Influence

by Carl Weber

  I swear to God, he sounded like he was delivering a public service announcement, like he’d been rehearsing that line in the mirror for years and finally had the chance to put his skills to work. Krush let out such a huge gust of wind I’m surprised it didn’t send Officer Blake stumbling backward.

  “Thank you, Officer,” Krush said.

  “And you,” Blake said, directing his comments to me, “next time you run into an officer, keep that jailhouse lawyer shit to yourself.” He looked at me with a huge smile of conquest on his face. I did not return the expression. Maybe he wasn’t the racist I thought in the beginning, but this experience had not made me a fan of the police.

  “Thank you, Officer,” I said, forcing myself to deliver the words in a respectful tone. “But there won’t be a next time. You can trust me on that.”

  “Sorry about the cuffs, fellas,” Officer Blake said as he and his partner uncuffed us. I felt like a freed captive from a slave ship when Officer Blake removed the cuffs from my hands. “But you all had me outnumbered without backup.”

  We opened our mouths but looked at one another before anyone dared to speak.

  “We understand, sir,” I finally replied in a humble tone. Everyone else nodded meekly in agreement.

  He pointed at the ground. “Now, grab a seat while I write up these tickets and we’ll let you be on your way.”

  The four of us eyed one another and, in unison, exhaled a sigh of relief. We wiped some of the dust off our clothes and the sweat from our foreheads, then sat back on the grass. I’d never been happy to receive a ticket before, but considering the alternative was being arrested, I was grateful and anxious to get that piece of paper in my hand. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

  Before that could happen, a police K-9 SUV pulled up, and a large, overweight black cop stepped out. He looked stern, like he didn’t tolerate any bullshit, as he stared at us sitting on the ground.

  I remember thinking, Shit, I’m glad he wasn’t here five minutes ago.

  “Blake, Collins, you a’ight?”

  “Yes, sir, Sergeant Lanier,” Officer Blake replied.

  “What you got here?” Sergeant Lanier asked. He turned his attention toward us.

  “Just a bunch of kids smoking pot, Sarg.” Officer Blake shooed his hand, brushing the situation off. “Boys being boys. You know.” He shrugged. “I’m citing one for the dope and the driver for reckless driving.”

  “Just a little pot, huh?” Sergeant Lanier’s eyes lit up, and he might as well have been drooling. As minor as the situation may have seemed to Officer Blake, from the looks of Sergeant Lanier, the molehill was about to become a mountain.

  “Yes, sir,” Officer Blake replied nervously. Whoever this Sergeant was, he obviously put some kind of fear in Blake’s heart.

  Sergeant Lanier let out a harrumph as he looked to his comrade. “You run all their names through the system for warrants?”

  Sergeant Lanier remained silent for a moment. Mental wheels were turning in his head; it was evident from the expression in his eyes. Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, my frat brothers and I exchanged concerned looks. I could feel the sweat beads pooling on my forehead again.

  “No, I uh . . .” Officer Blake started. “I didn’t think it was necessary. They’re just college kids, Sarg.” Once again, he downplayed the scenario.

  “Hmmm.” Sergeant Lanier stood in front of Krush, staring at him hard.

  “Is, uh, there a problem, Sergeant?” Blake asked.

  “I don’t know. You tell me. This one here looks more like a gang member than a student.”

  This Lanier person, having only spoken a few words, came across as a . . . an Uncle Tom. And if the use of the N-word wasn’t so offensive, I’d be inclined to suggest he was one of those house ones. Neither one could mean us any good right about now.

  My friends and I eyeballed one another again. Although none of us spoke a single word, our eyes said the same thing: What’s with this asshole?

  Sergeant Lanier walked over toward Officers Blake and Collins with his hands in his pockets, eyeing us suspiciously. I glanced at my boys. We may as well have been riding the largest rollercoaster in the world as green as everyone’s faces looked. I felt like I was about to throw up. There was something about this cop that didn’t sit right.

