Thin Line Between Death and Dishonor

by Amir Sanchez

  “With so much going on, this has really been our first chance to touch base on a few things. I want to start off by informing you that your aunt Consuela was found dead in Cobbscreek Cemetery by an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. I’m sorry for being late to inform you of that, and my condolences go out to your loved ones.

  “Next, we believe that the man who stabbed you and critically injured your cellmate was hired by Black. We believe the lawyer was responsible for arranging it while on an unmonitored legal visit the previous day. He will be charged with witness intimidation and arranging a contract killing, eventually. That matter is still being investigated.

  “Last but not least, your mother was found to be in possession of a weapon . . . the same one that killed Sha’Ron. Murder charges are still pending in that case. As of yesterday, she slipped out of the hospital and has not been seen or heard from since.” The only reason they hadn’t relayed the message to him at the beginning of the meeting was because they didn’t want the news to discourage him from cooperating, nor cloud his memory.

  Gus showed no emotion. He simply registered the information and decided that once he got out of there, he would have time to focus on family and other issues. But for now, he had to do for himself. After the appropriate paperwork was signed and submitted, Gus was released into the custody of federal agents.

  * * *

  After Leaf was booked, processed, and fingerprinted, he was transported over to the Federal Detention Center. While being screened, he was informed that because of the nature of his charges, he was being placed in administrative segregation indefinitely. He was given an orange jumpsuit and placed in a cell by himself. While he waited for an officer to escort him to the hole, he spotted the marshals returning the inmates that went to court that day. When he didn’t see Gus, he became suspicious. Where the fuck this nigga at? I was hoping to bump heads so I could get at his bitch ass. I wonder if one of those marshals will tell me where he at.

  “Ay, Marshal! Why y’all ain’t bring my cousin back over? Gus Santana. He went to court earlier today and ain’t came back yet,” he screamed at the marshal through the side of the door. The marshal looked at a piece of paper he held in his hand before responding.

  “He bailed out today, my man.”

  Leaf was overcome with hatred and jealousy as a result of those findings. How the fuck this nigga always getting out of something? That bitch-ass nigga must got a rabbit foot up his ass. I can’t stand that nigga. I got to get the fuck up out of here, he reasoned with himself. Twenty minutes later, he was escorted up to the hole. While en route to his cell, they passed dozens of other cells. Some of the inmates gave him mean stares, while others banged on their doors and screamed insults or threats. Once he stepped into the cell, the door was secured. He stood there staring around at his small cell, trying his hardest to adapt to the new environment, and possibly his final home.

  Now that he was alone, he had time to reflect on his life. He thought about his brother, the separation of his family, his South Philly homies, Nicki, and most importantly, his mother. He thought about the last conversation he had with her and how odd it seemed. He was worried out of his mind for her. With everything he was going through, it finally got the best of him. For just that night, he separated himself from the gangsta image he portrayed and lived by. Only then did he lie in his bed and cry himself to sleep.

  The Greatest Trick the Devil Pulled? Fooling the World He Didn’t Exist

  Over the course of the next few weeks, there were several new developments in the drug conspiracy involving Black and the Santanas. Ryan McMonagle was not only representing Black, but he had also appointed a private doctor to tend to his injuries. Allegedly, Black had developed a severe case of amnesia ever since coming out of his coma and was supposedly unresponsive to communication. His condition was similar to a person in a vegetative state. In addition to his injuries, he also suffered from paralysis as a result of the spinal fracture. McMonagle had filed numerous motions to keep him out of prison and in the hospital, which were granted with stipulations. He was under twenty-four-hour guard, and no visitors except attorney and doctors were allowed. The feds weren’t buying any of his claims. In fact, they were still aggressively proceeding with preparation for the trial. At a plea hearing on Black’s behalf, McMonagle entered a plea of not guilty, stating that his client’s mental and medical condition made him incompetent to stand trial.

  The anticipated trial was set to begin in three weeks. The case against Black mainly rested on Gus’s testimony. The other incident involving him and Leaf could be justified as self-defense because they invaded his home and initiated the gun battle. Coincidentally, the two were now codefendants. With or without Gus’s testimony, Leaf was finished. They had linked him to several homicides throughout the city, including that of his girlfriend, Nicki. The evidence against him was overwhelming, so their main concern was obtaining a conviction against Black. Federal prosecutors and agents visited Gus for hours on a daily basis and prepped him intensely for the trial. Their intentions were to continue to prep him all the way to the day of the trial.

  B.O.R.E.—Bitch on the Run Eating

  Trying to reestablish herself while on the run proved to be difficult for Connie. The feds were persistently trying to capture her. It seemed like everywhere she went, they caught wind of it and swarmed the place. In some instances, she had only escaped them by mere seconds. Eventually, she was able to find refuge in Willingboro, New Jersey, with her friend, Drea, whom she had done time with in the feds. Drea had the town on lockdown, and Connie was able to put her on an out-of-town connection that supplied good coke at a better price than she was getting . . . And on the strength that, her connection had no problem fronting a large amount of work. In an exchange for the new line, Drea made Connie her partner. Being a veteran hustler, Connie was able to show Drea the ropes and shortcuts to get rich fast. The money was pouring in. Connie had changed her appearance dramatically. She cut all her hair off and dyed it blond. She always wore dark glasses and never traveled unless it was with a licensed driver. To help her cope with her personal family issues, she started to drink obsessively. That and getting money were the only things that allowed her to escape the reality of the fact that she killed her nephew (the wrong one), which led to her sister killing herself. Her son had destroyed the Santana name by ratting. For that, she could never forgive him. She was now on the run from the feds. She knew that it was only a matter of time before they would catch up to her, and she was prepared to declare court on the streets.

