A Cold Piece of Work

by Curtis Bunn

  “I know,” Solomon said. “It was so crazy. I remember it so well. It seemed like it was all in slow motion and then again it happened very quickly. Do you even want to go through a trial? I don’t. I know it’ll sound like I want to save the world, but I wonder if those kids are capable of being saved instead of being tossed into the prison system. We know what happens once they get there; nothing.”

  There were few witnesses to be called by the prosecution; Solomon and Michele and the arresting officers. The case could not be more clear-cut.

  Meanwhile, Solomon had not told his parents of the events of that night. When he learned they would be in town during the start of the trial, he was compelled to share. He thought it better to tell them over the phone so they would not have to deal with it while dealing with meeting Gerald.

  “How could you just be telling me this, boy?” Mr. Singletary said. “I understand not telling your mother; she’s overly emotional. But you should’ve told me right away.”

  “My fault, Dad,” Solomon said. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You ever have anything like that happen to you?”

  “I got robbed before,” his father recalled. “I actually was in Chicago, hanging out with some friends a long time ago. I was at a liquor store on the Westside on my way to a party. When I came back out, two guys were waiting on me. Both of them had guns.

  “I froze. Then I tried to talk them out of it.”

  “What? That’s exactly what I did,” Solomon said.

  “Yeah, it was pure instinct,” his dad said. “They still robbed me, but I think I convinced them to just take my money and not my wallet.”

  “Well, those guys acted like they wanted to shoot us, but I started talking and I think to just shut me up, they made us get out of the car,” Solomon said. “Anyway, let me call Ma and tell her now, so hopefully you both can be over it when y’all get here next week.”

  “Oh, my God,” Ms. Singletary said.

  “Ma, calm down; it’s over. We’re fine,” Solomon said.

  “Why do you think it was okay to not tell me before now?” she said. “You’re not too big to get your butt whipped.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “But you’ll be here for the trial, so it kind of works out. But the focus should be on your grandson anyway.”

  Michele wanted to prepare her son for his grandparents.

  “What are you going to tell him?” Solomon said. “He’s already armed with everything he needs to know. We don’t have to worry about him being ready for them. They’d better be ready for him.”

  Solomon left work early that Wednesday and picked up Gerald from school and then they headed to the airport. His son surprised him by having a sign that he made at school for Mr. and Ms. Singletary.

  It was a large, colorful sign created with markers that read, simply: “Hi Grandma and Granddad.”

  “Ah, man, you’re something else,” he said to his son. “They’re going to really like that. In fact, they’ll probably argue over who will get to keep it.”

  “Do you look like your father?” Gerald said.

  “I do, a little bit,” Solomon answered. “He’s not as tall as me, but we have the same complexion and the same nose. I have my mother’s eyes and mouth. So, I’m a mix; just like you are.”

  “I know. I look like you and Mommy,” he said. “So I probably will look like Granddaddy or Grandma, too.”

  “You do,” Solomon said. He was so proud. It made him think for the first time that seeing his father with his son would be three generations of Singletary men.

  It made the conversation with his son that much more meaningful.

  “You know what?” he said to Gerald as they parked the car. “We’re going to go to a studio and have some photos taken this weekend.”

  Gerald smiled.

  “Okay,” Solomon said as they entered the airport terminal. “Can you figure out where we need to go?”

  With his sign in hand, young Gerald was not intimidated. “I remember that we go this way,” he said, pointing beyond the baggage claim. Solomon followed him.

  “This way,” he said, after reading a sign that directed them to flight arrivals.

  Sure enough, Gerald got them to the proper place; the waiting area between the blue and red terminals at Hartsfield-Jackson. At the top of the steep escalator was where people gathered to wait on arriving family and friends. Gerald maneuvered his little body to the front and held up his sign, proudly.

  After two large groups of passengers, up came Earl and Lorraine Singletary. Gerald spotted them from photos right away and held up his sign above his head.

