by Carl Weber
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. I think it’s just because I was so nervous. “Seriously, your name is James Brown? Do you sing and dance?” Then did my best James Brown impression. “Jump back and kiss myself! Heeeey!” I thought that was so funny, despite my current situation, that I was damn near crying—until I looked up and saw his agitated face.
“I see you have your father’s sense of humor,” he said. That shut me up real quick.
“So, you know my father?” I wiped my hand down my face nervously as ADA Brown jotted something in his notebook.
“Yes, we’ve met.” He exhaled loudly. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the drugs aren’t yours.”
Shit, of course I was going to tell him they weren’t mine—because they weren’t. I didn’t know how the hell those drugs got in my car. Unfortunately, no one in this police station was likely to believe that. Typical cops, they just wanted someone to pin the crime on so they could call it a win. That’s why I was planning to stay quiet until my father showed up to help me out of this mess.
“No,” I answered. “I’m not going to tell you anything. I’m simply going to ask for my right to counsel, just like I’ve been asking since I got here. I refuse to speak without my attorney present.”
“Yep, you’re your father’s son all right.” ADA Brown sat back in his chair. “But for the record, I wasn’t asking you a question, young man. I was making a statement. Just like I’m about to make one now.” He looked directly at me for the first time. “You’re going to jail, and it’s going to be my pleasure to put you there, because I hate drugs.”
“They’re not mine!” I snapped at him.
The door opened, and I was a little fearful I was about to get a beat down from the fat white detective who walked in.
“Kid’s lawyer’s here,” he said.
“Finally,” I stood with a sigh. Needless to say, I was more than ready to go home.
“Don’t get too excited. You’re not going anywhere,” ADA Brown said forcefully. He then turned to the detective. “By all means, show him in, Detective.”
Kwesi
14
“Mister uh, Ad . . . Adam . . . Adamko?”
I stared at the man sitting across the table. “Adomako,” I corrected him.
“Oh, sorry. Mr. Adomako, I’m Glenn Morris, and I’ll be representing you this afternoon when you go before the judge,” the man said.
I was a bit confused by the presence of this scrawny white man who looked barely older than me. I’d known Langston for almost four years, and as far as I could recall, he’d never mentioned a white man working at his father’s firm. The Hudsons prided themselves on being a black-owned, black-empowering law firm. Based on the cheap suit and the stained tie this man wore, I couldn’t imagine Langston’s father hiring him even if he were black. Something was very wrong.
“Are you with the Hudson firm?” I asked.
“Huh? Who? No, I’m with legal aid,” he said with no further explanation. “Now, you say you don’t know anything about the drugs found in the back of the car. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct. I had no knowledge of it. I was just as surprised as everyone else when the police took it out,” I said. “I explained that to the officers, and I’m sure my friends did as well.”
I was confused about what was happening. I hadn’t seen Lang, Tony, or Krush since being brought into the police station. I had been expecting Langston’s father or brother to show up and get us out of there, but it had been hours. Now, this frantic stranger was in front of me, asking me questions that I’d already answered.
“Well, what’s going to happen is you’re going to be brought before the judge, and when he asks how you’d like to plead, then you simply say, ‘Not guilty.’ Understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” I tried not to be offended by his tone. He was speaking to me as if I were a fifth grader about to be sent to the principal’s office. I wanted to tell him that I was on the dean’s list and a member of Phi Beta Kappa, along with several other academic organizations, in addition to pursuing a double major in biochemistry and physics. I was not dumb by a long shot.
“Where are my friends? Will you be representing them as well?” I asked.
“No, I will only be representing you,” he said. “Your friends have their own representation.”
“What?” I was now even more confused. Lang had assured all of us that he would make sure we were taken care of and that we would be fine as long as we stuck together. When did the plan change, and where did it leave me? I wondered if they had somehow been released and I hadn’t.
“Don’t worry about them,” the lawyer said as if reading my mind. “Right now, you need to focus on yourself. Now, you’ve never been in any kind of trouble, so I’m thinking that the judge will be lenient on you. I don’t see the district attorney being a problem.”
There was a tap at the door, and he stood up. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get in court.”
“But, wait! I need to speak with my friends and—”
“That’s not possible right now. The only thing you need to be worried about is telling the judge that you’re not guilty so we can get you out of here.” Glenn gathered the papers from the table and tossed them into his briefcase. Before I could say anything else, he was out the door.
I sat alone again in the holding room, just as I’d been doing for most of the past few hours. My mind was racing, and my stomach was in knots. I wondered if I should have just called my parents, instead of depending on Langston to help me. Why, all of a sudden, was I being represented by a legal aid attorney? I couldn’t understand why I was even being brought before a judge. I had told the detectives over and over that I had no idea who the drugs belonged to or how they’d gotten into the trunk of the car. Despite their pressuring me to blame one of my boys, I’d refused. I remained loyal to all three of them, but now, I was wondering if they’d done the same thing for me.
About a half hour later, I was escorted into a small courtroom and led to the defense table, where Glenn was waiting for me. He gave me a reassuring nod, but it did nothing to ease the quivering in my stomach. I glanced over at the attorney sitting across the aisle. He looked stern and stoic as we waited for my case to be called.
