by K'wan
There was a pregnant pause in the room, followed almost immediately by an outbreak of whispers. Keith studied the faces of the jury to gauge the impact of his words. He didn’t need to sway them, only create the shadow of a doubt. Prosecutor Glen looked like he was ready to blow a gasket. As Keith strutted back to Charles’s side, he stopped for a moment at the prosecutor’s table and leaned in to whisper to him, “I hear that crow really isn’t that bad if you drizzle it with a little hot sauce.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Keith came out of the courtroom, leading Charles and his mother, Martha. For Keith’s higher profile cases, there was always some sort of media waiting outside the courtroom, but Charles’s case had been a passion project that nobody had believed in but Keith. There was no fanfare, only the satisfaction of knowing that he had given Charles Johnson a second shot at life.
Keith was standing in the hallway, speaking with Charles and Martha, when his boss, Theodore Hunt, came strutting out of the courtroom. His square jaw was covered in a rich, well-groomed dark beard. Theodore was now in his fifties, but at six feet two inches tall and a shade under 220 pounds, he was still an imposing figure. His broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his tailored black suit. Only a few knew that he got his suits cut especially close about the chest and shoulders to make himself look bigger. When he trolled the halls of their law offices, he gave off an almost ominous feeling.
Trailing him was his pet ferret, Julian Sands, one of the junior partners. He was Theodore’s fly on the wall and keeper of secrets. Julian was an excellent lawyer but a horrible person, and he wore this fact proudly. Most of the lawyers at the firm feared Theodore Hunt, but they unanimously hated Julian Sands.
When Theodore’s dark eyes landed on Keith, the younger attorney straightened himself and waited for his boss’s inevitable critique of his performance in court. Theodore demanded the highest of standards from all the attorneys under him, but he seemed to be especially hard on Keith. No matter what Keith did, Theodore always found something he could’ve done better. Theodore stopped in front of Keith, and much to Keith’s surprise, he simply gave him a curt nod of approval and kept walking. That was the closest Theodore had ever come to complimenting Keith’s work. Keith wished he had a camera to record the rare moment, because when he recounted the story, no one would ever believe him.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my son. God bless you, Killer,” said a teary-eyed Martha, drawing Keith’s attention away from Theodore’s departing back.
“It’s Keith,” he said, correcting her. Killer was a name that he’d buried long ago, and he planned to keep it that way. “And I’d do no less to stand for anybody from the same soil as me. We kin, baby,” Keith told her, letting slip the faintest traces of the Southern drawl he’d worked so hard to suppress. It was an involuntary reflex that sometimes manifested itself when his path crossed with those of people he knew from back home, which was very rare.
Keith was the last person Martha Jones had expected to run into, let alone take up her cause, when her son had gotten into trouble. Her search for representation had brought her into the offices of Hunt, Lehman, and Gold, where she’d pleaded for someone to hear her out about the mess her troubled son had gotten himself into. It had been divine intervention that Keith had happened to be on his way out to lunch as Martha was being stonewalled by the receptionist.
Over a cup of coffee in one of the conference rooms, Martha had laid her troubles at Keith’s feet. Things were tight for her financially, so there was no way she could pay the retainer, but what she lacked in money, she made up for in the belief that her son was innocent. Keith hadn’t seen Martha in years, but they had a history that went back to when he was just a nappy-headed kid in the South, trying to carry a name that was too heavy for his shoulders. He hadn’t even had to think twice about agreeing to take on Martha’s case pro bono. His decision to try to rectify this dire situation, for free, no less, hadn’t earned him any favor with the partners, but Keith didn’t care. He felt Martha’s pain over her son because he, too, was from a demographic in which it was up to women to ensure the survival of their sons.
“We aren’t completely out of the woods just yet, Martha,” Keith said as they stood in the hallway outside the courtroom now. “We’ve got another court date next month, and hopefully, by then this mess will be completely cleaned up, and your boy properly exonerated. Think of this as a temporary reprieve, and until it’s official, I’m going to need Charles to keep his nose clean.”