  His grandmother held her mouth and got teary-eyed. She hurried toward him and hugged him tightly. She was in love that quickly.

  “Oh, how’s my baby doing? Look at you,” she said, tears rolling down her face.

  “You look just like your daddy; and your granddaddy. So handsome. Give me a kiss.”

  Solomon and his father embraced while all that was going on. “Son, you look good.”

  “So do you, Dad. How was the flight?” Solomon cut his eyes at his mom, indicating he really wanted to know how they got along traveling together.

  “We didn’t crash, so it was fine,” he said.

  Then he turned to Gerald, who was just escaping the loving grasp of his grandmother.

  “Hey there, buddy,” he said.

  “Hi, Grandpa,” Gerald said as they shook hands, then hugged.

  “We’ve got some catching up to do. I heard you’re a pretty good basketball player,” Mr. Singletary said.

  “And football and boxing,” Gerald eagerly added. “And Dad is teaching me golf next.”

  “Oh, I love it; another big-time athlete,” his grandfather said.

  Solomon hugged his mom. “How you doing, Ma?” he said. He glanced at his dad and said, “How was the flight?”

  “Well, we didn’t crash,” she said.

  Solomon laughed. “Come on, let’s get your bags.”

  Gerald walked between his grandparents and welcomed all the adulation they poured on him. And they were enamored with him.

  In the car ride home, Ms. Singletary asked about Michele. “Mommy is at work,” Gerald interjected.

  “Yeah, she was disappointed that she couldn’t be with us to greet you,” Solomon said. “But she said she wanted to cook dinner tonight.”

  When dinnertime came, Michele provided a delectable spread: fried chicken, mac and cheese, green beans, salad and salmon. She did not have time to bake dessert, so she picked up some treats from Cami Cakes in Buckhead.

  “I like being here with all of Solomon’s family,” she said at the table, after Solomon recited grace. “Solomon didn’t say it, but I could tell he was so excited you all were coming.”

  “This really does feel like family right now,” Solomon said, looking at his mom and dad. “I can’t remember the last time we all sat around a table together and had a meal. I think I was in the twelfth grade.”

  They ignored his observation and focused on Gerald. “When you get out of school tomorrow, we want to take you to the mall,” his grandmother said. “We’re going to shop and have dinner. Just the three of us.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re liking this grandparents thing, huh?” Michele said to Gerald. “Well, they can spoil you for a couple of days. That’s what grandparents do.”

  They enjoyed the meal and the dinner conversation, but no one more than Gerald. He liked his grandparents and the feel of family. When it was time for bed, Mr. and Ms. Singletary walked him to his room.

  “How you doing?” Solomon asked Michele. “You feeling all this?”

  “I’m good,” she said. “You seem so happy to see your parents together.”

  “It’s weird. I like seeing them get along, but I’m almost waiting for an eruption, you know?” Solomon said. “But so far so good. Anyway, how do you feel about being around my entire family?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m c
omfortable. I can’t even believe your parents aren’t together. They get along so well. Maybe they started seeing each other again and didn’t tell you.”

  “No way,” Solomon said. “At the end, they didn’t hate each other, but they hated to be around each other.”

  “You know better than me,” she said. “I observed them and there was no tension in the air. But I could be wrong.”

  “I’m more focused on this court appearance tomorrow,” Solomon said. “You ready?”

  “All I can do is tell the truth,” she said. “It was a long time ago now, but I still have dreams about it.”

  But then she felt like she was dreaming when the trial began. Ray, her cousin, Sonya, and Solomon’s parents were in the courtroom. They heard the prosecuting attorney, Monique Bunch, deliver a strong opening statement that included: “These two defendants, a pair of young men with a history of crime and discord, robbed the two people at gunpoint on a night they should’ve remembered with fond and tender memories all their lives.

