by Leo Sullivan
surrounded me, instantly I thought about my hair, my makeup.
This was the last thing I needed.
How did they find out so fast?
I
wondered.
“Ms. Evans, will you be defending Life Thugstin?”
“No comment,” I responded, as I attempted to trudge
through the herd of media.
“Ms. Evans, with your prior experience with the prosecutor’s
office, what made you want to switch sides and go against your old
office?”
“No comment.”
“Ms. Evans, you’re young, barely in your mid 20s with hardly
enough experience to go up against your old boss, David Scandels.
What kind of defense do you plan to use?” a repor ter asked.
I ignored him and stepped over a thick television cable cord.
I saw a repor ter standing in my garden. Cordially, like every day I
was used to coming home finding a herd of anxious reporters
standing in my yard, I said with a straight face, “I will be more
than happy to talk with you guys, but until something breaks and
I am assigned the case it would be inappropriate and unprofes-
sional for me to discuss the case with you.” I then pointed to the
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reporter standing in my garden, he was short and round like
maybe doughnuts were his first love. “Sir, if you don’t posses a
degree in agriculture I suggest you get off my Magnolias before I
have you arrested for plant homicide.” The reporters roared with
laughter as the he stepped out of the garden like a fat kid that just
got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I couldn’t help but grin
at his antics as blue skies and camera lights flashed, bathing my
body. I finally managed to make it inside my home. Shutting the
door, I just leaned against it. Lord, I was so tired. I knew I need-
ed a check-up and I promised myself as soon as I got caught up on
everything I was going to see a doctor.
The phone rang, eyes bulging I stared at it as if it were a time
bomb.
Reporters.
I thought. I placed my briefcase on the couch
and removed my shoes. On stocking feet I padded over to the
phone.
“Hello?”
“Hope?”
“This is she. May I help you?” I said recognizing the harsh
tone of the voice instantly.
“This is Mr. Scandels, your former employer. What’s this
about you taking the Thugstin case?” There was a pause, my heart
skipped a beat, it felt like the wind was sucked out of me. For the
life of me, I did not know why this white man intimidated me so
much.
“Yes, it’s true,” I heard my voice respond timidly as I gripped
the phone
with both hands balancing my fortitude. Yet from somewhere
in the back of my mind a voice said,
Hope you have spent your
whole life preparing for this, the little Black girl from the Pork and
Beans Projects. You’re a fighter, fight back
!
“Hope, I suggest you withdraw from this case if you know
what’s good for you!” Scandels threatened. Silence, as I grasped the
phone so tight it felt like I could have crushed it.
“David, I have no intention of withdrawing from the case.”
“David?” Scandels repeated, not believing I would have the
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gall to call him by his first name the way that he has always done
me.
“I can have you removed from the case. As you are aware of,
this is a matter of conflict of interest –”
“Whose interest, yours or the court?” I asked, raising my
voice.
“You are not familiar with the logistics of federal law, but I’m
known for
my shrewd courtroom skills.”
“All I know is that in our last conversation, before I left your
office, you threatened to blackball me, so if that is any indication
of your courtroom skills, you’re not playing fair, you’re taking me
back four hundred years,” I said sarcastically. I heard the harsh rus-
tle of air through his nostrils as he breathed his rage into the
phone. Apparently I had struck a nerve. I was trying to play on his
psyche, to bait him, use a strong dose of psychology.
“Are you implying that I’d rather blackball you than face you
in cour t?” he shouted. I took the phone away from my ear.
“I’m only stating the facts as to how you related them to me,
David,” I said feeling my confidence building as I realized I might
have found a hole in his armor. My rival, a man. His weakness, his
ego. A smar t woman has always been able to exploit that to her
advantage.
“I’ll tell you what Ms. Evans,” Scandels said calmer, with more
threat in his voice.
For the first time ever he addressed me by my last name. “I’ll
look forward to seeing you in cour t and making you the laughing
stock of the town.”
“Mr. Scandels, the feeling is mutual.”
He slammed the phone down. I beamed with pride as I turned
and peeked out the curtains. The reporters were gathering their
gear to leave, thank God.
*****
After ward I called my girl Nandi Shakur. She was now Dr.
Shakur, a professor and pioneer in the study of socioeconomics. I
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called in a debt of friendship and asked her to be one of my expert
witnesses. She told me that she had been following the case in the
news. For the first time in my life she let me do all of the talking.
