Dear Justyce

by Nic Stone

  Justyce: Quan also mentioned wanting to try for a self-defense plea. Says Castillo first had his gun pointed at Martel, then swung it around to where Quan was standing with his boys. Which is when someone shot him.

  Attorney Friedman: Martel?

  Justyce: One of the “friends” you definitely shouldn’t mention.

  Attorney Friedman: Got it. So Castillo pointed his weapon at multiple people that night. Sounds like voluntary manslaughter should’ve been the charge in the first place. [She scribbles more notes.] Was there provocation? Any reason for Castillo to pull the firearm?

  Justyce: Quan says no. And there are a whole lot of witnesses who would say the same thing.

  Attorney Friedman: The other guys who were there. That he doesn’t want to implicate.

  Justyce: Yeah.

  Attorney Friedman: How many of the potential witnesses have extensive juvenile criminal records like Quan?

  Justyce: Probably all of them.

  Attorney Friedman: [Nodding.] As much as I hate it, if this goes to trial, and most of my witnesses are African American males between sixteen and twenty—just like the defendant who’s accused of murdering a cop—implicit bias is likely to come into play.

  Liberty: You can say that again. Happens all the time in the social work sector. Say a mom is trying to get her kids back. She’s gotten cleaned up and has a steady job and is really working hard. If she’s poor and African American and all the people vouching for her are poor and African American too…Well, I’ve seen more than a few cases where those kids wind up in long-term foster care.

  Jared: But would you really need more than one or two witnesses? It’s not like the state has any to dispute the testimony.

  SJ: Huh?

  Jared: The only person who could’ve been a key witness is dead, right?

  Everyone: [Silence.]

  Jared: Wasn’t Garrett Tison killed in prison? Unless somebody else who was there that night is willing to testify against Quan, there’s really no one who could dispute his story.

  Everyone: [More silence.]

  Attorney Friedman: Huh. Must admit: I didn’t think of that.

  SJ: That might be the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said, Jared.

  Doc: Is there a chance a neighbor saw something and could come forward?

  Attorney Friedman: I’ll double-check, but I’d think they would’ve presented themselves by now. I’m sure everyone on the street was questioned.

  Justyce: So…it’s settled then. The prosecution doesn’t really have anything. You think that’s why they offered the plea deal?

  SJ: Jus, babe, you’re forgetting something.

  Doc: SJ’s right. The no-witness thing is a step, but even with that and a ballistics fail, this case isn’t as cut-and-dried as you want it to be, Jus.

  Justyce: Why isn’t it?

  SJ: Because Quan confessed.

  Justyce: But he was lying!

  SJ: Doesn’t matter.

  Attorney Friedman: Unfortunately, she’s right, Justyce. Especially in this case. State’s got no reason not to believe him.

  Justyce: So that’s it? We let him take the plea and serve time for something he didn’t do?

  Doc: Take a breath, Jus. That’s not what Attorney Friedman said.

  Attorney Friedman: A confession isn’t a plea, but since it’s still admissible in court—

  Justyce: [Furrowing his brows.] Unless it isn’t.

  SJ: Huh?

  Justyce: Meeting adjourned. There’s something I gotta do. [Pushes off the edge of the pool table and heads for the stairs.]

  SJ: Oh boy.

  Jared: ATTAGUY, J-MAN!

  Liberty: [Whispering to Doc.] Is Jared always like this?

  Doc: Pretty much.

  Liberty: Yeesh.

  Quan’s in his cell, flipping through one of the poetry collections Doc dropped off, when he hears his name barked out like he stole something.

  “BANKS!”

  Shocks him so bad, he drops the book and falls off the bed.

  Also takes too long to respond, apparently. He can hear the heavy footsteps approaching just before his least-favorite guard’s glistening bald head pokes through the open doorway.

  More barking.

  “You don’t hear me calling you, fool?”

  “I heard you, I heard you,” Quan says, rubbing his knee. (These concrete floors are rough.) “Just startled me is all.”

  “Well, bring your raggedy ass on.” (Bark, bark, bark.) “You got a visitor.”

  “A visitor?”

  (Awww, damn. Who could it be thi—)

  “That’s what I said, ain’t it? You punk-asses act like you can’t understa—”

  But Quan doesn’t hear any more.

  What if it’s his lawyer again? Back to demand a decision about the plea offer.

  Which Quan hasn’t made yet. He’s waiting to hear back from Justyce, and it’s been less than forty-eight hours since Quan gave the letter to Doc to pass on. He’s gotta give his boy at least a little more time.

  They reach the turnoff to head down the hallway where lawyer meetings happen—and keep going.

  Now Quan’s really confused.

  Clearly ain’t Doc. Baldy knows who he is and would’ve taken Quan to the classroom wing. So who—?

  The sound of the visitation room door buzzing open snaps Quan back into his body. Baldy steps aside to let him enter…

  And now Quan thinks his head might explode. And his chest.

  His…everything.

  “Dawg!” Justyce says, standing up and spreading his arms.

