“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I come to you today for justice . . .”
While Long filibustered, Reece casually sized up the jury. His eyes lingered on juror number six, who sweated profusely. Juror number six pulled at his collar. It was getting hot. Juror number six discreetly locked eyes with Reece briefly, and nodded his head.
That was all Reece needed to see. He was cooperating. For the remainder of Long’s diatribe, Reece sat confidently. When it was time for Mr. Shabazz to address the court, Reece perked up.
Mr. Shabazz stood, shot his cuffs again, and sauntered to the center of the jury. He was fairly attractive with a shock of red hair neatly cut low and groomed to perfection. He had no facial hair, which made it easy for him to belie his fifty years of age. A lot of his cases were won on sheer skill, but it was his looks that got him over the hump, for if you couldn’t endear a jury to you from jump, your case was already lost. Malik Shabazz came off as cool, but not arrogant. Classy, but not bourgeois.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m sure you just heard of the elaborate crime syndicate Mr. Long alleges that my client operated. The vast criminal enterprise that spans the entire Carolinas. The brutal atrocities committed in the name of the almighty dollar. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m sure you heard the stories painted by Mr. Picasso”—an audible gasp could be heard—“yes, Picasso, because only an artist of extraordinary talent could paint a picture so vivid. So far-fetched! However, even Picasso needed a prop. An example. A proof, if you will, to paint his magnificent masterpieces. So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, where is the proof? The proof, I say! I’m sure when this is over, you’ll see Federal Prosecutor Long’s case is as flimsy as wet tissue!
“My client is a self-respecting businessman . . .” By the time Malik Shabazz finished speaking, even Reece thought of himself as a self-respecting businessman, as he sat cross-legged in his seat looking dignified. It seemed the whole courtroom was convinced. Everyone except juror number six. He knew firsthand the prosecutor’s depiction of the defendant was closer to the truth.
Day one of the trial was spent largely covering motions. The parties were excused for the day at four-thirty.
Day two started promptly at ten a.m. with the government calling its first witness. Reece casually looked around hoping to get a glimpse of Destiny somewhere, to no avail, because Destiny wasn’t in the courtroom. Instead, her “Uncle Lou” strutted to the stand.
He took the stand and was sworn in.
“Could you state your name for the record, please?”
“Victor Harris.”
“And what do you do, Mr. Harris?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m a lieutenant with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Mr. Long coached him on. “Were you in charge of the detail responsible for investigating the defendant?”
“I was.”
“Could you tell the court the first time you had the displeasure—”
“Objection!”
“Withdrawn. Excuse me, the pleasure of meeting the defendant.”
Lieutenant Harris went on to explain how he was introduced to Reece at the party and a few other occasions—which Reece didn’t recall. He made mention of Destiny several times, but referred to her as Agent Hill. Each time he did so, Reece saw red. It was the only time he allowed himself to be fazed by what went on in the courtroom. The rest of the time he doodled on the pad or twisted his long locks reflectively.
The majority of day two was spent with Lieutenant Harris on the stand. It grew redundant until he introduced into evidence Reece’s cell phone. It was really a listening device, and was responsible for hours of evidence. With no way to get the cell phone suppressed as evidence, it would seem like Reece was a dead man, for a conviction would automatically result in no less than life imprisonment. Yet, Reece still sat unfazed. He had a ringer in the jury. A sure thing, too, because fear and love did battle as the strongest emotions known to man. Both fear and love were present in juror number six, so Reece was straight. Love of his family and fear of death for them. This would undoubtedly keep juror number six smart.
Days three, four, and five were spent with a bunch of police testifying. Judge Epps had to admonish Reece for laughing out loud in court when one of the officers explained a gruesome murder scene in detail.
“I apologize, your honor, but he’s lying,” Reece told the judge. Reece had held court many times with himself acting as the judge. He knew disrespect for the court was unforgivable, so he deferred to the judge every chance he got. Reece understood that just as in his court, an angry judge made for a screwed defendant.
