by J J Miller
“They came and asked some questions.”
“About your beef with Luke Jameson?”
“Yeah. You know about that?”
“I know that I can’t take what I read as gospel. But it’s hard not to miss the fact that you hated Luke Jameson. You weren’t shy about saying so.”
Tito came, placed two cold bottles of soda on the table and left without a word.
“Here’s what’s true: We used to be okay. We did some stuff together to boost our own channels and it worked. But then it didn’t. He got to the point where he decided he didn’t need me anymore, and all he wanted was to promote himself and make sure he had more subs than me.”
“Then he insulted the Crips.”
“That’s how much of dumbass he is. He got to thinking he could say whatever the hell he wanted and there’d be no consequences. For real. But if you going to cross me like that, you either make amends or amends is going to be made for you.”
“What did he say, exactly?”
Ramon X was slouched way back in his chair, the reflection of the pool filling the frames of his sunglasses.
“He dissed the Crips. And by that I don’t mean some shitty remark that’s going to upset nobody. He was trying to make a fool of me.”
Ramon X reached for his phone, then flicked and tapped his screen before handing it to me.
The video showed a cocky white male (Jameson) taking the piss out of black gangs. He was dressed up in a blue bandana, the color of the Crips, did a facetious rap, grabbing his crotch and chopping his hands in front of the lens. The lyrics labelled gangster rappers as losers, and at one point Jameson likened Ramon X to a Kinder Egg. He held up the candy to show its brown chocolate outer coating and white chocolate inner layer. The message was clear: “Ramon X wishes he was me.”
“That’s not the smartest thing I’ve seen,” I said, handing the phone back. “And you threatened to kill him over that?”
“That’s not quite right.”
“I thought it was pretty clear. You tweeted something to the effect that he’d just signed his own death warrant and that he had days left to live. And it turns out you were right.”
“I was saying what every nigger was saying. It wasn’t that I was going to kill him. It was that he practically dared every member of the Crips not to kill him. It’s the stupidest, dumb-ass cracker shit you can imagine. That’s what it was, that video of his—either a death wish or the work of the dumbest motherfucker on the planet. You think homies are going to take that shit? He seriously had no idea who he was fuckin’ with.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Demarco. You were friends?”
“We hung out together starting a few years back. We both rolled with the Sintown Crips doing the usual petty crime shit, hanging out thinking we were hard-assed gangbangers.”
“But you rose in the ranks, and now what? You’re out.”
“Yes and no. I’m not going to disown the boys. That nigger who got your Coke’s a Crip. The nigger that laid down that rap you heard is a Crip. We’re not all gun packin’, crack smokin’ hateful sticks of TNT, you know.”
“So how come you haven’t seen much of Demarco?”
“He just took off. About a year ago now. Something heavy went down and he checked out.”
“You can do that? Just up and leave?”
“Depends on your intentions. But a gang’s not the army. You don’t get busted for desertion. It’s just that it becomes a life most dudes never find an alternative to.”
“And were Demarco’s reasons for leaving deemed kosher?”
“Hell, the main thing is you’re not leaving to go snitch. And Demarco was trusted.”
“Why?”
“Because he’d seen some shit down and the cops tried everything to get him to betray the gang, but he kept his mouth shut. That got him some time in juvie.”
“The assault case, right?” I said.
Ramon X nodded.
“So he really had severed ties with the Crips.”
“Yeah.”
“You think he would ever take your words and act on them, to kill Luke Jameson for the honor of the Crips?”
“Are you his lawyer or a fucking cop?”
“Got to look at it from their angle. Don’t think they won’t be stitching all this together as Demarco’s motive.”
“He didn’t commit shit. You’re gonna get him off, right?”
“I won’t lie. It’s not going to be easy. Black on white crime, gang connections, motive—it could all add up to a pretty compelling narrative for a jury.”
“Who else you talking to?”
“I’ve only just started. Why?”