  Takes everything in Quan not to

  RUN

  over to the table.

  (He successfully resists.)

  “Bruh, what’re you doing here?” Quan asks once he reaches Justyce. They slap hands, hook fingers, and pull into one of the best dap-hugs Quan’s ever experienced.

  “Hey, BREAK IT UP!”

  But nothing that hatin’-ass mahogany-bowling-ball-head has to say could bring Quan down now.

  “I had to come see you, man.” The boys take their seats, and Justyce looks left and then right. (Quan snorts and shakes his head. Justyce has no concept of smooth.) “I got your letters.”

  “I would hope so, fool!” Quan says, trying to keep things light.

  But Justyce ain’t lookin’ real playful. He peeks around again and leans forward. “Dawg, you gotta fire your lawyer.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t make a scene, man.” Though Justyce is really the one making a scene. Whispering and tryna be all clandestine and shit.

  Quan takes a realignment breath.

  Why is this visit becoming so stressful?

  “Justyce, you know you my boy, but you can’t pop up here making declarations like that without some kinda lead-in.”

  Justyce nods. “Okay, man. You right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool.”

  A fitful, sparky tension blooms between them. Like a thundercloud trapped in a jar. One good lightning strike, and the whole thing’ll shatter.

  “Lemme start over,” Justyce says.

  “Yeah. Expound if you will, please.”

  Both boys laugh, and the walls seem to exhale.

  “So, I got your letters,” Justyce says.

  Quan nods. “Got that part.”

  “I was shocked by the first one. Where you told me…the thing. About the thing. But once it settled in, I wasn’t entirely surprised.”

  “Okay.”

  “I obviously respect you not wanting to uhh…say more.” The boys lock eyes, and understanding passes between them. “But having read that first letter, what you mention i
n the most recent one was troubling.”

  Quan clenches his jaw. Of course Justyce doesn’t get his predicament. Why would he? Justyce McAllister has always had options.

  Choices—

  “Some friends and I wanna help,” Justyce continues. “We got a new lawyer for you. A good one. She’s actually my girl’s mom, and she’s worked on a lotta cases like yours.”

  “Cases ‘like mine’?”

  Justyce nods, either oblivious to Quan’s irritation or ignoring it. “Young black dude gets caught up in some wrong place/wrong time shenanigans and winds up behind bars because of it.”

  Quan shakes his head.

  Shenanigans.

  Justyce would use that word. What’s the other one Doc taught him? Understatement? Like “Somebody findin’ out _______ actually pulled the trigger would be bad.”

  Shenanigans.

  Bad.

  Understatements.

  “I can’t do it, man. I can’t have nobody goin’ after my crew because of me—”

  “No one else would be implicated, man. You have my word on that. Based solely on what you’ve told me so far, there should be enough evidence to get you acquitted.”

  Quan bites the inside of his cheek. The choice between an acquittal and a decade in prison is obviously a no-brainer…but there’s still a chance he’ll be convicted. Especially with his prior record. Walking away from the deal means walking away from the lesser charge. And being convicted of murder? Especially one he really didn’t commit?

  “I just—” (There Justyce goes, peeping over his shoulders all suspiciously again.)

  “You gotta stop doing that, man,” Quan says. “Glancing around like you tryna hide something. That’ll get both of us in trouble up in here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Go ahead and say what you gotta say. Without looking like a stage four creep, please.”

  Justyce laughs a little. “You right, man. My bad. I’m just nervous is all.”

  Which makes Quan nervous.

  And Quan hates being nervous. “About?”

  “Well, I need you to tell me more about…something.”

  “So spit it out, fool!”

  (Now Quan’s tempted to peep over his own shoulder.)

  Justyce sighs. “I need you to tell me about your confession, man.”

  Oh.

  “What about it?” Quan can feel what Tay calls his barriers beginning to rise.

  “Like…how it happened. When it happened. Did they show up on the scene and you stepped forward?”

  Quan shakes his head, tense about reliving the whole thing. His palms have gone slicker than the game he’s seen Trey spit at the girls up the block. “Nah. They didn’t come and arrest me until a few days after…everything happened.”

  “You mentioned an interrogation in one of your letters…Did you confess before they took you?”

  “Nope.” Quan tries to relax his jaw. “They had a warrant.”

  “So what the hell happened, man?”

  There’s a sour taste in Quan’s mouth now, and what he really wants to do is wave Brown Bowling Ball over to strike on through this visit and escort him back to his gutter-esque cellblock. Which oddly seems safer than this open room with Justyce asking him these questions. But looking at his boy—in the flesh—and seeing how much dude cares…well, that’s not something Quan was distinctly prepared for.

  So he takes yet another deep breath and drops himself back into the night he more or less ruined his own life.

  First time they questioned me, I ain’t really say nothin’. I do know my rights—that was one thing Martel was real big on—so once they had me in the room at the precinct and started asking questions, I told them I was choosing to remain silent, and left it at that.

