Life Without Hope (59 page)

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and Pops. They were old anyway.’

L man, I never would do you!”

Cal pleaded. His voice had taken on a feminine whine, that of a

broken man. Of course he was also lying. All I could do was shake

my head. Damn Blazack put in major work, the real menace to

society. I hurried away from the bars, away from a conspiracy to

murder and the kidnapping of Cal’s family. I talked solely for the

audience of snitches and microphones that I was sure were in the

cells.

“
Yo! My nigga, I’m telling you what God love, the truth. I ain’t

got nuttin’ do wit dat. I’ma just pray to God and let Jesus, my

Lord and Savior help me through this.”

“
Nigga, who you think you talkin’ to? I know you and Blazack

are behind this.”

I walked to the corner of the cell, lit up a smuggled cigarette

rolled in toilet paper wrappings and tried not to listen to Lil Cal’s

plaintive cries about murder and kidnapping.

Don’t worry about

your Grandma and pops. They was old anyway.

*****

As I entered the courtroom it dawned on me, that even after

almost two months I was still not at ease with the media and all

the attention. As usual, my stepmother called out my name along

with her declaration of love. Strangely, no matter how bad my day

was, she seemed to always get a smile out of me. In the back of my

mind I worried about the conversation I just had with Lil Cal back

in the holding cell. The feds are notorious for entrapment. I won-

dered if they were using him to set me up with a new indictment.

I pondered, maybe Scandels did know I was back there next to Lil

Cal in the holding cell all the time, and it was just an act. About

the only thing for certain was that Scandels saved his best for last.

Lil Cal was the last to testify against me of the 78 informants. So

what the hell was going on if Cal said he wasn’t going to testify?

After I greeted each of my all-female legal team and was seat-

ed next to Hope, she crinkled her nose up at me playfully, said I

smelled like smoke. Her beauty, along with her body, was serious-

ly starting to deteriorate. I could see her cheekbones, the shallow

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husk of flesh that covered her face. Her eyes looked to be too far

back in the sockets. She was tired and wary. Uncannily, I could

still see the impeccable courage in her eyes. She would not accept

defeat. Never. Despite being the youngest amongst the entire

group of lawyers, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind, she was

the brainchild and our leader. Just about ever y petition, every

motion, and every strategy, she had prepared it.

I looked over at the rest of my attorneys. Today they looked

stone faced, staring straight ahead at the judge. The entire scene

was bizarre, like I was living in a dream. My defense counsels,

Adrienne and Taya, continued to stare straight at the judge, as if

they were somehow beckoning him, willing him, in some kind of

way. Maybe that was their plea, as only Black women knew how

to plead, a desperate attempt to save a Black human life. They

failed.

*****

The proceedings were underway and Lil Cal was seated at the

witness stand. For some reason, Scandels looked very uncomfort-

able. The prosecutor fumbled with his suit coat buttons as he

asked, “Mr. Johnson, do you see Life Thugstin in the courtroom?”

Cal looked over at me with piercing eyes, brows knotted in con-

tempt. I tried to match his stare, as I held my breath, and felt my

heart beating in my chest in a way that makes it hard for a man to

breathe. That very moment felt like a showdown. Time was infin-

ity that lasted ... lingered on forever.

“
Naw, I don’t see him in the courtroom,” Lil Cal answered and

turned his chin back to the prosecutor with his head held high.

Scandels flinched uncontrollably. It looked like his feet came two

inches off the floor like a man that just had the biggest surprise of

his life. It showed on his face.

“
Are you sure you don’t see the defendant, Life Thugstin, in

the courtroom?” Scandels asked, raising his voice, making his

question sound like a command.

“
No!” Cal answered without even looking at me.

Scandels turned beet red. Through clinched teeth and angular

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jawbone protruding in an irate temperament, Scandels looked like

he wanted to yank Lil Cal off the witness stand and beat him to a

pulp. Again, I was reminded of the old saying,

a rat don’t care who

he bites when trapped in a corner

. All Cal wanted was to free his

mama and not receive another Ax Blazack letter. Scandels fumbled

with some paper. “Are you aware of the statements you made, in

the form of over a one hundred page deposition, where you

alleged you and the defendant, Life Thugstin, sold drugs?”

“
Objection!” Adrienne Greene was on her feet, her large

breasts heaved forward pronouncing her point for added empha-

sis. “Your Honor, the witness has already stated he does not know

the defendant. The prosecutor’s only purpose is to badger the wit-

ness with hopes to illicit anything incriminating.”