“Because I ain’t Luke Jameson’s only enemy.”
“Like want-him-dead kind of enemy?”
“Yeah, there was no shortage of them.”
“Like who?”
“Like Evan Harrington.”
“Who’s Evan Harrington?”
“He’s a two-faced, lying son of a bitch posing as a goody-two-shoes Christian family man.”
“So I take it you guys are tight.”
He coughed up a laugh.
“Yeah, right. I don’t have anything to do with the dude, but you say Jameson and me got history? Well this shithead tried to knock Jameson’s lights out. Dude had to get a restraining order on that oily little freak.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll give it to you as well I as I know. You see, this Harrington dude has this channel that is all about his little family. He’s got the cute wife, the cute kids. And then he was caught cheating on Tinder.”
“He denied it, I take it?”
“Initially, yes. But he fessed up eventually. Of course, they posted a video about it, and his wife said God had forgiven him and she had forgiven him, and on they rolled.”
“So what about Jameson?”
“They go back a ways. Became friends at some Christian summer camp before Jameson started his channel. But then Jameson got famous on Vine.”
“Vine? What’s Vine?”
“Used to be massive. A platform for making short videos fast. Jameson made it big on Vine before Twitter bought and buried it. That’s when he switched his whole focus to YouTube. And when Jameson started to get big on YouTube, Evan decided he wanted in on it. He had nothing—no talent, no personality, no money, so he basically just pimped his life and the life of his wife and kids on YouTube. Suited that lazy son of a bitch too—he realized he could make a living out of doing nothing. Nothing but lying, that is. He does nothing. Creates nothing.”
“Why was there a rift between Jameson and Harrington?”
“Jameson called Harrington out as a faker, and Harrington didn’t take too kindly to that. I mean, when you’re trying to up your subs—which we’re all trying to do—the last thing you want is a big-time influencer dissing you. And yeah, Jameson was also saying that Harrington was buying subs.”
“You can do that?”
“Hell yeah. Man, this YouTube thing is a frickin’ gold rush, and there are some bent ways to get ahead.”
A bad business deal was sometimes a catalyst for murder but I wasn’t convinced this was why Jameson was dead.
“Collaborating to build up your subs seemed to work for you and Jameson.”
“It did up until he stole the channel off me. But Jameson went at Harrington pretty hard. And this is while Harrington was trying to get merch out, set up his website, build his Instagram. The guy was desperate not to take a backward step.”
“Did he confront Luke?”
“Yeah. He didn’t do it in his posts or anything, cos he always had to be like the nice Christian boy—thanking God for this and that and making every day so rich and rewarding. But off camera he took any opportunity to get in Jameson’s face.”
“And VidCon was one of those opportunities?”
“Yeah. Like the day before Jameson was shot, I think. Yeah, it was the first day. Harrington jumped him and started l
aying into him. You didn’t see that?”
“No.”
“It was all over Twitter, man.”
“Yeah, well I’m not.”
“The point is, it just goes to show you what kind of person Harrington is. I’d say even if he was the world’s number one YouTuber, he’d still be as strung-up and insecure as he is now. You ask me, that’s one fuckin’ dangerous dude.”
I leaned forward to get to my feet.
“Thanks for your time, Ramon.”
“Will you be wanting me to testify?”
“I’m not sure I’d put you on the stand as a defense witness. Your background just gives the prosecution too much ammo to discredit you. That said, they might see a purpose in calling you so they can discuss your tweets and whether Demarco might have wanted to kill in your name.”
“But that’s bullshit.”
“Maybe, but it’s the sort of bullshit a jury might swallow whole. If I were you, I’d get your story straight and clear but with no elaborations. They could really screw you.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
My pace quickened slightly as I made my way to the car. And it wasn’t just the two Rottweilers sniffing at my heels. This was what I loved about the law. Things were getting exciting. We were behind the eight ball, sure, but there were plenty of shots still left in play.