On day six, the prosecutor tried to pull a coup. He called an Officer Cureton to the stand. Officer Cureton arrived to the stand via a Hoveround. His legs were amputated from mid-thigh, which looked awkward in his uniform. Apparently, the prosecutor was going for shock and awe.
Officer Cureton took the stand and was sworn in. Mr. Long got the particulars out of the way and dug in.
“Officer Cureton, I’m sure everyone is dying to know how you’re connected to this case. Could you please tell the court?”
“Well, I’ve experienced the brutality of Mr. Kirkson firsthand. He cost me my legs.” Mr. Long feigned surprise by covering his agape mouth. The rest of the courtroom’s surprise was authentic. No one’s surprise was more genuine than Reece’s. He had never seen this man in his life! What kind of bullshit was this?
Officer Cureton recounted the events that cost him his legs, and Reece remembered. It was when they blew up Black Vic. Reese chuckled at the thought.
“I’ll never forget those dreadlocks for as long as I live,” Cureton was finishing on the stand.
Shabazz couldn’t wait to cross-examine Cureton. When his time came, he jumped from the table, shedding his coat, revealing biceps that threatened to burst through his shirt and a barrel chest that stretched his vest to its limits.
“Mr. Cureton, you say you saw my client clearly. Tell me what was his facial expression when you allegedly saw him toss a hand grenade into an open car?”
“Uh, I don’t recall.”
“Um-hmm. You say he was on a motorcycle, correct?”
“Yes, I remember that vividly.”
“Good, do you also remember that North Carolina law requires its motorcycle riders to wear helmets? No matter how fast they’re going—especially downtown.”
“Um, well, actually I didn’t see his face.”
“Oh, really?” Shabazz smiled. “Well, what did you see?”
“I saw his dreadlocks flapping in the wind as he fled the crime scene.”
Shabazz mockingly flailed his arms in the air. At the prosecutor’s table, Mr. Long planted his face in his hands. He knew exactly where this was going.
“You saw his dreadlocks! Is that all? So tell me,” Shabazz said, strolling over by the jury box. Long knew what was coming because he had tried to excuse juror number four during voir dire. “For all you know, this gentleman here could’ve done it!”
Juror number four wore dreadlocks. Shabazz had kept him on the jury because he knew someone would bring Reece’s hairstyle into play sometime, especially from the prosecution. The plan worked splendidly.
The courtroom erupted into laughter. Even Judge Epps had to stifle his giggles before regaining order.
That testimony signified a dramatic shift in momentum for the defense. For the rest of the day, Shabazz ate witnesses up like he was breaking a fast. The week ended on a positive note for the defense. The judge dismissed court for the weekend, but before he allowed Reece to leave, he made him wear a monitor.
The weekend was uneventful, and court resumed on Monday with more suppression motions. Shabazz desperately tried to get the phone and its results suppressed. Judge Epps wasn’t hearing it. He may have paid a million dollars to grant Reece bail, but favors stopped there. Another million was required to show favoritism during trial.
After motions were handled, the govern
ment called its next witness, which was a taped deposition. It seemed the witness was scared to show his new face in court. The government had put the witness in its protection program in exchange for testimony. They even supplied him with plastic surgery, which went well with the surgery Reece had already performed on him. The witness was Tyrone Beaman, the man whose finger Reece had confiscated as collateral in a back alley.
Shabazz had objected to the deposition, arguing that it showed his client in a negative light. Judge Epps overruled him, and the tape began.
Tyrone—whose face was blacked out—began to explain how everyone feared “King” Reece. And how his Crescent Crew had the lowest drug prices in the Southeast. In the end, the testimony wasn’t too damaging, and Shabazz started feeling he could actually beat the case . . . until Day ten.
Day ten was the day the prosecutor started arguing count two in the indictment: murdering a federal agent. So many police were present in the courtroom that day, it looked like an FBI convention. Judge Epps ordered extra security around Reece, since death threats were being issued. In addition to the judge’s security, the Crescent Crew came out deep as well, although most of the members were from out of state to ensure no one was snatched up on outstanding warrants. The courtroom was so packed, they didn’t stick out anyway. HLN network was now covering the case, so the trial became a spectacle.
