by Carl Weber
“Yeah.” Adonis stared at me.
“You wanna go ahead and tell me about the dope now?” I asked.
“There’s nothing to tell, for real. We don’t know any more about that dope than you do,” Aaron explained, sounding a whole lot more respectful now.
I still wasn’t buying it. “Man, don’t bullshit me. Everyone knows the two of you run the fucking streets and handle more business than anyone else around here. You mean to tell me your brother—”
“Hold on, man. Let me stop you right there,” Adonis snapped, looking truly agitated. “Mandel said to keep it real with you, so that’s what we doing. Now, what me and Aaron do out there in the streets ain’t got shit to do with our little brother.”
“Most of the shit we do is so he don’t have to. We’ve always taken care of him because he was smart and a good kid,” Aaron added. “He wasn’t raised for this street bullshit, and we never let him get caught up in it. And he ain’t caught up now.”
Adonis continued where his brother left off. “Tony ain’t have to sell dope. We paid for his books and made sure he kept money in his account. He wanted to pledge, we made sure he had everything he needed—spring break trips, mini vacations with his boys, everything. Our little brother ain’t miss out on shit. We bust our ass because we believe in him and didn’t want him to feel less than when he was around those other bougie fools. We put our lives and freedom on the line so he don’t have to. He got more important shit to do with his life, and he understands that. So, I don’t care what nobody says. That dope ain’t his, and it ain’t ours.”
“And real talk, if we even thought Tony was out here in the streets, we would fuck him up ourselves. Trust me, our brother is more scared of what we would do to his ass than the threat of jail time. He ain’t do this,” Aaron finished.
I looked at the two brothers, and something told me they weren’t bullshitting. If the dope was Tony’s, they sure as hell didn’t know about it.
Kwesi
37
I had just returned from evening prayers when the guard told me I had a legal visit. I hadn’t spoken to my lawyer since the bail hearing a week ago, so this was a surprise. I hoped he had good news, especially since I’d probably miss chow in the process.
After going through all the jail protocols, I was taken into a smaller cell with a table and chair. Waiting for me was my attorney, Kenneth Kimba. As usual, he was dressed like Carlton Banks from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and he greeted me with a smile. I was still uneasy about being represented by him because for someone so inexperienced in the courtroom, he had this air of overconfident arrogance about him. He was smart and smooth, I would give him that, but he reminded me of a used car salesman. Men like Kimba had been fleecing people from my country for years, but at this point, what could I do? My parents had already paid him a significant sum.
“Kwesi, how are you doing?” he asked, watching as the guard removed the cuffs from my wrists.
I sat at the table across from him and said, “Considering I’m still in jail, with a five hundred thousand–dollar bail, I am not very happy.”
“Understandable, and trust me, I’m working hard to remedy the situation. I’m sure you know that,” Kimba told me with another smile that seemed so inappropriate for the situation I was in. He opened the briefcase in front of him and took out a folder.
“Well, work harder,” I said, not caring if I sounded rude. “My parents are paying you good money, and we have received very little in results other than seeing you standing next to Bradley Hudson on the news last night.”
He didn’t even flinch. The man had no shame. “I have spoken with the Hudsons, and they have helped move your parents’ and siblings’ paperwork for citizenship through the process very quickly,” Kimba said. “They should have full citizenship by the time you go to trial.”
“That’s good news.” Hearing that he was working with Bradley Hudson to handle my parents’ citizenship, not just to get on camera, brought me great relief. “So, what about my case? You just mentioned a trial.”
“Yes, it’s more than likely that we’re going to have to take this case to trial. However, we do have other options to consider.”
I stared at Kimba nervously. “What other options?”
He pulled his chair up closer. “Kwesi, I’m your lawyer. You’re the only person involved in this case that I represent. You are the only person I am obligated to.”
“What are you trying to say?”
He took in a breath. “That I represent you, not your friends Langston, Tony, or Kirby. Unlike the Hudsons, I have your best interests to protect and no one else’s.”
“Mr. Kimba, you keep talking, but you’re not saying anything.”
He shrugged his shoulders and got to the point. “Kwesi, I don’t trust the Hudsons, and I think if it comes down to your freedom or Langston’s, they are going to choose Langston.”
“I don’t necessarily disagree with you,” I replied in my most forthright voice. “My parents would probably do the same if they were lawyers or had that kind of money. Now, will you please tell me what you are alluding to?”
“I think we should work with the Hudsons, but we should also have more than one plan. Let’s call it a Plan B.”
He was not very original. It was another sign of his inexperience, I thought.
“And what would that Plan B consist of?”
I turned to see the cell door opening. District Attorney James Brown walked in. He was carrying a manila folder in one hand and had the audacity to be carrying a box of doughnuts in the other, which he placed directly in front of me. The smell of warm vanilla drifted into my nostrils, causing my stomach to growl and my mouth to water. It had been so long since I’d had something decent to eat that I was tempted to snatch the top off the box and tear into one.