8
Demarco’s case was automatically prime media fodder: a brazen public killing with a strong racial subtext. To get the most bang for their buck, the District Attorney’s Office wanted Demarco tried as an adult as opposed to leaving him to be processed in the juvenile system. The person who had the power to make that decision was Justice Meredith Callaway. On her reputation alone I believed the result was in long before the race was run.
As I approached the entrance to Eastlake Juvenile Court, I saw the one and only Jessica Pope waiting outside. I can’t say it was a surprise to see her. As the assistant district attorney prosecuting the case, she’d wasted no time filing for a transfer to the adult system.
It was always a pleasure to see Jessica. Tall, blonde and drop-dead gorgeous, it was a surprise she never followed her famous broadcaster father into the media. There, her smarts, drive, pedigree and looks would have most certainly fast-tracked her to a national broadcasting gig. Maybe that’s just what I’d have preferred, because it meant I wouldn’t have had to go up against her in court—not that she’d ever gotten the better of me professionally. Outside court we’d always enjoyed a flirtatious relationship, one that had once moved into the bedroom. We never dated. There was always something about our relationship that meant we’d be professional adversaries first and “just good friends” second. But she didn’t mind blurring the lines for fun. And that was a distraction I could do without, because whenever we met, the simple thought of having her again was never far from my mind. I’d always prided myself on my self-discipline, so she never knew, as far as I could tell, just how close I always came to pulling her into my arms and kissing those fast talking, quick drinking, sassy lips of hers.
“Brad, just the man I wanted to see,” she smiled.
I didn’t return the cheer. I hated having her gunning for Demarco. Judges loved her and the press loved her, but as her opponent I could only love her as much as a pit bull with its teeth bared inches from my balls.
“Hello, Jess. You wasted no time filing for a waiver.”
“If it wasn’t for Proposition 57, I’d have been able to do it myself. But something tells me Judge Callaway will oblige.”
Until recently, when a person under the age of eighteen was accused of a serious offence such as rape or murder, they could be tried as an adult purely on the discretion of the public prosecutor. But after Proposition 57 had been voted in, that decision lay in the hands of a judge. Still, for the most part, the extra layer of protocol just delayed the inevitable.
At least Demarco got a hearing. I was well prepared, but with his priors and the police case building against him, I didn’t hold much hope he’d be spared.
“You look particularly hungry today, Jess. Have they run out of raw meat down at LADA?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, Brad. I get plenty of whatever I like. Speaking of which, I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you avoiding me?”
“No, just trying to keep my nose clean.”
“How’s that beautiful daughter of yours? Is she going to follow in daddy’s footsteps, or will you let her in on the fact that there’s a far more noble and rewarding path to be taken in the law?”
“I’m not pushing her to be anything. She’s only seven. That said, right now all she wants to be is a fashionista.”
“Yes, I know. She’s quite the Instagram star. She’s adorable.”
“Don’t tell me you follow her.”
“No, but I’ve checked out her account. She is a stunning girl, Brad. And the way she puts clothes together? It’s divine. Is that all her own doing, or Claire’s?”
Jessica and Claire knew each other remotely, having met in social circles. If you wanted to find a fashion icon of the law, Jessica Pope would top the list.
“It’s all Bella. It’s just a gift she has.”
I said this with my eyebrows raised, clear that the situation wasn’t all to my liking. Jessica paused, seeming to wonder if she should say what she was thinking.
“What?” I prompted.
“No, sorry. Nothing. I was just wondering, are you totally comfortable with Bella having so many followers?”
I’d recently become aware that her follower count was nearing half a million. I let out a “don’t go there” sigh.
“Look, I’d prefer she had interests that she could pursue in private, but this is Los Angeles. Doesn’t everyone need an audience? If she was a wannabe pro skater her sponsors would no doubt be pushing her to build her profile and cash in on her marketing good looks. Hell, this is the home of Hollywood. How many kids out there want to be famous actors, or pop stars or whatever? It’s out of control. These days, if it’s not online, it never happened.”
