Citycide

by Gary Hardwick

“No shit,” said LaMaris. “I don’t know why we care so much about this kid. We barely know his ass.”

  “It’s not him,” said Bob. “It’s who he knows. I know I’ve been all secret about my shit, but in the Army, they taught us to never tip our hand until we’re ready to roll. This kid is the last thing we need. We got our new crew rolling and everything is cool right now.”

  “I just don’t know about this shit,” said LaMaris.

  “What don’t you know?” said Bob. “You think it won’t work or we shouldn’t be doing it?’

  “The shit is crazy,” said LaMaris. “How we gonna take down iDT?”

  “Just like I said,” said Bob. “We take the game to him.”

  “Ain’t nobody ever even seen this nigga. And he’s been good to us.”

  “For now. But what about next year? The year after? Sooner or later this fool’s gonna turn on us. All this hiding and shit he do. It’s some bitchass shit. He gets us to do all the dirty and he makes the green. Naw, he’s gotta go.”

  Bob could feel LaMaris’s hesitancy. She was a good soldier but she needed motivation.

  “Also,” said Bob, “Rakeif dying made me think.”

  LaMaris turned to him, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

  “He’s gone, just like that.” Bob continued, “and it could have been me or you. No one in the game thinks about the future. We all in denial about how it ends. But we know it ends like Rakeif or in this courthouse. We ain’t gotta go like that but we need to make the future something good, you know. Only way to do that is to be strong.”

  LaMaris looked sad at the mention of her dead cousin. She nodded her head and Bob knew she was back onboard. The game was hard but it called for harder men and even harder choices. Their pact was set. It was them or iDT.

  Just then, an elevator opened and a big crowd of people got off. One of them was a fifty-ish black woman in a business suit. She was a big woman with a lot of makeup and had on enough jewelry to start a small store.

  She walked into the courtroom with urgency followed by a throng of people.

  “There she is. Right on time,” said Bob.

  “Damn, that’s her,” said LaMaris. “That lawyer, the one that’s always on TV.”

  “Reverend Ruth,” said Bob.

  The Reverend Ruth Carter-Johnson was a local activist, attorney and ordained minister. She specialized in saving lost youth. She’d written several books and was a regular on the cable news shows.

  “You know her?” asked LaMaris

  “No, but she knows my aunt who gave her a fat package yesterday,” said Bob smiling. “She’s how we gonna get our boy out of trouble. Then, it’s on.”

  An hour later, the courtroom doors opened up and the crowd spilled out. Bob looked inside and saw all the lawyers and the judge talking in private. Kenjie just sat looking amazed about something.”

  “He copped,” said Bob. “He’s making a deal.”

  “How much time you think he’s gonna get,” asked LaMaris.

  “None,” said Bob. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Kenjie walked out of the courtroom with Reverend Ruth. Bob and LaMaris followed her to the courthouse steps where Ruth held a press conference about saving this latest youth. Kenji stood stunned and said nothing. When she was done, Ruth hugged Kenji and she walked off. One of Ruth’s staff talked to Kenji and gave him a thick yellow envelope, then left. The reporters followed leaving a dumbfounded Kenji behind.

  “Over here,” said Bob waving at the kid.

  Kenjie looked over and recognized Bob. He moved over to them, still looking confused.

  “What y’all doing here?” asked Kenjie.

  “We got Reverend Ruth to spring your young ass,” said Bob. “She got a hook up with some churches to save lost youth such as yourself.”

  “Yeah, they making me work for some church. Shit, I’ll roll with Jesus to keep out of jail any day.”

  “That’s nothing,” said Bob. “It’s rollin’ with us that pays your debt.”

  Kenjie suddenly looked afraid. He was a kid but he knew who they were and he knew the score. “So, what I gotta do?”

  “Nothing for now,” said Bob. “It’s what your sister, Trini, is gonna do.”

