Influence

by Carl Weber

  “Yes, Your Honor. We do feel there are certain factors that weigh heavily against our clients locally.” As I spoke, I unbuttoned the jacket of my tailor-made suit. I was getting ready for a fight.

  “And you, Mr. Kimba?” He looked at Kwesi’s attorney. “Do you join them in this request for change of venue, counsel?”

  “We do, Your Honor.”

  “Gentlemen, I am certain that the fine citizens of Richmond County would have no problem being impartial as they listen to the evidence being brought before them, but—”

  I broke in and said passionately, “Your Honor, in light of recent events, such as the Eric Garner case and others involving the Staten Island branch of the NYPD, we are concerned that the trial being held in this jurisdiction will be prejudicial and biased. This case has already been tried in the local media.”

  “Coverage of which you’ve been a large part,” the judge pointed out.

  “Our concern is that our clients receive a fair trial, Your Honor,” I replied, refusing to rise to his bait. He wasn’t the first one to blast me for talking to the press, and he wouldn’t be the last. But hell, my media presence had helped me in the past, no matter how much the judges hated it. “I insist we at least have a hearing to argue the merits of our motion.”

  The judge sat silently for a moment before he relented. “Okay, Mr. Hudson, I’ll hear your argu—”

  “Your Honor,” James interrupted. “May I be heard on the motion?

  “Ah, Mister Brown, I was wondering when you might chime in on this subject.” This was the most favorable emotion the judge had shown since walking into the courtroom. I knew I was wasting my breath. No way was prosecution going to allow us a change of venue without putting up a fight.

  “Do the people have anything to say regarding the defense’s motion for a venue change?”

  “Actually, Your Honor, the people have no objection to the defense’s motion for a change of venue.”

  James’s statement shocked plenty of people in the room, including me. I had trouble keeping my composure as I turned to stare at him.

  “Did he just say what I think he said?” Carla whispered in my ear.

  “Yes, he did,” I mumbled. I looked at Desiree and saw the look of confusion on her face. Things were not usually this easy.

  The look on the faces of Judge Rodriguez and his bailiff revealed that they were equally stunned. This was not the typical response to be expected from the prosecution. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how to take this. Having them so willingly support a change of venue was cause for concern.

  “Excuse me?” Judge Rodriguez said. I guess he wanted to make sure he’d heard correctly.

  “In the interest of justice, we agree to a change of venue,” James reiterated. He now stood beside David, presenting what seemed to be a united front. “It’s our opinion that we can obtain a conviction in any jurisdiction, and we do not want the case to be overturned for any reason.”

  “It would appear the DA’s office is doing our job for us,” Carla stated, but I could hear confusion in her voice.

  I had been prepared to rebut any argument that the DA’s office presented, so this really threw me for a loop and had me suspicious of their motives. James was too smug, and too at ease. He’d been too quick to side with us, as if it had already been planned out. Something was up.

  “Well, alrighty then. I want both sides to submit locations for the change of venue by noon Friday.” The judge shook his head like he still couldn’t believe this turn of events. “I guess all we need to do now is pick a trial date.”

  He turned his attention back to the boys. “All right, gentlemen, it’s already been noted in the record that all of you have pleaded not guilty.” Then he turned toward the prosecution. “Mr. Brown, is the State prepared to proceed with their case?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, we are ready for trial.”

  “How about the defense? Mr. Hudson, Mr. Kimba, are we ready to set a date for trial?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. We’d like to request the first available date on the docket,” I replied, hoping he’d have some mercy on us. “Our clients are eager to exonerate themselves. We ask for an immediate jury trial.”

  The judge examined his calendar and said, “How’s early September?”

  “Any time after the Labor Day holiday, Your Honor,” James answered.

  I could hear Carla rambling in my ear about how we needed to get date sooner rather than later. The further out we took this, the more chance of something big happening and us losing the news cycle. “Your Honor, if I may, that is almost five months from now. If the prosecution case is prepared, I must insist on a much earlier trial date,” I said dramatically. “May I suggest early June?”

