Roger smacked Calvin on the back. “I knew there was a reason we wanted you on our team.”
Calvin feigned smugness, tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket. “Well, that’s just what I do.”
A smile crept onto Janae’s face, and she turned her back to him so he couldn’t see it.
Chapter Eighteen
ROGER, JANAE, AND CALVIN WERE SEATED AT AN OVAL-SHAPED GLASS-TOP table on the CNN set. Janae could see her legs through the glass. There was the beginning of a run in her pantyhose near her left ankle and she tucked her left leg underneath her right to hide it. Ugh! Six bucks for new pantyhose. Her hands were clenched together in her lap.
Across from them sat a CNN news anchor. His stark silver hair was at odds with his youthful face. He wore a light-gray suit, a white shirt, and a tie as blue as his eyes. When their eyes met he smiled at Janae. She returned the smile.
“Would you explain to our viewers why the Endangered Species Act is the right law to address the plight of young black males in the U.S.?”
The question was like manna from heaven. It allowed Roger to run with Calvin’s advice. “Now, let’s compare them to white boys of the same age. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, black boys from twelve through nineteen are fifteen times more likely to be killed than white boys!” The statistic erupted from his mouth. “It’s not pretty—they are fifteen times more likely to be gunned down. That is a huge difference.”
The news anchor’s brow furrowed. “That is quite a significant difference—but doesn’t that make it counterintuitive that you would choose to represent one of the defendants accused of murder?”
Janae stirred in her seat. Calvin brushed his shoulder against hers. Her head moved slightly in his direction.
Roger smiled easily as he scooted slightly forward in his seat. “Two things,” he said and held up two fingers. “First, my client is innocent, and the facts will establish that. Second, homicide among young black males is a symptom of a much greater problem. When Congress passed the ESA it said that as a country we value animal and plant life so much that we are willing to take steps to protect it. All I am saying is that we need to be proactive about valuing the lives of black boys.”
“What you just said begs the question—how do you value their lives if you are comparing them to animals. How do you expect the American public, let alone the court system, to take you seriously with such an outrageous claim?”
Roger’s eyes widened. “Outrageous? No. I’m very serious. All I am doing is taking a concept that we are all familiar with and saying, hey, there’s a real problem over here. If we can set up a whole system to address endangered animals, then surely we can do the same for our fellow humans. That’s what I am saying. That’s the comparison.”
The news anchor inched forward, toward Roger. His pen was point down on the desk. He tapped it against the glass a few times. “Let’s go all the way down this road. With your theory you would have the government set up another system, or agency, some new bureaucracy, to protect black boys.”
Roger nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. And it would be there for any group that has been determined through some established process to be threatened by the very functioning of our society.” Roger tapped his index finger on the glass table. “This idea is not completely foreign. For decades, centuries really, Native Americans have had special rights and exemptions from state and federal laws due to their unique status. The purpose of these special rights as they relate to fishing, hunting, and water access, is to preserve the very existence of their unique culture. African-American boys are also a part of a unique culture that needs protecting.”
“Well, we are coming close to needing to wrap this up. You’ve made some compelling arguments. But it seems to me you’re shifting the problem to the government and the American people when what we have here is really a parenting problem,” the news anchor retorted. “We’ve all heard the stats before—that over seventy percent of black kids are raised by single and overwhelmingly poor mothers.” He rattled off the statistic as though he was reading a grocery list. “Isn’t that the problem? The breakdown in the African-American family. Too many black males simply discarding their own kids. So why is that America’s problem?”
Without missing a beat, Roger said what he believed since he started his human rights practice: “Because America helped create the problem . . .”
“Why not just trust the current system to work the kinks out?”
“Those ‘kinks’ you’re talking about are actually a bias—a bias against black boys, an often subtle but sometimes overt bigotry in our criminal justice system.”
“Bigots in the criminal justice system?”