“You won’t have to worry about that. I’m confining his ass to the house twenty-four–seven. He might not be in prison, but it’s sure as hell gonna feel like it,” Martha said.
“Come on, Mama. I’m twenty. How are you gonna put a grown man on punishment?” Charles asked with an attitude.
Martha’s lips drew back into a sneer, showing the gold cap on one of her incisors. “Don’t you go giving me no lip! You weren’t grown when your ass was in that cell, crying like a baby and begging me to help your monkey ass get out of this mess. Had it not been for Keith’s kindness, you surely would still be rotting in that cell, because I ain’t have no damn money to spring you. If I were you, I’d try to be a little more appreciative, Charles. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Charles said in a soft tone. His mother had always had the power to make him retreat into his childhood ways by simply changing the pitch of her voice.
“Martha, I need to talk to you for a second, and then I need a minute with Charles before my lunch meeting,” Keith said. Then he led Martha out of earshot of Charles. “Listen, Martha, I’m glad I was able to help you, but I’m afraid I’m going to need something from you in return.”
Martha gave Keith a suspicious look. “Killer, I told you before you took the case that I was uptight for money, and you said it wouldn’t be a problem,” she reminded him.
“Keith,” he said, correcting her again. “And it’s nothing like that, Martha. It’s just . . .” He searched for the right words. “I’ve gone through a considerable amount of effort to put some distance between who I was and who I’m striving to be. I have a new life here in Georgia.”
Martha chuckled. “I kinda guessed that when we met at your office that second time.” Martha recalled the morning she had gone to meet Keith at the firm to go over some last-minute details of Charles’s case. His office door had a sign that said K. DAVIS, which had her slightly confused. She had wanted to ask him about it but hadn’t wanted to pry and run the risk of him changing his mind. “We all running from one thing or another, Kill . . . I mean, Keith.”
“I’m not running from anything, Martha. I’m running toward something, and I don’t need anything getting in the way of that, feel me?”
“If you’re worried about me knocking some bones loose from those skeletons in your closet back home, you needn’t be. Keith, you gave me my son back, and you asking for your privacy to be respected in return is a small price.”
“Thank you for understanding, Martha.”
“Something has been puzzling since you agreed to take Charles’s case.”
Keith raised his eyebrow. “And what would that be?”
“Well, I wasn’t being nosy or anything, but I was sitting just in front of your boss, Mr. Hunt, while we were inside the courtroom, and I overheard him talking to the other man he was with,” Martha told him.
“And what was he saying?” Keith asked, preparing himself for whatever dirt Theodore or Julian might’ve thrown on his name.
“I ain’t gonna go into the whole conversation, but from what I hear, you ‘spend more time trying to save babies in the ghetto than you do working the big cases.’ His words, not mine,” she said. “Seems I’m not the only mother you’ve given back her son to.”
“Don’t worry about that stuff, Martha,” Keith told her.
“Oh, I’m not worried, especially since my ghetto baby is one of the ones you were able to help. I was just a little
surprised by it. The Keith I remember from back home was more worried about chasing money and women than helping people. Now here you are, a big-time lawyer who could be making only God knows how much money on these cases, but you leave it on the table to help strangers. Why?”
Keith thought long and hard about it before answering. “I’m paying my blessings forward,” he said simply.
Martha nodded. “Fair enough. Either way, I’m thankful for your mercies, Keith Davis.” She winked. “I’ll be outside. Send Charles out when you’re done with him. I’ve got to get to my second job.” Martha gave Keith one last hug and headed for the exit.
Keith waited until Martha had gone before he walked over to where Charles was standing. Before the young man could open his mouth, Keith had him by the arm and was dragging him to a quiet corner near the vending machines. Charles tried to protest, but Keith’s hand clamped his windpipe, making it nearly impossible for him to speak.
