by Carl Weber
“Michael and I are still reviewing the cops’ body and dash cams, but so far nothing has raised any red flags.” He turned his attention to the boss. “Like I told you earlier, Bradley, Lang’s moves over that weekend were a lot more involved than we expected.” It was very obvious that Perk was choosing his words carefully. “Right now, everything still points to one of the boys being the culprit, but I’m following a couple of promising leads, and we’ll see where they go. Eventually I will find out where it came from. You can bet on that.”
“We already have,” Jacqueline replied. “We’re betting our son’s life.”
“Where the hell is Langston anyway?” Bradley asked.
“He said he wasn’t coming, that he wasn’t needed around here,” Desiree responded.
“What are you talking about? He’s the client,” Bradley snapped. “He knows that.”
“Let him cool off, Bradley. He’s upset that his friends aren’t getting out. He called after the hearing, begging me to put up my apartment so they could get out,” Jacquelyn explained in a way that almost sounded motherly. From what I’d learned about the family, this wasn’t typical.
“You’re going to put your apartment up?” Desiree sat up in her chair with a look of total surprise.
“Of course not. Don’t be preposterous,” her mother replied, snapping out of the momentary character change. She was back to business. “I’m a federal judge. Can you imagine what that would do to my reputation?”
“I’m sure that didn’t go over well with Langston,” Perk replied. I flinched a little, wondering if he’d just overstepped his bounds. After all, he wasn’t family, and his comment came pretty close to sounding judgmental.
Jacqueline didn’t seem to mind, though, and she even allowed herself to appear vulnerable for a second. “He very eloquently told me how he felt about me as a mother.” She eased back in her chair, looking misty. “I’m not that bad a mother, am I?”
The room fell silent until Bradley said, “I’ll talk to him, Jackie. He shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”
Carla shifted in her seat, and Jacqueline seemed to notice for the first time that she was in the room. The tears in her eyes dried up in a hurry. These women clearly had major issues with each other.
“It’s okay. He was just upset about his friends,” she said to Bradley after rolling her eyes at Carla.
“He better be glad that we’ve officially taken on Tony and Krush,” Lamont interjected.
“So, that’s official now?” Carla asked, writing down some notes.
“Yes,” Bradley responded. “We didn’t have much of a choice. It was either us or Legal Aid, and we didn’t want Legal Aid getting in the way.”
“It’d be just our luck those idiots would talk one of those boys into pleading out.” Lamont continued the rhetoric.
“Or worse, flipping on Langston,” Jacqueline added.
“That brings me to a question I’m sure we’ve all thought about.” Bradley’s eyes moved around the room. “What do we do if we find out one of them is guilty of stashing that dope in Langston’s car?”
There was no immediate answer, but he was right; I was sure we had all thought about that. I had also thought about something else. What if we found out that Langston was the guilty one and his overwhelming concern for his friends was really concern for his own freedom?
Kwesi
33
My stomach tightened as the corrections bus turned the corner and revealed the large sign that read: RIKERS ISLAND, HOME OF NEW YORK CITY’S BOLDEST. The vehicle, a renovated school bus, struggled to climb the steep bridge that separated the island prison from the rest of New York City. In a few minutes, we’d be back on the island behind bars, struggling for not only our sanity, but for our lives.
“Bye, world!” I heard my fraternity brother Krush shout out from the row next to me as the bus crested over the bridge and the New York City skyscrapers disappeared in the horizon.
I glanced over at my other fraternity brother, Tony, who was sitting four seats in front of me, stone-faced. He’d barely said a word since I first saw him and Krush stepping onto the corrections bus that transported us to the Staten Island Courthouse for our bail reduction hearing early that morning. Tony didn’t look good at all. I was starting to think he may have had a psychotic break of some kind. I had tried to talk to him when we arrived at the courthouse and were placed in a holding cell, but he just sat there staring into space. Krush, on the other hand, seemed to be adjusting fine. He was cracking jokes and holding court all day, like being in jail was the most natural thing in the world. If he hadn’t damn near cursed Langston’s sister out because of the bail reduction hearing results, I wouldn’t have even known he cared about getting out.
“Kwesi, you gonna be a’ight?” Krush asked as the bus came to a halt.
“I hope so,” I replied nervously. I was trying to be as strong as he was, but deep down, I was terrified.
“Don’t worry, man. Just keep your head up. I’ll see if I can find someone in your unit to look out for you.”
“Thank you, my brother.”
He gave me the fraternity sign and smiled as he stood and began walking down the aisle to the bus entrance.
“But who knows?” I continued. “Perhaps my parents will find enough money from friends and family to bail me out like Langston.”
“Fuck Langston,” he said over his shoulder. “That nigga’s probably getting some pussy as we speak.” Krush, like me, was jealous of Langston’s freedom, but unlike me, he seemed to blame our friend for our current predicament.
We exited the bus and had our cuffs and shackles removed. Krush and Tony were escorted in one line of inmates back to their unit, and I was regrettably brought to another. It had felt good to be around them, even if it was only for a few hours.