  19

  JESSE KING

  Chief Trial Prosecutor Jesse King sat in the courtroom trying to ignore the courtroom buzz and the media as he waited for the jury to return with their verdict. He was calm and assured even though this had been a very tough case.

  For any murder to gain media coverage in Detroit, it had to be a particularly heinous affair. The case of Bluebell Jones had fit the bill easily.

  Bluebell, whose given name was Orindell Jones, was accused of killing mom and pop drug dealers in front of their young kids.

  He’d shot them while they ate dinner from a fast food chicken joint. The police found the man and his wife on the kitchen floor. In a corner, in shock, they found the son and daughter, splattered with blood, clutching each other and shaking.

  The scene was so horrific that it took them an hour to realize the killer had taken the box of chicken with him.

  The case became a sick joke in the neighborhoods. “I’ll have a Bluebell Combo, four wings and two bullets.”

  The chicken franchise had sued to stop the use of its name in the newspaper stories.

  The two kids were witness to the crime but were in such a horrible state, that their testimony would be useless.

  Everyone in the neighborhood knew who had pulled the trigger but no one would testify against Bluebell for fear of reprisal.

  Bluebell had an alibi and had taken the fifth. He admitted knowing the dead couple, which explained his prints and DNA at the scene of the crime. The state was left with very little.

  But then the murder weapon was sent to a police station in the same neighborhood Bluebell worked in. It had been taken apart, wiped and tossed into a sewer but it still had a partial print on it, matching the suspect. That was more than enough for Jesse King.

  Jesse was the head of felony trials for the Prosecutor’s Office, a job that he had earned with a string of impressive wins in major cases. It didn’t hurt that he was also sort of a legend in legal circles.

  Several years ago, Jesse had prosecuted a woman for the murder of former mayor Harris Yancy. Jesse was implicated in the death and had become a fugitive from justice to clear his name. He’d also helped the defendant escape from prison. He’d cleared his name and the real killers were eventually found. Jesse fell in love with that defendant named Ramona and later, he married her. They now had twins, a boy and girl.

  Many of his colleagues told him to make a deal in the Bluebell case but he couldn’t. Men like Bluebell Jones had been terrorizing people in the city since Jesse could remember. If the state didn’t stand up to these men, then everyone was lost.

  During the trial, Jesse tore apart Bluebell’s fake alibi and gave a scenario for the murder that was worthy of Dickens. He often used his own background to show how boys went bad when others didn’t and how it was no excuse to have had a hard life. It was the person that always made the difference, he said. Always, it was character.

  Jesse had held the packed courtroom spellbound as he gave his closing the day before.

  “The family was sitting down to dinner that night,” he began. “They had chicken from the kids’ favorite place. Mom and dad teased their kids and the kids laughed enjoying the game. The door is kicked open and a man walks in and ends their lives in ten seconds. He doesn’t shoot from across the room. He walks right up to the table and does his thing. The kids watch their parents die. They are seven and eight years old. And then ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this monster takes the uneaten chicken and leaves...”

  Jesse knew he had him when he finished. He’d basically told the jury that he had little in the way of evidence, but invited them to consider the likelihood that a family this defendant knew would die so violently and the gun would just turn up out of thin air.<
br />
  Bluebell had finally gone too far. He was almost forty, an old man in the drug game and he was arrogant. To Bluebell, he’d just killed a rival, no big deal.

  “Got a statement for me?” asked a reporter from behind Jesse.

  Jesse turned and saw it was one of the familiar faces from the court beat. He smiled a little, always careful to seek favor with the press.

  “Yes,” said Jesse. “If I lose this case, no one should sleep well tonight.”

  “What about the rumors that you’re going to be appointed judge by the governor?” asked the reporter, whose name was Tom.

  “News to me, Tom. But I like my job too much to take it. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Greta Shankman, the defense, walked over to Jesse’s table. Greta was small and full of energy and one of the best lawyers Jesse knew. He’d tried twice to recruit her but she was a crusader to the core. Also, she made five times his salary easily.