Prosecutor Long called the first agent to the stand who was present the day Reece blew the cop’s brains out. By the time Long finished, it was three days and fifteen agents later. Long was preparing to wrap up his case, but he had one more crucial witness. Being that it was late, Judge Epps adjourned court until Monday.
Reece still was free on bond, but he still had to wear the monitor, so his actions were limited over the weekend.
Bright and early that Monday morning all parties involved in The United States of America v. Maurice Kirkson returned to Raleigh. Reece was feeling pretty good. He had slept and eaten well all weekend, and this thing was almost over. He even wore a new suit.
Everyone filed in and was seated. The government called its next and final witness. Katrina D. Hill. At first, Reece didn’t catch the name, so he continued to give himself a manicure. Then it dawned on him, and he looked up just in time to see Destiny hobble to the stand. Reece was halfway to the witness stand when Destiny turned around, forcing him to freeze of his own volition—way before the bailiffs tackled him to the ground.
Reece peered through the sea of bodies that covered him to get another look at Destiny. To prove his first glance correct. He was barely able to see, but he saw enough.
Destiny was pregnant.
She had to be at least seven months, which would make the baby . . . his! The realization hit Reece before all hell broke loose.
The Crescent Crew had jumped the rails and fought the bailiffs that held Reece down. The FBI agents joined in the fracas as well, and out of nowhere a brawl ensued.
* * *
Reece was led into the courtroom in chains. He was seated at the table, and the jury was brought in. Reece looked back to the empty gallery, noticing he was alone. Because of the previous day’s brawl, Judge Epps closed the courtroom to everyone who wasn’t participating in the trial—reporters included. Even the FBI agents were barred. The courtroom was so empty, voices echoed throughout the walls.
Judge Epps gave a curative instruction telling the jury to disregard the defendant’s restraints. Yeah, right! Judge Epps meant well. It was all he could do not to call a mistrial and have to go through another grueling three weeks of trial.
When things were settled, Destiny was called to the stand again. Reece observed how she hobbled, and surmised she might be eight months pregnant. He was going through so many emotions, he couldn’t stick to one. Hate. Pain. Jealousy. Rage. Betrayal . . . Love.
Despite everything he still loved her, especially with her carrying his seed.
Destiny was sworn in, and Prosecutor Long did away with the particulars. Destiny started explaining how she first met Reece. The whole time she avoided eye contact with him. Reece, on the other hand, stared at her, willing her to look his way.
“Agent Hill, did you ever see the defendant murder anyone other than Agent Darius at the hangar?” Long asked.
“Objection! Speculation.”
“Sustained.” Judge Epps.
“Excuse me. Did you ever see the defendant murder anyone while you were undercover with him?”
Undercover! The thought of him being played made Reece fume. He was practically foaming at the mouth, unable to keep his cool any longer.
“No,” Destiny replied.
“Well, Agent Hill, weren’t you responsible for placing the bug in the cell phone that resulted in hours of evidence?”
Destiny was visibly shaken. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she kept wiping her forehead. Still she answered.
“Yes,” she croaked more than spoke. Then she finally looked in Reece’s direction. It set him off.
“You backstabbing BITCH!! I loved you!” Reece exploded, standing up. The restraints prevented him from moving.
“I loved you, too!” Destiny cried out, before she could control herself. Then she broke down in tears on the stand and grabbed her stomach. The bailiff immediately ran to her, gathered her up, and carried her into an anteroom. Judge Epps heatedly called for a recess.
When court resumed an hour later, Judge Epps was about to call a mistrial, but after much prodding from the prosecution and the defense, he decided to continue on.
Agent Hill was in no shape to testify, and Judge Epps refused to grant a continuance, so the government grudgingly rested its case. The defense began to present its case the following morning.