  “Don’t push it, Mr. Hudson. You know darn well four weeks is not going to happen.”

  “Well, then how about we make it eight weeks?”

  “Your Honor, the State has no objections to an eight week start date,” James announced.

  The judge leaned over to the clerk and murmured something to him, then announced, “All right, gentlemen. How does July seventh sound?”

  “July seventh is fine, judge,” I agreed, knowing it was the best I was going to get.

  “That works fine,” James agreed.

  “Bradley?” Carla said in my ear.

  “Mm-hmm?” I said quietly.

  “Why is he being so agreeable to the early date?”

  “Don’t know.” I glanced over at James, who smirked at me.

  “Did you say something, Mr. Hudson?” the judge asked.

  “No, just making a mental note, Your Honor.” I nodded reassuringly.

  “Okay then, we will reconvene on July seventh, with jury selection to begin on July eighth.” The judge struck his gavel.

  “Bradley, honey,” Carla spoke in my ear. “I don’t like what just happened. Something doesn’t smell right.”

  “I can smell it too,” I said, feeling free to speak more clearly now that court had been dismissed. This had certainly gone better than I anticipated, much better, but based on the confidence of James and David, his legal sidekick, something told me this wasn’t going to be the only thing that would surprise me with their case. “So, Carla, what is it we don’t know?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, “but I promise you I’m going to find out.”

  Krush

  44

  “Shit! Not again.” Little Richie tossed his cards down and stood up from the table. He looked like he was ready to fight, but Richie’s short ass didn’t want none of this.

  “Hey, you play the game, you gotta be prepared to pay the price. Now hand over the cell phone and the charger,” I told him, holding out my hand.

  “Look, I can’t just give you this cell phone. My girl’s about have this baby any minute. Lemme give you something else.”

  “Nah, son. You were the one who decided what you wanted to risk. I put up my entire stack.” I pointed at my pile of cookies and snacks in front of me. I’d been gambling all afternoon using simple statistics, and I’d been whipping these niggas’ asses in craps and cards so bad I must have had thirty honey buns, forty packs of cookies, and fifty packs of Kool-Aid—and that didn’t include the shit I had stashed under my bed. “If I hada lost, you woulda took my shit.”

  “That’s true, Richie!” another inmate agreed.

  “Yeah, but that shit ain’t worth no cell phone, bro.”

  He was right. A cell phone was worth more than anything I had and more. A cell phone was going to make me a king around this bitch.

  I stood up, and although I was skinny at six foot five, I towered over Richie’s little ass. “How about an ass whoopin’? Is it worth an ass whoopin’ every day until I get the phone?”

  Richie looked sick to his stomach, but he handed over the phone.

  “Let this be a lesson, though,” I told him. “Never put up what you ain’t willing to lose. Nice doing business with you.” I stashed the phone in my pocket and scooped up
my loot before heading back to my bed.

  “Yo, Krush, you gonna give me a chance to get my shit back?” the brother asked.

  “No doubt, right after chow. But you gonna have to come up with a whole buncha shit in order to get this phone back,” I said as I was stashing my shit.

  I made my way over to Tony, who was still sitting in that same damn chair after three weeks of being locked up. The shit was just weird as hell. The only time he moved from it was to go to the bathroom, the mess hall, or to sleep. He didn’t even go outside to the yard. Some people had given him a nickname: Doctor Strange.

  “Come on, T, let’s line up,” I said to him. “It’s time to go to chow, and my man said they serving tacos tonight.”

  For the most part, jail food wasn’t worth a shit, and most of us survived on ramen noodles, cookies, Kool-Aid, and chips from the commissary. These sorry-ass motherfuckers they had cooking couldn’t boil water, but for some reason, they could make the hell out of some tacos. Those things put Taco Bell to shame.