  “What are you boys talking about over here?” asked Greta.

  “Just practicing my victory lap,” said Jesse.

  “Always counting those chickens, huh?” said Greta.

  “You hear that, Tom?” said Jesse. “First she refers to me as ‘boy’ then she makes a chicken joke. Good thing I burned my race card last year or there would be trouble.”

  They all laughed as the sound of the bailiff doors opening made them all look around.

  The bailiff entered with Bluebell Jones. He was in shackles and did his little perp shuffle across the courtroom. He was a thickly muscled man and might have made a fine athlete. He was nice-looking and so when Greta dressed him up in a suit he looked like a football player after the big game.

  The crowd quieted down at the sight of him, then started to buzz again as Bluebell sat at the table, hiding his shackles from view.

  “Duty calls,” said Greta. “Loser buys the drinks.”

  “You’re on,” said Jesse.

  A moment later, the jury was brought in. Jesse tensed a little as he waited for them to be seated. Immediately, several of the women looked over to Jesse. One of the men stared at Bluebell with a blank look. Greta dropped her head a little.

  Jesse smiled. It was over.

  Jesse checked out the jury and sure enough, none of them looked at the defendant. Greta was leaning back in her chair now. She glanced at Jesse and he made a drinking gesture to her.

  The judge came in but it was all formality now. He asked for the verdict, then had it read to the court. Bluebell was convicted on two counts of first-degree murder.

  “Guess I’ll be sleeping good tonight,” said Tom from behind Jesse.

  After he went to the jury and the family, Jesse went to talk to the reporters. He was humble about the case and left them to the real story they wanted from Greta who always put on a show for the press.

  Jesse pulled out his phone and sent his wife a text saying, “another one bites the dust.” He took the familiar walk to the elevators and went up to his offices.

  The polite applause that greeted Jesse let him know that everyone was aware that he’d won his case. He moved along the hallway, stopping a moment to say hello to friends.

  Jesse remembered having one of the cramped offices that the newbies got when they joined the office. Long time ago, he mused. At the end of a hallway, Jesse entered his office. It was bigger than the others but a far cry from what attorneys like Greta probably had.

  Jesse stepped over to his desk, thinking that he just might leave early today. After this trial, he deserved it.

  He stopped short when he saw what was on his desk. There were not many things that filled him with dread in this office but this was one of them.

  He stared at the thin file. It lay on his desk where it had appeared while he was away. He was not fond of thin files because they were not official work and usually it meant political trouble.

  He knew what was inside, just a few pages, maybe a police report, something that he had to keep an eye on. He also knew there was only one person other than his assistant who would dare come into his office and put anything on his desk.

  The source of the thin file was his boss, the current Wayne Country Prosecutor. She knew he was coming off a verdict this morning and she left a little time bomb on his desk.

  Jesse took a can of Red Bull from his little fridge and poured it into a coffee mug. He opened the thin file and read.

  It was the file on the murder of Rashindah Watson and the news articles on the Mayor and his sex message scandal. Also in the file was relevant sworn testimony from the Valerie Weeks case. It was all there, a perjury case against Mayor Patterson.

  He checked the police report and there at the bottom was the signature of Detective Danny Cavanaugh.

  

  Michelle Romano was at first blush an unimposing woman. She was medium height and weight with a tight, narrow face. She had a casual, business-like manner but if you looked properly, you saw a mind that was always working, analyzing and mapping strategy. She was a calculating woman in the best sense. It was this trait that found her in charge of the county’s prosecutor’s office. Two African American candidates had canceled each other out and she had won a narrow victory.

  Romano’s Italian lineage had been good to her. Her hair was long, black and graying nicely and she never had much of an appetite and so she had kept her figure after her two pregnancies.

  She was born into an affluent family. Both parents were doctors. She went to Catholic schools and became a legal superstar at Michigan Law, where she was an Editor of the Law Review.

  Jesse, who had entered law through its ass end, always had to remember this when talking to his boss. She could be professorial and downright imperial at times. He found this to be corny but he never let on.