“No, no! You miss my point—”
The camera narrowed in on the news anchor as he cut Roger short. “We’re out of time. Thank you for sharing your views. We’ll have to have you back on as both the criminal and federal cases move forward.” The anchor shifted his body to another camera and spoke directly into it: “And after the break, we have with us Republican senator Chuck Grassley, who will share his views on President Obama’s signing into law the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.”
Roger snatched the microphone off of his lapel. He never believed the criminal justice system is made up of bigots. The problem was a vicious cycle of ignoring the facts; pretending to not see that the prisons are flooded with brown faces and the consequences it’s having on an entire community.
Calvin reached over and patted his back.
“It was a good interview,” Janae finally said.
This time Roger rolled his eyes with about as much attitude as two black women with sore feet.
Janae looked at him and burst out laughing. “Excuse you,” she said with her hand on her hip and a smile that stretched over her entire face. She was beaming.
Calvin joined in, and then Roger, if a little reluctantly, and soon the three were in a fit of laughter. A few CNN employees stood up from low cubicle walls to see what all the ruckus was about. One uptight woman looked at them disapprovingly and had the nerve to point to an exit sign about fifty feet away. Her actions made Janae laugh all the louder as she turned her back to the woman, whose eyes were now bulging.
Suddenly, Janae got unnaturally quiet. How could she be laughing about anything with Malik locked up?
“Janae, are you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Roger said as his laughter subsided to bursts of low giggles.
She shrugged her shoulders. “No, I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” She was a lousy liar. She wrung her hands together and then began to smooth out her dress, purposely avoiding eye contact with Calvin and Roger.
Calvin placed his hand on her petite shoulder. “We still have the hearing in a few days, and I am still determined to win it.” He smiled. “When we get back to Philly, we’ll talk to your friend’s sister.” He paused, his finger pressed against his lips. “Tameka! That’s it. We’ll talk to Tameka’s sister.”
Janae offered a weak smile, noticing that he had a good memory.
Roger gritted his teeth with renewed energy. “I agree with Calvin. We might have gotten a little roughed up by that asshole, but we will stay the course, all the way.” He swung his right arm in the air like a fairy godmother granting a wish. “Everything is going to work out. You’ll have your son, and Lady Justice will begin to lose her damn eyesight.”
Chapter Nineteen
JANAE AND CALVIN PULLED ONTO PARKSIDE AVENUE IN PHILLY AT JUST after two thirty. She had always wished she lived on this block because it bordered the park. The trees were bare now, but during the summer they were a lush green. If you just focus on what’s in front of you everything else just falls away.
Very little conversation passed between Janae and Calvin since Roger left them at Amtrak’s 30th Street Station’s platform, even though Calvin tried.
Janae felt ill at ease with Calvin, what with his education, his expensive suits, his manicured
nails, and his hair so precise, so fresh, it looked like he just got up from the barber’s chair.
“Just so you know”—and she spoke as if she was continuing an ongoing conversation—“Kim, the woman we are about to talk to, is on drugs. I’m not on drugs,” she added, her palm pressed to her chest.
“Really?” Calvin’s voice shot up an octave. “That’s good to know.”
Unsure, Janae widened her eyes. “Did you really think that maybe I was?”
“Of course not, Janae. That’s the complete opposite of what I think of you.”
She scanned the area as she unfastened her seat belt. Without the foliage to help disguise the community, she saw the same blight, the same men who lived for the corner.
Janae felt like she owed Calvin an apology for that, or at least an explanation. His presence here magnified everything these men were not. He stood out in a sea of black males like an exotic flower in a bouquet of dead ones.
“I don’t know what is going to happen in there.” She sighed. “Um, Kim has something I need. I need to talk to her. It’s not like she’s my girl. We don’t roll like that or anything. She’s my best friend’s sister. I just need to talk to her.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Calvin said as he tugged on his blazer, releasing the confining hold the seatbelt had on it. He killed the ignition. “I’m fine. Are you?” he said with a raised brow.
“Whatever,” she mumbled, almost too low for him to hear.
