Becoming A Son

by David Labrava

  71

  Gotta keep pushing my self at all times. Gotta keep moving forward. Gotta keep on keepin on.

  Everything slowed down for me after Jimmy’s death. It was a wake up call for a lot of people, myself included. Lesson one. I better never get too comfortable.

  I was working a lot trying to save money to go back to Holland. Miami isn’t the cheapest place in the world, but if you are from there it’s pretty easy to have a few things going and not work a lot.

  It took a few months to get back on my feet after Jimmy’s death. It was really hard to shake the feeling of guilt. I would hang out at the bar depressed and my friends would see me there as they walked up and go to a different place because I was such a bummer.

  Red was still doing the SBU parties and we hadn’t had one in a long time so we decided to do one. I figured I had to get my mind into something so I could move forward. I started really working out the logisitics of driving across the country. Everything is an undertaking. Everything takes careful planning if you plan on succeeding.

  When every day is the same they all seem to run into another and all of a sudden I was looking back at all the things I had not accomplished and the time I spent not getting it done. It was a viscious cycle, which I had to change. I was getting too comfortable in the sunshine riding my motorcycle every day with my friend Alex. I had become complacent. Sometmes that’s hard to see while it is happening to you. Life was good, sun is shining, bike is running, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. Not where I wanted to be anyway. I started working like a man possessed and saving every dollar. No more sushi every night, back to tuna out of the can. Got to get back to the dream.

  I was still talking to the young brother on the West Coast alot and the Movie Producer once in a while so in my mind I had a place to go with a cool stop along the way. Time to get back to chasing my dreams. As I got older the dream stayed the same, it just got a little more precise. I wanted to be in the family all my friends were in, and I wanted to make something out of my life. That’s what I suffer from, it’s called AMBITION.

  Once my mind was made up to keep moving life got a little better. Everywhere I looked reminded me of Jimmy though and that was difficult. It made it hard to stay in Miami. It was time to go. But time to go and really getting out don’t always fall in line. It takes work. Six weeks can turn into six months before you know it. Hopefully it doesn’t turn into six years.

  72

  I was saving every dime I had and getting ready to split. I was about two weeks away from leaving. I had given up my apartment and I had to be out by the end of the month. The adventure was on again. I was out of my mind again with excitement. My new friends on the West Coast were expecting me and everything was going to plan. It felt right.

  I had two bikes that I was bringing with me. My chopper which was immaculate, huge motor, fat tire, so clean you could eat off it. And my newly built Custom FXR all chrome with black paint Red flames with a white stripe. Both bikes were sick. I also had the motorhome running good with the glass shop operational in the back. I brought tanks of propane and Oxygen so I was self sufficient. I had been tattooing five days a week so I figured I could do that on the side. I was comfortable knowing I could make money when I arrived on the West Coast. Got to survive. The rent never stops coming. Ever.

  I lived of tenth street about three blocks from Washington boulevard which is where all the action is. I kept the chopper at JA’s warehouse and I rode the FXR everywhere. Everyone had choppers and now I was into FXR’s. Me and Alex now had the only FXR’s. Everyone else rode rigid frame choppers. I was planning to drive to Oakland with both bikes in an enclosed trailer. You never know how the wind can blow. I didn’t want anything to damage my bikes.

  I was laying in my bed around three a.m. I know it was three a.m. cause I had just gotten home around two a.m.. from working in the tattoo shop. I had gotten in a huge argument with the girl I was seeing at the shop and I ended up splitting to go home and she went to the bar to get drunk. I had to wake up early and cover a shift at the tattoo shop in Kendall and I wanted to get some sleep.

  I heard a slight knock at the door. Da da da da da da da…you know that familiar knock. I thought it was my girl drunk trying to make up.……The door knocked again… da da da da da da.

  I jumped out of my bed in mu underwear and ripped the door open. There were three men standing there. One was a decent dressed Cuban about thirty. One was a Haitian also about thirty tears old dressed in Miami Marlins gear and one looked like an over weight redneck about fifty five.

  “What do you want?” I said as I ripped the door open. I think they were as surprised to see me as I was as seeing them. Everyone just froze for a moment.

  “Is that you bike down there?” The redneck asked.

  “It’s gonna get towed.” The Haitian guy said. I thought they were tow truck drivers. Three of them I should have figured they were cops.

  I ran down stairs which was one flight and my bike was fine. I ran back up and only the Cuban and the Haitian guys were standing there. I reached for my door and it was locked from the inside.

  “OPEN IT NOW.” I said as I beat on the door. I was locked out of my own house.

  The door opened and the redneck pulled a badge out from under his shirt that he was wearing on a chain.

  “Miami P.D. You’re under arrest.”

  “THAT’S BULLSHIT.” I said as I tried to close the door and get back inside with them out. It wasn’t happening. The redneck weighted about three hundred pounds. Everybody started swinging. I thought they were jackers. This became a fight with those three trying to subdue me. I blasted the Haitian with a right and the Cuban guy blasted me with a left. The neighbors who were sitting across the street drinking beer all night all started screaming with excitement. It looked like I was fighting three home invaders, which is what I thought they were. That big redneck could have bought that badge.