  We got in line, and after they counted up our unit, we headed down to the mess. Me and Tony were making our way through the makeshift line. The kitchen inmates filled our plates and trays buffet style as we walked by. I was happy as fuck when I saw that my man was right and they were serving tacos.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled to the brother who placed two tacos on my plate. I moved down to the next item, but when I looked down at Tony’s plate, I stopped.

  “Hey,” I said to the brother who’d just served me. “He got four tacos. Why’d you only give me two?” I probably should have just shut my mouth, but those tacos was good as shit, and I wanted more.

  “Be glad I gave you any, nigga. Now keep the line moving.”

  I was about to say something smart, but Tony gave me a look and shook his head slowly. He barely spoke five words a day, but that look was enough for me.

  “Fuck it. Don’t nobody want your nasty-ass tacos anyway,” I spat, moving to the next food station.

  When we got to our seats, Tony picked up a taco and placed it on my plate. I smiled my gratitude as I picked it up and took a bite.

  “Yo, T, why’d he give you extra tacos?”

  Tony just shrugged and began eating. I didn’t say anything else as I finished my first taco, but I did look down at his tray and realize they’d also given him extra dessert and two milks.

  From the corner of my eye, I spotted that short bastard Richie talking to a Spanish dude and glancing over at me. Neither one of them looked happy, and my guard went up immediately. They didn’t mean nothing good for me. Moments later, they were headed in my direction. I eased up from the table and slowly moved back.

  “Yo, motherfucker, he needs his shit back,” the Spanish dude told me.

  “I ain’t got his shit. Everything I got belongs to me,” I answered, looking over at Richie.

  “The phone you just took from him. He needs it back.”

  “First of all, I ain’t take shit. He lost them to me.” I folded my arms.

  “Plain and simple, it wasn’t his to lose. It belonged to me,” the dude said.

  “You just said that it was his shit, which means it was his. And if it wasn’t his, then he shouldn’t have put it up.” I looked at Richie, who looked like he wanted to bitch up. “I told you never risk what you can’t afford to lose.”

  The big dude turned to Richie and said something in Spanish. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. Richie had dark skin, and I thought he was a black dude. Now I understood that he was probably Dominican, which meant when I fucked with him, I was fucking with the Latin dudes. This was bad.

  “Man, ain’t nobody got time to debate with your ass. Give him his shit so he can give it back to me.” The Spanish guy stepped toward me and squared up.

  “Hey, fellas, hold up.” Another inmate tried to intervene.

  “Who the fuck are you, his daddy?” Dude asked him, and the guy just backed away. Then the Spanish guy looked back at me. “Give him his shit back.”

  “Fuck you. I ain’t giving shit b—”

  I felt a blow to my stomach, and then my head. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the big Spanish dude who hit me. It was little-ass Richie. Unfortunately, dude didn’t take long to join in. In a matter of seconds, I was on the floor, getting the shit stomped out of me. I could barely see from the blows, and all I could hear was inmates yelling encouragement to my attackers. This was entertainment for these motherfuckers.

  I didn’t think it would ever end, but out of nowhere, one of them stopped. He yelled out in pain, and then the other one quickly joined him. By the time I got my head out my ass, I saw Tony on top of the Spanish guy, swinging a bloody sock filled with something. Richie was already on the ground, bleeding more from his head than me.

  The alarm went off, and the COs started shouting commands. “Get on the floor! Get down now!”

  Out of everybody, I made out the best. Yeah, I had a lot of bumps and bruises and would be sporting a black eye for a while, but for the most part, I was all right and only spent an hour in the infirmary. Richie and the Spanish dude were not so lucky. They were taken away to the infirmary, and word got back that their injuries were severe. Whatever Tony had in that sock—I suspected it was bars of soap—must have been hard as shit, because both of them had broken ribs, and Richie had a facial fracture that would keep him in the infirmary for three or four months. Meanwhile, bad-ass Tony didn’t have a scratch on him. As he was being led out of the mess hall for two weeks in the hole, he’d given me the frat sign. He sure as hell was stronger than I’d thought. I wouldn’t see him until our next hearing date, but I now knew Tony would be okay. I just wasn’t sure about me anymore, because that was the moment I realized I wasn’t a fighter, and I really didn’t want to be one.