She had no choice. Now I was a professional and this was my field,
criminal law. This case, this trial, was larger than life, bigger than
the both of us. I told her about one of a kind strategy that had
never been used before. I was going to build a defense on what I
was calling a Social-Economic crime, meaning that oppression
and environment, along with the fact that drugs were placed in
the Black community, were factors that had to be taken into con-
sideration. Nandi agreed to help me.
*****
265
Chapter Ninteen
Chapter Ninteen
“Time To Get Ready for Trial”
– Hope –
“Hope! Hell naw! Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”
“Just hear me out.”
“I’ve heard enough. I ain’t pleading guilty to nuttin’.”
“Five hundred grams of powder or less carries a sentence of
five years, but due to your past criminal history they’re going to
add a few more years. The government is asking for a life sen-
tence,” I shouted, grabbing his arm. Our eyes locked like in a
mental standoff. He pulled his arm away from me. I watched as he
caressed the neat crop of waves in his head with his hand, eyes
downcast. A week prior to my visit Judge Statford granted me per-
mission to take the case. The only catch was I was only given three
weeks to prepare for trial. A week had already passed and I was still
trying to prepare a defense that even I had doubts about. And Life
Thugstin was stubborn as hell, just
like the rest of the brothas
caught up in the system. They just did not understand the real
dynamics of law.
I opened his folder and passed him a copy of his indictment,
along with the discovery, a thick folder with all the evidence the
government intended to use against him, including all the wit-
nesses.
“You’re charged with CCE, Continuing Criminal Enterprise.
In order for the government to prove its case against you, the gov-
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ernment must prove, without a shadow of a doubt, that you took
part in a continuing series of violations in which you,” I pointed
a finger at him for emphasis and was surprised to see that I had his
full attention, “were the leader. The government must prove you
worked in concert, with at least five or more other persons, and
obtained a substantial income for over a year. By pleading guilty,
merely selling cocaine powder, the most time it carries is five years,
most importantly, it knocks all the air out of the government’s case
and establishes a leeway to counter attack all 78 witnesses that are
scheduled to testify against you for a reduced sentence.” Silence. I
could tell he was pondering what I said.
“What about my co-defendants?” Life asked.
“Annie Bell, the young lady you know as Black Pearl, is walk-
ing now. She has a slight limp and she lost a lung but she’s doing
a lot better. They moved her from the hospital to the FCI holding
facility for women up on the hill. The government gave her a deal
to testify against you.” I let the words hang in the air, watched his
reaction, felt his anxiety.
“What happened?” he finally asked leaning forward in his seat
his brow furrowed with concern.
“Your friend Annie Bell is a trooper. She told them to kiss her
ass.” Life erupted in laughter as he threw his head back and
slapped his thigh, all I could do was shake my head.
“What about Trina?” he asked after his laughter subsided. At
that moment I saw something on his face, like maybe he had
asked a question that he really didn’t want an answer to.
“Trina and Annie Bell are cellmates. Both of their lawyers told
me they’re ready to go to trial,” I said. Life was looking at me with
an expression of disbelief, like he was sure that Trina was going to
rat on him.
“How much time are they facing?” he asked somberly.
“Thirty years if they are found guilty. All charges dropped if
they agree to testify against you.” Life sighed a whistle through his
teeth. I continued, “A woman by the name of Tomica Edwards,
the woman that set you up at your estate, plans to testify against
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you in order to get a lenient sentence for herself and a friend by
the name of Evette Keys. However, Ms. Keys has sent word by her
attorney that she has no intention of taking the stand against you.
I’ll be honest, I think my staff of attorneys can crush the majority
of the government’s witnesses once they take the stand, but
Tomica Edwards and Calvin Johnson are going to be difficult wit-
nesses to crack.” Life just looked at me with a blank stare. I said,
“ The reason why I want you to plead guilty to the sales of cocaine
is because in law there is such a rule as buyer-seller relationship.
Meaning just because you sold someone drugs doesn’t mean you
employed them making you guilty of CCE kingpin status of run-
ning a continued criminal enterprise.” Suddenly a light bulb went
off in his head as it dawned on him what I was trying to get him
to understand.
“By pleading guilty, I won’t be denying I sold drugs, but only
that I shouldn’t be charged with CCE.”
“Exactly. Most importantly, ever yone that is testifying against
you says you sold them cocaine, or they know you from selling it.
In a sense we could use their testimony to help you.”