“Shut up,” Keith snarled. His smooth demeanor had vanished, replaced by a hard face and sharp words. “If you open that lying-ass mouth one more time without me telling you to, I’m going to smack the taste out of it. You understand me?”
Charles opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it and just nodded in response.
“Let’s establish two things off the muscle.” Keith released his grip on Charles’s throat. “One, I hate liars, and two, I know you were at that robbery and not in Savannah that night,” Keith revealed to Charles, who was so shocked that his jaw dropped. “Close your mouth, boy. You’re letting the flies in.” He tapped Charles’s chin with his finger.
“Listen, Mr. Davis, I can explain—”
“Please don’t,” Keith said, cutting him off. “You’ve already proven to me that anything that comes out of your mouth is suspect. Let me paint a picture for you, shithead, and feel free to stop me when I’m wrong. Those idiots from your job, who you thought were your friends, concocted this robbery scheme, and even though you knew it was a dumb idea, you went along with them. Probably didn’t want to look like a punk to your boys. Things take a wrong turn, and when the old man resists, one of you panics and shoots him. Now, I’m not sure who fired the gun, but I know it wasn’t you. From the bit of time I have spent around you while working this case, I can tell you ain’t no shooter. You being the weakest link in your crew, it only made sense to pin it on you. You were the most likely to let the DA spook you into going along with whatever he said. The next thing you know, these guys you were so desperate to be accepted by are feeding your stupid ass to the dogs to save their own skins. Sound about right?”
Charles lowered his head in shame. “How do you know I ain’t the one who shot the old man?”
Keith used his finger to lift Charles’s head so they were looking at each other. “Because you ain’t got no stains. I been around killers, Charles, and to the trained eye, them stains burn bright as halogen lamps. You ain’t no saint, but you ain’t slipped to the point of no return just yet.”
“You probably think I’m a punk or something now, huh?” Charles asked, unable to hide the shame in his voice.
“Nah, little brother. Dumb as all hell, but not no punk. You’re just a kid who made a stupid mistake. Ain’t no shame in making mistakes, but there is shame in not learning from them. You’re going to be okay, Charles. I’m sure of it.”
Charles nodded. “Say, man, if you knew all this, why’d you still help me?”
Keith shrugged. “I don’t know. Part of it is because me and ya mama go so far back, but I guess it’s also because I’m tired of seeing young men of color get buried in the system because of stupid mistakes. Believe it or not, I was once young, dumb, and confused. If someone hadn’t taken a chance by trying to save me, maybe I’d be the one sitting in your chair, and there would be no Keith Davis to do for me what I just did for you.”
“I’m going to fly straight, Mr. Davis,” Charles promised.
“Of this I’m sure, because I’m going to be hovering over you to make sure you do. You may not have been guilty of the shooting, but you’re still guilty of being an accessory, and for that, you owe society a debt. I’m going to make sure you pay this debt in full. Come Monday morning, I want you at my office first thing. Report to Susan, my legal assistant. I’m not sure what she’s going to have you do, but I’m sure it’ll be unpleasant. I’m going to pay you two hundred dollars per week, minus forty percent. That forty will go into an account, which we’ll use to anonymously start making restitution payments to the store owner.”
Charles did the math in his head and frowned. “Man, those are slave wages!”
“And it’s still more than what you would’ve made while working one of the prison jobs they’d have offered you. Look, li’l buddy, this is nonnegotiable. If you get it in your mind not to show up for work, I’m gonna come find you and beat the brakes off you, before I turn you over to these white folks you wronged and let them treat you to some Southern justice. Feel me?”
“Yes, Mr. Davis,” Charles replied.
“And, Charles, if you happen to think that ass whipping I promised you is an idle threat, when you get home, ask your mother about Killer from the Lower Ninth. Now get going. I have a lunch meeting to catch.”