When Tameka let Janae and Calvin inside her home, it was clear that she was upset. Her eyes, lips, and nose had all migrated to the center of her face. It was as if she had sucked on lemons all morning. Spending time with Kim was tough for Tameka. It would have been worse if Keith were there: Kim had a way of coming around and disturbing the peace and security Tameka provided for him.
Shortly after examining Calvin, Tameka’s attitude began to loosen. She studied the attorney’s good looks and fine clothes, then glanced at Janae with wide eyes full of expectation.
Janae diverted her gaze, trying to ignore her.
Tameka turned to lead them farther into the house when she nearly knocked over a chair.
“Hi,” she squeaked. “I’m Malik’s godmother, Tameka.” Her smile was so broad it looked like she used every muscle in her head—and some in her gut—to pull it off.
Janae rolled her eyes. He ain’t that damn fine.
“Thanks for making this happen,” he said with a smooth smile.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, it’s no problem. Anything for my girl.”
“Where is she?” Janae asked anxiously.
“She’s in the bathroom. I almost made her keep the damn door open.” She threw up her hands. “We can only hope that she is still in good-enough condition to talk to you.” Tameka turned her back to them and called out, “Kim. Kim. Janae is here. Come on!”
In the past, Kim had had stretches of sobriety that filled Tameka and the rest of their family with hope, but something would always happen, a moment of weakness, a family crisis, that was just too much for Kim to bear. In the blink of an eye it seemed she was back in the grip of her addiction, each time losing a little bit more of herself.
A figure appeared in the living room archway. Kim’s gaunt body and oversized clothes made her look prepubescent, and as if death was hovering over her. She smiled thinly, revealing yellow teeth, and gaps where teeth used to be.
“Hey,” Janae offered. Her eyes fluttered, fighting back tears, as she wrapped her arms around Kim. The drug addict smelled of cigarette smoke, musty, dirty hair, and another odor, the stench of decay.
Kim’s exhausted body sighed deeply in the comfort of Janae’s embrace. Janae released her at Kim’s first effort to pull away.
Calvin moved closer to Janae. His presence was comforting. He extended his hand to Kim, thinking of his own mother. “Hello, I’m Calvin Moore. I’m Malik’s attorney.” His hand competely engulfed hers. “We just want to talk to you about the night of the murder,” he said softly.
“That’s why I’m here,” Kim said with sass, her eyes focused on the floor. Shaking, she moved over to the sofa and sat down.
Calvin followed her. He pulled out a legal pad and pen. “Just start from the beginning and tell us everything you observed that day, whether you think it was important or not, okay?”
“Okay.” Staring at Tameka, she spoke slowly, reluctant to share the details of a life consumed by drugs. “Well, I don’t know . . .”
“Does anyone want something to drink?” Tameka interrupted, nearly jumping off the sofa. “Coffee, tea, water?”
“I’ll have some tea,” Janae said.
“Me, too,” Calvin said. “Thanks.”
Tameka walked out of the room.
As soon as Tameka was out of sight, Kim opened up. “I was on the corner, looking for a way to get a hit. I didn’t have any money, I was just there. If you’re not buying, the dealers don’t want you around. It’s not good, you know, because of the cops. Anyway, they didn’t say anything to me that day. It was like I wasn’t even there. They weren’t the only ones on the corner.” As an afterthought, she added, “Troy and Malik.”
Malik and Troy. Janae had used those two names together as she yelled from her bedroom for them to turn down the volume on the TV. She had used those two names to inquire if they wanted something to eat while they hung out in Malik’s bedroom.
“The news had it all wrong. They made it seem like Troy and Malik were fighting.”
Calvin and Janae looked at each other with hopeful eyes. “They weren’t?” Janae asked.
“Naw. Not really. Troy calt him a ‘pussy,’ and Malik got pissed. Malik pushed him, knocked him down. But Troy was just trying to protect him. I know it,” she said excitedly, like she was in the midst of solving a puzzle.
