Defining Moments

by Ben Burgess Jr.

  “Who says I have a problem or need to work on anything?”

  “Your dating history does. No one is ever good enough for you. You find faults in everything. You block yourself from being happy. I’m going to tell you something not to be mean, but as your best friend who cares. I’m not telling you to lower your standards, but if you don’t get it through your head that no guy is ever going to meet every expectation you have, you’re going to end up a lonely, bitter old woman.”

  Gabby scowled at me. I thought she was on the verge of cursing me out, but she didn’t. Her face softened, and she nodded, sat back, and looked like she was really thinking about what I’d said.

  Then Gabby kissed me on the cheek.

  “I had a long day. Make me a drink, Big Head.”

  “I think I got some Captain Morgan in the kitchen. You want a rum and Coke?”

  She nodded.

  After making the drinks, I walked out of my kitchen and saw a trail of clothing sprawled out on my floor. I followed the jeans, shirt, and lace bra and panties set that led to my bedroom and picked them up while juggling her drink in my hand. Gabby was naked on my bed.

  “Why don’t you come over here and let me relieve some of that stress you have?” she said seductively.

  I licked my lips and gulped down her drink. She looked so damn good, but I couldn’t sleep with her. Not yet, anyway. I tossed her clothes to her.

  “I can’t, Gabby. It’s too soon.”

  She sat up. “What? I know you’re not gonna pass this up, pining over some silly white girl,” she said, looking deeply insulted.

  I stood in my doorway in silence.

  “Becky is gone,” Gabby said. “She made her choice, and like I’ve always told you, when it came time for her to choose between you and her cushy life, she wanted her life.”

  “She didn’t choose. I made the choice for her.”

  “You did, but where is she, Ben? You told me yourself, she left her key and engagement ring on the coffee table, right?” Gabby shook her head, stood up, and got dressed.

  “I don’t get it, Ben. What does she have that I don’t? I’m practically throwing myself at you, and you’re dismissing me like I’m not shit.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Gabby, I’m very attracted to you. You’re gorgeous, sexy, and smart, everything I want in a woman, but I’m still dealing with my breakup. My feelings for her have nothing to do with race. I don’t think she’s better than you, but while I love you and always will, I’m in love with Becky. If we’re ever intimate again, I want it to mean something special, not just a rebound thing, like our first time was for you. Until my feelings for her fade, it wouldn’t be right for me to fuck you if my heart isn’t fully in it. You mean more to me than that, and you know this already.”

  Gabby’s lips trembled. She didn’t look at me as she got dressed.

  “You going to be OK?” I asked.

  She put on her shades, adjusted her clothes, hiked her purse on her shoulder, and said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Wait.”

  “No. I’m not going to play myself and accept being treated like I’m second best anymore.”

  She walked out of my house without a goodbye. I hoped that wasn’t another relationship I’d fucked up.

  Chapter 41

  Becky

  Mourning

  I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see Ben. I drove to our place, but when I got there, I saw Gabby pulling off in her car. I couldn’t bring myself to knock on his door and have it confirmed that he fucked her ... or worse. That would break my heart. I was sure once she heard I was out of the picture, she’d try to replace me. I decided to go back home. Maybe she already had.

  The editor of Cosmopolitan, Harriot, was pissed that I didn’t show up to our weekly staff meeting or hand in my article this week. I told her I was sick with the flu. In reality, I wasn’t in the mood to be around people yet, and in my mind, heartache totally counted as an illness. I needed to have my article ready by five—and I had nothing on my computer screen.

  Ugh! I couldn’t focus. I needed to get out of the house and take my mind off of Ben. I pulled myself together and forced myself to go to work.

  After breaking down and crying in my cubicle several times, I finished the article I was working on, but even I knew it was shitty. Brooke tried to console me, but it wasn’t helping. I told her everything that led to my breakup with Ben.

  “I know you love him, but the best way to get over a broken heart is to find someone new,” she said.

  “I don’t want anyone else. I love him.”

  “Was he that good?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the sack.”

  “This has nothing to do with sex. Is that the only reason you think I’m with him?”

  “Well, why are you so hung up on him?” Brooke said. “Gabby’s not around. You can be honest. He’s black. Besides him fucking you silly, I can’t see why you couldn’t easily find a quality white guy to be serious with.”

  I looked at Brooke in shock. This time, she couldn’t blame her words on the alcohol. This was how she honestly felt. I couldn’t hold back my anger.

  “Fuck you! You can’t find a decent guy because you’re not even a decent person. People are more than just their race.”

  “Oh, don’t start saying shit you don’t mean,” Brooke said.

  “I mean it. You’re an ugly person inside.”

  “And you’re a pathetic person inside and out. I don’t need your white-guilt-having ass in my life. Do you want to know why your book wasn’t getting picked up? Because no one wants to read about a stupid white woman struggling with her nappy-headed nigger. Your book is going to flop, and you won’t have me to be your shoulder to cry on anymore. Enjoy your life.”