“Yo, that’s brilliant, but I have one problem with that.”
“What’s that?”
“What about the conspiracy charge?”
“What about it?” I said making a face. “Under federal law, it
takes two or more persons to conspire.”
“Uh huh, so you’re saying that Tomica and Lil Cal are the only
two people that seem to be the biggest threat to my case?” I nod-
ded my head. Life sat the folder down and looked at me. His
entire demeanor had changed. I could tell he wanted to ask a ques-
tion, but thought better of it.
“How are you and your father getting along?” I asked. Life
looked at me and frowned as if to say,
what does that have to do
with my trial?
“Dig, we don’t get along. As far as I’m concerned I don’t have
a father.”
“They did a story on you the other night on ABC’s Nightline.
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They said your father was ill, in the hospital with diabetes.”
“Fuck him!”
“What about your relationship with your stepmother?” I
asked, intentionally ignoring his attitude toward his dad.
Life arched his brow, “Hope, what are you getting at?”
“Life you’re going to have to trust me on this. I have a plan. I
want you to tell your step mom to bring the church here, in a
show of support for your trial.”
“Whaat!”
“Listen, you have to trust me on this. By nature Black people
are spiritual people, soulful people. Whites have always been
intimidated by this.”
“Hope, what da fuck dat gotta do wit my damn trial? If you’re
finna try some bullshit –”
“No hear me out!” I said, slamming my fist down on the table
and standing up, wearing my frustration on my face. “As a Black
woman, I have always been hated, discriminated and severely
underestimated for my intellectual talents, told what I can’t do
because I was a poor Black girl from the Pork and Beans projects.
Now I have the knowledge and the wherewithal to beat these peo-
ple at their own game.” Life just looked at me, mouth agape at my
uncharacteristic outburst.
“These white folks are going to do like they have always done.
They’re going to underestimate us and our strategy, and that is our
sole advantage.” I walked over to the window with my back to
Life. We were in the private section of the facility, a small room
designed for attorney/client visits. Today I wasn’t feeling too well,
and as of lately, I had been wearing my emotions on my sleeves.
“So, you’re pretty sure about this, huh?” he asked evenly.
I turned facing him and said, “The only people that we have
to make an impression on is the judge and twelve jurors. From
what I’ve heard Judge Statford is a very conservative judge, some-
times that can be good. So far I’ve hired experts to come testify on
your behalf. One of them is a professor at UGA. She will testify
that people are influenced by their environment.” What I didn’t
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tell L
ife was Dr. Nandi Shakur was my girl and we devised a strat-
egy. I knew that we only had a 2 percent chance of winning, but
we had a chance.
*****
The first day of the trial was eventful. The media was there in
full blast. The place was a frenzy. My staff and I had to be escort-
ed through the rear entrance of the old court building. The day
before, I did an interview on BET and ABC. I was caught up in a
whirlwind of media and its hype. Most days I would be so
exhausted that I couldn’t even eat and I lost a considerable amount
of weight.
On the first day of the trial, I wore a stunning two-piece black
and gold suede Armani skirt suit. I made sure I dressed to impress
and the media quickly took notice. In fact, one of my pictures
appeared in the best-dressed column of the Enquirer. In the paper
I was standing next to Marsha Clark, the prosecuting attorney that
tried the O.J. case.
By the time my staff and I entered the courtroom, it was jam
packed. The section behind our defense table was mostly Black
folks, with only a sprinkle of whites and they were the media, and
I guess a few FBI agents. I could hear a soulful melodic hum, voic-
es, soft like a gentle breeze. As I sat down I turned my head all the
way around and saw all the elderly Black folks swaying back and
forth, some of them had paper fans fanning themselves. For some
reason the courtroom was hot, the air was stale. This was the
atmosphere I wanted. I asked Life to send his father’s church
parishioners, and that he had done. Too many old Black folks will
turn an old courthouse into a church house. Life entered the
courtroom, smiled, as the U.S. Marshals were escorting him. He
pumped my hand, I could feel the raw energy. With his cute dim-
ples and sexy smile, he was the most handsome man in the entire
courtroom. He wore a beige two-piece suit like he was modeling
it.
After we said a few words in hushed tones, I surreptitiously
looked over at the jur y, six women and six men, all white and they
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varied in age. In my peripheral vision, I saw Mr. Scandels. He sat
at the prosecutor’s table with his assistants. The expression on his