Life

by Sullivan, Leo

  “That’s bullshit!” I protested to the redneck. They wouldn’t even tell me why. I could tell they were hoping I tried to buck so they could kick the bone out of my ass and say I fell down some stairs. I had my suspicions that maybe Big Mike had something to do with it.

  They placed me into a cell with a Mexican that smelled like he wanted to be left alone. He was locked up for murder. We got along fine, chain smoked all night, while I talked about my upcoming trial. The Mexican could speak no English.

  The next day bright and early, the CO kicked on the door. Scared the shit out of me. He called my name and opened the little slot in the cell door handing me an envelope. He informed me that I had a visit from my lawyer, Hope Evans, but once she learned that I was in SHU again, she became upset stating that she could not bear coming back there again. I looked at the neat woman’s handwriting and opened the letter:

  Dear Life,

  I see you still have the propensity to find trouble or trouble always seems to find you, even when you’re in prison. Don’t tell me you didn’t do anything wrong ... I’ve heard it all before. Whatever the case, I apologize, but I could not muster the courage to drag myself back there to see you with all the chaos and madness, it’s too much like touring a slave ship, only worse!

  Anyway, I just came to update you on your case. I can’t lie to you, this is a rough one. Jurors are a strange group. About as unpredictable as the weather and need I mention Judge Statford is highly pissed to say the least. So I must warn you of all the obstacles, in the event of a hung jury. The government, with its unlimited resources of money and paid informants will go to great lengths to try you again at the cost of millions of dollars. Life, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I don’t think I can make it through another grueling trial, but we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, all we can do is be patient.

  On a brighter note, boy, I want you to know that I fought for you with every fiber of my being, every sinew of my strength. One day after all of this is over, regardless of the outcome, you and I will sit down and I’ll tell you about the birds and the bees, the lies and deception, the birth and the death. I’ll tell why I fought for you till my very last breath. Time is now a thief in the night; he waits for both of us, but only if we lose.

  Emphatically,

  Hope Evans

  Frustrated, I must have read Hope’s letter a hundred times. What was she trying to tell me? What was she saying? My hands began to tremble and then the rest of my body began to shake involuntarily. I balled up the letter in my hands and threw it into the toilet. What the fuck was she talking about? The birth ... the death ... time was a thief.

  I walked over to the window and looked out through the steel bars. The sun felt hot on my skin. The Mexican lay in the top bunk snoring with his mouth open. An angry fly buzzed against the windowsill. I watched him. He was no different than me, he wanted to be free. About the only thing that a prisoner has that the system can’t take away from him is his memories. Mental mementos, everlasting reminiscence like old currency. Cherished times will always retain their value to a prisoner by casting in on all the vivid pictures that will forever be captured on the screen of his mind. I thought about all my luxury cars, the clothes, the bitches, Black Pearl, Trina, Lil Man, Blazack, and always for some reason, the woman, Hope Evans’ face flashed in my mind. Instantly, I regretted taking her through this. Anyone could see the trial was taking a toll on her body. She was thin as a rail and her once beautiful complexion now looked ashen. Once again I cursed, shit! I should have had trial on the streets. I turned to the sound of the food carts. It was brunch time. The Mexican awoke from a dead sleep giving me a startled expression, the kind that said I was standing too damn close. I made a face and tried to smile as if to say my bad. I walked over to the door as the CO put the food trays through the food slot. I gave my food to the Mexican. His long scrubby hair hung askew in his face, for the first time he smiled at me, I noticed his teeth were rotten. I lit up a cigarette and walked over to the window and looked out at the world. I decided right then and there, I’d rather be carried by six than judged by twelve. Come court day I had a surprise for the world!

  *****

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “The Day of Judgment”

  – Life –

  Tuesday, November 11, two days after receiving Hope’s letter, the CO hurried me to get dressed. Again the U.S. Marshals rushed me to the back of a van. They were taking me to the courthouse. To this day I have no idea how the media got wind of my court appearances before my counsel and me.

  As we pulled up to the federal building, I noticed the streets were littered with media vans, trucks and a few huge trailers. Cameras flashed, microphones were thrust into my face, my hair was nappy and I hadn’t brushed my teeth or washed my face. An attractive white woman with a microphone shoved it in my face as I walked past.

  “Your boss, Willie Falcon, was convicted yesterday. If you’re convicted today, do you intend to file an appeal?”

  Momentarily stunned of learning of Falcons’ conviction, I replied, “Lady, I don’t have a boss.” I tripped over the curb, the Marshals stopped me from falling just as cameras flashed. I grimaced in pain as the shackles bit into my ankles with shark’s teeth.

  Five minutes later I was seated around my attorneys. Their smiles looked wry, but yet they welcomed me with warm embraces. I could tell they were having a hard time trying to conceal their fear. That day the courtroom was eerily quiet and nearly vacated. There were none of my father’s parishioners there; in fact, the only Black faces I saw were my defense team. Then it dawned on me, that was the way they planned it. That’s why the judge had them rush me here at this hour without all the fanfare, like some modern day legal lynching. I looked over at the prosecutor’s table, Scandels winked and waved at me. I will never forget that face. I knew right then and there, the fix was in.

