Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale

by Andrew Kane

  Joshua phoned her as soon as his lashing from Fielding was over. Fielding had removed him from the Johnson case, and had assured him that his tenure at the PD’s office was in serious jeopardy.

  Joshua asked her to dinner, and promised to pay if she would look into what the DA had on the Johnson case. He told her about his meeting with Johnson, his suspicions about Johnson’s innocence, and Fielding’s reaction.

  “But you’re off the case,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about that, just find out what you can.”

  “You know you’re going to get yourself fired.”

  “So what.”

  “Okay, I’ll do what I can. Juniors at seven?”

  “Juniors at seven.”

  Juniors was a restaurant on Flatbush Avenue in Downtown Brooklyn that touted the “world’s greatest cheesecake.” It was a popular lunching spot for professionals, but usually quiet around dinner time. Joshua often met Connie there because of its proximity to their respective offices. Tonight, however, it wasn’t so convenient, for he would be taking a rather lengthy detour to the other side of town.

  Professor Alvin Thompson was a creature of habit. He kept the same teaching schedule year after year, which included two evening courses during the summer semester. Joshua knew exactly when to find him in his faculty office.

  What Joshua was about to do could most definitely ruin his career. He had to be careful that no one found out. He stood in the hallway, not far from Thompson’s door, waiting for the right moment. There was only one other person in the hallway, a male student at the other end, reading a bulletin board. Joshua pretended to do the same, until the student disappeared into a classroom. Joshua walked quickly to Thompson’s door, listened to confirm if the professor was alone, and knocked.

  He heard Thompson say, “Come in,” and opened the door. Thompson was surprised. “Mr. Eubanks, oh my! An old student coming to visit? You must have been in the neighborhood.” Sarcasm.

  “Actually, sir, I wasn’t.” Nervousness.

  Thompson appeared curious. “Come! Sit!” He pointed to a chair. “Tell me, how are you?”

  Joshua briefly summarized what he was doing, not yet mentioning the Johnson case or his reason for visiting. Thompson seemed genuinely delighted by his accomplishments, especially the part about being a PD.

  “I don’t know if I had anything to do with it,” Thompson said, “but I always knew you would be a lawyer, and now you can really help your people. Many of our brothers are often wrongly accused in the judicial system. A young man such as yourself can do a great deal.”

  Joshua had anticipated the rhetoric. “That brings me to the purpose of my visit,” he said.

  Thompson raised his eyebrows.

  Joshua told Thompson about the Johnson case, both facts and impressions, and presented his spin on how things went in the PD’s office. Thompson, of course, wasn’t surprised, but was, however, puzzled that he hadn’t heard anything about this case until now.

  “I think it was the Nixon resignation,” Joshua said. “The media has been so involved with that, everything else was ignored.”

  Thompson agreed. “Well, now we must rectify that,” he said. “We must bring this matter to the attention of the media, and put pressure upon the judicial system to insure Mr. Johnson gets a fair trial.”

  Exactly what Joshua wanted to hear.

  Thompson looked at his watch. “I must be getting to my next class,” he said. “You have taken quite a chance coming to me; it could hurt you if anyone were to find out. You needn’t be concerned. This discussion will remain between us.” He thought for a moment. “You are going to do great things for our people, great things.”

  Joshua painted on a smile. He had no intention of forming a pact with Thompson, or becoming an activist. He simply wanted to help Willie Johnson, and Thompson was his only recourse. He knew Thompson would bite—it was an irresistible situation. The easy part was done. Now, he needed to get on with the hard part: finding Willie Johnson’s friends.

  Connie waited a good fifteen minutes, and wasn’t happy about it. She was already seated at a table, munching on a pickle, when Joshua appeared and sat down across from her. He looked contrite.

  He had debated with himself whether to let her in on his scheme, and hadn’t come to a decision. On the one hand, she was his closest friend and sometimes bedfellow; on the other hand, she worked for the DA. He had no doubts about being able to trust her, he just wasn’t sure he wanted to put her in a compromising position. When he saw her sitting there, the issue was decided. He needed an excuse for his tardiness, a good excuse.

  “I’m really sorry I’m late, but it was something important.”

  “Oh,” she responded, lifting her head, “and what might that be?”

  “It’s related to the Johnson case, and I promise to tell you. But first I need to know what you have.”

  “Is this some sort of quid pro quo?”

  “Connie!”

  “Okay, okay. You know, I could get into a lot of trouble for this.”

  “No kidding. Trust me, there’s going to be plenty of trouble to go around.”

  “You’re right about that. I peeked in the file, and if you ask me—which you obviously are—I think it stinks.”

  “My sentiments precisely.”

  “I mean there’s no real evidence. Nothing. Just a victim and a suspect. No serious investigation, and everyone seems to want to close the book. I’m afraid to imagine why.”

  “It doesn’t take much imagination,” he said.

  She reflected on his point. “Okay, so what are you going to do? You can’t try cases yet, and even if you could, they wouldn’t give you one like this. They don’t want a circus, they just want this to go away.”

  “That’s why I was late tonight.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m going to give them a circus.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been to see Thompson.”

  “You’ve been where?”

