Raise the Dead

by D Stranger



  Raise The Dead

  By D. Stranger & Mr. Mayeed

  Copyright 1995 Revised – 03/03/2014 D. Stranger & Mr. Mayeed

  Disclaimer

  The following story is a product of the author’s imagination although inspired by factual events, this fictionalized account is a presentation meant solely to entertain the reader and any resemblance to places or persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

  LESSON IN THE OCCULT

  One of the most powerful forces in nature is sexual energy. It possesses the soul. It breaks the will. It fuels ambition. It defies logic. The effects of this force even transcends beyond the physical. Very few can resist it’s power or control its effects.

  It can make a fool of the intelligent, the strong weak, the passive aggressive, a good person wicked and a wicked person good, or it can make the rich poorer and the poor richer.

  It is one of the purest forms of “conjuring,” for as we know it, there is no other way to create life without the sexual element, be it man, plant, animal, or something “else”.

  There are many stories and legends both in religion and cultural mythology where even spiritual entities have been transfixed by the lure of physical pleasure. Apparently, this force can even beckon to those who have crossed over beyond the grave.

  1

  Jarvis Thorton clawed his hair in frustration. The mountains of paperwork seemed to grow about his desk like fungi. He hadn’t graduated from Harvard Law School or turned down offers from several of the most prestigious law firms in America only to become smothered in the mire that was known in judicial circles as the Public Defender’s Office.

  Jarvis was in this predicament largely of his own accord. He had returned to his “hood” to give something back, to inspire, to make a difference. He wanted to be an actual role-model that others could actually touch and look up to. He wanted people to look at him and say, “Hey, he came from the same background as I did and he made it. And he did it without a basketball, or telling a lot of degrading foul-mouthed jokes. Just good ol’ studying and hard work.” Commitment and desire were the formula.

  Part of his own inspiration came from a childhood experience, when one of his homies, C.J., was wrongly accused of a crime and duped into a plea bargain because his Court appointed attorney didn’t have the time or interest to take C.J.’s case to trial. C.J. got a record, and his life took a downward spiral because being innocent he lost faith in the things that he had been brought up to believe in. Despair convinced Jarvis’ best friend to drown his sorrows in the Cuyahoga River.

  The plea bargain was a mechanism that was employed way too much for Jarvis’ taste. At C.J.’s funeral, Jarvis swore that there would be no more C.J.’s if he could help it. The underprivileged would always have competent representation to champion their causes.

  Ultimately, Jarvis had political aspirations. It was in the political arena where impact changes were really made. There were, however, major stepping stones to be overcome in order to realize that dream. Oh there were several "special interest groups" who saw his potential and

  2

  had expressed interest in helping to launch his political platform with very generous campaign contributions. That was usually how the game was played. The rules of that game were not to Jarvis' liking. You could never really carry out your own agenda because you owed "favors" to a few special constituents. Jarvis refused to allow himself to be a puppet while someone else pulled the strings. He was in need of some broader notoriety where his name and reputation could carry him on his own.

  Locally, he had conducted some legal clinics at community centers and churches. He taught individuals to do things that would save them the expense of lawyer’s fees, like how to do a name change, write an appeal, prepare their own taxes, or draft an uncontested divorce. Those things were good but didn't reach beyond the immediate community. These were minimal accomplishments for an attorney of his caliber. The Public Defender’s Office immediately snapped up the over-qualified attorney. He was in need of that big case. The kind of case that generated national media coverage and contributions from philanthropic donors.

  Occasionally, when a public interest case would surface it would be snatched away from the Public Defender's office by some big time firm or a nationally known attorney looking to enhance their images. The defendant's ,who were usually guilty, opted to have their cases tried by the big names instead of going with the Court appointed attorney and the stigma that was attached to those attorneys that they did a half-assed job of representation. The irony of that situation was that those big time attorneys rarely got an acquittal for the defendant. At best, it was a reduced sentence. The same sentence that they might have gotten with their Public Defender and a similar plea bargain. The defendants who were hoping against the odds to have their cases dismissed were just pawns to make national poster boys out of their famous attorneys.

  3

  Prosecutions had become a circus. It troubled the young attorney that what was legal wasn’t necessarily justice.

  It wasn't long however, before Jarvis began to empathized with C.J.'s lawyer. The volume of cases that came through the judicial system was staggering. The numbers simply did not allow time for every case to go to trial. For every case that Jarvis did try, he increased his backlog tenfold. Reluctantly, he had to compromise his principles and employ the plea bargain process. "Discount Justice. Commit a severe crime and get probation for pleading to a lesser offense. Innocent, but afraid that you'll be found guilty? No problem. Come on down to the Justice Center and cop a plea. We don't care what you did or didn't do. We-really-don't-care."

  "Hey Jar! Snap out of it."

  Jarvis came out of his deep thought to acknowledge another of his triumphs. Terry Porter was two grades behind at his school. He was a kid who was in constant trouble with the law. Mostly shoplifting and stolen car parts. His mother, a single parent, had spoiled him as a child and now that he was over six feet and a solid one hundred and ninety pounds she couldn't do anything with him. As a favor to the principal of a school that Jarvis was speaking at, he agreed to take on Terry as a kind of intern for a work study. Ideally, Jarvis had intended to get a student with more on the ball academically, but an "A" student could open up their own doors to opportunities with a little initiative. They were already headed in the right direction.

  The kids that needed breaks were kids like Terry. If they were mentored early enough, perhaps they could be productive, taxpaying citizens instead of menaces to the community and liabilities of the State.