Malik Shabazz didn’t have much evidence to refute the allegations wielded against his client, so he had to resort to character witnesses and entertainment.
He chartered a bus to Raleigh with all of the single welfare mothers Reece had helped on it. There were at least a hundred ready and willing to testify in his cause. Malik Shabazz had furnished them with modest business suits to look the part.
At ten a.m., Taquisha Pineta started what would turn out to be a long line of women, testifying roughly the same thing. “Reece was generous. He would never do those things.” “All he ever did was help me.” “Drugs? Heavens no!” “Uh-uh, wasn’t him.” “Why the white man always try to bring down good black men?”
After two days of the same thing, Judge Epps had decided he’d heard enough of the shenanigans, and ordered the defense to prepare for its closing. Reece never took the stand, so the government would close first, Shabazz last.
* * *
On the last day of trial, a full month and three days from its start, federal prosecutor Long stood before the jury in a steel-gray suit and delivered a powerful closing. He hit on all the points, especially Agent Darius’s blatant execution. He even used the lack of witnesses willing to testify to his advantage. The witnesses were more scared of “street justice” than the judicial system. He even used Agent Hill’s breakdown as proof of intimidation. Four hours after he began his closing, Prosecutor Long had all but put Reece in a box.
Judge Epps ordered a recess before the defense was to begin its closing. Reece’s bail was revoked, so he sat in the courtroom alone waiting on his attorney to return.
Despite the crushing closing delivered by the government, Reece still felt optimistic. He hadn’t heard any backlash about the juror’s daughter being kidnapped thus far. Each day he had allowed the little girl’s mother to speak with her so she’d know she was safe. As long as her father did as he was told, the little girl would be returned safely. Reece even set it up so the family would be compensated handsomely for the “inconvenience.”
Only Reece and the bailiff were in the courtroom when Destiny appeared, accompanied by a bailiff. She hesitated a second when she saw Reece, but then began walking in his direction like she was on a mission.
Destiny sized Reece up as he sat in the chair shackl
ed like some animal. She noticed he had put on a few pounds of muscle. He looked good. Destiny hated that it had come to this.
In the beginning, she had been genuinely impressed by him. In fact, the day they met in the restaurant parking lot, she doubled back to let him off the hook. She didn’t feel she could adequately do her job, because she was immensely attracted to him. Yet he was so insistent on proving himself, she gave him the chance to do so. Hey, after all, she was a woman. Initially, she dismissed him as just a regular dope-boy, just like his profile suggested. Then, the more she got to know him, the more enraptured she became. His mind was potent. His drive determined. He walked with the surety so many black males lacked.
She was only supposed to be inside long enough to gather pertinent information to arrest him on. In the beginning, Reece was like a nutshell, hard to crack. After he began trusting her, she could easily extract information. She probably could’ve completed the investigation. Truth was, she enjoyed spending time with him. She enjoyed going first class everywhere. She enjoyed being treated like a queen. She enjoyed the respect granted when they were together. It was easy to be with Reece, because he wasn’t ignorant like most big-time drug dealers. To her, he seemed more like a businessman, or a scholar with the vast knowledge he possessed.
Sleeping with him definitely complemented things. That was one thing she didn’t do for the bureau. That was done for Katrina Destiny Hill. She wanted to feel Reece with every inch of her being. And he didn’t disappoint. She wasn’t a virgin by any standards, but the things Reece did to her would make a whore blush. Needless to say, she was hooked from the first time his penis entered her. Now, she was eight months pregnant with his baby.
She honestly didn’t want to see him hurt, which was why she didn’t continue with her testimony. She thought she would’ve been able to go through with it, but she wasn’t so strong. She recognized the pain in his eyes. The discomfort in his posture. To the spectators, he may have seemed in control, but she knew better. She had crushed him more than any conviction could, and all she wanted to do was ease his pain. Even as she looked at him shackled to a chair, she wanted to stroke his locks and tell him everything was going to be okay. But she didn’t, because that was one promise she couldn’t make.
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