  “You heard me. I went to see Thompson, told him the whole story, and if I’m right, Fielding’s going to freak tomorrow.”

  “You could lose your job for this.”

  “I could.”

  “And what difference is any of this going to make with Fielding defending him?”

  “Who says Fielding’s defending him?”

  “Well you’re certainly not, and the kid’s got no money, so who else is there.”

  “Let’s just see how things go.”

  Connie wanted to stay with him that night; the lone hero stuff had gotten to her. But he had other plans. He shared them with her, and she understood. She also begged him to be careful.

  It had been years since he’d been out on the streets at night. He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere in his work clothes, so he went home first to change into something street-wise. Loretta was home when he arrived. He told her he was going out on some business. She didn’t ask about it. He was now her lawyer son, completely trustworthy and revered, above all suspicion for any possible wrong-doing.

  It was a balmy summer night, with lots of folks out on the sidewalks in front of their buildings. He found a luncheonette on Troy Avenue, just off the corner of Montgomery Street where Willie and his cronies had supposedly been hanging out the night of the rape. He sat at a table, nursing a cup of coffee till around twelve, when the crowds outside had dwindled.

  He didn’t have much of a plan; in fact, he was basically improvising. He figured he would walk to the corner, hang out a while, see what happened. Smoking had never been his thing, but he thought it wise to buy a pack and puff on a few, hoping it made him fit in.

  It didn’t take long before someone approached. A black kid, tall, stocky, scar on his chin, beady eyed, in desperate need of dental work. “Hey man, wahs up?” the kid asked.

  Joshua looked at him starkly without answering. The first rule is never appear intimidated. Otherwise, you’re done. “You want something?” he said.
>
  “No man, I was wonderin’ maybe you wanted somthin’.”

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me, man. Girls, horse, reefer, whatever you want, I got.”

  Joshua hesitated, then said, “Information?”

  “Infomation! Got plenty o’ infomation. What you need to know?”

  Joshua reached into his wallet, pulled out a five, and handed it to him. “I’m looking for a group of kids that are on this corner some nights.”

  “And who might they be?”

  “Friends of Willie Johnson.”

  For an instant, Joshua thought he saw a scared look on the kid’s face. Then: “Willie Johnson? I seem to recall a name like that, but I’m not too sure.”

  “Look, five bucks is all I have. Give it back, or come up with something.” Tough, a lot tougher than he was actually feeling.

  “Okay man, okay. Cool out! I know the guy.”

  “So where are his friends?”

  “And who wants to know?”

  “I’m his lawyer.”

  “You Willie’s lawyer?” The kid looked askance at Joshua. “Come on man, you ain’t no one’s lawyer.”

  Joshua was losing patience. He handed the kid his card. “Listen, that’s my name, and as it says, I work for the public defender’s office. I represent Willie, and if you know anything, you know he’s in a shitload of trouble. I’m trying to help him, but I need to talk with his friends and find out where he really was that night.”

  “Look man,” the kid said, fear showing in his eyes, “I ain’t never heard of no Willie, and I don’t know nothin’ about it.” He shoved the five dollars back into Joshua’s hand, and started to walk away, but Joshua followed after him.

  “Listen,” Joshua said, grabbing his arm. “I’m not looking to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Then you best be gone.” He pulled away.

  “Willie’s going to end up in prison for a long time for something he didn’t do, unless you help me.”

  “I told you. I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “Okay, okay.” Joshua calmed himself. “Why don’t you just think about it, talk to some guys who might know what I’m talking about. You have my card.”

  “Yeah sure.” Hollow.

  “The deal is, if you help me out, I’ll help you out.”

  “You gonna help me?”

  “You never need a lawyer?”

  The kid considered the offer. “Sure man, whatever you say.” With that, he walked off.

  Joshua spent the remainder of the night awake, ruminating over Willie’s fate. He didn’t even bother getting into bed. He sat at his desk, peering out the window, watching the emergence of daylight.

  He showered and changed his clothes. He had two suits, both seersucker; one blue, one gray. Graduation gifts from his mother, who, upon giving them to him, had said, “By the time fall comes, you’ll have some money to buy yourself some warm ones.” He enjoyed wearing suits, thought he looked kind of lawyerly in them. As for having money, he wasn’t even sure he was going to have a job in a few days.

  Willie Johnson’s arraignment was scheduled for two-thirty. Joshua got to the office early, so he could leave in time to make it to court. Fielding had been abundantly clear about his being off the case, but that wasn’t going to stop him from spectating.

  The day flew by. He asked Connie to meet him outside the courthouse. “Why not?” she answered, a bit hesitantly. He feared he had involved her more than he should have, but she didn’t seem to want to turn back. Not now.

  They met on the courthouse steps. It was one of those New York summer days—hazy, hot, and humid. His tie was loosened, his shirt undone, and he looked like someone who hadn’t slept in nearly two days. Connie, of course, was put together nicely, hair coifed, lipstick subtle, eye liner matched to a dark blue cotton summer dress. Ever self-conscious about her weight, she always wore dark colors.

  “You look good,” Joshua said.

  “You don’t.”

  Oh well.

