Eastside

by Caleb Alexander

  The judge cleared his throat. “Now back to the issue at hand. Both sides have your witnesses here and ready to take the stand on Wednesday. If you have to cut holes in a paper bag and place it over your witness’ heads, then I suggest you do so. But be ready on Wednesday! This goes for both sides. This hearing is adjourned!” The judge banged his gavel, rose, and exited the room through a door to the rear of his courtroom.

  Kaufman, standing in the center of the courtroom in his three-thousand-dollar Brioni suit, wheeled and walked to where Travon was seated. “We got this in the bag. We’ll tear her apart and discredit her when she gets on the stand. We’ll either get it suppressed, or have the State so scared to put her on the stand that they’ll dismiss it.”

  “The judge seemed like he was on our side,” Travon told him.

  “Well, he doesn’t like the shit they’re trying to pull. They really don’t have a case, plus, he doesn’t like the DA who’s trying the case. Coonts is a pompous ass.”

  Kaufman gathered his materials. “Last but not least, the judge and I went to law school together, we worked in the same law firm together, we play golf together, and we live two blocks away from each other. Besides that, once I get on the bench, I’ll overturn every God damned case he sends to me.” Kaufman threw his head back in laughter.

  “If I was paying you, how much would it cost me?” Travon asked.

  Kaufman squinted. “This is such an easy case…probably about three hundred grand.”

  “Shit!” Travon exclaimed. “What in the hell were you doing here that day? I mean, what made you take this case?”

  “I was here visiting Judge Weitzer,” Kaufman told him. “I’m not even on the list to do pro bono work. So, when the judge asked me to take it, I knew that there was probably something fishy about this case. Judge Weitzer doesn’t like it when somebody is getting run over. And he doesn’t like prosecutors who try to convict everybody, whether they are guilty or not. A lot of these DAs are just racking up convictions so that when they run for office, they can say how tough they were on crime. The judge doesn’t like that.”

  Kaufman patted Travon on his back. “You’re very lucky, because he’s a good judge and a fair man. So, now that I have answered your question, why don’t you answer mine? You seem like a smart kid; why are you out there getting into trouble? I’m going to get you outta this one, but the next time you might not be so lucky. Next time, you could end up with one of these hanging judges, and some court-appointed lawyer who doesn’t give a shit. Make sure that there isn’t a next time, kid. Anyway, I’ll see you on Wednesday. Stay outta trouble.” Kaufman rose, slapped Travon across his back, and left.

  The Weekend

  A heavyset Hispanic guard hung up the telephone and shouted: “Robinson, visitation!”

  Travon was already dressed and groomed. Tamika told him that she would be coming today, so he had risen early to prepare. He walked to the massive metal door as it slid open, and strolled down the hall to the elevator. When finally it arrived, he climbed on board. There were three others already inside.

  “Visitation?” asked a gruff voice over the loudspeaker.

  Travon nodded. “Yeah.”

  The elevator was already moving.

  “That’s where we’re going,” one of the other men told him.

  The elevator came to a stop and the door opened. A guard was standing at the elevator door with a clipboard in his hand.

  “Robinson, number five; Johnson, number eight; Washington, number fifteen; Garcia, number three,” the guard barked, reading from the clipboard.

  The prisoners walked to a room with numerous glass booths inside. On the other side sat identical booths for each of the visitors. The thick, industrial-strength glass, had thick strands of steel wire running through it. Inside each booth sat a telephone handset for communication with the visitor. Travon lifted his handset and waited.

  Tamika strolled into the visiting room, examining each booth as she passed it. Finally, she arrived at Travon’s booth. She lifted her telephone handset, wiped it off on her blouse, and placed it to her ear. She could see Travon’s lips moving, but could not hear him. She lifted her hand and told him to wait.

  Tamika left her booth and walked into an adjacent stall, where she unplugged the telephone and carried it back with her. She plugged it into the wall and smiled as it came alive.

  “What’s up, baby?” Travon asked.