  I had to get out of there. I’d lost my man, and now I’d lost one of my best friends. I couldn’t take any more negativity for the day.

  Chapter 42

  Ben

  D-Day

  “You’re up, kid,” Francis said. “We need you to pull off a miracle. After that Alfieri case disaster, we don’t need another big negative blow to our firm.”

  Francis was seated with the public directly behind the defense table.

  “No pressure,” I said sarcastically.

  Tim waved off Francis’s comment and turned to Reggie.

  “Today’s the first day of the trial. Things might not look pretty, but don’t get discouraged,” he said to Reggie.

  “I’m cool,” Reggie said.

  Reggie leaned over to me. “I’m alone here. None of the executives from my record label are here, not even my manager and agent. I haven’t heard from anyone from the label in two months. I guess they figure I’m finished.”

  I patted his shoulder. “I’m here with you, and I’m going to do my best to make sure you’re acquitted.”

  “All rise for the Honorable Judge Brewer,” the bailiff said.

  The judge stepped up to the bench and looked over the courtroom before sitting. “Please be seated.”

  The jury had eight men and four women. Six were white, four black, and two Hispanic. I didn’t even know if a balanced jury of minorities would be advantageous for the case. I was fucking nervous. With all the information and images that were shown on the news, there was no way this jury would be impartial. They were already looking at Reggie as if he were guilty.

  After the defense and prosecution teams introduced themselves, we went into our opening statements.

  I stood up and looked at Reggie. Fear was in his eyes. I turned around and faced the jury. I took a deep breath and told myself, “I can do this.”

  I began, “Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, during this case, I want you to think.”

  I paraphrased a line that I’d once heard Becky say. “It’s easy to just look at the world in black and white, but life isn’t that simple. Life is in color, and sometimes things aren’t what they seem at first. Right now,
I want you to imagine you’re driving and another car is zigzagging through traffic. The driver cuts you off, and you have words with that driver. Now, imagine you and that same car, later on, get into an accident. Despite being in that dispute, did you want to be in an accident? Did you want to hurt yourself or that other driver? I’m sure pretty much all of you are saying no. My point is, in that situation, you had no intent to harm anyone. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  I took another deep breath.

  “My client Reginald Brown did argue with two of the victims, but murder them—he did not. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and during this trial, I will prove to you that the wrong man was arrested. The killer is still out there, and once I prove that to this jury, I hope everyone does the right thing and acquits Mr. Brown. Thank you.”

  I sat down and felt relieved getting the opening statement out of the way, but I knew this was just the tip of the iceberg. Seeing the solemn look on the jury’s faces, it was hard to read their moods and whether I sparked their curiosity about another man committing the murders. DA Torres stood up from the prosecution table and winked at me. He walked around the courtroom with a swagger of a man who knew he had this case won.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, the evidence clearly shows the defendant holding the murder weapon with the victims’ blood on him. The evidence also shows the defendant’s DNA on the trigger, the slide, and the grip on the murder weapon. Ladies and Gentlemen, this case is open and shut. This isn’t the movie The Fugitive. There is no one-armed man that committed these grisly murders.”

  DA Torres stopped walking in front of the jury and pointed at Reggie.

  “It was that man, Reginald Brown, who did these crimes. The evidence goes on to show that when the first set of police arrived at the crime scene, they were ambushed by the defendant before they could even exit their patrol vehicle.”

  The DA walked over to the evidence table and grabbed the gun that was encased in a plastic baggie. He walked to the jury box and continued.

  “The defendant used this weapon to end the lives of two police officers and a happy couple. If convicted of these heinous crimes, we are asking that Mr. Brown receive a life sentence without the possibility of parole.”

  The first day was disastrous. The 911 operator, medical examiner, crime scene unit, cops, and witnesses were all set to testify.

  First, the DA called up the emergency operator, who played the chilling 911 calls on the night of the murders. Next, the medical examiner explained how the victims suffered when they died. When the crime scene unit testified, photos from the crime scene of Reggie holding the gun, photos of the slain officers, and the couple’s bullet-riddled bodies were displayed.

  I stood and cross-examined the CSU detective.

  “Detective Harbor, were my client’s fingerprints found on the murder weapon?” I asked.

  “The gun is ridged, so that makes it extremely difficult to get a fingerprint off it, so to answer your question, no, his fingerprints weren’t on it,” she answered.

  “Can you please explain to the court the process with which you examined the gun?”

  “We examined the gun for DNA, and we found Mr. Brown’s DNA on the grip and trigger. We used another technique called ‘fuming’ on the magazine, because sometimes, we can find a fingerprint on the magazine.”

  “And were my client’s fingerprints or any other person’s fingerprints or DNA found on the weapon?”

  “Mr. Brown’s fingerprints weren’t found on the magazine, but his DNA was on the trigger and grip. Another man named Kuwuan Mitchell’s fingerprints were found on the magazine, and his DNA was also found on the trigger and grip.”

  The jury and courtroom were all talking after hearing that.

  “Order,” the judge said, calming down the courtroom.