“Whoa, didn’t mean to push the ‘discouraged dad’ button. Can I have my money back?”
“Bitch.”
She gave me a wink.
“That’s why you love me. Or at least why you want me. Am I right?” Before I could answer, she opened the door and invited me in. “Come on, let’s go. It’s time to kick your ass.”
Rightly or wrongly, I had half a boner. And I think she knew it.
I waited at the defense table, and within minutes two bailiffs escorted Demarco into the courthouse and sat him down beside me.
“How you doing?” I asked.
“All good, except they won’t give me my phone, and I missed the game.”
I couldn’t help but be impressed: Demarco had certainly mastered the art of nonchalance. He knew full well what this waiver hearing was about, and he was making damn sure to act like the prospect of going to men’s prison didn’t faze him. He knew as well as I did that, on top of every other threat a young man faced in jail, he would be a target for rival gang members. I had to wonder whether he had really severed ties with the Crips. Renewing his allegiance to his old gang would be a smart move, an insurance policy for life inside. On a first-degree murder charge, Demarco would be looking at life without parole. In that event, the best way to boost his survival chances would be to become a Crip for life.
Judge Callaway didn’t waste any time getting down to business. Before Jessica could open her mouth, Calloway addressed Demarco.
“I’m sorry to see you here again, Mr. Torrell,” the judge said.
A surprising look of shame came over Demarco. He bowed his head briefly.
“If I remember rightly,” she continued, “at our last meeting you said you were going to change, that you had found faith and you were determined to lead a life that would make your parents proud. Is that right?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“That was only six months
ago. You were here on a shoplifting charge but I let you off. You said you were on the streets and were desperately hungry. And I believed you. We talked about how you needed to change because the path you were on was leading you to one place—prison. And you assured me you had stepped away from the gang life and crime for good. Isn’t that right, Mr. Torrell?”
“That’s right, Your Honor.”
“Well, I’m very sorry to see you here again, young man. Let’s hear from Ms. Pope. Counselor?”
Jessica got to her feet and went straight for the jugular.
“Your Honor, what we have here is the ruthless, audacious killing of a young man. A murder that was carried out in public and witnessed by several people. I believe the evidence already acquired by the police indicates very strongly that the accused not only carried out this murder, but that he did so with malice aforethought.”
Malice aforethought. AKA “premeditated”. Jessica was gunning for first-degree murder.
“As you can see from the police report,” she continued, “the accused was found standing over the victim Luke Jameson, a young successful social media star. While the accused was not caught holding the weapon, traces of gunpowder were found on his right hand. And three witnesses say they saw the accused tap the victim on the shoulder and loudly say to him, ‘You have been served by God’. Seconds later, two shots were fired into the victim’s chest.
“You Honor, as you have noted, this is not the first time the accused has appeared in juvenile court. Two years ago, he appeared on auto theft charges. Then there was an assault charge. Both these led to time spent in Juvenile Hall. And finally, there was his last appearance here—a minor shoplifting charge you referred to earlier. Each of these appearances come on top a list of prior offences I have submitted to you, and which I assume you have already read. The accused has a track record of criminal activity that has only escalated in seriousness. He is a known member of the notorious Sintown Crips criminal gang, and the bulk of his run-ins with law enforcement have been in the company of other Sintown Crips members. Now, he stands accused of committing cold-blooded murder.
“I would argue that the accused has been given ample warning and ample time to change his ways, yet he has chosen not to do so. I think it is abundantly clear that there is no hope he can be rehabilitated by the generous services offered by our juvenile justice system. No, while the accused is just months short of being legally defined as an adult, his actions are that of a hardened criminal who deserves to be dealt with as an adult. I believe the loved ones, family and friends of the late Luke Jameson would agree that it is our duty to ensure the accused faces the full weight of the law.”