  “Nothing. How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” Travon replied. “Why do you sound so sad?”

  “I don’t know.” Tamika shrugged. “I guess I just miss you.”

  “I miss you too, baby.”

  “What is the lawyer saying about you coming home?” Tamika asked. “What was all of that stuff about in court yesterday?”

  “My lawyer wants the witness to testify at the suppression hearing, but the prosecutor doesn’t want her to. The judge says that he wants her to testify, so we gotta go back this Wednesday. I can’t wait to see who this bitch is.”

  “What did I tell you about calling women bitches all of the time?” Tamika admonished him. “You picked up that habit hanging around with those boys over there in the Denver Heights.”

  “But, baby, this time I’m right. She is a bitch. A nosy, lying one at that. I didn’t shoot that dude!”

  Tamika nodded. “I know. But you know what? I told you not to go. I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when they said that it was going to be at a nightclub.”

  “I know, I should have listened to you,” Travon told her. “But I will next time. My lawyer says that we are gonna beat this case.”

  “Tre, they always say that. What am I going to do with two babies and a man in prison for life?”

  “You got the money, use it to go to school. Buy the kids some birthday and Christmas presents from me. Bring them to see me every once in a while, and send pictures of them at least twice a year. Things will be all right.”

  Tamika frowned. “That’s not funny.”

  “I didn’t say that it was funny.”

  She pointed her petite, well-manicured finger at him. “You sound like you’re giving up. Don’t you give up on me. I thought you just said your lawyer could beat it?”

  “I thought you just said that they always say that?”

  They shared a laugh.

  Tamika gently banged upon the glass with her tiny fist. “Travon, don’t tease me. You better hurry up and get outta here. I don’t wanna raise two babies alone.”

  “I’ll be out. And after I get out, we are gonna go straight to the courthouse and get married.”

  “I don’t wanna hear any jailhouse promises.”

  “If I get out, I’m going to marry you. But if I get a lot of time, I love you enough to let you go on with your life and find someone else.”

  Tamika began to sob. “Tre, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. You know I’ll marry you.”

  “I love you, Mika.” Travon lifted his hand and touched the glass. Tamika lifted her hand and touched the glass in the same spot.

  “I love you too,” she said softly.

  They lowered their telephones to the counter, turned, and walked out of their respective booths. He turned and watched as she headed for the door. At the door she stopped, turned, and waved sadly. Travon lifted his hand and waved back. He tried to smile, but only sadness spread across his face. Tamika turned and walked away.

  “Are you Robinson?” a guard holding a large clipboard asked.

  Travon nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You got another visit,” the officer told him. “Use the same booth. You got twenty minutes.”

  Travon turned and walked back into his designated booth. He was puzzled, because he knew that his mom had to work today, and he could think of no one else who would come to see him. Vera, he thought. It was probably his Aunt Vera. He hoped that she wouldn’t become all mushy and begin crying. After his visit with Tamika, more crying was something that
he could not take.

  Red shirts entered the visitation room, and slowly made their way to his booth: Lil Fade, Capone, and Robert Jr. To his surprise, his cousins did not pick up the telephone, Lil Fade did.

  “What’s up, Blood?” Lil Fade greeted him cheerily.

  Travon shook his head. “Ain’t nothing.”

  “I would send you some snaps, but ain’t no need,” Lil Fade told him. “I got some good news for you, Blood. After your court hearing was over, I overheard the prosecutor talking to this bitch inside of this little side office, telling her that she might have to testify on Wednesday. I figured that this was the witness bitch, so me, Capone, and Robert Jr. followed the bitch home. We saw where she lived, and we paid her a little visit. You don’t have to worry about no witness anymore, Blood.”

  Travon turned pale. His stomach became nauseated and he lowered his head.

  “Don’t be so sad, you’ll be outta here next week,” Lil Fade told him. “No murder weapon, no witnesses, no motive, no nothing. Don’t thank me, though. It’s all part of that homie love that I have for you.”

