Life

by Sullivan, Leo

  “Last Friday didn’t you testify right here in this courtroom that you bought two to three hundred keys from the defendant? Each purchase was ten to fifteen keys at $20,000 a piece, but today you’re testifying that the most money that you’ve ever made was one hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Davis, that would make it impossible to purchase fifteen keys. Mr. Davis, I think you’re a liar and the truth is not in you.”

  “Amen; the truth shall set you free,” a few members of the church were saying while others applauded. I looked over at the jury and saw faces of comprehension.

  “Objection!” Scandels shouted from the other side of the courtroom as he spread his arms, palms open making a face as if to say, your Honor, you see what she is doing to the witness.

  “Sustained. Ms. Evans, you will refrain from such an aggressive style of cross examining the witness.” Judge Stafford glared at me and then at the courtroom audience. I saw a sheen of perspiration starting to form on Stevey D’s forehead and his jittery movement was starting to get animated like a man sitting on a hot seat. Pressure.

  “Mr. Davis, could you tell the courtroom what it is you intend to get in return for your testimony here today.”

  “Objection! Your Honor, the government has not promised the witness anything in return for his testimony.”

  “Ms. Evans, I hope that you are going somewhere with this line of questioning,” the judge said impatiently.

  “Your Honor, we intend to show that the witness has a motive to make him risk perjury on the stand in the form of a significant reduction of sentence.”

  “Overruled. The witness shall answer the question.”

  “No, I was not promised anything,” Stevey D said, moving around in his chair like he was going to pee in his pants. I could tell that he and Scandels had gone over this. So I tried another approach, more tactful. Casually I strode over to the defense table and retrieved a piece of paper from a folder. Life was watching me with his hand posed under his chin. From the expression on his face I could tell, just like the rest of the courtroom, he wondered what the hell I was doing. After all, he had good reason. The man had placed a million dollars in my bank account. I walked back over to the witness stand, looked at the paper in my hand, frowned at Stevey D and then looked at the jury.

  “I have here in my hand an arrest report. On April 10th it says here you were arrested for conspiracy to traffic in cocaine with the intent to sell to undercover agents while in possession of a firearm. Mr. Davis, you’re a convicted felon, aren’t you?” He nodded his head nervously. “You’ll have to speak up.”

  “Yes,” he answered. He was now sweating profusely.

  I looked at the paper and looked at him again. “You’re in a lot of trouble. Life plus three hundred months in prison.” Stevey D continued to squirm in his chair folding and unfolding his arms. I leaned against the witness stand, up close and in his face.

  “Mr. Davis, are you aware that this court can charge you with perjury if you get caught in a lie?”

  Stevey D nodded his head up and down and croaked a hoarse, “Yes ma’am.”

  “It looks to me like you can’t afford to do any more time, can you?”

  “No,” he said somberly, making a face that looked to me like a silent plea.

  I raised my voice. “Mr. Davis, I’m going to ask you again and you be very careful how you answer this question so that you don’t perjure yourself and get more time in prison. Do you, or do you not, expect to get anything in return for your testimony?” I asked threateningly, the lull and the suspense built with it. All in the courtroom anxiously waited to hear the answer. I could hear the old folks humming penitent mantras in the Lord’s name, a baby cried in the distance. I watched as Stevey D’s eyes skirted across the courtroom in search of Scandels. I saw fear, panic and uncertainty in the dark pools of his eyes. All informants are like human rats when trapped in a corner–they don’t care who they bite.

  “M ... M ... Mr. Scandels told me that if I testified against L, he would reduce my sentence to five years,” Stevey D stammered.

  A cacophony of voices rose from the crowded courtroom. The judge banged his gavel. I looked over at Scandels. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, his once aplomb demeanor now exposed to agitation as he looked up at the ceiling with an expression that read, what else can go wrong?

  I turned and mouthed to the courtroom, “If the evidence doesn’t fit …”

  Vociferous voices returned in singsong chorus, “You must acquit!”