  They slipped into the back of the courtroom. There were plenty of seats. The room was quiet; the judge was on a break. Fielding was up front, his back to the audience, waiting for Willie’s case to be called. A disheveled looking man with gray hair and tortoiseshell glasses sat at the prosecution table, shuffling through some papers.

  “That’s Strauss,” Connie whispered. “He’s the ADA on the case. A bona fide asshole, like Fielding. Been on the job fifteen years, only cares about getting through the day.”

  “I hear the judge isn’t much better.”

  They watched as Strauss approached Fielding and the two began talking. For adversaries, they seemed rather friendly.

  “Word is they party together after work at some pub on Montague Street,” Connie said.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  The door to the judge’s chambers opened, and out stepped the honorable Bernard Wilkens, a short, emaciated old man, with thinning white hair, a crooked chin, and a bulbous nose. He ambled up the podium stairs, and sank, slowly, into his chair.

  “I wonder if the judge joins them after work,” Joshua asked.

  Connie giggled, causing eyes to turn their way.

  Fielding shot Joshua a disapproving glance, but Strauss didn’t seem to recognize either of them.

  Joshua kept a straight face. He was no longer afraid. Once he had decided to visit Thompson the night before, he had prepared himself for the worst.

  “He doesn’t recognize you,” Joshua said to Connie, referring to Strauss.

  “He will, next time he sees me.”

  The judge coughed up some phlegm and cleared his throat. “Okay, bailiff, call the next case,” he commanded.

  The bailiff announced the case and charges. Two guards escorted Willie and his shackles through a door in the front corner of the courtroom, and sat him at the defense table next to Fielding. The judge took the file from the bailiff and began perusing the papers, as a large group of people suddenly paraded into the courtroom. Black people. The judge looked up from his desk. Fielding and Strauss also turned around.

  There must have been about fifty of them, all attired in suits and dresses, all observing decorum, quietly entering the room and finding seats. The last to enter was Professor Alvin Thompson. At his side were two white men, also in suits. One of the white men held a large sketch book, the other, a note pad.

  Fielding and Strauss looked at one another, then at the judge. Willie turned around and spotted Joshua smiling. He didn’t seem to understand what was happening.

  “Mr. Fielding,” the judge opened, “can you explain what’s going on in my court room?”

  “No, your honor, I can’t.”

  “Mr. Strauss?”

  “Sorry, your honor.”

  “Okay then, Mr. Thompson,” the judge called out, looking directly at the professor, “perhaps you can shed some light on the matter.”

  It wasn’t surprising that the judge recognized Thompson. Over the years, the professor had gained quite a reputation. His charisma had turned his small following of classroom zealots into a popular movement, and his face frequented both the tabloids and television.

  Thompson rose from his seat. “Your honor, I, and these fellow citizens, and these members of the press, have come here today with the simple and pure purpose of observing this great court and witnessing how justice is performed.”

  “He should have been a preacher,” Joshua whispered to Connie.

  The judge appeared dumbfounded, as did Fielding and Strauss. He called the lawyers up to the bench. The room stilled to overhear what was being said.

  “What kind of shit case is this, Mr. Strauss?” the judge asked the DA, pretending to whisper, but knowing the crowd was listening.

  “Your honor, the defendant was found…”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass where he was found. There’s no evidence connecting him to the crime, is there?”

  Fielding remained silent.

  “Your honor,
he was dressed similarly to the assailant, and has a past record…”

  “A past record of what, Mr. Strauss?”

  Strauss stood there, embarrassed. The judge looked at Fielding. “And you, Mr. Fielding, what kind of advocacy is this, offering to plead your client in a case as flimsy as this?”

  “Your honor,” Fielding began to say as the judge interrupted.

  “Step back gentlemen!” the judge commanded.

  The lawyers returned to their tables. Fielding conferred with Willie for a few seconds, but the kid still didn’t understand anything. He listened to his lawyer and nodded.

  The judge cleared his throat again, sipped from a glass of water, and said, “Okay, Mr. Fielding, does your client wish to enter a plea as to the said charges?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Fielding answered hesitantly. “My client pleads not guilty.”

  Professor Thompson smiled with approval as the courtroom broke into applause. Judge Wilkins called for order. “Mr. Thompson,” he admonished, “you and your entourage will not make a mockery of this courtroom. Am I clear on that?”

  Thompson rose again. “Abundantly, your honor. I apologize for this slight outburst. It’s just that there has been speculation in the community that a young man was going to be railroaded in this court today, plea bargained for a crime of which there is no evidence against him, deprived of his right to a fair trial and an impartial jury of his peers. These rumors were concerning, your honor. They frightened the people into believing that there is not equal opportunity under the law for both black and white, and petrified them into imagining that a young man’s life might be sacrificed in the name of expediency. And now, your honor, the people have witnessed that justice does indeed prevail, that there is equal access under the law for all. I do apologize if they display their gratitude too intemperately for your honor’s liking. I apologize profusely.”

  Next to Thompson, the white reporter with the notepad seemed to be recording every word of the professor’s speech. The sketch artist appeared busy as well.

  “Boy, this guy’s good,” Joshua whispered.

  Connie smiled.