  We were pretty quickly rolling on the floor. I lived on a second floor so it’s lucky we didn’t roll off. They had me in handcuffs and dragged me in my own apartment and ripped it apart with me watching them. And I’m in my underwear to boot. They were ripping my place apart in front of me.

  “Can I put some pants on?”

  The big redneck cop helped me put the pants on while I was handcuffed and I put my legs in the holes. Then he pushed me back on the couch. They continued to rip my place apart until they found a few ounces of weed I had in some jars.

  “Jar weed. And it’s all jarred up. That’s possession with intent to distribute.”

  “Too bad you don’t got a warrant or else that lie might work.”

  “What you say?” The Cuban cop said.

  “I said I need a lawyer. I don’t speak your language.”

  They collected all my weed and found a couple hits of and acid that I didn’t even know was stashed in a book on the shelf. It was probably so old that if they bothered to test it nothing would have showed up anyway.

  The whole neighborhood came out and was watching me get stuffed in the police car. Two squad cars pulled up to give back up.

  “Call my friend to come get my bike.” I said to the big Redneck cop as we passed my bike.

  “Call him or else my shit will be stolen.”

  He thought about it and took out his flip phone.

  “What’s the number?” I told him the number. This is back when everyone remembered numbers. He spoke into the phone.

  “Yeah you wanna come on down and pick up your friend’s bike. He’s being arrested. No, this is not a joke.” The cop listened for a moment and the he held the phone up to my ear.

  “Is this for real?” Red asked me.

  “I am in handcuffs in the back of the police car. Hurry up.”

  “On my way.”

  Red came right down and took the bike.

  The redneck cop opened the door of the back of the police car I was sitting in and looked at me. He leaned in.

  “Ever been arrested before?�
�

  “What do you think?”

  “You can help yourself.”

  “I got nothing to say to you.” He looked at me with a grin.

  “I respect that.” He slammed the door on me. Idiot.

  It was a quick ride to the Miami Beach police station. About one minute. The three cops who were at my door walked me inside handcuffed with nothing on but my jeans. I had no belt so I was trying to hold up my past as I walked.

  They brought me to a room full of people filling out papers and when we walked in they all covered their faces and screamed like they were in pain. They had brought me into a room full of undercover cops filling out their paperwork. IDIOTS. They slammed me up against the wall with my face to it so I couldn’t see anything and all the undercover cops filed out real quick. When I finally sat down the only people in the room was the Redneck cop and two cops that used to stand outside a club called the Kitchen Club that I was a bouncer at many years earlier. They had watched me grow up and were sitting there with a grin.

  The redneck cop sat down in front of his typewriter and put a piece of paper in it.

  “What have you been arrested for?”

  “Posession, assault, look it up you’ll find it. I grew up on the beach.”

  They cop was having trouble typing with his two fingers. He looked up at me with disdain.

  “Last chance to help yourself.” He said.

  “You don’t know D.L.?” One of the cops said who was sitting behind me..

  “He’s not gonna tell you anything.” The other cop said. I looked at them and they looked familiar. Then it hit me, these cops had arrested me years earlier. More than once. They were detective’s now.

  “Glad to see you’re still at it D.L.” One of them said as they got up.

  “Yeah. Keeps us in business.” The other one said and they walked out laughing.

  The cop finished the paperwork and threw me in the holding tank. My friends got me out by morning. Getting out was the least of it. Now not only was I not leaving Miami when I thought I was, I now had to fight a case. I hadn’t done that in a while.

  For those of you that don’t know, there is no fight like a fight for your freedom. Everything is different when you are fighting a case. And me with a few prior convictions things didn’t look great from the start.

  The court appointed attorney they had for at the arraignment was dump truck meaning he was into dumping me off a the first stop. The first meeting didn’t go too well. He kept frowning and nodding his head ‘no’ while he looked over my rap sheet.

  “So you recently completed probation a few years ago? Is that correct?”

  “Yes sir.”

  He looked at the sheet some more and did some more shaking his head.

  “You should take their offer. Possession with intent to distribute more than an ounce. You get three to five years. I’ll have you out in two.”

  “You’re insane. It was illegal search and seizure. I didn’t invite them in. They went in without a warrant.”

  “That’s not what they say.”

  “They are lying.”

  “Somebody in the neighborhood called on you. I don’t know who and we wont know until discovery, and that’s if we ever find out.”

  “Called on me for what?”

  “For dealing.”

  “I wasn’t dealing.”

  “They said you had a lot of traffic at that residence and they thought you were dealing out of it.”

  “Don’t they still need a warrant?”

  “Not if they smelled weed.”

  “I was sleeping.”

  “The are saying you attacked them.” He looked at the paper and read, “The suspect opened the door and attacked the officers after they identified themselves.”

  “They went in my place and locked me out.”