  Travon lifted his head and his eyes met Lil Fade’s. “My lawyer said that we had it beat. You didn’t have to kill her.”

  “Now we know you got it beat for sure,” Lil Fade told him. “Besides, it was my pleasure.”

  Travon shifted his gaze toward his cousins. He searched their eyes for a reason, and pleaded with his own for help. Robert Jr. and Capone both turned and walked away.

  “Now listen to me, Travon. This is the second time I’ve killed for you,” Lil Fade told him. “Now I really don’t mind, because I enjoy it. It’s easy. It makes me feel good. When I have a gun in my hand, I decide who lives and dies. I am one of the gods. Robert Jr., Capone, C-Low, Slow Poke, Quentin, Tech Nine, Lil Anthony, Charlie, Winky, Lil Daddy, Frank, Omar, and Caesar are all gods. It’s part of the game. We kill, and we do it often and without remorse. It’s inside of you to do these things also.”

  Lil Fade shook his head, looked down, and smiled. “I love your family. You have so many killas in your family that I wish I was a part of it. And the greatest killa of them all, was your brother Two Low.”

  Lil Fade lifted a clenched fist and pounded the air. “I know it’s inside of you too, I just have to bring it out. Too-Low was so perfect at it. He’d kill just to try out a new gun. It was his high.”

  Lil Fade pointed toward Travon. “You have the same blood inside of you; you’re going to be my Too-Low. If your brother had been a Blood, we would have been unstoppable together. We would have crushed all other sets. But, he was a WCG, and now he’s dead. That leaves us with you.”

  Lil Fade shook his head and leaned in closer. “Don’t fight it any longer, just flow with it. The more you fight it, the more people I will have to kill in front of you. Just think of it like this: You will kill to save lives.”

  He threw his head back and let out a demented laugh. “I’m going to make you immune to feelings. I’m going to make you indifferent to killing. Indifferent to caring about life and death. If I do it, I’ll kill mercilessly. But if you do it, then at least you will have a say in who lives and who dies. I love BSV, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to put it on top. I need for you to be my Too-Low, I’m going to make you into my Too-Low. When these people release you, I will be waiting for you in the parking lot. We are gonna take a little ride, and I’ll show you how easy it is to control life. We’ll decide who lives and who dies on our way home. I’m going to turn you into one of the gods.”

  Lil Fade slammed the receiver down onto the counter, stared at Travon for several seconds, and then turned and walked away. Travon stood inside the booth with the telephone still to his ear. His entire body was shaking.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Tuesday

  A young African-American guard hung up the telephone. “Robinson! Pack your shit, you’re outta here!”

  Travon rose from his bed and began to gather his belongings.

  “No the hell you ain’t!” a familiar voice shouted from behind.

  Travon fell forward when the unexpected blow struck him on the back of his head. He cried out, rolled over, and immediately began swinging. Fists struck him all over his body. One landed on his lip and split it on the inside.

  “Muthafucka!” Travon shouted. He began kicking desperately. His kicks were landing solidly and his attackers paused.

  Suddenly, one of the attackers leapt over his thrusting legs and landed on top of him, neutralizing his only effective defense. He remembered that he had another one.

  Travon thrust his hand beneath his pillow and felt around until he found his sharpened toothbrush. One of the attackers struck him in his face again, and instinctively, Travon thrust with his toothbrush, striking flesh. He tried to pull his toothbrush free, but it was lodged deep. The room instantly became silent, the only noise a clogged, choking, gurgling sound. He pulled harder, and finally the toothbrush was freed.

  Travon was finally able to shove off the boy on top of him. The second boy saw the blood spewing from his friend’s neck and quickly fled. Breathing heavily, Travon stood and turned toward the remaining boy, now spread out across his bed writhing in pain. It was his childhood friend, Justin Robles, also known as Lil Texas, who lay upon his bed dying. Tears fell from Travon’s eyes.

  “Robinson! I told you to pack your shit! You don’t got time to visit with.”