“Is this what you call another plan? Selling out my friends?” I said, blinking to bring myself out of the trance I’d been in while staring at the doughnut box. “I’ve already told you I’m not making a deal. I have nothing to say to you. I hope that’s not why you’re here.”
“You don’t have to talk. You can just listen,” Brown said, lifting the top and picking up one of the glazed treats with his bare hands. “Would you like one? They’re fresh. Krispy Kreme.”
I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t help but stare as he dramatically took a bite. My mouth began to water instantly.
Brown sat down beside my lawyer.
“I’m sure my client has no problem in hearing what you have to say,” Kimba told him, speaking for me.
“I should hope not. I’m here as a courtesy and to keep you informed.”
“Informed of what?” I asked him, sliding my chair back to avoid the box of temptation still sitting in front of me. “The only thing I need to know is when I’m getting out of here. Are you here to inform me of that?”
“Well, not exactly,” Brown said, finishing the rest of the doughnut in one bite. He reached in his pocket and took out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. Then, he spoke to Kimba as if I were not sitting there in front of them. “I believe he was just an innocent bystander in all of this. Someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t think it’s fair to be in a position where he’s facing multiple federal charges when he did nothing wrong.”
I frowned at Brown. “If you know that, then why am I still here?”
Finally, he turned and spoke directly to me. “Because even though you didn’t do anything, someone did. Those drugs belong to someone.”
“They don’t belong to me, and they don’t belong to my friends either,” I told him.
Brown raised an eyebrow. “Friends? Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We are college students. We don’t sell drugs,” I replied.
“I’m not talking about the dope. I’m talking about your so-called friendship,” Brown said.
“What is that supposed to mean? What is he talking about?” I directed the second questio
n to Kimba, who looked just as confused as I felt.
“I’m talking about the fact that your ‘friend’ Langston Hudson attempted to flee the country. He and his girlfriend were captured on their way to the airport for a flight to Guam when we stopped them,” Brown said. “Innocent men don’t run, Kwesi.”
“You’re lying,” I said.
“I wish I was, son.” Brown opened the folder and took out a stack of photos. “These were taken this morning at the Hudson’s Riverside Drive home. The handsome guy with the bald head is me.”
As I felt my stomach begin to churn, this guy was cracking weak jokes.
“This is some kind of trick to get me to roll over on Lang,” I protested. “He would never do anything like that.”
Brown passed the photo to Kimba and said, “Langston and his girlfriend Simone were scheduled to leave this morning, and there was no return ticket found.”
I looked over at Kimba, who was now flipping through the photos. He passed them to me. “Take a look. These are pretty incriminating,” he said.
“Yeah, I got them from a photographer friend of mine. This story should be all over the six o’clock news if you need verification,” Brown added.
I looked down at the photos and inhaled sharply. Brown wasn’t lying. It appeared Langston really was arrested. For a second, I was hurt, wondering how one of my best friends, who was as close to me as a brother, would skip out on us. What about the oath of our fraternity and the bond that we shared?
“Is that something a friend would—”
“Shut up. Just shut up. I can’t believe this. He was just going to leave me, Tony, and Krush? What the hell was he thinking? I don’t understand. I, I don’t believe you.” I shook my head. “No, it can’t be true. You’re lying. Those pictures could have been photoshopped.”
“Mr. Adomako, I don’t have a reason to lie to you. As I stated, I came to tell you this as a courtesy. If you don’t believe me, I’m sure you can ask him yourself when you see him on the cell block you’ll both be housed in,” Brown said calmly.
“What is it that you want from my client?” Mr. Kimba asked.
“I just want him to tell me who the drugs belong to, and I’ll take it from there,” Brown answered.
I stood up and announced, “I have nothing to say.”
“Kwesi, wait. Mr. Brown, I need a moment with my client,” Kimba said.
“Well, I’ll leave you two gentlemen to chat. Call me when you’re ready to talk.”
I glared at Brown as he walked out.
When he was gone, Kimba said, “Listen, I know you’re shocked and upset, but this is your chance to get out of here. I think we should see what he’s offeri—”
“You work for me, right?” I spat at Kimba.
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“Good, then continue to work with the Hudsons on my parents’ citizenship and this case until I tell you not to. I’ve got a lot of thinking and praying to do.” I reached down in the box and grabbed a doughnut with each hand, stuffing one in my face. It was so good I can’t even describe it.
“Guard!” I yelled.
“Kwesi, wait. We need to discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk,” I told him, finishing off one doughnut and starting in on the other.
The guard came to the cell door. “You ready?”
I nodded. “Yes, I am.”
As he put the cuffs back around my wrist, I glanced back at the doughnut box and thought about how good they were and how many things I’d taken for granted. Things as small as being able to eat a doughnut. I walked past Kimba with my head held high and headed back to my unit.