“What the fuck you looking at, nigga?” I heard a man scream from the other side of the corridor. He was in a line of inmates going in the opposite direction. I glanced in his direction but tried not to move my head. He was yelling at an inmate about three people ahead of me.
“You, nigga!” the man yelled. “What you gonna do about it?”
Before I could blink, the man on the opposite side of the corridor jumped out of line and ran toward the man in my line. I didn’t realize it right away, but he slashed the man’s face with a razor blade straight through to the white meat.
“Get on the fucking ground!” A corrections officer shouted, and then a loud alarm went off.
We must have been on the ground for twenty minutes before they moved us on. All I could think was, Look straight ahead. Just look straight ahead. Do not make eye contact. Those were the words I kept repeating in my head. I hadn’t been in jail a week, but I’d already witnessed what could happen to someone in there if they looked at another man wrong, or for too long, even. I mean, who ever heard of slicing someone’s face with a razor simply because they looked at you? I know it may seem hard to believe and quite inhumane, to say at the least, but it was reality—my reality—and I was terrified.
As we were heading back to the compound, I saw another group of inmates heading in the opposite direction. There was something calm and serene about them.
“Where are they going?” I asked the CO.
He looked at his watch and said, “They’re heading to evening prayer.”
My mother’s words echoed in my head, and suddenly, I told him, “I would like to attend evening prayer. What do I have to do?”
“Let me see your ID card.”
I handed my card to him.
“Says here your classification is Muslim. You’re entitled to go to prayers if you want.”
“I’d like that,” I replied.
“Hey, Montgomery, this guy’s one of yours.” He pointed at a woman CO, who waved me on. “Show her your ID. She’ll get you where you need to go.”
Langston
34
I adjusted my travel bag over my shoulder as I headed down the stairs, stopping halfway
down when I heard my father’s voice. He was talking to Simone as she waited for me so we could leave. I had hoped that he and Lamont already left for the office by now, but like everything else the past week and a half, my luck was for shit, and now I regretted coming downstairs at all. My pops and I had been avoiding each other since the bail reduction hearing a few days ago—or at least I’d been sidestepping him, because he wouldn’t put up the necessary collateral to bail out my friends. Sure, I understood that he was already representing them for free, but I also needed him to understand how important it was for them to be out as well. Every day I was out here and they were in there ripped a larger hole in our fraternal bond.
I shook it off and headed down the stairs. I wasn’t going to let any of this ruin my weekend with Simone, especially since she had just started talking to me again after Michael and Perk had me confessing shit in front of her that she was never meant to hear.
“Morning,” I said when my father and Simone came into view. My voice was cheerful, and it was fake as hell.
“Good morning, son.”
“Morning, baby.” Simone came over and kissed me. I guess she was excited about our trip, because it was the first time she’d kissed me since Perk and Michael left the house in Sag Harbor a few days ago. “You ready?”
“Yep.” I adjusted my bag again, and she hooked her arm around mine.
“We have a preliminary hearing strategy session at the office on Monday at two. I’d like you to be there.” From the tone of my father’s voice, I knew this wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command.
I acknowledged his words with a nod, walking to the front door without saying another word to him.
“Did you tell him we were going to Puerto Rico?” Simone asked as we stepped outside and the door shut behind us.
“Nah, I figured it was better if I didn’t say anything. He probably thinks we’re going to Sag Harbor.”
“Langston.” My father’s voice stopped me in my tracks about ten feet from Simone’s car. I turned around, and he was standing in the doorway.
“Yeah, Pop.”
“I love you, son.”
My father, unlike my mother, never had to say that he loved me, because he’d always proven it through his actions. We always knew we were loved by him. Still, to hear those words from him at that moment meant the world to me. I know it wasn’t the macho and manly thing to do, but I ran back and hugged him.
“Love you too, Dad.” We hadn’t hugged like that since the day he left me at college for the first time almost four years ago.
“Lang. Lang. Lang!” Simone repeated.
“What, babe?” I released my father and turned to her.
“You might wanna take a look at this.” She pointed toward the entrance of the circular driveway. Two NYPD cruisers and two unmarked cars were coming up on either side.
“What the . . .” I glanced at my father, who looked just as bewildered as me. But he got it together quick. “Dad?”
“Let me handle this. They’re probably going to issue a search warrant. Simone, go in the house and get Lamont, please.”
I recognized the first cop to get out his car. It was that asshole Detective O’Malley from Staten Island, and he was followed by several uniformed officers.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” my father asked.
“You can’t do anything—but he can.” O’Malley smirked, dangling a pair of handcuffs as if daring me to resist. “Langston Hudson, we are taking you into custody for violating the terms of your bail.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” my father barked. “I’m his attorney, and you’re not taking him anywhere without showing me some paperwork signed by a judge.”
“He figured you’d say that,” O’Malley answered.
The biggest question at this point was: who the fuck was “he”?
O’Malley turned and waved at the last car in the procession, and that’s when all my questions and probably a few of my father’s were answered. The black ADA from Staten Island stepped out of the car, buttoning his jacket as if he were approaching a gaggle of reporters and wanted to look good for the photos.