  Travon turned and faced the six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound, bald-headed guard standing in his doorway. The guard looked at Travon, shifted his gaze toward Lil Texas, and finally, to the bloody shank resting in Travon’s trembling hand. Slowly, Travon closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His thoughts shifted to the children he would never be able to teach how to ride a bicycle. The children he would see take their first steps through a thick prison glass window. The children he would never walk in a park with, fly a kite with, or play football with. Tamika would marry someone else, his children would grow up without him, and he would spend the rest of his days trying to survive on some gladiator farm.

  The guard stepped inside the cell and extended his hand. Travon handed him the sharpened toothbrush. The guard peered into Travon’s eyes and shook his head.

  “I said pack your shit,” the guard told him. “Go to the elevator and tell the muthafucka to take you to the basement so you can process out.”

  Travon glanced over his shoulder toward Lil Texas, who had stopped gurgling, and then turned back toward the guard.

  “I grew up in the Lincoln Courts as an LCG Blood,” the guard said softly. “I know what’s up. I saw them when they ran in here, and I saw Alonzo when he took off outta here. I can pretty much figure out what happened.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and tossed it to Travon. “Wipe the blood off of your lip and throw the handkerchief in the trash can on the way out. When you get downstairs, keep sucking on your lip so that no one sees the bleeding.”

  Travon nodded and pressed the kerchief against his lip.

  “These white folks got enough of us in prison already,” the guard continued. “I’ll take care of this shit, you just get the fuck outta here and stay outta trouble. Get past that gang banging shit real quick too, because all you stupid muthafuckas is doing out there is killing each other. Go on.”

  Travon quickly gathered his belongings and bolted for the elevator.

  Travon was in the last processing cell when he heard the alarm go off. Officers dressed in all black paramilitary gear ran out of the processing area to assist the officer in trouble. He had no doubt in his mind that the officer on the sixth floor had just been attacked by an inmate with a shank. The guard, while fighting for his life, accidentally stabbed the inmate with the shank. The remaining guards continued to process inmates in or out of the facility.

  Once finally processed out, Travon walked to the rear of the processing area, where another guard let him out into the lobby area of the first floor. Travon walked straight to a pay phone where he c
alled Tamika collect.

  “Hello?”

  “Tamika?”

  “Yeah, Tre?”

  “Yeah, baby, it’s me. Listen, I need for you to come and pick me up. Use my car and bring all the money with you. We gotta leave and disappear for a few days. We’ll go to Houston and I’ll buy another car there, then we’ll sneak back into town in a couple of days and stay with your mom while we look for an apartment. I don’t want anyone to know where we live, or what kind of car we drive. We’ll sell the old car when we get to Houston, but the main thing is, we gotta leave right now!”

  “Tre, you didn’t escape, did you?”

  “No, girl! I’m calling from the jail’s lobby area. Just hurry up and don’t let nobody see you, or know where you’re going.”

  “What about my mom?”

  “We’ll call her from Houston; I’ll explain things to her then.”

  “What about your Aunt Vera?” Tamika asked. “Do you want me to go by and get some clothes for you to wear?”

  “No!” Travon shouted into the receiver. “That’s the last place I want you to go! Tamika, I need to disappear. I don’t want Marcus, Darius, or nobody else to know.”

  “Tre, why? I don’t understand what the rush is. What’s with all of this sneaking around?”

  “Tamika, I’m leaving them,” Travon told her. “I’m leaving the Heights. If they find out, they’ll kill me!”

  “What? Who? Tre, they’re your cousins.”

  “Not them, Lil Fade. Just hurry up!”

  “Okay, baby, okay. Just calm down, I’m on my way.”

  Travon slammed the telephone down into its cradle and walked to the front of the lobby, where he peered out of the massive glass windows. Soon, a black coroner’s van pulled up.

  “Shit.” He had forgotten about the body upstairs.

  Travon began to pace back and forth. He sat for a short period of time, and then rose and resumed his pacing. She seemed to be taking forever.