Life Without Hope (46 page)

your Uncle Toms.” His expression was sour, but I could read the

confusion in his eyes–to believe me or not.

I rose from the chair determined to keep my composure. This

was so unexpected, so unreal. It couldn’t be happening to me. I

reached into my briefcase and placed my new business card on the

desk. I wanted to tell him that today was my last day working for

the bureau but instead, I said, “Call me.” I heard my voice crack

with emotions. It took ever ything in my power to keep a straight

face. Life took one look at the card and laughed derisively causing

the shackles on his legs to rattle.

“
Them crackas taught you well. Hope, how can you sell your

own fuckin’ people out?” he asked as the CO came and opened the

door. I walked out the door and was once again welcomed to the

raucous applause of whistling, catcalls and some of the most vivid

descriptions of my butt that I had ever heard. I briskly walked

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down the long corridor at nearly a jogger’s pace with my briefcase

held tightly as if it were a shield. All of Life Thugstin’s preliminary

hearings and evidentiary proceeding had run the course of time.

Within a few days, one of the biggest trials the State of Florida has

ever known was set to begin. What Life Thugstin didn’t know was

the stage had already been set, rigged and arranged, like 98 per-

cent of Federal cases. I knew this because I had taken part in more

than a few legal lynchings. And every opportunity I was given, I

tried my best to intentionally sabotage a trial, or a court proceed-

ing.

I remember one par ticular case, the girl’s name was Keychia

Moore. She was 18 years old and the mother of three kids and

pregnant again. Her boyfriend, a small time drug dealer, sold

small amounts of coke in powder form, dime bags. A petty offense

that carried, at the most, probation and a small fine. Her

boyfriend made a sale to an undercover federal agent. The next

day the undercover agent came back wanting to purchase crack.

The boyfriend informed the agent that he did not have any. The

agent propositioned the boyfriend with a deal; he would purchase

a thousand dollars worth of the dimes if the boyfriend could cook

it up into crack. The boyfriend agreed. They cooked the dope up

in Keychia’s Section 8 apartment. Federal judges and prosecutors

are aware of this scheme, where urban Black men are tricked into

selling crack and then given life sentences.

After the boyfriend made the sale, federal agents stormed the

house. The boyfriend was shot and killed as he tried to escape out

a bedroom window. Keychia Moore was arrested and charged with

the sales to the undercover agent and her three kids were taken

away from her and placed into foster care. The ratio between crack

cocaine and powder cocaine is 100-to-1. Now instead of facing

probation and a fine, she faced a lifetime in prison. I was assigned

as her prosecutor. There was no way in hell I was going to help

send this young woman to prison for life, and all she merely did

was open the door for the undercover agent when he came to buy

the drugs. Her lawyer, an old public defender, had hardly any

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interest in her case, heck, the same people that signed his check

signed mine.

On the day that she was scheduled to go to trial, I sat at the

prosecutor’s table, painfully frustrated. Keychia and myself were

the only Blacks in the entire courtroom. I felt so uncomfortable.

Keychia, like most young Blacks had no relatives and friends to

come to the courtroom to support her. Her pensive sobs rocked

the cour troom. I lay awake in bed trying to figure out a way to

sabotage the trial then it hit me. A plan. I would have to take a

great risk, but I had to do it.

On the day of the trial, I casually opened up the case file on

her and in a mock display of shock at what I was looking at,

lawyer turned actor, I looked up at the judge in confusion, and

asked him could I approach the bench. He stared at me quizzical-

ly over the rim of his glasses.

“
Your Honor, I’m afraid the prosecution is forced to drop the

charges, due to the fact the statute of limitations has expired in

this case,” I said, as I tried to look flustered.

The judge looked at me with dismay as he removed his glasses.

“
What do you mean you’re going to have to drop the charges?”

he asked, disgruntled. His skin turned beet red.

“
The defendant filed a motion for a speedy trial, evidently it

was in oversight at my office, and just now discovered this.” I

passed the motion to the judge. The night before, I drafted it and

forged Keychia’s signature and post dated it. As the judge looked

at it, I prayed that Keychia’s lawyer would go along with it. Last

night the idea seemed like a brilliant plan, however, this morning

with the judge peering down at me, I realized just how stupid and

dangerous the idea was, I could lose my job, and possibly face

charges.

The judge massaged his face with a hand and sighed as he

began to rub the bridge of his nose the way people do when they

are having a long day.