  “I say we let my dog search the car,” Sergeant Lanier said to Officer Blake. “You know I’ve got a sixth sense about these kinds of things.”

  “That you do.” Officer Blake let out a nervous chuckle.

  Sergeant Lanier was throwing his rank around, and it was obviously intimidating Officer Blake. That was apparent from the hard swallow that rolled across his Adam’s apple, not to mention the way his face was splotched with bright red. Officer Collins was so quiet that if he weren’t standing in front of me, I would have thought he wasn’t even there. This entire scene had me baffled. The tables were turned in the most peculiar way. Officer Blake looked so subservient I swear he was about to start calling Sergeant Lanier massa. I’d started out assuming that Blake was a racist white cop, but it turned out it was a black cop who really had bad intentions for us.

  “Why don’t we run the dog around the car a few times and see what she finds?” Lanier suggested. He was halfway to his car before Blake could even reply.

  “Sure thing, Sarg,” Blake replied. He turned to us and shrugged his shoulders, looking almost apologetic.

  Lanier opened the rear door of his SUV and let out what looked like a black Labrador Retriever. It was on a leash, and it jumped around excitedly as Sergeant Lanier led it over to my car.

  He looked down at the dog and commanded, “Find it, Princess.”

  Michael

  6

  Peter left to retrieve the opposing counsel and came back in no time. As the conference room door opened, the smile on Walter’s face was sadistically cheery. He turned toward my end of the conference table with a subtle “We got this” nod. This was one of those moments I had been looking forward to all my life, and I could hardly contain my excitement. I leaned back in my chair, wishing I had a bag of popcorn, because this was going to be quite a show—or so I thought. Within a matter of minutes, things took a dramatically unexpected turn, and the show I’d been hoping for turned into a three-ring circus, and we were the ones who looked like clowns.

  The first of the morning’s surprises was that the two men who followed Peter into the conference room were black men in expensive, tailored suits. One looked to be in his fifties, and the other maybe around thirty, and both of them obviously spent a lot of time and effort to look as good as they did. Walter had described them as ambulance chasers led by a goofball, and I had imagined a couple dudes in baggy suits with bad haircuts. I sure wasn’t expecting these brothers, whose suits clearly cost more than I would make in a month as a junior associate.

  I turned to look at Walter, and his reaction told me these weren’t the guys he had been expecting either. His face dropped, and all the color left his cheeks. He jumped up from his seat as if someone had lit a fire under his ass. I was confused by his reaction, and from the look on my colleagues’ faces, so were they. No one seemed to know what to do or say as these two lawyers strolled confidently into the room.

  “Hudson? What the hell are you doing here?” Walter asked, with an edge to his voice.

  “You don’t sound too excited to see me, old friend.” The older man gave my boss a casual smile. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Ah, yes, yes, it has. The Klippinger case, if I remember correctly,” Walter replied, sounding nervous. It shook me a little, because I’d never seen him this way before, and just five minutes earlier he’d been so damn cocky about how this meeting would go and how he was going to make them his little bitches.

  “Still as sharp as ever, aren’t you, Walter?” Hudson replied, adjusting the lapel on his suit.

  “So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Walter asked, very obviously trying to regain his composure.

&nbs
p; “I’m here for our ten o’clock. We’re representing the Cooper family.” The way he spoke sounded almost poetic. This guy had a swagger about him like no other lawyer I’d ever seen before.

  Walter shot Mark a perplexed look. “I thought you said the Cooper family was represented by—”

  “They are—I mean, they were.... There must be some mistake.” The paper in Mark’s hand shook as he looked helplessly at Walter. “It says right here that their attorney is Philip Hall of Dorf, Robinson, and Associates.” Mark turned to Dara, another senior associate, attempting to shift the heat to her. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I spoke with Philip last night,” Dara replied as Mark went back to digging through his paperwork.

  “There has to be some mistake,” Mark said, peering over his glasses.