  “Less than thirty minutes after Michele Williams informed her boyfriend, Solomon Singletary, that he was the father of her son, Gerald, these two men jumped in their car, put guns to their heads and threatened their lives.

  “Only the grace of God prevented them from firing their weapons and killing these innocent people. They were that close to making a child parentless, and over what? Someone else’s vehicle? Where does such lunacy come from, that these young men not only believe it is okay to forcefully take someone else’s possessions, but threaten to kill them, too?

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, at the behest of the victims, we offered these defendants a plea deal that would’ve required a drug treatment program, and enrollment in a GED program so they could get their high school diplomas while serving three years in prison. I urge that this was the suggestion of the victims, the same people these young men threatened at gunpoint. Instead of accepting these generous terms, they arrogantly rebuffed the olive branch extended to them. That’s why we’re here today. As brazen as they were in carjacking this couple and threatening their lives, they are equally brash and arrogant in preferring a trial when they have been positively identified.

  “Their position is that they are mistakenly identified and that they were sold Solomon Singletary’s car by some friend who has since moved out of town. Amazing, right?

  “Somehow, they expect you to believe these good people have misidentified them. Think about it: Someone puts a gun to your head, you don’t forget their face, do you?”

  It did not seem real to Michele or Solomon that they were sitting at the table at a felony trial, as if they were starring in an episode of Law & Order.

  Michele was the first witness called to the stand. After a few preliminary questions, the lawyer got into the heart of the case:

  Bunch: “That night started out as something special, didn’t it?”

  Michele: “It did. We were at Café Circa and I decided then to tell Solomon he was the father of my son, Gerald. Solomon and I had dated eight years before, but just as I got pregnant, he moved here and we lost contact. We reconnected several months ago. I was nervous that night, but I told him the news.”

  Bunch: “What was his reaction?”

  Michele: “He was shocked at first, which was no surprise. We left the restaurant and sat in the car and talked about it. He was disappointed that he had missed seven years of Gerald’s life, but he was so excited that he wanted to see him that night, even though he was in the bed sleep at my cousin Sonya’s house. He insisted, so we headed to Sonya’s house. When we got to the corner of Moreland Avenue and Hosea Williams Drive, those two young men jumped into the back of the car. It was chaos after that.”

  Bunch: “Can you describe the chaos?”

  Michele could feel the emotion of it all coming back. She took a deep breath. “Well,” she began, “they came in yelling and screaming. The one on the left there, he told Solomon to pull into the parking lot to our right.”

  Bunch: “You’re identifying Quintavious Moss?”

  Michele: “Yes.”

  Bunch: “Did you see his face?”

  Michele: “Yes. I was in the passenger seat and he was sitting behind Solomon. I looked right into his eyes.”

  Bunch: “What happened next?”

  Michele: “Well, there was a bunch of screaming between the two of them. Finally the one behind me pressed his gun up to the back of my head. He said he was going to shoot me. His friend told him to wait because he wanted to get our money first.”

  Solomon watched Michele testify and got angry. He had been able to put the experience aside because there was so much going on with Gerald. Listening to her recount that night reminded him of how scared he was and how angry.

  Michele finished and was then cross-examined by the defense lawyer, Manuel Proctor, a well-known civil rights attorney.

  “So, Miss Williams, if you were sitting in the passenger seat and this defendant, Kenyan Parker, was behind you, as you testified, how could you see his face?”

  Michele: “I didn’t see his face when I was in the car. I saw the other young man’s face.”

  Proctor: “So, as far as you know, he was not in the car.”

  Michele: “The police said he was in the car when they recovered it.”

  Proctor: “That wasn’t my question.”

  Michele: “I didn’t see his face at that—”

  Proctor: “That will be all, Miss Williams... Wait, I’m sorry. Actually, I do have another question. You said you looked into the face of Quintavious Moss. For how long? A second? Two seconds?”

  Michele: “I don’t know, maybe two or three seconds. Could’ve been four or five?”