Jacqueline
38
Walking into 1551 Lenox Avenue, or Malcolm X Boulevard as they called it now, was like visiting an old friend. The building always gave me comfort, a true feeling of home—perhaps because it was the first one Bradley and I shared. We’d rented the first floor for our budding new law practice when we left the U.S. attorney’s office and the second floor to live in, until we purchased the brownstone Desiree and Perk lived in now. Back then, the third and fourth floors weren’t even habitable, but over the years, we renovated it little by little, until it was known by damn near everybody in Harlem as the Hudson building.
As I entered the building, I waved at Ernie, Bradley’s driver. He was sitting in his usual spot, reading the paper. I ignored the receptionist as I walked past her to the elevator, although I was sure she had already picked up the phone and announced my arrival to Cathy, the office manager on the fourth floor. Cathy, in turn, would text Carla, on the third floor, and Bradley.
I stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor, and just as I had predicted, Cathy was standing there waiting for me.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“In his office with Perk.” She didn’t say anything else as I stepped around her, probably because she understood I had no use for her. We’d been through this too many times before to pretend we liked each other, or even really to be cordial. She was loyal to Carla, and that was all I needed to know.
I walked down the hall and entered Bradley’s office without knocking. I kissed Perk, who stood up to greet me right away then excused himself, leaving me face to face with the man who had rejected my sexual advances less than a week ago. It was a feat that, when I was honest with myself, only made me want the bastard even more. Between worrying about Langston and thinking about how much I wanted to rip off his father’s clothes, I could barely sleep at night. Bradley wasn’t the best lover I’d ever had, although his oral skills were off the chart. It was his cocky confidence and never-let-them-see-you-sweat demeanor that made my panties wet. He was like the grown up, successful version of the bad boy that so many young girls chase after, and that swagger was way more appealing than anything he could do with that thing swinging between his legs.
“Hello, Jackie. What can I do for you?” Bradley asked as if I were just any client showing up for an appointment, not his ex-wife barging into his office. I guess this was his way of letting me know that my moves the other night were not appreciated. He knew it drove me crazy when he acted this way. Sometimes I just wanted his attention, but he would only give it on his terms.
I sat down in the chair Perk had vacated. “I’m here to find out how your meeting with James went this morning, and for an update on our son.”
“Our son is as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I saw him today, and he’s lost a few pounds, but other than that, he’s fine. He just wants to come home. You should go see him, Jackie.”
“I’m not going to Rikers Island. I’m not sitting in some dingy visiting room, and I’m definitely not going through all that crap you have to do to before you even see someone. I don’t understand why I can’t just do a legal visit like you and the kids.”
“Because we are his attorneys of record, and you’re not.” He shot me a look that said Let’s be real. “But, of course, you know that.”
I did know it, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“What I know is that I’m not going in there like some wayward mother. I’m a federal judge. It’s beneath me.” I folded my arms defiantly.
“This isn’t a high school play or a basketball game you are missing, Jackie—although there have been plenty of those. Our son is in jail, and he needs you.”
I leaned forward and stated my point emphatically. “I am not going to that jail, Bradley.” With that settled, I sat back again and changed the subject. “I’m making other arrangements. Now, how did your meeting with James go?”
He released a frustrated sigh. “The meeting with James was for shit. That bastard offered us fifteen years for Langston because it was his car and he was driving, and ten years apiece for Tony and Krush. I told him to shove it up his ass, literally.”
“What about Kwesi?”
“His lawyer never showed up. Lamont’s gonna give him a call this afternoon, but I
don’t like it. It’s got James’ fingerprints all over it.”
“Should I slow my friends down at the State Department? They haven’t gotten their citizenship yet,” I said with a smirk.
“I’ll let you know, but it’s best we hold that card until we know for sure. We don’t want to piss Kwesi and his parents off unless we need to.”
“It looks like James is feeling pretty confident about his case.”
“I’d feel confident too if I had his case. He’s got four black guys in a car with two kilos of heroin. Somebody’s gotta be guilty.”
He had a point, but I was not interested in considering that possibility. This was my son we were talking about. I didn’t give a shit who the drugs belonged to; Langston was not about to get caught up in the system.
“Did you speak to him about us? About what this is really about?” I asked.
“Yeah, and that’s when he told me to shove it up my ass.”
I nodded my head in understanding. Not only did James have a good case to prosecute, but I knew he would go after it more aggressively because of our history. I felt sick to my stomach.
“If we’re going to make any headway with this guy and get him to ease up on Langston, you’re going to have to talk to him. You’re the only one who can do it,” Bradley said.
I exhaled loudly, but I didn’t protest, because he was right. Still, I dreaded the thought of having to do it. Although I loved my son, I wasn’t quite sure if I could face James Brown.
Carla walked in, followed by Lamont. She paused briefly, glancing at me as if she expected me to get up and give her my seat. I almost laughed out loud. She knew damn well that would never happen.
She rolled her eyes and then said to Bradley, “Sorry for interrupting. We were putting together some rather critical data that I knew you’d want to hear.”
“It’s fine. What did you gather?” Bradley asked.