  The black lawyer looked slightly amused by all of this. I wasn’t the one in the hot seat, but even I was feeling embarrassed right about now. This guy, whoever he was, had the upper hand for sure, no matter how long we’d kept him in the waiting room.

  “There’s no mistake. The Coopers were initially represented by Dorf, but we were brought on this morning,” Hudson said to Mark in the manner a father might speak to a half-wit son. Then he turned his attention to Walter, who was looking very uncomfortable. “My son, Lamont, and I will be taking over as lead counsel from here—unless, of course, you have an offer.”

  Mark looked at Walter, who cast his eyes downward and remained silent. The look of defeat on his face was pitiful.

  “Well, Walter, do we have an offer?” Hudson asked.

  Walter didn’t answer.

  Mark suddenly found his courage and seized the moment, speaking up. “We’re authorized to offer five hundred thousand.”

  A sudden laugh came from Hudson’s son. Hudson, however, wasn’t laughing. He looked insulted as he stood glaring at Walter. My boss remained silent, as if he were still trying to comprehend what was happening.

  “Of course, we haven’t totally familiarized ourselves with this case, but . . .” Hudson looked at his son and extended his hand. The younger man pulled out a file from his briefcase and handed it to him. “We already see strong class action possibilities,” Hudson said, opening the file and flipping through it. “But, considering we’re old friends”—he closed the folder dramatically—“I’m thinking five million will make everyone happy.” He handed the file back to his son.

  Mark burst out laughing, then stopped when he realized none of us had joined in.

  “You find it funny that we aren’t asking for more?” Hudson said to Mark. “I’m sure we easily could, but five million sounds like a fair and reasonable number. Don’t you think so, Walter?”

  He focused like a laser beam on Walter, who struggled to make eye contact.

  I still didn’t quite understand how things had gone so wrong so quickly, but I could tell from Walter’s behavior that this was bad—real bad. Finally, in a tone that was as stoic as the look on his face, Walter said, “I’ll have the paperwork drawn up and a check over to your office first thing in the morning.”

  “Great.” Hudson nodded. “Good to see you again, Walter. Say hello to that lovely wife of yours.”

  The son had a smirk on his face as he tucked the file back into his briefcase.

  “Will do, Hudson.” Walter exhaled loudly.

  Peter went to stand.

  “Oh, no, we appreciate your hospitality, but we can find our way out. I’m sure you have plenty to discuss,” Hudson said, then looked at his son. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely.” He turned to the others in the room. “Have a wonderful day. It was a pleasure.”

  Hudson led the way out of the conference room, looking back over his shoulder before they exited to say, “By the way, Walter, nice reception area. It’s very impressive.”

  As soon as the door closed behind them, chaos ensued.

  “Five million? What was that?” Mark demanded.

  “That was Bradley Hudson,” Walter said in a defeated voice.

  “Wait a minute. The Bradley Hudson? The one who took down Russ Oil and TK Shoes, and got TJ Winter off for murdering his wife?” Mark asked.

  “One and the same.” Walter sighed.

  “We studied his Marcus Hall defense in law school,” Dara added, clearing her throat to proclaim, “If the witness blacked out, that’s reasonable doubt.” She was mimicking a male voice.

  Peter must’ve noticed the look of confusion on my face, because he explained, “That was one of his famous lines from that trial.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just can’t believe I didn’t recognize him.” Hell, every black lawyer knew who Bradley Hudson was. He was half the reason I went to law school. I’d studied all of his big cases. I guess in the confusion of this unexpected scene, I hadn’t put two and two together.

  “He’s a legend,” Dara added.

  “Dammit, Dara, we know who the hell he is, okay?” Walter said.

  But she was right; he was a legend, possibly more like an African god. Anyone who had the ability to instill that kind of fear in Walter was at least that.

  “Get the hell outta here, all of you!” Walter shouted to the room.

  No one else moved at first, but I quickly gathered my things, rushed out of the room, and headed down the hallway. In the distance, I could see Bradley Hudson and his son waiting for the elevator. I doubled my pace and was able to catch them just as they stepped on. The doors were beginning to close, so I held my hand out to stop them. I glanced around, making sure no one saw me before I hopped inside.