“Kwesi Adomako.” The court reporter read from the docket.
Glenn motioned for me to stand, and I did. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped as the stocky, older woman began reading off the charges like they were menu items at a fast food restaurant.
“Possession of a controlled substance, distribution of narcotics, intent to distribute narcotics . . .” The list went on and on. I couldn’t believe how a simple ride home with my fraternity brothers had led to me being arrested and brought up on criminal charges. I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare and couldn’t wake up.
“Mr. Adomako, how would you like to plead?” the judge, a silver-haired white woman asked.
Glenn looked over at me.
“Not guilty,” I said, my nervousness causing my voice to crack.
“Bail?” the judge asked the other attorney.
“Your Honor, these are very serious charges, and we’re asking that there be no bail and the defendant be remanded. Mr. Adomako had a large amount of heroin in his possession, and we believe this crime is connected to a major drug ring,” the district attorney told her.
“What?” I squeaked.
Glenn touched my arm and shook his head at me, then said, “Your Honor, my client is a college student with no criminal record. The drugs weren’t even in his possession.”
“They were found in the car that he was traveling in, Your Honor,” the district attorney responded. Before Glenn could react, he added, “In addition, Mr. Adomako’s passport shows that he has made several international trips over the past few months.”
I looked at Glenn and rattled off an explanation. “I was visiting my father’s family in Ghana and interviewing for internships.”
“Sh
hhh.” Glenn put a finger to his lips then addressed the court. “Your Honor, this is ridiculous.”
“Bail is set at one million dollars,” the judge said quickly without giving me a second look.
“A million dollars?” I began to feel faint.
“I’ll speak with the DA and see if I can get him to request that it be lowered. But I’m telling you right now—if you know who that dope belongs to, you may wanna say something, because that may be the only way you’re gonna get out of here.” Glenn sighed like he was dismissing my concerns as trivial. My freedom was being taken from me, and the man appointed to represent me sounded bored. How the hell had this happened to me?
Desiree
15
It took almost two hours for me to drive from Jerri’s house in the Bronx to the 121st Precinct in Staten Island, where Langston had been arrested. I was still totally in the dark because he hadn’t given me much information beyond saying he was in trouble and needed my help. I’d made a few calls and tried to pull a few strings on my way over to find out what he’d been charged with, but being out of law school only one year, I didn’t have the contacts or the resources that my father, or even my brother Lamont, had. I was tempted to call Cathy, the firm’s office manager/keeper of my father’s secrets, but I was sure the moment I mentioned Langston’s name, she’d be whispering in my father’s ear. For a second, I also thought about calling my father directly, but decided against it. If I knew my goody-two-shoes brother, this was probably an arrest for something stupid like a suspended license or a DWI, but to my father, the seriousness of the offense wouldn’t matter. He didn’t tolerate any kind of screw-ups from his kids.
“I’m looking for my client, Langston Hudson,” I said to the desk sergeant when I walked into the precinct. The young white woman dressed in a blue police uniform peered at me over the top of the thick black glasses she wore.
“Hudson?” she repeated and then began typing something into the computer in front of her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied politely.
A few seconds later, she glanced back up at me and asked, “And you are?”
“I’m his attorney.”
She looked unimpressed. “I’ll let the detectives know that you’re here. You can wait over there.” She pointed to the row of hard plastic chairs lined against the wall near the door.
Detectives? I was starting to think this might be a little more serious than a DWI. My phone vibrated in my purse, so I glanced at the Apple Watch I wore on my arm. Seeing Jerri’s name on the screen, I sent it to voicemail. Not now, Jerri, not now.
“What exactly is he being charged with?” I asked the desk sergeant.
She stopped typing and looked at me. I detected a bit of annoyance from her that I’d interrupted her bookkeeping or whatever.
“I’m sure Detective O’Malley will explain everything to you when he comes out, Miss,” she responded. “Do you have some form of ID?”
I reached into my purse and handed her my license and credentials. She barely glanced at them before she handed them back without a word. I walked over to the chairs and took a seat. By the time I got comfortable, my phone was vibrating again, and I had to send it to voicemail again. Why did she not understand that I worked for a living?
After a few minutes, a heavyset white man in a suit walked over and introduced himself. “Ms. Hudson, I’m Detective O’Malley. You can come with me.” He knew my name. I guess the sergeant at the desk had read my credentials after all.
He led me down a corridor to a closed door, where he raised his hand for me to wait while he entered the room. A minute later he came out and told me, “You can go in now.”
Inside, I found my brother seated at a table with a bald black man in his fifties who did not look happy to see me. Langston, on the other hand, had never looked happier.
“Des!” he said, and I swear I could see the tension leaving his shoulders.
I looked to the man who sat across the table from my brother. “Why are you talking to my client? I’m sure he invoked.”