  I turned to the judge, “No further questions Your Honor.” As I strolled back to the defense table I gave my Scandels a triumph glare. Taya and Adrienne stood to great me. I noticed that the older women were careful to mask their excitement, but I could see in their eyes, for a young inexperienced attorney, I did good. They were proud of me.

  I sat down next to Life. He said, “Hope that was very powerful, praise Jesus. One down and 77 to go.” I had to do a second take with Life, lately he had been talking this religious Jesus and God stuff.

  “Your Honor, I would like to request a sidebar,” Scandels blurted out. The judge removed his glasses and massaged the brim of his bulbous nose and looked at Scandels annoyed.

  “What is the purpose of this sidebar?” the judge asked, disgruntled as he looked at his watch.

  “Your Honor, it’s a rather sensitive matter.”

  The judge shook his head dismayed. The judge called for a sidebar. We all approached the bench, both parties, defense and prosecution, jocking for a position. I noticed a few reporters careening forward to hear a bit of juicy gossip. In hushed tones Scandels whispered.

  “Your Honor the press, along with the unusual crowd of spectators in the courtroom, is interfering with my case. It’s like I’m in one of them Black folks’ churches. I can hear them singing and moaning in the background.”

  Judge Statford silenced Scandels with a wave of his hand. Fuming mad, he spoke to Scandels through clinched teeth, the way a father chastises a son.

  “You of all people have let this woman come into my courtroom and make you look like a fool.” In the judge’s rage, he let it be known his prejudice for me and my staff. “You need to find a way to win this case, your very future may be relying on it counselor, and furthermore; let me worry about my courtroom and the spectators. This young woman has just handed you your ass on a silver platter.” With that said, the judge reared back in his chair. End of discussion.

  One of the government’s star witnesses, Tomica Edwards, was scheduled next to testify. *****

  The following morning as the trial was scheduled to begin, the courtroom was packed to capacity as usual. However, that day, I saw a woman that I have always admired, Sister Souljah. She and Nandi were sitting together talking. As soon as they saw me they waved. My heart soared. Sister Souljah is my girl! I can’t remember a moment in my life I was more proud of being a Black woman handling my business. I guess that was around the time Life really started acting strange with this religious thing. He told me that he was giving his life to the Lord, but would then ask me to smuggle him in some Hennessy and something to smoke. I did it on a few occasions. I knew the man was a thug and he may have been running game on me, but I loved him. Besides, I think he was starting to take religion seriously. I knew just as I had planned, Life’s father’s church was having a subliminal effect on everybody like some magical spell. Black spirituality is one of the most powerful forces on this planet.

  As Tomica Edwards entered the courtroom, all eyes turned to her tall and regal beauty. Her amber complexion with long black hair, green cat eyes ensconced in high cheekbones, gave her the kind of exotic loveliness that makes one question the ancestry of her linage. She moved with the graceful confidence of an experienced runway model. However, Tomica Edwards was living proof that looks could be deceiving. I spent many nights going over her criminal records. What I found interesting was she was a lesbian and that she hated men with a passion. Her specialty was boosting everything from fur c
oats to eighteen-wheelers.

  Once Tomica took the stand and was sworn in, the hateful looks that she exchanged with Life made me want to ask what had he done to this woman to make her harbor so much animosity for him. The crux of this case was just how much did she know about Life? Because indeed, if she did know enough, she could by herself put him away for the rest of his life. For the defense she would be difficult, because normally with a lengthy police record like hers you could use it against her. But in this case it would only serve to give credence to her testimony. As I looked on, it was evident from the scornful look on her face, she had a debt to settle against Life and fully intended to.

  Scandels approached the witness stand cautiously, careful not to lose this witness like he did the last one. My assistant Adrienne was to cross-examine her. Earlier that week she confided to me that Tomica’s testimony was going to be the most damaging. The woman simply knew too much about the inner workings of Life Thugstin’s enterprise.