  “Do we have a description of Kuwuan Mitchell?” I asked.

  “He’s a dark-skinned black male. Approximately six feet and 200 pounds.”

  “So, it’s safe to say that Kuwuan’s description is identical to my client’s?” I asked.

  “Your client was at the scene with blood on him, holding the smoking gun,” Harbor said. “Kuwuan Mitchell has never been arrested for killing people. He’s a small-time gun dealer from Harlem.”

  “That’s not what I asked you, Detective Harbor. Now, please, stop tiptoeing around the question.”

  “Yes, they look similar.”

  “Do we know Mr. Kuwuan Mitchell’s whereabouts on the night of the murders?”

  “No.”

  “Has he been labeled a suspect or questioned about the incident?”

  “No. No one has seen him around lately,” she said.

  “So, we have someone who was potentially involved, seeing that his fingerprints and DNA were found on the weapon. Yet, he hasn’t been labeled a suspect, questioned, or searched for?”

  “No.”

  “Could it be that my client’s statement is true, and he didn’t kill those people, but you and your colleagues want him to take the fall for these murders because it’s easier to handle?” I asked.

  “Objection, Your Honor,” the DA said.

  “Sustained,” the judge said.

  “I’ll rephrase,” I said. “Could it be that my client’s statement is true about being at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “I highly doubt it,” Harbor said.

  * * *

  “This looks like a good place to stop for today. We will reconvene bright and early tomorrow morning at nine. Court is adjourned,” the judge, Brewer, said, banging his gavel.

  I sighed.

  “Ben, relax,” Francis said. “We knew the first day would be brutal. Being a successful lawyer is like being a great chess player. You have to study your opponent and use the right strategy. Ben, I have nothing but faith in you to make us all proud and pull out a win for this case.”

  I couldn’t tell if he meant that or if he was just trying to keep my spirits up.

  * * *

  The second day of the trial was just as bad as the first. Officer Mendez, the first police officer on the scene that night, was up first on the witness stand, followed by his partner, Officer Mahoney. Bill’s girl, Sergeant Ebony Williams, took the stand and told the jury the gruesome details about discovering the victims, and the items on the scene that were vouchered. When she was done, I had no questions to ask her. It just didn’t seem right. I could’ve fired off questions to try to trip her up and make her and the officers seem incompetent, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

  Ebony exited the witness stand and cut her eyes at me. I figured she saw me as the devil for representing the guy that had allegedly killed her colleagues.

  When the DA put on the videos from the incident, I knew I had to start being aggressive. I asked the witnesses question after question to trip them up and contradict themselves.

  “Ms. Taylor, are you certain the man you saw that night was my client?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” she answered.

  She looked like a party girl. She wore tight tan pants, and there was a blond streak in her brown hair.

  “How far would you say you were from Mr. Brown when you witnessed what he allegedly did?”

  “He was about a block away from me.”

  “After watching the videos from the incident a few minutes ago, what was the perpetrator wearing?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” the DA said.

  I faced the judge.

  “Overruled,” the judge said.

  “All black, I think,” Ms. Taylor replied.

  The video showed the killer wearing a black and red hat and sneakers, but Ms. Taylor had failed to mention that.

  “Did you noticed anything specific the defendant was wearing?”

  “Nope.”

  “Was the killer wearing boots or sneakers?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “Was he wearing a hat or not?”

&nb
sp; “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “You just watched numerous videos showing the incident a few minutes ago. You can’t remember if he wore a hat or what type of shoes he was wearing?”

  “Nope.”

  The room fell silent. I walked over to the projector and played the grainy video again. I paused it on the clip that showed the killer had on a hat and sneakers.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, as you can clearly see from the video, the killer was wearing a black and red Chicago Bulls hat with matching sneakers.”

  I walked over to a clear picture of Reggie holding the murder weapon and faced the jury.

  “In this picture, it’s clear that my client doesn’t have a hat on, and he was wearing all-black Tims. How is it possible that in a matter of seconds, Mr. Brown was able to change his shoes and ditch his hat?”

  I turned back to Ms. Taylor.

  “I’ll ask you again, Ms. Taylor. We watched the video again, and you just looked at the picture. Are you certain the man you saw that night was my client?”

  She looked confused. “I-I don’t know.”

  I nodded and said, “No further questions.”

  This case was far from won, but I felt like I was at least getting the jury and everyone in the courtroom to start thinking.

  * * *

  The second day of the trial was now over. The angry faces on the jury showed that, despite my arguments, none of them believed for a second that he was innocent. I rubbed my hand over my face. Reggie slumped in his chair.

  “Man, these people think I did it,” he said. “I swear on my life I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “I know you didn’t, Reggie, but we need to prove that to the jury.”

  “So, what are you waiting for?”

  “I’m going to talk to you in a few minutes.”

  He looked at me with uncertainty. “A’ight.”

  Reggie sulked as the court officer walked over to take him back to the holding cells. He didn’t look in Tim’s or my direction when they hauled him off. I didn’t know how I was going to break it to him that we might lose this case.