  Hope leaned over and whispered into my ear, “The jury has reached a verdict.” Her voice cracked so bad I wondered if it hurt for her to talk. She had a small rash on her bottom lip for some reason and the makeup only seemed to make it look worse. Her face was ashen and looked shrunken. She looked twice her tender age of 26. I tore my eyes away from her. It hurt so bad to look at her, instead I glanced over at the Bible on the table. Black Pearl did as I asked of her and delivered the Bible to Hope. I sat there uneasy as vaguely I could hear the murmur of voices around me. I could feel Hope’s eyes boring holes through me. Finally, I reached for the Bible. She grabbed my wrist, I pulled away and turned a few pages. To my right I could see Scandels watching me intensely. I found Jesus on page four hundred in Psalms. The pistol was just as I had left it. It gleamed in the light. Now it was time for me to serve my God. To serve the Lord in the only way I knew how. I had found God in a prison cell. My God was the will to want to survive, the kind of God that governs self. As I touched the gun I felt that surge of power, that raw energy. If you’re going to die, you might as well take somebody with you. It sounds crazy to the average person, but unless you’ve faced a life or death situation you would never understand.

  Hope tugged at my shirt. I turned and looked at her. Her eyes were tearful. She gulped air and spoke barely audible, “Life ... I’m dying.” She blinked her eyes, a tear fell. “I have no choice in this matter, but you do. The only reason I brought you this Bible is because, whom am I to deny you your freedom when I know the criminal justice system is corrupted, besides what can they do to me, but please, don’t do it.” I could hear the tremor in her voice. Just then the jury foreman entered the room. The judge smiled.

  “Have you reached a verdict?”

  “Yes,” the foreman responded.

  As I sat there in that wooden chair, it felt like a noose was being tightened around my neck, I was having trouble breathing. The jury entered taking their seats. I turned my head to see Black Pearl and Blazack enter the courtroom.

  “Will the defendant please stand and approach the bench.” As I slo
wly rose, I looked between Hope and the Bible hesitantly, my God, Jesus. Please don’t do it, Hope’s voice played in my mind with a continuous echo Life ... I am dying. I swallowed the lump in my throat disregarding the gun and looked at Hope. She’s dying? I walked up to the podium feeling like a slave about to be sold.

  The judge snarled, “Today justice will finally be served and you young man will either pay a debt to society with your life or be set free. I personally have my doubts about you and your character. I will say this, there is a place for you and your kind.” The judge did not disguise his prejudice. “And for the record, the motion you filed for prosecutorial misconduct against Mr. Scandels is being denied, with it goes the motion for mistrial,” the judge said with humor in his voice as he looked over at the prosecutor’s table. Adrienne Greene was on her feet fuming.

  “Your Honor! Under the rules of Federal Procedure you cannot address that issue at a federal sentencing.”

  “Sit down and shut up! If you don’t like it bring it up on appeal with the Eleventh Circuit.”

  “Appeal?!” She scuffed indignantly with her eyebrows knotted in anger. Right then I think it dawned on all of us sitting at the defense table, if the judge was talking appeal, then it meant that I was going to be found guilty. I heard my stepmother’s voice. I turned around to see all the people from the church. The old Black folks piled into the seats, with them came their humming. The judge made a face that usually comes with a curse word. Right then and there I decided, if they were going to take my life then I was going to take somebody with me, that was if I couldn’t escape. I glanced at the back of the courtroom, Blazack shrugged his shoulders as if to say, whatever.

  “Your Honor, may I please get my Bible?” I asked feeling my palms starting to sweat. The judge chuckled like the devil. I’m sure he thought he read fear into my actions, just like the thousands of impoverished Blacks that are paraded in front of him for selling small amounts of drugs and given large amounts time.

  “Yes, you may go get your Bible,” the judge said and then added, “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

  I walked toward the defense table. Hope placed her hand over her mouth as if willing herself not to scream at me to stop. I grabbed the Bible and with it came the feeling of power, like an adrenaline rush, for me the kind that only Jesus can bring. As I walked back to the podium I glanced at Blazack. He nodded at me, whatever.

  *****

  The jury foreman began to read the verdict. I opened my Bible. The old folks were humming the gospel. My heart raced at an accelerated pace. Like I said, I’d rather be carried by six than judged by twelve. I’d rather be dead than spend the rest of my natural life in prison. For me, that was not living. So if it meant shooting the judge in the head in cold blood and taking the jury hostage, so be it. At least I was going out my way, on my terms, and there was the slight chance that maybe I could actually get away.