“
Counsel, what do you mean, oversight? This is plain and sim-

ple incompetence, and not in accordance with the jurisprudence

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of law that I practice in my courtroom,” the judge spoke sternly,

and then looked over at the defense table and shook the paper in

his hand as he pointed at Keychia’s attorney.

“
Why am I just learning of this ... this so called oversight?” he

asked, and glared at me. Right then and there I wanted to run out

of the cour troom as I watched Keychia’s lawyer stand and look at

the judge in consternation as he responded, “I am not aware of

such motion your Honor.”

“
Yes you is!” Keychia interjected indignantly.

Keychia’s lawyer approached the bench giving me a look that

said he was on to me and my scheme.

“
Your Honor, someone needs to be investigated and disbarred

and maybe even arrested. This is a travesty of injustice,” the lawyer

said angrily as he pointed an accusing finger at me, and then

added, “I want my client released at this ver y moment, or else I’m

filing for prosecution misconduct.”

The judge looked on and shr ugged his wear y shoulders.

“
This has been a long day for all of us,” he said as he looked

at me and shook his head, like he could not believe that I could

be so stupid. I glanced over at Keychia’s lawyer and I could have

sworn that old white man winked at me. One thing was for sure,

he had just proven to me that he was a better actor.

“
Will the defendant please rise,” the judge said. I watched as

Keychia struggled with the armrest on the chair to stand. She was

a ver y pretty girl with a light complexion and long wavy black

hair. With her enormous stomach, she looked like she was carry-

ing twins.

“
Young lady, I want you to consider yourself very fortunate.

Today, due the circumstances that would have violated your con-

stitutional rights, I have no other recourse but to drop the indict-

ment against you.” After the judge made his ruling, it was hard for

me to hide my delight. I turned my back and smiled as I walked

back to the prosecutor’s table.

*****

On the day that I visited Life Thugstin in SHU and he spit in

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my face, that pushed me over the edge in leaps and bounds. So

much hurt and pain, and yet, I had no choice but to turn the hurt

into motivation to propel myself forward. Life actually thought I

had sold him out, betrayed my own people, like so many others

had done. I wished that I could let him know, make him under-

stand me, the woman that only took the job for the government

in order to learn its legal tactics so that I could go back and help

others. If I were to become the female version of Hannibal I would

have to learn how to defeat these people at their own game. War.

The logistical kind you find in the courtroom. The battle of the

minds. When I had no way of possibly knowing, it would be a lot

sooner than I thought that I would find myself entrenched in war

in a crowded courtroom fighting for my client’s life.

*****

As planned, that was my last day working for the government.

I had “take this job and shove it” written all over my face. Well, at

least in my mind.

I walked up to my boss’ secretary, Joan Fiest. She was a

pompous overweight woman that wore too much make-up. Her

eyeliner made her look like a witch. She had a personality of a

shark with a wide mouth to match.

“
Hi, Ms. Fiest. Is Mr. Scandels in his office?” I asked. She was

the gatekeeper to his office and loved the job. She turned and

looked at me with a gaze that left no doubt of her disdain for me.

“
Hope, you know that David does not like to be disturbed

while he’s enjoying his morning coffee.” With that she gave me

one of her shark smiles with all eighty teeth. One tooth was

stained with red lipstick. She turned her back on me.

I stood there all of ten seconds counting backward, trying to

calm myself, trying to reason with my brain.

Why does this woman

dislike me so? I’ve had enough of her bullshit

, I thought as I decid-

ed to walk into my boss’s office unannounced.

I stormed by the gatekeeper. She looked up at me with rouge

cheeks, mouth agape.

“
Wait!” she hollered. I passed through the door without even

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knocking. He was reclined in his chair, feet propped up on his

desk with a simmering cup of coffee in his hand, pinky finger

extended. A man caught in the solitude of his thoughts. Ms. Fiest

rushed in behind me. She was winded like she had just run a

marathon. “Mr. Scandels, I tried to stop her.”

“
Excuse me sir, but I need to have a word with you. It’s impor-

tant.”

I watched as Mr. Scandels waved her away. After his secretary

had left, he cocked his head to an angle furrowing his brow in con-

centration at me in wonder, what could be so important to make

me barge into his office unannounced?

“
What can I do for you?” he asked. Today he wore a starched

white shirt, with a brown tie. His hair was thinning and this

morning it looked wet. He had a strong angular jaw line with a

deep dimpled chin that reminded me of a car toon character. His

demeanor was always poised like a man used to giving orders. He

had this uncanny way of making you feel uncomfortable, the way

powerful people do. And in his own right, he was a powerful man.

The head prosecutor for the Northern District of Florida carried