“Shaun G come around, looking for new guys to do the selling. If the faces change, 5-O don’t know what’s up. Get it?” Calvin nodded in understanding. “Anyway, Malik was, like, new blood. No one had claimed him, and Shaun G wanted him to work for him. But Malik had the nerve to say no. That’s when Troy stepped in. He flagged Malik. Called him a ‘pussy,’ like I said. He told Shaun G he could do better than that. He had to make it seem real. But I could tell. Malik didn’t look like he knew Troy was protecting him. And Shaun G, he don’t like ‘no.’ He’ll kill you.”
Janae nodded ferociously. She breathed deeply as if she had just surfaced from a thousand-foot dive. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, as if taking in something profoundly beautiful. “So what you are telling me? You are telling me,” she repeated, “that Troy was trying to protect Malik? You can prove Malik didn’t do it.”
“Let her finish what she has to say,” Calvin interjected, like a car coming to a screeching stop.
“But she just said—”
“No. Let her finish.”
Janae massaged her brow to soothe the onslaught of an instant headache that pounded wildly there.
“What is your problem?” she snapped. “She just said—”
Before she had a chance to finish, Calvin was on his feet. He took her by the arm and escorted her into the kitchen.
Tameka was busying herself, making beverages for everyone. “Um, I was just about to bring this out to you.”
“Could we have a moment alone?” Calvin said.
“O-kay . . .” she said, and looked at Janae with questioning eyes.
As soon as Tameka’s second foot crossed the threshold, Janae turned to Calvin. “Why are we in here? We should be out there talking to Kim.” She stabbed at the air with her right arm in the direction of the living room. “She just proved Malik’s innocence.”
“No. No, she has not,” he said in a voice that came across to Janae condescendingly.
“But, she just said Malik didn’t do it.”
“No. That is not what she said. That is what you heard. I still haven’t heard anything that I can actually use at the hearing. It’s all speculation—what she feels, what she b
elieves. Let’s allow her to speak, and then, hopefully, we can get something we can use.”
It was as if fire had darted from her eyes and mouth and singed the hell out of him. Speechless, she shook her head, then stepped backwards out of the kitchen, her eyes fixed on his. He followed her.
“Are you ready?” Kim said, enjoying the newfound attention, and shifted herself forward on the sofa as they walked back into the room.
“Troy never threatened Malik with a gun, and Malik damn sure never threatened him. Troy did push Malik and told him to get his punk ass out of there. But I tell you, he only did that for Malik’s own good. After bitchin’ some Malik left. And that’s when things got hot. I was scared shitless. I was afraid to move, scared I might make a sound and they see me. Shaun G told Troy that ‘you messed with my money for the last time.’ He said something like Troy didn’t get to pick and choose who worked for him. That he should just focus on not getting his ass caught by the popo. Anyway, Troy brushed him off. That pissed Shaun G off even more. That’s when he pult a gun out.”
“Whoa,” Janae said.
“Well, he didn’t take it out. He lift up the front of his jacket and a gun was stuffed in his pants. He asked for his shit. Troy passed him a few baggies. Shaun G told him to get off his corner or he was going to blow him away, right there. Troy laughed like he didn’t give a fuck. He mumbled, ‘You trippin.’ Shaun G’s hand was still on the handle of his gun. He looked up and down the street, and then left with his lackeys.”
“So what does all this mean?” Janae blurted.
Calvin was on his feet, hurriedly gathering his things. He tore himself away from his thoughts begrudgingly and looked back at Kim. “Just for the record, did you actually see it? Did you see Shaun G take out Troy?” he asked Kim.
Kim shook her head wildly. “Naw. He threatened to kill him, though.”
“What does all this mean? Can you use any of this?” Janae asked again, robotically.
He raised his right index finger to Janae with his eyes closed. Ideas, arguments, counterarguments were flowing effortlessly through his mind. Calvin had the acumen to create an arrangement of words that could convince even the most rigid of judges.
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