Life Without Hope (49 page)

What fascinated me most about the case was how intricately

designed the money trail was in concealing the assets. It led to

stockholders that anonymously withheld their names, all accept

Annie Bell. The shares of stock were in a corporation of investors.

Under federal law it was all perfectly legal. A lien for a large

amount of money had been placed on all the assets. If the feds

confiscated the property they would also be held responsible for

paying off the liens. This was nothing shor t of brilliant, and the

feds quickly abandoned their pursuit to seize the assets, at least

until they could figure out a way to get around the paper trail. I

never would have imagined that dope dealers could be so sophis-

ticated. And still I could not believe that this was the same brotha

that I drove into town, and all he had were big dreams, big guns

and a large heart. I thought about how I was the one who person-

ally introduced him to Trina, my frat sister.

When I heard that Life could have connections to Willie

Falcon, I knew it was possible.

Life entered the cour troom escorted by U.S. Marshals. The

soft murmur of voices rose like the ocean tide.

Life wore a black Armani suit, gray shirt and alligator Stacy

Adams. With his chiseled dark features he was by far the most

handsome man in the courtroom; with his briefcase in hand he

could have easily passed for a lawyer. His eyes scanned the court-

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room, taking in every face, including mine, causing my heart to

stir. He waved at an elderly Black woman. “I love you son,” the

woman said loud enough for the entire courtroom to hear. As

soon as Life sat down, the artists from various media affiliates,

including CNN, began drawing courtroom scenes. Since Judge

Statford barred all cameras this was the next best thing.

As I looked on, once again I thought to myself, I knew why

Johnny Cochran, one of the best lawyers in the world, refused to

do federal cases against the government. Like myself, he knew the

deck was stacked.

Life was talking with his attorneys. They appeared to be argu-

ing. Adamantly, Life shook his head in disagreement, indicating

he was not happy about something. I leaned forward just like the

rest of the courtroom trying to hear bits and pieces of what was

being said.

“
All rise!” The bailiff bellowed. In walked Judge Statford, an

elderly rotund man with a large head that appeared to be too big

for his small body. He had droopy hound dog eyes, and sagging

cheeks, that of a man that never smiled.

With everyone seated the clerk handed the judge court papers.

The courtroom was now electrified with suspense.

“
The United States of America versus Life Thugstin,” the clerk

announced over the clamor coming from the defense table.

The judge glared at the table over the rim of his half specta-

cles.

“
Hmmm, hummmm!” The judge cleared his throat in an

attempt to get the defense’s attention. Life and his attorneys

ignored him, until finally the judge banged his gavel.

“
Is there a problem?” the judge asked.

Tom Braxton, the lead defense attorney, stood nervously. Even

with all his polished epicure and professionalism, I could hear the

tremor in his voice, “Hmmm, err, my client has just informed me

he no longer wants me or my staff to represent him.”

The judge pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and

leaned for ward as if he were seeing counsel for the first time.

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“
No longer wants you to represent him?” the judge intoned.

“
You’ve been fired?”

It took only a few seconds for the rest of the courtroom to real-

ize what was happening. Then, slowly, the monotone of voices sig-

naled like a silent alarm, something about the courtroom pro-

ceeding was askew. A few reporters dashed out of the courtroom

door to call in their scoop of the day,

Life Thugstin, Lieutenant of

the Willie Falcon Colombian drug cartel, fires defense team, The

Dream Team 2

.

Tom Braxton turned his head to watch all the commotion as

the reporters left, he turned back facing the judge with disap-

pointment written all over his face. I looked over at the defense

table and Life moved his chair as far away from his attorneys as

possible, his way of showing his parting of their association.

The judge arched his bushy eyebrows at Life.

“
Mr. Thugstin, am I clear on this matter, you want to fire your

attorneys?” the judge asked followed by a drone of whispering that

sounded like a tiny roar from little people. The judge pounded his

gavel and glared out into the courtroom. Life slowly rose from his

seat. From the angle I was sitting all I could see was the side of his

handsome face.

“
I’m on trial today fightin’ fo my life. I feel these men,” Life

turned and gestured pointing, “are not in my best interest.”

“
Why is that?” the judge asked.

“
Well for one thing,” Life sighed and looked over at his ex-

lawyers, “I don’t feel these men are in it to help me. I see them

more on television doing interviews than I do in person.” The

judge shook his head in disproval at Thugstin.

“
First off, let me admonish something to you. In America we

have a system of democracy, and in this democracy there are ser-

vants of the people, such as lawyers. In our society, lawyers are for

the benefit and best interest of the people.”