“
Objection sustained,” the judge said like he was not all too

impressed with having to take orders from the defense.

Scandels tried another line of approach. He looked over and

smiled at the jury, wiped at a tuft of unruly hair on his forehead

nervously and walked up closer to the witness stand.

Genuinely he asked, “Do you remember talking to me for

hours in my office?”

“
I would like to plead the fifth,” Cal said smugly with his

thick lips bunched together as if to say,

I will not be answering any

further questions

. There was a buzz in the courtroom. I have never

been good at reading people’s hearts, but growing up in the ghet-

to you had to know how to read people’s minds. So I looked at all

twelve of the white jurors’ faces, faces that our society says are my

peers. But I knew then what the verdict was going to be. Just like

I knew what I was going to have to do to cheat life and win my

own trial. I can’t lie. The broad, Tomica, and a few of the other

witnesses that testified against me hurt me bad! Now the trial was

almost over, nearly two months of verbal gymnastics of what is

termed law. I would’ve rather gone out in a hail of gunfire. At least

that way it would’ve felt like I was fighting back. For any Black

man being on trial and having to be forced to be judged by an all

white jur y is truly a humiliating experience. Then as I thought

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about the dope game, and all its street fame, I can bare witness, it’s

two sides of the game. The other side ain’t nothing nice and it

comes with a hell of a price. Right there in the courtroom, I

opened my Bible. Secretly I enjoyed the way the media always

took note of every little thing I did. If I dozed off or laughed, it

would be in the next day’s newspaper. Reading the Bible made no

difference. They quickly took notice of that too, just like I want-

ed them to. I remember my stepmother always telling me when I

was a small child and been bad, to pray to Jesus. So that’s what I

did, I read my Bible and prayed to Jesus.

*****

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Chapter T

wenty Thr

ee

Chapter T

wenty Thr

ee

“
The Verdict”

–
Life –

At the end of all trials, the defense and the prosecutors are allowed

to present their closing argument. This, in legal terms, is known

as summations.

Hope went first. War y and fatigued she spoke passionately,

exposing all the key points where the prosecution had blundered.

Dramatically she exhorted the jur y to see the logic in her argu-

ment and the flaw in the prosecutor’s case. As I looked on, she

really touched my heart, because to me with all her big words and

drawn out statements, she looked like a Black woman pleading for

a Black man’s life. I wondered,

how many times in history has that

happened?

I felt bad and ashamed of myself. The dope game was

not worth this. For two hours, Hope’s voice carried like the wind.

The church played their part with reverent hymns to Jesus with

enough fervor to get God’s attention. I’m sure to this day the

imperial heavens must have peeked down in wonder at what was

going on in that old courtroom.

Hope ended her summation with a standing ovation. All

Black folks clapping their hands with the commotion, I looked

around the courtroom as the judge pounded his gavel. Most of the

white faces in the courtroom looked uncomfortable. I watched as

Hope held on to the rail next to the jur y box for support. She was

coughing violently in spasms; she looked so weak, faint. Taya and

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Adrienne had to help her back to the defense table, they damn

near had to carr y her. I turned my head as Hope sat down next to

me coughing in fits. She was sweating feverishly and was having a

problem breathing. For the first time it truly dawned on me,

something was terribly wrong with Hope. I reached out to grab

her hand, this Black woman, the warrior that was fighting for me.

Her hand was moist, hot. Hope was on fire, a feminine inferno.

The judge

looked over at her. “Would you like to take that out of my

courtroom? If you’re ill we can stop the trial for recess.” Hope rose,

wear y on her feet, balancing herself by holding onto the table

edge.

“
Thank you your Honor, but I’m fine. I welcome the oppor-

tunity to engage the prosecution in this case with hopes that jus-

tice may prevail,” Hope said magnanimously, and then smiled at

the jury and began to cough again. She sat back down and closed

her eyes as if to gather strength. I wanted to reach out and hold

her close to me, to shield her, as I realized I never wanted to hurt

a Black woman again as long as I lived, only now it was too late.

David Scandels was next with his closing argument. For three

hours he ranted and raved in his theatrical epilogue. Occasionally

he used the words “Black criminals” and “war on drugs” like they

were some kind of code words to the jury. I read the faces of the

jury while he talked. Most of the all white jury nodded in agree-

ment. These people were supposed to be impartial, they were sup-

posed to be a jury of my peers, but as I sat there on that hard