I glanced over at Langston. The worried look on his face let me know that what I originally thought was a simple misdemeanor had to be much more serious. Fortunately, my brother and I grew up with parents in the legal profession. One thing we learned early on was our rights, and what not to do if we ever found ourselves in trouble. I was confident that whatever the detectives thought they would get from my brother, they wouldn’t. He knew better than to say anything to them.
“Who are you?” the black man asked.
“I’m his attorney,” I said forcefully, wishing my dad could see me now. “And I want to know exactly what my client is being charged with, Detective.”
“I’m not a detective. I’m Assistant District Attorney Brown, and your client is being charged with possession of a controlled substance with the intent to distribute. He had two kilos of black tar heroin in his car.”
“He had what?” I snapped, placing my hand on the wall for stability. Shit. I was sure the ADA had picked up on my moment of weakness. Suddenly, I knew I was in way over my head. What I really wanted to do was scream at my brother, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“It’s not mine, Des. I swear to God it’s not mine,” Langston blurted out.
“Then whose is it?” the ADA asked calmly.
“Shut up, Langston!” Being in the interrogation room of the police precinct was not my forte, but this guy must have thought it was amateur hour. Caught off guard or not, I was still a Hudson, and we knew our shit. I had to get this situation under control in a hurry.
“I’d like to speak with my client,” I said.
“Feel free,” ADA Brown replied.
I tilted my head to the side but then quickly positioned it upright, straightening my shoulders to display strength and confidence. I was not about to go into sista-girl mode. Too many people in law enforcement already looked at black women in the legal profession as no more than bitter chicks with bad attitudes, so I was always conscious of how I presented myself. I’d worked too damn hard for people to mistake me for Cookie Lyon, when my aim was to be Olivia Pope.
“Privately,” I said to both men.
I turned my attention to Langston.
“We can leave,” the ADA said, eyeballing the detective, who stood behind me, to determine whether he was in agreement.
“Yeah, then you two can have all the privacy you’d like,” the detective said.
“Yeah, right. I want the light turned on in that integration room.” I nodded toward the two-way mirror that was taking up the wall behind the table. My asking for privacy was kind of a joke anyway. Langston knew the drill. Whether the officers were inside the room with us or outside of the room drinking coffee and eating donuts, big brother would be watching—and listening—whether they were supposed to or not. We would only be discussing so much while we were in that building, let alone that interrogation room.
“We won’t be far,” the ADA said as they walked out.
“Des, those aren’t my drugs. I swear to God,” Langston said when they were gone.
“First of all, are you okay?” I asked. As much as I hated seeing him there, I was glad that he was still alive and his name hadn’t become a hashtag like so many other young black men who’d ended up shot and killed as a result of routine traffic stops.
“I’m fine.” He nodded. “Where’s Dad? Where’s Lamont?”
“I didn’t call them. I thought you called me because you didn’t want them to know.”
He dropped his head. “No! Hell no! We’re going to need Dad to get us all off.”
“What do you mean all? Are there other people involved?” I asked, pulling the chair out and sitting down. I made sure he noticed my quick glance toward the mirror behind him, reminding him of the eyes and ears that were on us before he started speaking.
He gave me a slight nod to indicate that he understood, and then he gave me a brief overview of how he and his frat brothers had ended u
p here.
“Damn it, Langston!” I said when he got to the part about the bricks found in his trunk.
“I swear I didn’t know it was back there. You know me, Des. I don’t get down like that.” He shook his head, looking more like a preppy teenage nerd who should be headed to the library, not a twenty-year-old man who had just been arrested for drug possession. As bad as the circumstances seemed, there had to be some explanation that didn’t include Langston’s guilt. My brother was more into books than booze and had been on the dean’s list consistently since his freshman year. This wasn’t him at all.
“I know you don’t. This is some bullshit. I’m gonna go to your arraignment and get you bail. Then we go home and tell Dad about this,” I said.
“Des, you can’t get just me out of here. You have to get all of us out,” Langston said.
“What?” I frowned.
“I’m not gonna leave my boys. If I go, we all go,” he explained. “We’re in this together.”
I stared at him, proud of him for his loyalty, but not exactly pleased that he was making my job a hell of a lot harder. “Langston, I know you and your boys are tight, but—”
“Naw, Des. You help one, then you help us all.” He sat back and shrugged.
I exhaled loudly, knowing he was not going to change his mind. Standing, I said, “Let me go see what the deal is. You hold tight.”
“Does it look like I’m going somewhere?” He tilted his head to the side with a smirk.
“The last thing you need to be giving me is a smart-ass comment,” I warned, opening the door and stepping outside into the hallway. I looked from one end to the other, searching for the detective or the ADA. I knew they hadn’t gone far.
My phone began ringing. I peeked at my watch and ignored Jerri’s call again.
“Finished talking with your client?” ADA Brown strolled over to me. He was now with two more uniformed officers.
“I have. He told me what happened. Listen, I’m not trying to bullshit you by any means, but whatever you found in the back of that car did not belong to him. I can assure you of that. These are four educated young black men, all attending one of the most prestigious colleges in the nation, and they have bright futures ahead of them. Let’s come up with a reasonable bail until we can figure this all out,” I suggested. “I’m sure there is something we can work out.”