“James Brown . . .” my father mumbled.
“You know this guy?” I asked.
“We used to work together a long time ago.” His tone didn’t reveal whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Bradley Hudson,” he said to my father when they were close enough to talk. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah, it has. So, James, what’s this all about?”
“Your son—or I guess in this instance, your client.” He handed my father some papers then looked at O’Malley. “You can go ahead and take him into custody.”
“What! What the hell? Dad. Dad. Do something, Dad!” I recoiled as O’Malley and some other officers reached for me.
“Langston, don’t resist. That’s what they want you to do in front of all these cameras.”
I followed his gaze out to the street and realized the ADA had, in fact, been trying to look good for the cameras. There were three times as many members of the media as there had been the day before. Well, I was not going to give them a scene to air on the nightly news. I relented and let them handcuff me.
“James, what’s this all about? Did you leak to the press you were coming—”
He cut my dad off, finishing his sentence. “Here to take your son into custody?” He stood there smirking for a second, obviously amused with himself. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“What the hell are you trying to do, set my son up?” my father yelled irately, stepping toward him with his fists balled. Either he’d forgotten about the cameras, or he was mad enough that he didn’t give a shit. “This is not a game,” he spat. “This is my son’s life, you son of a bitch.”
“Dad, no!” Out of nowhere, Lamont grabbed him and pulled him back. I’m sure he had saved James Brown from an ass whooping, but the crazy the thing was that the ADA looked like he’d wanted it to happen.
“Still have that hair-thin trigger temper, don’t you, Bradley? You’re lucky he saved you from taking a trip to Rikers with this one.” Brown glared at me.
“Let go of me, Lamont.” My father’s voice was much calmer now.
“Okay, but you need to relax.”
He nodded, and Lamont released him.
“What the hell’s going on?” Lamont asked.
“Read the arrest warrant. It’s all there in black and white.” O’Malley picked up the papers my father had dropped and handed them to Lamont. He began reading then quickly turned his head in my direction.
“This is a bunch of bull.” Lamont handed the paperwork back to my father so he could read it.
“Is it? Your client was planning to flee our jurisdiction,” Brown stated. “We are here to make sure that doesn’t happen, so we’re taking him into custody.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” I yelled.
“Shut up, Lang,” Lamont warned, gesturing toward the bustling crowd of reporters.
My father glared at Brown. “James, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but whatever it is—”
“I’m not pulling anything. Maybe you should talk to your client. He’s the one traveling to Guam.”
“Langston, what is he talking about?” my father growled.
This was one of those times that you don’t want to tell the truth, but you have to.
“I don’t know anything about Guam, but Simone and I were going to Puerto Rico for the weekend. Not Guam. I’m not fleeing anyone’s jurisdiction. P.R. is a part of the United States.”
“Then why did you purchase tickets to Guam?” Brown asked.
Lamont quickly said, “Don’t answer that.”
“Oh my God,” Simone stuttered, stepping forward. “Mr. Hudson, this may all be my fault.”
“What are you talking about, Simone?” I was totally confused.
“Langston, I—”
“I don’t care whose fault it is. You ca
n settle this with the judge, Bradley. O’Malley, take him away,” Brown snapped. The officers began to perp walk me toward their cars, walking nice and slow so the photographers with their long lenses could get plenty of shots.
I turned around and looked at my father. “Dad . . .”
“Don’t worry, son. I’m going to take care of this.” Unfortunately, his voice didn’t have its usual confidence. The look on my brother’s face told me that he wasn’t feeling confident either. My heart sank as they covered my head and lowered me into the back seat of the police cruiser.
Bradley
35
“I saw a few parking spaces down the block, Mr. Hudson. Just text me when you’re ready to be picked up.” Ernest, my driver, explained as he opened the rear door of my Bentley.
“No, I’ll probably be here for a while. I’ll have a car service take me home when I’m ready to leave, Ernie. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” It was late, and he’d been at work way before the police showed up to take Langston away, so there was no point in making him stay. Besides, I had no idea when I’d be getting out of there.
“Thank you, sir. You enjoy your evening,” Ernest replied appreciatively.
I picked up my briefcase, along with the brown paper bag lying beside it on the seat, and I stepped out.
“And I’m praying everything works out for Langston. He’s a good kid, and I hate that this is happening to him. Those cops are really trying to railroad him.”
“Not the cops, the District Attorney’s office. But now that I know who’s trying the case, we’ll be all right,” I told him, grateful for his show of concern and loyalty to me and my son. Like my housekeeper Iris, Ernie had been with me and my family a long time. In fact, he was the first person I’d ever defended.
“I like the sound of that. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask. I like to think of myself as an uncle to all your children.” He closed the car door and walked around to the driver’s side door.
“One of their favorite uncles, I might add,” I said.
He gave me an appreciative grin before stepping into the car. I waited for him to pull into the busy Upper East Side traffic, then turned to look up at the high rise building I was about to enter.