  “Come in,” said Romano at Jesse’s knock.

  “I assume this is not a joke,” said Jesse referring to the thin file.

  “Certainly not,” said Romano. “It’s an almost text book case.”

  “Except the messages may not be admissible,” said Jesse. “The Mayor had a city account but the phone was his, the private account was merged.”

  “Which means the city paid the bill so it was a public matter,” said Romano standing. “We have an in to get him on this.”

  “Question is, should we?” said Jesse, almost to himself. “This will look like some kind of vendetta.”

  Romano smiled. “This is why the file landed on your desk, Jesse. No one here who knows more about the power of the law and the people who try to subvert it.”

  “I hope that’s a compliment,” said Jesse.

  “It’s a fact,” said Romano. “I know you like the Mayor. I know your wife and his are friendly. I wouldn’t ask you to look into this unless I was sure about your perspective.”

  “You know my perspective,” said Jesse. “Our city needs strong leaders. D’Andre is a strong man. Perhaps a little misguided but he really wants to help the city.”

  “And how is he doing that?” said Romano. “He’s alienated businessmen and redrawn old racial lines. And then he sexually harasses Valerie Weeks, a city employee and then lies about it in court. All the while, he’s bragging about it in text messages to a hooker who turns up dead.”

  Jesse was silent. Her argument was strong. “I did wonder why that hooker was killed like that,” said Jesse. “And the other guy got away. Not the way it usually happens on the street.”

  “You’re not the only one who knows that. The evidence was discovered by a Detective Dan Cavanaugh, you remember him?”

  “Yes,” said Jesse. “Who could forget?”

  “The Mayor’s office closed the case but Mr. Cavanaugh has given us all we need.”

  “But Michelle, you’re going to bring a lot of heat down on us. The Mayor has a lot of friends, powerful friends. I know you’re sensitive about this kind of thing—“

  “I am aware of my past,” said Romano in her regal way. “And the press will recall it, probably
, but it makes no difference.”

  “You were sexually harassed by an old boss. Surely, you can see how that will look, like transference.”

  “I can’t change that,” said Romano. “And it doesn’t mean that I will hesitate to stop the same thing for fear of accusation.”

  “I didn’t mean to say you were biased,” said Jesse.

  Not many attorneys in the office could talk to Romano this way. He didn’t want to insult her but this was a very dangerous and delicate thing.

  “Look, I love working for you, Michelle, you know that. I would take a bullet for you but only if the cause was just. If you want to know what I think, okay. D’Andre is a bit of a hound but it doesn’t mean we have to force him out of office because that’s what we’re really talking about here, right?

  “That’s not for us to decide,” said Romano. “The law Jesse. What kind of leader thinks he’s above the law? He tried to force a woman into sex, paid another for sex and dragged his wife and family and our city through his arrogant cesspool. And let us not forget the other many bouts of arrogance and bullying at his hand. This is why we are here, Jesse, to stand up to power.”

  Jesse was silenced again. He had to admit that part of his affection for Mayor Patterson was that they were both of the same generation. They liked the same music, sports stars and had the same perspective on life. And they were both black men. All of this in many ways made them brothers.

  Jesse also got Romano’s subtle point about character. The faults she pinned on Patterson were the classic traits of a neighborhood thug whose life was all about arrogant selfishness, like the man he had just sent to prison.

  “He has made a few mistakes,” said Jesse sounding a little disappointed. “I was hoping he’d grow into the job.”

  “He hasn’t,” said Romano. “That’s the truth and in the end, the truth compels us.”

  The words stung Jesse. They were his words when he was interviewed in his most famous case.

  “It does,” said Jesse. “But it also asks us to understand that powerful men are never perfect. I’ll take this but not because of what you say. The case is safe with me. I’ll get to the truth,” said Jesse, and suddenly, the thin file felt very heavy. “We’ll have to move fast to get the records we need.”