  “What floor?” Lamont asked me.

  “Uh, all the way down,” I said.

  He looked at the button for the first floor, which was already lit. I knew I had to talk fast, because the chances of us making it all the way to the bottom floor without stopping for more passengers was damn near impossible in our busy building.

  “Mr. Hudson, that was very impressive lawyering,” I told him.

  “Thanks, young man. I appreciate your approval.” Hudson smiled at me. “How long have you been here at the firm?” In this small space without the other lawyers around, he seemed much more personable.

  “Only a couple of months. I finished Harvard Law this past Spring,” I replied proudly.

  “Harvard Law, huh? I’m a Howard University man myself. So is my son, but Harvard is a decent school. I’m sure you’ll do well. This is one of the top firms in the city.”

  I could feel the elevator slowing down, and I realized we were about to stop. I had to move quickly. “Thank you, sir, but I have a question.”

  “Ask away.”

  I took a deep breath and blurted out, “By any chance, are you hiring?”

  He had an amused look on his face. “Don’t you already have a job?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.” I nodded. “But as one black man to another, there is nothing these people can teach me that you can’t and more. I’m sure you understand where I’m going with this.”

  The doors began to open, and the small crowd of people waiting stepped inside with us. Hudson didn’t respond. We spent the remaining ride down in silence. When we reached the lobby, everyone stepped off except the three of us.

  Hudson turned to his son and said, “Lamont, give him a card. Make sure it’s one with my personal cell.”

  I was so excited I felt my ear jump into overdrive.

  Lamont reached inside of his suit jacket and passed me a business card as they stepped off the elevator.

  “Give me a call when you’re ready, and we’ll talk,” Hudson said.

  “I’ll call you this afternoon,” I said without hesitation.

  “Understand one thing, young man. We aren’t all fancy like they are down here. We work for a living.” He smiled at me as the elevator doors began to close.

  “I can see that, sir, and I’m ready,” I replied, watching him walk toward the exit.

  Langston

  7

  Sergeant Lanier and his dog had
already searched the front seats of the car, and he was in no way as considerate as Officer Blake, having thrown everything out of my glove compartment and tossing around every item in my center console. I was sweating bullets the entire time. Yeah, I was a little nervous, but I was more pissed. This was bullshit if I ever smelled it. I didn’t give a damn if he had a dog or not. If Officer Blake hadn’t found anything other Krush’s weed, what the hell made this asshole think he would? He was just being a dick—a big, black Uncle Tom dick—and he was just wasting our time looking for something that he wasn’t going to find.

  “You’re not going to find anything, ’cause there’s nothing in there!” I shouted. I got the evil eye from Officer Blake and my boys, but at that point, I didn’t care. I couldn’t wait until Dad ripped these punk-ass cops a new asshole.

  “God damn gangbangers,” Sergeant Lanier said under his breath as he stood outside the car with his empty hands on his waist. He hadn’t found a damn thing, but he wasn’t giving up yet. He led the dog to the back seat. “Come on, Princess. Let’s find it.”

  A minute or two later, he was once again assuming the position outside the car with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. It was obvious he was disappointed that he’d come up empty. I thought he would finally give up and agree to let us go, but then he stopped shaking his head and looked toward the trunk of my car. He walked over and pulled on it.

  “Open the trunk,” he ordered.

  For a second, I thought about protesting, because it was within my rights to refuse to let him search the car. But then I realized it wasn’t worth it. If I antagonized him, he might just drag us all down to the precinct to spite us. I might as well just let him get the search over with. Then, all we would have to do was clean up the mess he made, and we could be on our way. I aimed the key fob toward my car and clicked the trunk emblem. It immediately popped open. Sergeant Lanier looked as eager as his black Labrador to start searching.

  “You’re not going to find anything in there either,” I said, knocking the smile right off his face.