  Perk

  45

  I slowly pulled the car under the bridge and turned off the engine. From where we were parked, I could see the reflection of the city on the Hudson River. It looked peaceful and reminded me of my days before I met Bradley and his family, when I would walk along the riverbank, fishing for snappers and searching for clams and mussels just so I could have something to eat. I had so much fun that summer that I didn’t even know how bad I had it until winter came. It was a miracle I was still alive after eating seafood out of that polluted river. But as Bradley always said, I was a survivor.

  “Sooooo, what’s the deal with you and Desiree?”

  “What? Where the hell did that come from?” I frowned and looked over at Michael in the passenger’s seat. I had managed to not think about Desiree all day, and here he was bringing her up. Shit!

  He shrugged. “Nowhere. I’ve just been wondering what’s up with y’all, so I figured I’d ask. I mean, y’all do live together, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, we’re roommates. But I’m in the process of moving out,” I said.

  “Are you sure that’s all you are?” Michael continued his line of questioning as if I were on the witness stand. I guess that’s what happens when you’re around lawyers all day.

  “What the heck, Mike? Am I on trial here? She’s like a sister to me.” I searched his face for any signs that he knew I was bullshitting. “What the hell she tell you?” I didn’t know why I’d said that. Of course she hadn’t said anything. She barely knew Michael, and she’d never revealed anything about us, even to her best friends.

  “It ain’t what she said. It’s what she did,” Michael said confidently, like he’d just solved a case. “I saw her hating on your girl Lena for no apparent reason; then I saw her throw that pie in the trash. You don’t snap like that over a roommate, bruh. That was some pure jealousy shit.”

  His observational skills were strong. He would be a great asset to the Hudson firm someday.

  “Mike, if I were you, I’d forget I saw all that . . . for your own good,” I told him.

  Desiree and I hadn’t said anything to each other since the incident with Lena, and I had made it a point to avoi
d her unless it was work related. She had made that easy by not coming home.

  “So, there used to be something there? I knew it.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  I hesitated for a minute, wondering if I should continue to deny everything, but it was obvious he would see right through my lies. So, I admitted it while still telling him as little as possible. “It was complicated, but it’s over. Like I said, I’m moving out.” I checked the rearview mirror.

  “Too bad. Des is a fine woman,” Michael said.

  “Heads up. We have company,” I told him. A mysterious figure appeared in the side mirror about a hundred feet away and was approaching the back of the car fast. I placed my hand on the waistband of my jeans, where my Glock was located, just in case it wasn’t who I was expecting. As the figure got closer, I recognized the face and hit the unlock button. The rear door opened, and he jumped in.

  The scrawny white guy, who now sat in the back seat, greeted me. “What’s up, Perk?”

  “I can’t call it, Nate.” I turned to my side and said, “This is Mike. He’s my new partner. He’s a lawyer, but he’s learning the legal business from the ground up.”

  “What’s up, Mike?” Nate stretched his hand out, and Michael shook it. “So, Perk, why do we always have to meet in these shadowy places? For once can we meet at a nice restaurant, where I can order steak and you can pick up the tab?”

  “No, because I took you to a restaurant one time and it cost me four hundred bucks.” I turned toward Michael. “This skinny son of a bitch here is a food-eating champion. I’ve seen him eat a hundred bratwurst in like five minutes at one event.”

  “It was a hundred forty, and it was hot dogs, not bratwurst. Bratwurst give me gas,” he said with a laugh.

  “So, what you got for me, Nate? Bradley is on my ass, and all I keep hearing is bad news. I need something.” I reached inside the center console and took out an envelope that I handed to Nate. “Tell me you don’t have me out here on some bullshit.”

  Nate took the envelope and tucked it away without even looking at the contents. “Tony’s brother Adonis was arrested last night with a little more than a kilo of black tar heroin, twenty pounds of weed, and a shitload of Oxy in Queens last night.”