  They left me in the room by myself at that point, and I don’t know how long I sat in that hard-ass chair with my hands cuffed behind me, but I started to fall asleep. It was like ten-something at night when they initially picked me up, so I knew it was getting late, and I was tired. I also hadn’t eaten in a while. Appetite was real spotty during them days after The Occurrence. That’s what Tay’s been having me call it.

  Anyway, eventually somebody else came in and they took me to a cell. I really wanted to just go to sleep—it was a couple other dudes in there knocked out—so I sat down and leaned my head against the bars. But it seemed like every time I was almost asleep, there would be a noise or a laugh or something that would wake my ass right up.

  A bunch more time passed, and a new officer came and got me. Female this time.

  I said the same shit I said the first time.

  They left me alone again. Then back to the holding cell I went.

  More of the same: almost falling asleep, but not being able to. Getting more and more hungry. That second time in the holding cell is when I could feel myself starting to crack a little bit. I was tired. Cold. Needed to pee. Scared of what was gonna happen.

  Third time they pulled me into the room started out like the other two. I told them I ain’t have nothing to say, but that time, they wouldn’t leave me alone. It was the same dude from the first time. I guess enough time had passed for him to be on the clock again. He kept pushin’. Come on, kid. We know you did it. Might as well just say so…shit like that.

  When he said You know if we get one of your little buddies in here, we can get ’em talkin’. You should just save ’em the trouble, that’s when I broke. Just said

  Fine, man. I did it. You happy now?

  When Quan looks up—swiping at his eyes (he’s never told anybody the story of what happened that night and this is exactly why)—Justyce has a thinky face on: eyebrows all scrunched up, jaw tight, gaze on Quan but not on Quan. “And you said you told them the same thing each time they questioned you?”

  “Yeah. Basically.”

  “Even the third time, you said I’m choosing to remain silent?”

  That query makes Quan itchy for some reason. “I mean, I don’t remember if I said exactly that, but it was clear I ain’t wanna talk.”

  “Okay,” Justyce says with a finality that lets Quan know he can shut the door on that night again.

  (Though he’s definitely gonna have to talk to Tay about it now. After opening that vault, he knows he’s gonna have nightmares.)

  “Cut that sorry excuse you have for a lawyer loose, and let’s get things headed in a more favorable direction,” Justyce says.

  Quan sighs and rubs his eyes. He wishes he could just…sleep. Indefinitely. All this shit is too much. “I don’t know, man. That’s a tall order. I haven’t even met this replacement you tryna give me.”

  “You gotta trust me, Quan,” Justyce presses. “She’s a really great attorney. And you wouldn’t lose your plea offer.”

  Now Quan’s ears perk up. “I wouldn’t?”

  “Nope. She’d make sure of it. Might even be able to get you a better one if it comes to that. Based on everything you’ve told me, it sounds like you were overcharged.”

  This makes Quan smile. “Oh, so you a lawyer now, smarty pants? One year up in bougie-and-educated land, and you ready to take on my case?”

  Justyce smiles back. “I’m working on it.”

  “TIME’S UP!” (Bark bark.)

  “Guess that’s my cue.” Justyce stands.

  And

  Quan’s

  chest

  tightens.

  “Yeah. Guess it is,” he says. (But Justyce just got here, didn’t he? Damn.)

  “You’re gonna do it, right?”

  “BANKS! I know your punk ass heard me!”

  Quan glances over his shoulder at angry Baldy.

  Is it really possible he could get outta here?

  He stands.

 
And ponders.

  And ponders a little more.

  “You sure about all this, man?” he finally says, reaching out to dap Justyce up.

  “HEY! None of that gang shit in here! You ’bout to lose your visitation privile—”

  “Would I be here if I weren’t?”

  Quan looks at Justyce.

  Justyce looks at Quan.

  * * *

  And understanding passes between them.

  June 1

  Dear Justyce,

  So I did it, as I’m sure you know. Cut John Mark like a loose thread (which honestly is kind of what he was) and had my case turned over to your girl’s mom.

  Adrienne.

  (Do you call her that, by the way? She insisted I should, but shit’s weird, and I feel like my mama would smack the taste out my mouth if she heard me refer to a grown woman—a professional grown woman at that—by her first name.)

  ANYWAY.

  I met her today. She came in and we talked for a while and she asked me a bunch of questions the other dude never asked. And I’m pretty sure she actually believes everything I told her. Which was even a little bit uncomfortable despite the fact that I was telling the truth.

  I just didn’t realize what a difference it would make to be in conversation with someone who genuinely wants to keep me OUT of prison altogether. Shit made me realize that in all my years dealing with the system, I ain’t never had an attorney who wanted to see me totally free. It kinda got me thinking about some of the dudes I’ve met over the years who wound up getting put away for a long time. Not like we ever sat around talking about our problems in a Kumbaya circle or anything, but I know a lot of us were similar: home lives that were messed up (or “high trauma” if you let Liberty tell it. Bruh, the pantsuit she had on when she came by the other day…whew!); people all around expecting us to blow it at some point; no adult role models…