  Ever since discovering through the newspaper that Jihad was a rat working for the feds, she refused to involve herself with any other men. They were not to be trusted. Her body felt violated and abused to the same degree as a rape victim. Through newspapers, she also stayed posted on Black’s situation and the claims his lawyer and doctors were making. Her feelings concerning him were extremely malicious. At night, she had difficulty sleeping, knowing that he was still breathing. She couldn’t let him get away with turning against them and almost getting her son killed. Even though she was beyond pissed at her son for ratting, she wasn’t willing to let anybody hurt him. The only person that could ever take him out was herself. She desperately wanted to make Black suffer the most painful death imaginable. And that motherfucking lawyer Ryan had something coming for him too. Had the opportunity presented itself, she would be delighted to carry out her wishes.

  Stand Up, Nigga!

  Over the last few weeks of incarceration, Leaf had adapted to his habitat very well. He had two next-door neighbors who “went hard” (weren’t snitching and were fighting the U.S. Government) and had no problem showing their paperwork to prove it. Once they all discovered they shared the same principles and morals, they got tight and started conversing through the wall. Their names were Shabazz and Shyst. At first, Shabazz thought he was going to have a problem with Leaf because of what he had done to his family, but when Shabazz heard him speak about Gus, t
he hatred and disassociation was obvious. He would call him a rat, faggot, and other insults. They constantly spoke about their regrets of not killing him. But Leaf was more disappointed in Shabazz because he had gotten close enough to do it but couldn’t finish the job.

  Leaf was unaware of any and everything that took place since he was locked up. Not one person had contacted him to inform him of anything, nor did he receive any form of correspondence. He’d been wondering why his mom hadn’t gotten in contact with him yet. He tried calling her once when they let him use a phone, but her phone went straight to voice mail. It was as if everyone had gone ghost on him. With the exception of his arraignment, he hadn’t even seen his court-appointed attorney yet. The system was trying to railroad him by all means.

  One evening, he received his discovery (legal details surrounding a case), and it uncovered some disturbing news. The beginning of the discovery stated how the feds had employed Jihad to infiltrate the family business. Wearing a wire and reporting additional information, they were able to build mountains of evidence against them. As he continued to read, he found out that Jihad was killed, and Gus was ratting, just as suspected. He set the paperwork down so that he could share this new information with his two neighbors.

  “Ay, Shyst! Shabazz! Y’all niggas ain’t gonna believe this. I got my case papers today, and don’t you know this bitch-ass nigga from my hood that used to put that work in was working for the fucking feds the entire time. Somebody killed that faggot a few weeks back. What’s crazy about that is, the nigga was still busting his gun and acting like he was a fucking gangsta. Rat-ass nigga. Then Gus. This nigga was out there doing him, getting money, and pushing that work like it was no tomorrow. When shit got rough, he want to take the easy way out. Niggas don’t just turn to rats overnight; them niggas was born rats. The FBI need to turn their name to the SPCA because that’s all they do is pick up the snakes, rats, and a couple of us cats and dogs. This shit got me mad as a motherfucker, and I’m only halfway through it. I’ma finish reading this shit in a few minutes. What’s up with y’all niggas?”

  “Ain’t shit. I’m over here getting a crazy workout, you heard,” chimed Shyst with his New York accent.

  “Man, I’m over here reading that Thugs and Gangstas by the nigga, Ross. That’s fucked up that you had to find out about the niggas you used to fuck with now that it’s too late to take action. But you know them rats will never be comfortable or successful. They gave up their names and their honor to get out of something they knew was possible to happen while living that lifestyle. They would never look in the mirror and be satisfied with their reflection. Real talk! Go ahead and finish reading your legal work, but feel relieved knowing that your name, reputation, and legend will live forever, regardless of the outcome. That alone will give you a richness of heart that you can cash in on at any given time,” preached Shabazz.

