the baby’s hand at him.

  Wink and his family silently rose from the back of the courtroom, making their way out the double wooded doors and into the corridor. Wink turned around and looked at Nard’s family hugging one another and jumping for joy. It ain’t over, nigga, you’ll see, an eye for an eye, motherfucker.

  Lester Giles’s wife, Euretha, followed behind them. The verdict didn’t affect her as did the loss or better yet, gain, of Lester. However, she followed it through like she was supposed to; after all, Lester was her husband.

  Lucille Davis exited the courtroom not far behind. She couldn’t move as fast as some of the other people, but she slowly took her time and filed out the double doors of the courtroom.

  Lance’s mother, who hadn’t missed one day of the trial, also followed the line of folks out the door. She, too, being an older lady, a single mother of two, took in the testimony of Bernard Guess and listened with remorse at what her son had been accused of. And to think, the man who took her son’s life had beaten the murder case. Justice, for her, had no name. The trial had taken its toll and the truth of her son being a would-be burglar lay heavy and brought her heart a sea of emotions. The thought of raising a son who would turn out to be a cold-blooded murderer was too much for her to bear. Ms. Robertson had no intention of returning to the courtroom, even though the defense attorney had asked her to be present at the sentencing and wanted her on the stand to speak on behalf of her son. She didn’t think she could do it. What could she say that would make a difference? She honestly believed there was nothing more that should be said. Now, thank God, it was done and over and everybody could just put it all behind them.

  Tommy Delgado and Merva Ross watched as the courtroom dispersed. He walked toward the front of the courtroom, an uneasy smile spread across his face.

  “What the hell happened? That guy is just gonna walk, scot-free?” said Delgado, not so much angry as he was disappointed and ready to pounce all over Zone. Ross held his arm, making sure her partner didn’t end up in trouble.

  “What can I say? I thought we had it. I was wrong. Once we had the girl, and her testimony, I assumed the case was in the bag. Look, I know you guys work hard out there, risking your lives to keep the streets safe, but we can’t win them all, right?” Zone shrugged, not really caring one way or another.

  His disconnect was apparent and Tommy faded for a moment back to the house on Somerset Street, to where the bodies of Saunta Davis and her son, DaShawn, lay sprawled in pools of blood, the little boy already dead, the mother barely breathing.

  “Come on, Delgado, you see it every day out there, right. They just keep killing each other,” Zone said, a confused look on his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll get ’em next time,” he quickly added, patting Tommy on the shoulder as he grabbed his briefcase off the rectangular table and headed toward the doors. He knew the media would be waiting for him. Win or lose, he still got his name in the paper.

  “Yeah, next time, you fucking piece of shit, why don’t you do your fucking job,” Tommy muttered to himself before he and Merva walked out the doors of the courtroom to a pack of thirsty reporters.

  As usual, Liddles was parked in back of the lot across from City Hall. Karla-Jae crossed the street, got into the van, and reported of the events in the courtroom to her brother as she usually did.

  “He beat the case after all,” sighed Liddles.

  Liddles’s smile spoke a thousand words. He was glad Nard beat the case for killing the guys who were responsible for killing his brother. But, even with justice playing her merciful part, it wasn’t enough. Poncho was still gone, his mother’s heart was still broken, and his pain was no less.

  Liddles had spent every day following Wink. Like a peeping Tom, he was watching carefully. Wink could forget about it. Liddles had Wink’s entire itinerary, drug house, drug stash, baby momma’s crib, baby momma’s job, momma’s home, momma’s job, sister’s school, brother’s wife’s mother’s cousin’s house, the whole family had been scoped out.

  Then there was the other one, Lance Robertson, Jeremy Tyler’s cohort. It turned out, Lance was a loner of sorts, and the only family he had was his mom’s, Mrs. Robertson, and Liddles already had her ammo. He knew where she worked, where she went to school, what time she ate dinner, what time she left the house every day. He had followed her enough to know how and when to make a move on her if he wanted to. She was a goner, too. Any of them could be got and would be. It was all a matter of timing. When it was all said and done, they would wish they had never laid one finger on his brother, Poncho’s head.

  Wink, on the other hand, was ready to spit fire. He was so heated, he couldn’t contain his anger.

  “How the fuck they gonna let this nigga off like that?” asked a troubled Wink. His anger was getting the best of him. He could no longer contain himself. The only comfort he had was knowing that no matter where Nard went, he could be got in prison. Wink had family throughout Pennsylvania’s prison system, and wherever Nard was sent to do his time, there would be people on the inside waiting to take him out.

  “Wink, calm down,” said Leslee, trying t
o get Wink to sit with her on the sofa.

  “Leslee, that fucking judge and jury let that nigga walk, they let him walk,” said Wink, unable to believe the verdict and unable to believe that Nard was getting off with a slap on the wrist manslaughter charge. “He’ll be home in less than five for manslaughter. That’s nothing after what he did to my brother.”

  “Wink, just calm down.”

  “No, I won’t calm down. We’ll see. This nigga thinks he’s going to get away with killing my brother, that shit just ain’t gonna happen,” Wink said, picking up his nine-millimeter and making sure his clip was fully loaded.

  “Where you going?” asked Leslee, scared of her brother and what he might do.

  “I’m gonna show that motherfucker, Nard, how it feels to have his family fucked with, that’s what I’m going to do,” said Wink as he stuffed the gun in his hoodie and slammed the front door behind him.

  “The social worker’s bringing me another baby. All the paperwork is complete and there’s nothing really left for them to do,” said Donna, quickly adding, “I’m getting one of them abandoned babies and the news is coming so you got to watch Channel 10 tonight.”

  “For real?” asked Beverly, truly amazed Donna would be interviewed on the evening news.

  “Wow, Donna, this is big.” Beverly smiled, then added, “You hear that, Uncle Ray Ray? Donna’s gonna be on the evening news.”

  “That’s really something. And they interviewing you?” he said, shaking his head at the shame of it all.

  “Yeah, you know, only a crazy person would abandon a baby like that.” She sighed, not understanding what kind of person would leave a baby in the cold.

  “They pay good money?” asked Beverly, thinking about getting her a foster child, too.

  “Girl, they pay real good money, but you know, you get more for the handicapped ones,” she said, serious as a heart attack.

  “How much more?” asked Beverly.

  “I don’t know, ’cause I ain’t got time for no motherfucker can’t walk and talk and shit,” she said, biting into a piece of fried chicken. “But, it’s a lot more, girl, a lot.”