  After a few introductory prologues, Scandels got right to the point. “Do you see the defendant, Life Thugstin, in the courtroom?”

  Before he could get the words out of his mouth, Tomica pointed. “That’s the bastard right there!” I saw Life’s body stiffen with her words. Scandels turned and smirked at me. I noticed the judge smiled, too.

  Scandels had Tomica on the stand for three straight days. She told all. It appeared as if she knew all. She told of how she first met L as he was notorious by his peers, his rise in the dope trade from selling dime rocks to keys. She testified that at one time Life Thugstin had over two hundred people working for him in six different states. At the time he was grossing anywhere from one to two million dollars a day. She told of his lavish lifestyle. He could fly to Colombia if he wanted to in his private jet. He had villas in Brazil, Costa Rica, he owned Lamborghinis and Ferraris. She claimed that the real mastermind was not Life Thugstin, but Trina Vasquez. Tomica’s testimony was devastating. Often I would look over and see Life with his head down praying.

  Afterward, on our turn to cross-examine the witness, Adrienne Greene did everything in her power to crack the imperturbable calm of Tomica. One thing the press and the jury could easily see, this was past a legal battle, this was personal, and for four grueling days Adrienne went at Tomica often to both the objection of Scandels and the scrutiny of the judge’s reprove. With the judge making his intentions known, he was siding with the prosecution. The beautiful Tomica, her stoic demeanor, a lesbian that felt superior to all other women, was too much for Adrienne, and to this day I am sure that was what went through the jurors’ minds. Life was a small time hustler, turned multi-millionaire, that deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison, at least that was the message Tomica was sending to the jury. Once again I couldn’t help but wonder what could he have possibly done to this woman?

  I glanced over at Life. It was the last day of Tomica’s testimony. He had his head bowed in prayer. For the first time, in what felt like ages, I prayed, too, for both of us.

  *****

  I arrived home late that evening after picking my son up from the babysitter across the street. I found an urgent message on my answering machine. It was from my doctor concerning the blood test. He said that he needed to see me immediately.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “We Die Hard”

  – Life –

  I’m locked up and they won’t let me out! I remember sitting in a federal holding cell, wearing a thousand dollar Armani suit, seven hundred dollar Stacy Adam shoes and the weight of the trial weighing heavily on my head. I remember always hearing rappers and wanna be gangstas saying they’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six. That’s bullshit. You’ll never find a federal convict agree to that, in fact, it’s the opposite meaning; they’d rather have trial on the streets. That’s keeping it gangsta. Besides, in the federal system if you have a life sentence your paperwork release date simply states, “DECEASED.”

  About the only bright spot in my trial was the fact that Trina and Black Pearl beat their trial and got all the property and cars back at the Chateau G.P. The feds gave them everything but the money they found hidden underneath the floors. My right hand man, Major, was in the same unit with me. His attorneys were waiting for the outcome of my trial, so they continued to find ways to delay his. I told Major to go on ahead and testify against me, hell, 78 other niggas had done it for a time cut. Major flatly denied my offer, said that this was just the other part of the game and it felt too much like betrayal. Besides, once you start working for the government, it’s a full time job, you become a government rat.

  There was no doubt in my mind that after Tomica’s tell-all testimony, I was going to prison for the rest of my life. I had to give Hope her props, she and the rest of my all female attorneys fought for me. Hope even had a few specialists come testify on my behalf. Black Pearl started writing me as soon as she got out. I never heard from Trina’s punk ass. She got ghost on a nigga.

  One of the specialists that testified on my behalf was a beautiful redbone sista. She seemed to radiate on the witness stand. Her long locks of hair were flowing down her back. Her name was Nandi Shakur. She and Hope were good together, natural. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they were friends. When Dr. Shakur spoke she commanded an aura of authority. I noticed a few of the jury nodded their heads in agreement on the theory concerning socioeconomically crimes and about the environment that was intentionally created by the rich in the exploitation of the poor. She explained how drugs had been placed in the Black community and the fact that whites use more drugs but Blacks are the ones targeted for arrest. Most important, federal judges, prosecutors and some politicians have investments in stocks on prisons. Some of the jurors started taking notes. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I knew the next day USA Today ran an in-depth article with Nandi’s picture in it.