Charles turned to leave but stopped short. “Mr. Davis, can I ask you one last thing?”
“Sure, kid.”
“How did you make it look like I was really in Savannah during the robbery?”
Keith chuckled. “Thank the universe for that one, with a little help from your older brother Mike. He managed to get himself arrested that night too. Busted some guy’s jaw in a bar fight near Savannah State and spent the night in the drunk tank. Him being a city employee, his name popping up in the system would’ve cost him his job, so instead, he gave them your name when he was booked. It was a greaseball move, but it ended up saving your ass, so I’d call it even.”
Charles was stunned by the revelation. His older brother Mike was a straight arrow. He had a good job, women loved him, and he had always been popular around town. His mother had always praised Mike for being perfect, but it seemed he wasn’t so perfect, after all. “I guess you learn something new every day.”
“Very true, Mr. Johnson. Now get going, and I’ll see you Monday morning.”
* * *
Keith came out of the courthouse in time to catch a last glimpse of Charles and his mother. She was giving him some last-minute words before opening the car door for him. For good measure, she slapped him in the back of the head as he was getting in the car. She must’ve felt Keith’s eyes on her, because she turned around and gave him a smile before jumping behind the wheel and pulling off. He wasn’t sure, but it seemed that the sun had started to shine a little brighter after her smile.
It did Keith’s heart good to be able to help a family in need, especially one that came from what they came from. Charles reminded Keith of himself in a lot of ways. He had been far more street poisoned by the time he was Charles’s age, but he’d still been just as desperate for acceptance by his peers. It saddened him the way that the judicial system was locking away kids like Charles. These kids acted tough for their friends, but they were hardly built to survive harsh prison conditions, and the psychological trauma of being incarcerated changed them, often for the worse. They went into prison as scared young kids and came out monsters.
A lot of the youth were being written off before they were even given a proper chance, and Keith had made it his mission to help change that. Keith understood that some of the kids were too far gone for him to do much good, but if you caught them young enough, there was still time to rewrite the narrative of their lives. He was a firm believer in second chances, because many years ago he’d been given one, and it had changed everything.
Keith was born and raised on the streets of New Orleans, and he lived a good chunk of his formative years in the Lower Ninth Ward. To say that he wasn’t a handful at that age would be a lie, but he wasn’t quite as far out the
re as the kids he hung around with. When he was a teen, his list of offenses was limited to petty crimes, which he committed in an effort to fit in with his friends more than anything else. His heart was more into books than breaking the law back then. The heavy stuff wouldn’t come until later in his life.
What very few knew in those days—including those teachers for whom he played dumb—was that Keith was a brilliant young man. But where he was from, brilliance wasn’t celebrated. It was targeted. Keith had seen, and sometimes had participated in, the bullying of smart kids in his neighborhood, and he wanted no part of the receiving end of that kind of punishment. It especially wouldn’t go over well with his family, who were considered hood royalty throughout the wards. Being crushed under the weight of family members’ reputations sometimes led Keith to do things he really didn’t want to do just to prove that he belonged.
Keith’s academic brilliance might’ve been lost on his family and friends, but some of his teachers took note. One in particular, Mrs. Winston, stayed on Keith’s back about continuing his education after high school. He’d never put much thought into going to college until she planted the seed in his head. Mrs. Winston was relentless in badgering Keith about not wasting his gifts, and she even went as far as picking him up the morning he was to take his SATs, just to make sure he didn’t back out. He ended up with the highest scores of all the students in three parishes, and this only increased Mrs. Winston’s pressure on Keith to go to college. To him, college wasn’t a realistic goal. He was from the mud, and kids from the mud didn’t get to go to college. They merely survived. Though Keith wasn’t interested in college, he wasn’t thrilled about the alternative, which was going into the family business. He didn’t have the heart to do what his brothers and uncles did, but he reluctantly accepted the fact that it was what was expected of him. That was before the night that would change everything.