  “On the first count, conspiracy to traffic cocaine, we the jury find the defendant, Life Thugstin,” as the foreman spoke I slightly aimed the Bible at the judge. “We, the jury find the defendant.” I looked over at Scandels, felt like my hand had a mind of its own. My hand was itching to shoot him first.

  “We find the defendant …” the foreman dropped the paper he was reading from. I had my hand on the gun. Finally he picked up the paper and read, “We find the defendant, Life Thugstin, NOT GUILTY.” The entire courtroom erupted in pandemonium. Black folks acting like Lincoln had just freed the slaves. The judge pounded his gavel frantically. I stood there as if frozen and then glanced back at Hope. The weary corners of her mouth tried to smile but her eyes warned me. This thing was far from over.

  The foreman cleared his throat, looked around the courtroom nervously. “As of count two of the indictment CGE, Criminal Enterprise.” This was the most serious charge–it carried life. The foreman continued, “ NOT GUILY.” Again the courtroom erupted. I closed the Bible and along with it a chapter of my life. I looked over at Scandels, his face was red, he was overcome with grief, like he needed to be placed on suicide watch. The judge pounded his gavel so hard it broke as Black folks ran around celebrating, hooping and hollering. The few reporters that arrived late could only look in. I weaved through the crowd with fake Bible in hand. Someone was trying to hug, touch me, and shake my hand. I searched for Hope. She was nowhere to be found. Finally I was able to reach the table with my lawyers. I saw Taya and Adrienne bent down looking at something on the floor. I walked over and to my utter shock it was Hope lying on the floor with a smile on her face, her ebony eyes were glassy, distant, as if she were looking at something we could not see. I dropped to my knees cradling her frail body in my arms. Taya screamed as she held Hope’s wrist, “Ohmigod! She doesn’t have a pulse!” I gently wiped a tuft of hair from Hope’s face. She smiled up at me, tried to laugh. She coughed. I yelled to the top of my voice, “Pleeeze! Pleeeze! Somebody call an ambulance!”

  As I rocked Hope’s body in my arms tears spilled down my cheeks falling onto her face. “We ...won,” Hope said in barely a whisper.

  “No Hope! No Hope! You gotta stay with me. I don’t want to live without you. I can’t win without you. Noooo!” I wailed as the tears streaked my face.

  “Don’t cry,” she cooed. “Don’t think of it as death. Think of it as life. I did what God intended of me to do. I gave you life, twice ... this trial and bearing you a beautiful son.”

  “Son?” I repeated as I cried.

  “Yes, Marcus is your son,” she said and reached up and feathered my cheek with a delicate finger. Promise me that you will take care of him.”

  “Okaay, okaay,” I droned as I wept sorrowfully. The pain in my chest, I couldn’t describe, it hurt so bad. Why couldn’t God take me? I would have gladly given my life for this woman.

  The entire courtroom had taken on a still quiet. Through blurry eyes I looked up to see Black folks in a circle around me swaying and humming an old dirge. Hope took a deep breath, her very last breath, “I love you,” she said and closed her eyes. She died right there in my arms, in them white folks’ so-called courthouse. She had a victorious smile on her face.

  The medics arrived. Blazack and my stepmother had to wrestle me away from Hope’s lifeless body. *****

  Epilogue

  “The Beginning”

  – Life –

  A year later, I married Black Pearl on August 21. Life is strange. I am still trying to get to know my son. However, Black Pearl and Marcus are inseparable, mother and child. She calls him Lil Man. Black Pearl and Trina are still friends as well as business partners. They design clothes for many companies. One of them is a company called Phat Farm. Blazack is doing time for manslaughter. Ironically they found no body and no evidence, just an eyewitness that saw him abduct a man in broad daylight.

  Tomica, the lesbian that testified against me at my trial–I guess God don’t like ugly. The last I heard, Tomica was strung out on heroin somewhere in New York, in a place called Hell’s Kitchen. Evette, her ex-lover, is still in prison. She calls the house from time to time to gossip with Pearl. Gucci and the rest of Miami’s notorious Oplica Triangle crew went home. They now own a chain of car detail businesses. Major, my all-purpose man that was on the case with me, is doing time in a federal prison in Edgefield, South Carolina. Two months after Big Mike was released from prison, someone caught him at a red light and pumped 41 bullets into his body. One for each person that he testified against. As for myself, I started a non-profit organization called The Hope Evans Scholarship Foundation. It’s designed to help impoverished young Black children make it to college.

  Hope’s death taught me a lot. I no longer refer to Black women as bitches and whores. One of the world’s best kept secrets is, a Black woman gave birth to humanity, and historically, she had been used and abused, history stolen and relegated as just a woman, when in all actuality she was the first “Womb-man.” To date, AIDS is the number one killer of young Black women. Black women are 25 times more likely t
o be diagnosed with AIDS than white women. The leading cause of HIV among Black men is having sex with other men. The leading cause of HIV among black women is having sex with men.

  I’m still trying to survive with this thing called Life.

  THE END!