  “The Life Thugstin Defense takes a gamble by using a one-of-a-kind defense never heard of before–the socioeconomical crime theory and how the environment can play a factor in crime.”

  The paper went on to give a detailed synopsis of the trial and just how prudent the theory is. The young Hope Evans was however hailed as an young up and coming legal prodigy. The news-paper compared Hope to Johnny Cochran in his early years.

  *****

  With each day I found it getting harder and harder for me to concentrate on the trial. Hope looked like she was starting to deteriorate right before my eyes, and the media took notice, too. They claimed in one of the tabloid magazines that she was about to have a nervous breakdown due to the lengthy trial.

  *****

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Change”

  – Life –

  Like so many young Black men that find themselves trapped in America’s penal system, I was determined to find a way out, so I reverted to my old ways. They say one of the most dangerous things you can do is to lock a man up and for him to have nothing to do all day but think. And that’s what I did in my cell each day after trial. I found God in my cell and started praising Jesus, too. I knew what I had to do.

  *****

  Holding cells are like New York train stations, only worse. You get in where you fit in. You got dudes sprawled out on the pissy floor, sitting on steel toilet stools and hard benches as well as sleeping under them. The clamor of loud voices is maddening like listening to every scream at the same time. Cigarette smoke bellowed to the top of the ceiling, thick enough to obscure the crude graffiti written on the walls as well as satires about the judge’s mother.

  Finally, the door leading to the holding cells opened, with it came a punctuated pause as deep as a bottomless pit, a protracted silence, the practiced unison of prisoners listening, waiting to hear their name called, as if God Himself were standing at the door choosing who will make it into the gates of heaven. In prison, lawyers are like Gods that work for the devil, only worse, considering a prisoner is dependent on them as the intermediate. That’s where the problem st
arts. Like being in a foreign country without speaking the language. Many a man has signed his name on the dotted lines, after paying a king’s ransom for what he thought would secure his freedom, only to find he has paid a price to do a lifetime. Lawyers are the biggest crooks God ever created.

  We all listened for our names to be called by our attorneys. In the distance the metallic sound of chains, shackles dragging across the cold concrete floor, signal the arrival of another prisoner, another destitute agony to mount in the chaos of madness. Everyone in the cell listens. I strained my ears. Two cells down, I thought I heard my name in hushed tones. I bolted to the cell door accidentally stepping on two people.

  “Shh,” I hissed gesturing with my finger over my lips. Of course they all complied. Over half the federal system is full of informants, snitches eager for a free ticket out of prison.

  I had the most famous case that the State of Florida had ever known. So of course cats in the cell were quiet, acting like it’s respecting me, but I know that they were really ear-hustling for information on my case to get a time cut. In the feds they have an old saying, “You got two kinds of people, those that told, and those that wished they had told.” Those that told will never stop telling even for the sake of their moral integrity. Those that don’t staunchly refuse to compromise their code of ethics, for it is intrinsically embedded in their virility. Real men do not tell on their best friends, family members, wives and kids. They die for what they believe in.

  I peered between the cell bars down the hall. I saw Scandels in a heated conversation, all agitated and animated, talking with his hands raised in the air trying to argue a point. Then I heard another voice that sent chills down my spine. It was a voice that I had not heard in years. It belonged to my nigga Lil Cal. He came back from the penitentiary to do me, to take the stand and testify against me. His testimony would be the coup de grace sending me to prison for the rest of my life. I remembered Hope showing me Lil Cal’s name on the discovery sheet, but I just never thought he would actually rat on me. Shit! I made the crucial mistake of telling him too much, doing too much. I bought his moms a big house, took care of his baby mama and put thousands of dollars in his inmate account. In the process, I left a paper trail that even a blind man could follow.