  Though Leaf didn’t respond, the words penetrated his heart and mind and were deeply felt. As he continued his reading, he came across Connie’s warrant, issued for the possession of a firearm by a convicted felon and for the murder of Sha’Ron. Once he saw it confirmed in writing, it made him feel even worse. Had he just listened to Nicki, the events that led up to his arrest would never have taken place. He felt like shit for killing her, and it made him hate his aunt Connie even more. Knowing that she was still on the run only made him more furious with himself. Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, he continued to move along. On the very next page, he came across news that was so sickening that everything in his stomach vomited up violently. He then fell to the floor, crying hysterically. After a few minutes, he crawled over to the door and began punching it with his fist, as hard as he could. He ignored all pleas from his two neighbors to stop and explain what was going on. By the time the responding officers subdued him by using Mace and rubber bullets, both his hands were broken and covered in blood. As they dragged him to the infirmary for medical attention, he wept repeatedly.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” The few threads that kept him together after the death of his brother were no longer of any use. In fact, all the stitches in the world couldn’t sew his heart back together again. He had reached his breaking point. The physical and mental anguish that he suffered from would lead to him being evaluated as a person who developed a severe psychopathic disorder. This illness would eventually persuade him to plea out to multiple life sentences, taking the fight out of him. Insanity was an understatement.

  Where I Need to Be

  Ever since Trish had gotten out of the hospital, Gus had been showering her with affection. He was extrade-licate while touching her and during lovemaking. He constantly expressed how grateful he was to still have her, and how sorry he was that she almost lost her life due to his dangerous lifestyle. She accepted his apologies because she believed that everything he was doing was to put the past life behind and move on with their new life. Gus still had a lot of obligations to fulfill for the government before he could realistically start planning ahead. The beginning of the trial was just a week away, and his performance would dictate his freedom. He intended to cover his part to the fullest.

  The feds made him aware that they possibly would use him in another trial, if the investigation led to charges being filed against Ryan McMonagle for witness intimidation and murder for hire. Gus was willing to do whatever he needed to do in order to maintain his freedom.

  Kalid had survived his injuries and was back in his cell. For his troubles, the feds did follow through and get him his Quran. He also got some time shaved off his sentence and was due to be released in two years. Kalid was still willing to assist the feds in any way possible.

  Time Has Come

  The most anticipated trial of the year started on the first day of summer. The weather was mild and muggy. As expected, over a hundred people showed up to observe the trial. Most were supporters for Black, and others came just to witness a member of the legendary Santana family go against the codes of the street. The courtroom was so packed that there were closed circuit televisions set up in the hallway and in other courtrooms.

  When the U.S. Marshals pushed Black’s wheelchair through the courtroom, those in attendance were shocked at what they saw. The man that they once acknowledged as a boss appeared as if he was in great distress. His hair was unkempt, as was his beard. He had lost a remarkable amount of weight, and his face was emotionless. Some of the people made comments out loud concerning how he looked, prompting the judge to bang his gavel to restore order.

  Opening arguments soon began, where the opposing lawyers fiercely battled for the jurors’ favor. Ryan produced several witnesses, such as doctors, psychiatrists, and other specialists. They all testified that Black suffered from post-traumatic stress syndrome, and that he had experienced a severe memory loss with no recollection of his past life. In response, Joe produced doctors that were employed by the government to challenge and dispute the claims. It was up to the jurors to decide whose testimony was more convincing. Most of the afternoon was spent listening to incriminating wiretap conversations between Black and Gus. There was discussions ranging from murder to extortion, drug dealing to legitimate business. The way Black gave orders over the wiretap, it was clear to see that he was the shot caller of the organization, as well as a close associate to the star witness, scheduled to testify the following afternoon.

  The next day, when Gus entered the courtroom, he was escorted by two federal agents who walked him up to the witness stand. He wore a sharp navy blue business suit, complemented by a pair of eyeglasses which gave him a professional look. After being sworn in, he set out to earn the government’s favor. His testimony was impeccable. Even while under an aggressive cross-examination by Black’s lawyer, he held his ground. His testimony was credible and extremely damaging to the defense, which made the feds very grateful.

  During closing arguments, Black’s lawyer had one final stunt in an attempt to secure a not-guilty verdict. He pushed Black’s wheelchair directly in front of the jury, the
n instructed them to stare Black in his eyes.

  “Tell me, is achieving justice possible in this case? Look at this man. He has the mental capacity of a two-year-old boy. He has to be fed, dressed, washed, changed, and watched twenty-four hours a day. Prison doesn’t provide those services. More importantly, he has no recollection of any of these things which he’s accused of. The law clearly states that a person must understand what he is being charged with, as well as the punishment that is being rendered against him. This man can’t count to one, let alone understand what’s happening right now. Even if you examine the evidence closely, this case is nothing but mere hearsay from a bunch of criminals who entrapped my client, as the government alleges, conspired with my client, and then cut deals with the U.S. Government to save their own tails by going against my client.

  “Did you hear the testimony of Gus Santana? Was it not the most perfectly rehearsed speech you’ve ever heard? Even I couldn’t catch him in a lie or get him to twist his story up, and that’s mighty rare. I hope that you, the people of the jury, do not allow a great injustice to take place on your watch. I thank you for your time and undivided attention,” he concluded before pushing Black’s wheelchair back over to the side of the defense table. His closing left a hell of an impression on the jury, leaving them in deep thought as Joe prepared to give his closing.

  As the seasoned prosecutor approached the jury, he stared each one of them up and down, while walking down the aisle in front of them. He then started clapping his hands sarcastically.

  “Talk about performance. That closing deserves a nomination for an Oscar.”

  “I object, Your Honor,” Black’s lawyer yelled.