Life

by Sullivan, Leo

  Life persuaded Marcus to swing, until finally Marcus missed and fell on his butt. My mask was unveiled. As much as I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help but laugh. In fact, all three of us got a good roar out of that. The CO walking by laughed, too. I guess we must have looked like one big happy family. Before I could, Life picked Marcus up and dusted off his pants and placed him on his lap and they played horsy. I looked at my watch, determined to make my exit. Suddenly Life stopped rocking Marcus and just held him in his arms. “Hope, I’m concerned about the case.” He couldn’t look me in the eyes, didn’t want to either, just stared above my head like it was a clock up there or something. I tried to read his mood, the thug nobody knew. I looked under all that brazen gangsterism, underneath all that toughness and I saw a lonely man with dark circles under his eyes. Gone was the glory of the game, only to be replaced by concrete, steel, mail call and the same weekly three course meals. He was still not looking at me, just rocking back and forth with Marcus in his arms.

  “I came to this town with a big money scheme. I should have left a long time ago.” I didn’t know if Life was talking to me or just pondering his thoughts. He paused and looked at the child in his arms.

  “My stepmother doesn’t trust white folks. Neither do I.”

  “It was good you fired your lawyers,” I said. Marcus was falling asleep in his arms.

  “Yeah, I fired them because they were greedy, I could sense that sumpin’ wasn’t right wit them.”

  “I came to tell you that the day you took your anger out on me.”

  “I know, I know. I figured that out after you left. When I heard that you quit your job, I realized then that I made a big mistake,” he said apologetically as his voice softened.

  “I overheard my ex-boss, Scandels, talking to your lawyers. They planned to rig the trial so he could win, and at the same time, bleed you for your money while enjoying all the free press.” I don’t know why I was opening up to this man; perhaps it was because he was the father to my child. Maybe it was because he was a brotha.

  “You said somethin’ bout Lil Cal.”

  “Yes, while I was working for the government I stole your file. In it was the discovery papers of all the people that planned to testify against you at this trial.” Life raised a suspicious eyebrow at what I just said. “Lil Cal is in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary doing a life sentence. He agreed to come back and testify against you in return for a reduced sentence. His real name is Calvin Johnson. You know him?”

  “Yeah, I know ‘em,” Life said, his eyes cast to the floor, hurt written all over his face. “That was my nigga. I bought his Mama a big-ass house, kept his inmate account phat.” I looked away, didn’t want to wallow in his sorrow. Suddenly our little space, our little world inside of a prison visitation room was filled with silence louder than any words that two people can share.

  “Hope, I want you to represent me! Be my lawyer!” Life said it like it wasn’t a question, it was a demand. He completely caught me off guard. The moment lulled. I was sure he was trying to read my expression. Finally I chuckled a strained laugh as fake as the fruit on Grandma’s dining room table.

  “You can’t be serious.” I gestured. He made a face that said, do I look serious?

  “First off, I don’t have the experience for a case of this magnitude, and more importantly, the prosecution is going to file a motion for conflict of interest just to get me off the case because I used to work for their office.” To me it sounded like a lame excuse.

  “You must try,” he said with conviction.

  I’ll admit, I had thought about it. What would it be like to represent a client in one of the biggest drug cases the state of Florida has ever seen?

  “I’ll pay you double what I paid The Nightmare Team 2. Hope, if I’ma die like some fuckin’ caged dog, then at least let me be able to fight back.”

  His words hit deep to the core of my soul, making me feel kind of high, like an adrenaline rush that comes with a fight, a fight for a Black man’s life.

  “Do you know what you’re asking of me?” I asked sternly.

  “Yes I do,” he shot back.

  “If I decide to take your case and they let me, it’s not going to be like your last defense team. This is nothing short of war, and it’s dirty and corrupt. I’m going to have to hire attorneys, investigators, legal specialists such as psychologists and other legal experts, and most importantly, Life?” I called his name with all the sincerity that I could muster and I looked him in the eyes with a cold stare. “If you lie to me, I promise you, I promise you, I will drop you like a bad habit.” He just looked at me as he switched positions moving Marcus from one arm to the other. My child was fast asleep in his arms.