  Proctor: “In that short amount of time, with all that fear and chaos, as you described it going on in the car, how can you say without question that the person you saw in the car was Quintavious Moss?”

  Michele: “Because I saw him. He had on a baseball cap turned to his left side. He was not clean-cut like he is now. He had braids or locs.”

  Proctor: “Which one was it? Locs or braids?”

  Michele: “Locs.”

  Proctor: “You don’t seem sure, Miss Williams. Anyway, let me ask you one last question. Have you ever had your purse snatched?”

  Michele: “I did, about three or four years ago.”

  Proctor: “Who did it?”

  Michele: “They—the police—never caught him.”

  Proctor: “What did he look like?”

  Michele: “I didn’t get to see his face; he came from behind me.”

  Proctor: “How did you describe him to the police?”

  Michele: “I told them what I saw: a young black male wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with locs hanging under his cap.”

  Proctor: “Do you think all criminals wear locs, jeans and a baseball cap?”

  Bunch: “Objection, your honor. Argumentative.”

  Judge Gore: “Sustained.”

  Proctor: “No more questions.”

  Bunch, standing at the prosecution table: “I would like to redirect, Your Honor.”

  Judge: “You may.”

  Bunch: “Ms. Williams, you said you didn’t see Kenyan Parker’s face when you were in the car. But did you see it after you got out of the car?”

  Michele: “I did. We got out and stood there as they got in the front seats. The young man behind me got in the passenger seat. And he pointed his gun at us as they drove off. That’s when I saw his face.”

  Bunch: “And are you sure it was the defendant, Kenyan Parker?”

  Michele: “No doubt about it.”

  Bunch: “Thank you. No more questions.”

  Solomon was next on the stand.

  Bunch: “Mr. Singletary, you heard the account of Michele Williams. How does yours differ from that night?”

  Solomon: “It’s very much the same. The only difference I can offer is that I not only looked into the eyes of both of those guys right there, I also had a
conversation with them.”

  Bunch: “A conversation? With a gun to your head? What did you talk about?”

  Solomon looked out into the courtroom at his parents. His dad was stoic; his mom was mortified. Michele wiped tears from her eyes.

  “It was more of a back and forth,” Solomon started. “I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to see Michele shot and I wanted to see my son. But as they were screaming for our money and talking about shooting us, I told them to stop. I can’t sit here and act like I remember verbatim what we said to each other, but I told that one right there, Quintavious Moss, who had the gun pointed at my head, ‘Get that gun off of my neck. You don’t want to shoot me and you don’t need to. We’re giving you what you want.’

  “He said, ‘You think we playin’? Gimme your money. Then you’ll see who’s not gonna shoot somebody.’

  “I told him I had just learned that I was a father. He said, ‘What the eff that mean to me?’

  “I don’t know why I did, but I sensed something in him. I said, ‘Look at me, man. You look like my cousin. We can’t keep doing this to each other. Where’s your father?’

  “He said he didn’t have a father. I said, ‘So you want to put my son in that same position?’

  “The other guy, Parker, who had the gun to Michele’s head, he said, ‘Man, eff what he talking about.’

  “I just kept going. I said to him, ‘Look at her. Doesn’t she look like your sister or mother or aunt?’

  “He grew angrier and said, ‘Hell, no.’

  “I said something else about being a father but he didn’t want to hear it. He told Moss to shoot me.

  “I said, ‘Don’t do it. You can take the car and the money. That ain’t necessary. We’re getting out the car and ya’ll can go on. I got to be a father to this kid.’

  “The guy behind me pulled his gun away from me. And it got quiet. We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then he said, ‘Come on, man, let’s go.’

  “The other guy wasn’t happy. He said they had to shoot us. But the young man behind me said, ‘Let’s just go.’ Then he told us to get out. Kenyan Parker said, ‘What? Man, we got to shoot these fools.’