While the judge talked, Life just stood there looking helpless.

I glanced over to the prosecutor’s table, Mr. Scandels sat in a chair,

looking flabbergasted. He held onto the arm of the chair so tight,

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I thought he was going to break it off.

“
Why do you want to dismiss your lawyers at such a critical

stage of the proceedings? The day of the trial?”

“
Yo Honor, as I said earlier, I’m fightin’ fo’ my life. The only

time these men come to talk to me is about more money, legal fees

and whatnot. No one told me about a strategy, I ain’t even seen the

discover y list.” Life was talking about a motion called a discovery,

where the government is supposed to present all the evidence it

intends to use at trial.

“
Yo Honor, I’ve learned more ‘bout my case from jailhouse

gossip than from my so-called paid attorneys. Where I come from

you don’t call yourself a team and then go against the grain.”

The judge had enough. “Fortunately we’re not where you

come from. You’re in my courtroom, which just so happens to be

a federal courtroom. In the federal system we do things different-

ly!” Threat.

Tom Braxton was still standing. He looked over to the defense

table as if to say,

what do I do now?

“
If I let you fire your attorneys how do you intend to defend

yourself?” the judge asked.

“
I’ma go pro se.”

“
Pro, se?” The judge retorted.

“
Yep.”

“
You want to defend yourself?” the judge asked with a smirk

on his face about as close as he would ever be at smiling. “How

much education do you have?”

“
The last time I was in prison I got my GED,” Life respond-

ed.

Someone in the back of the courtroom giggled. For the next

thirty or so minutes the exchange of words went on, until finally

the judge granted Life Thugstin’s permission to fire his lawyers.

The judge said he would need a week to decide if he would allow

Life to defend himself.

After court was adjourned, I walked up to the woman that

called out to Life in the courtroom. Just as I suspected she was his

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stepmother, Brenda Thugstin. I gave her my card, told her I was a

lawyer interested in the trial. She took the card, looked up at me

and smiled brightly with weary eyes. I could tell that she had been

crying. Gray hair ringed her temples. The wrinkles in the corners

of her eyes said she was much older than what she appeared. I

couldn’t help but wonder,

where is her husband, the famous preach-

er, Freddy Thugstin

? As I recalled he had taken ill. Diabetes. One

thing was for certain, Life and his father could never seem to get

along. As we talked, a herd of anxious reporters spotted her and

we were swamped. With microphones being thrust in her face,

timidly Mrs. Thugstin began to talk, “My baby ain’t done nuttin

ta nobody.”

I backpedaled away from that scene and all its madness, the

courtroom hall filled with all them white faces. As I walked away,

I made a quick glance over my shoulder. Mrs. Thugstin’s fearful

eyes followed me like a child standing in front of a train. This was

too big, too powerful. The magnitude of it all was like a grip of a

tight fist. Drug lords, money, murder, mayhem, the young

Thugstin from rags to riches, I was overwhelmed. Now the only

thing I wondered was,

what is he going to do next?

*****

Later on that day, I picked my son up from the babysitter. He

was asleep on the couch with his favorite stuffed animal, Barney,

in his arms.

Finally at peace with the world,

I thought as I carried

him in my arms to my car. God forgive me, but at 3 years old, my

child was bad as hell. I guess when God was giving out intuitive

curiosity he must have given Marcus an extra dose.

“
Mama, what color is the sky?”

“
Blue,” I would answer.

“
Why is it blue?”

“
God made it blue.”

“
Why he do that?”

*****

I sat at home reading the newspaper, looking for cheap office

space to rent. Marcus sat in front of the television watching “The

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Cosby Show”. The doorbell rang. I looked at the clock on the

wall, it read 8:40 p.m.

Who could that be?

I wondered.

“
I’ll get it Mommy!!” Marcus yelled and raced to the door.

“
Marcus! Boy, don’t touch that door,” I said as I walked up

and peered out the peephole. It was Officer Coffee wearing a pair

of jeans and a sweatshirt, and a shit-eating grin plastered on his

face. Apparently, he was off duty, and as far as I was concerned,

out of bounds for showing up at my home this time of night. Now

it was my turn to read him his rights. I barely opened the door just

enough to get my head out. “Mr. Coffee, I think it’s very disre-

spectful for you to be at my door unannounced.” Marcus popped

his head between my legs.

“
Mistah Coffeeee,” he sang happily as he shuffled his feet from