  “I’ll send you a check for a mill.”

  “A mi … mi … million dollars,” I stammered.

  “That’s not enough?”

  “That’s too much. What about taxes? The feds are already trying to nail you for tax evasion.”

  “The money will come from a corporation. It’s all perfectly legal, the same way white folks do it,” he said, as I listened and learned.

  I thought about the billion dollars that Willie Falcon was worth. I thought about Trina Vasquez and how two weeks after Life’s arrest, she was arrested at the New York International Airport with four million dollars in her luggage.

  One thing was for certain, Life definitely had the finances to buy the best defense that money could buy. I did recall reading in one of the confidential dossiers while I was working for the federal bureau, Willie Falcon paid each of his lieutenants 10 percent of each shipment of coke. Each shipment was always valued at over a hundred million. The bureau had an inside informant, a man by the name of Carlos Menendez. He was going to testify that he personally took part in at least five different operations where Life Thugstin imported large shipments of cocaine from Colombia to the United States. About a month ago, Carlos and his family were murdered execution style. Both of his eyes and his tongue were savagely cut out, a warning to future snitches. His wife and two daughters, ages 5 and 3, all had their throats cut.

  I warned Life not to get into any more trouble at the FDC building. He already had been in several fights and assaults. I knew that he wouldn’t listen. I jotted down the address of my new office just as the CO announced the end of the visitation. Maybe I should have hugged him, whispered words of encouragement, but I felt that it was important for me to keep our relationship strictly business. But once again, a nod of the head, a shrug would have to suffice. I took my son out of his arms, and marched out of the door to the sound of my heels on the cold linoleum floor. If knew then what I was getting myself into, I would have never taken the case, United States of America versus Life Thugstin. *****

  Chapter Eighteen

  “A New Beginning”

  – Hope –

  The next day I was at my new office. The movers arrived around

  10:30 in the morning, with the used furniture that I bought from Goodwill.

  It was one of them hectic days, hot and sweaty. Of course, my air conditioner was not working, and there wasn’t enough space in my cramped office for all of these huge men to be maneuvering around me. Someone bumped into me and I turned around to see a handsome guy in a Federal Express uniform. He smiled and began to apologize for accidentally touching me from behind. I shrugged it off because one of the movers mistakenly pushed him into me.

  “You know who Hope Evans is?”

  “That’s me.” I signed my name on the dotted line. He passed me an envelope marked American Yacht Association. I opened it and there was a check for one million dollars in my name. I sat down on a box and heard something break. The guy in the uniform looked at me like I was crazy.

  *****

  The next morning, bright and early, I arrived at the Federal Building downtown. I went inside the clerk’s office and filed a motion that I would be representing Life Thugstin. At the time I thought I was fully aware of the repercussions of what I w
as doing.

  The only real bright spot was the judge would be relieved to learn that Life was trying to hire a lawyer. Whenever a defendant represents himself, it’s always a sure debacle, and I was sure the Honorable Judge Statford was not about to let that happen in his courtroom. The major hurdle now was my ex-boss down at the United States Prosecution’s Office, David Scandels. If he decided to file a motion citing conflict of interest, more than likely I would be thrown off the case. This was too much to bear. Maybe I was stressing, but for the last few weeks I had been feeling ill, could hardly eat and didn’t get much rest. Not to mention the nervous breakdown I had in the parking lot a few weeks ago.

  At last, I arrived home. Crowds of media were camped out in my front yard. I had to honk my horn just to enter my driveway.

  “What the ....” Microphones were thrust into my face as I exited my car. Too many cameras and too many faces. A sea of people 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 reporter asked.

  I ignored him and stepped over a thick television cable cord. I saw a reporter 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 unprofessional for me to discuss the case with you.” I then pointed to the 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 needed 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 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 rustle 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 court?” 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 smart 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 court 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.

  *****

  Afterward I called my girl Nandi Shakur. She was now Dr. Shakur, a professor and pioneer in the study of socioeconomics. I 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 consideration. Nandi agreed to help me.

  *****

  Chapter Nineteen

  “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 sentence,” 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 permission 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 government 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 co
caine 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 walking 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 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 witnesses 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 running 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.