  “Listen. You have quite a previous record. A few convictions. The judge is going to look at that. You get in trouble every three or four years. That sets a pattern. They have a ninety percent conviction rate in drug cases in this town.”

  He leaned in and whispered like he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. He probably didn’t. He was selling me up the river.

  “Three to five. You do eighteen months. Think about it.” he picked up his case load of folders and almost dropped them on the floor, but he caught them and left.

  I sat there for a moment stunned. Then I got up and walked out. After I walked out of the swinging glass doors I turned back I read the letters painted on the glass, ‘Public Defenders Office’.

  I thought that’s a laugh. Public Pretenders Office is what it should say cause that guy was pretending to help me. I had a clear cut case of illegal search and seizure as far as I could see it. And for what? Four ounces of weed? The acid never even showed up in the report. They must have kept it. It was probably twenty years old anyway. I never thought they would try to give me a few years for four ounces of weed. They have a zero tolerance policy in Miami.

  I knew I had to figure out another avenue. I went and saw my mom and got the name and number of one of my father’s friends who was still alive and still an attorney. It was on Brickell avenue in a high end building where really rich attorney’s defend private clients with money. I rode my bike there and parked in a lot full of Mercedes and BMW’s.

  The attorney’s name was Bill. The last time I had seen him I was about then years old. I knew he wouldn’t remember me.

  “You could be anyone.” He said to me.

  “Can I make a call?”

  “Who are you going to call?”

  “My Mom.” He smiled and handed over the phone. She picked it up right away.

  “Put him on.” She said. I handed him the phone.

  “My mom wants to talk to you.” He took the hone with a big smile.

  “Harriet? Yes. Good. Yes it has been quite a while.” Then he listened. Then he laughed. Then I knew I was in. I knew he was going to help me.

  He talked to my mom for about twenty minutes. They laughed for most of it. You could tell it was two old friends that hadn’t spoken in a long, long time. He hung up the phone and turned to me.

  “I am going to put one of the attorney’s in my firm on your case. Don’t worry about a thing. Me and your parents go way back. Since Beach High School. I am going to take care of your problem.”

  “Thank you Sir.”

  “It’s going to cost three thousand five hundred dollars. If it was anyone else I would be charging thirty five thousand dollars. And getting the same result. Acquittal. That’s what we do here. We win.”

  I stood up, shook his hand and left. I felt a lot better. I knew I just had to go through the motions of fighting the case and hopefully I will be acquitted. I knew first order of business is get the attorney most of his money. They don’t work too well when you don’t pay them.

  I figured if the attorney has a private investigator they would talk to the witnesses who watched it and find out it was an illegal search and seizure and I could get back on my course. It’s never that easy though.

  It’s almost impossible to think about anything else when you are fighting a case. It is the first thought in the morning and the last at night and most of the thought’s all day. You might get you freedom taken away. Nobody can tell that’s what’s on your mind, but believe me, it is. I got a call from my new attorney, his name was Doug Haskell. He was the attorney Bill had appointed to my case. He had just started with the firm a few months ago. He was young and snotty and he was full of attitude.

  “We don’t even take cases this small. Who do you know?”

  “Bill. He knows my mom. Bill is the lead partner of the firm. This is HIS firm, He is YOUR boss.

  Doug went silent after that for a moment. I don’t think people usually talk to him that way.

  “Well, looking at your record it’s going to be hard for me to get you just probation. You are going to have to do a little time. Six months maybe. Then a few years of probation. “

  “B
ill said you are going to get me acquitted. That’s what you guys do. Win.”

  “Bill is not trying this case, I am. Don’t call me I will call you when I have a date for the discovery and pre trial hearing. That will be the same day. I am going to try to expedite this process. I have big cases to try.”

  “This is a big case to me.” He hung up the phone. I sat there not feeling too good. You have to be confident in your attorney. I wasn’t. I started getting my head ready to go to jail for about six months. My attorney called me the day before the pre trial hearing. That’s where they disclose the discovery, which is basically when they have to show their hand, witnesses, evidence, statements all of it. The first part is the arraignment which happens within three days. That’s when you find out the charges and bail. This is the next part, which is when you see what you are up against. How good of a case they have against you. I didn’t think the cops had much of a case at all. But that was just my opinion.

  The Pre trial is usually a few months after the arrest. A good attorney will make a case drag out for years. People tend to care less when the incident is years previous.

  I got arrested in mid August it was now almost Christmas. Backed up. That what they said. The courts are ‘backed up.’

  “Dress nice tomorrow. You have a suit, right?”

  “Yes sir.” Red took me to the thrift store and I picked out a suit from the rack.

  “And be on time. You really are one lucky son of a gun aren’t you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow. Third floor court room –C. Don’t be late” and he hung up. He always hung up the phone when he was done he never waited for a good bye or anything. Pompous bastard.

  The night before court is always a sleepless one. Mostly because we stay up partying all night. Red picked me up the next day in his box van. I was waiting in front of my place wearing my suit from the thrift store. The same neighbors that watched the whole incident were siting on their stoop drinking just like always. They knew I was gong to court.