  It was a gamble that paid off. With work to do, Terry didn't have time to get into trouble,

  4

  coupled with the sobering experience of seeing people that he used to hang out with getting sentenced was a lesson well learned. Terry earned academic credits as well as getting some practical on-the-job experience towards a career in criminal justice.

  Inspired by this modest success with Terry, Jarvis made a mental note to implement a program like this on a larger scale when he made it to Washington. The labor pool of troubled youth was vast. This program, with the cooperation of educators and social workers, would help to diminish the rising crime rate dramatically. A portion of the money normally used to house a juvenile offender could actually be used to pay that individual for his/her efforts, if they signed up for the program. Unlike the conventional internships that favored bright pupils, Jarvis’ program would target academically and emotionally troubled youths exclusively.

  Terry paid dividends in other ways besides being a gofer. His street smarts and contacts had been invaluable in closing some of the cases that Jarvis had on his backlog.

 
"Sorry Terry. I was just reflecting on some things."

  Terry handed Jarvis a paper cup of steaming coffee.

  “Five sugars?”

  “Yeah. Five. How can you drink that syrup?”

  “Can’t drink coffee unless it’s sweet. I need the caffeine for the long hours that I work. Besides, sugar is quick energy.”

  “Whatever. So, are you going to take on the Duncan case?”

  Jarvis handed Terry an envelope and that put a really wide grin on Terry’s face.

  “Thanks boss man.”

  “I know class credits don’t pay for over-priced street gear.”

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  “Look Jar, don’t curb the question. Are you going to represent the Duncan girl?”

  “It would be difficult to go against the Verdin’s under ideal circumstances. That case appears to be open and shut. Career suicide for an aspiring politician.”

  “You said you’d consider it.”

  “I did. I’ve looked over the prosecutor’s file and it doesn’t look good. They’ve got the girl’s prints on a bloody knife. A knife that the coroner says was plunged into young Verdin’s body over twelve times. The number of times that the victim was stabbed plus the fact that Miss Duncan was somewhere she shouldn’t have been, Erik Verdin’s bedroom, practically rule out self-defense. No sign of forced entry. The press has all but tried this case anyway. ‘Poor black girl kills wealthy playboy, heir to the Verdin empire.’”

  “I don’t care what the prosecutor’s file says. Did you at least talk to the sister?

  “Nothing to talk about. Now let’s get those transcripts back to the Court Reporter’s Office, before they make us pay for copies.”

  Terry finished loading the documents into his mail cart and followed Jarvis down the hall. There was a crowd of spectators and a mob of reporters armed with video cameras and tape recorders encircling a well dressed older woman.

  “Mrs. Verdin. Do you want to see the death penalty imposed on the woman responsible for the death of your son?...”

  “We know Erik was not opposed to paying for his fun. Was the suspect a professional

  escort?…”

  “It seems that young Verdin was following in his father’s footsteps. Your husband was notorious for his wandering eye…”

  6

  “Was the suspect romantically linked to your son…?”

  The older woman stopped her march to the prosecutor’s office. Her attorney and chauffeur shielded her from the inquisitive crowd. “Let me put that to rest right now. Erik was not like his father. His father was a crude, unsophisticated oaf, who did well in construction, and had the good sense to marry well. It was I who should have been more selective, for despite my best efforts to refine his father, I failed miserably. Erik Jr., takes after my side of the family. He has class, culture, and breeding, but unlike his ruffian father, he would never even consider soiling himself with the likes of that trash. She was merely hired help who took advantage of my son’s generosity.”

  Trash?

  “No she didn’t. Did you hear that Jarvis? She called the sister trash. And what’s up with that “soil” remark? Have you seen the Duncan girl? Man, she’s so fine, she’d make a blind busta’ want to take a second look.”

  “Watch yourself Terry. We have a professional image to maintain.”

  “Sorry boss man, I’m just sayin’, you know, that put down of the sister wasn’t called for. Mrs. Verdin is still steamed that it came out that her old man was gettin’ his freak on with some hottie when somebody crept up on them and blew them both away at one of his little hide-a-ways."

  The circumstances under which the senior Verdin was murdered didn't come as much of a shock to anyone. It was their marriage that raised eyebrows. Erik Verdin, Sr. was a hard working man who parlayed a modest inheritance of insurance money into a competitive construction business and invested well in real estate. He had money but no class. The rich

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  socialites that he sometime came into contact with, looked down on him. Although he could afford the finest champagne, he could still swill a pitcher of draft beer with the best of them. Mrs. Verdin on the other hand was just the opposite. A true blue- blooded, right-winged, conservative Republican, who possessed all of the social graces but was secretly in financial ruin because her father’s gambling. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. From her he got respectability. From him she regained the privileges of wealth. Once, when asked in an interview, how he could possibly marry someone that he apparently had nothing in common with, he replied, “You kiddin’ me? Have you see the jugs on her? And they’re real too. Youse’ can quote me on that. Her ass ain’t half bad either.” Apparently, neither of those attributes were enough to stop her husband from constantly straying. To avoid the embarrassment, Mrs. Verdin immersed herself in overseeing various social and charitable functions.

  The soil remark made by Mrs. Verdin had had ticked off Jarvis too. It just didn’t set well with him that a woman with her station in life could be so nasty. If the girl did kill her son she should pay, but that soil comment had nothing to do with her son's death. That was just plain ol’ racist. "Terry, take these to the Sheriff's Department for me. I've got something I need to attend to."

  “You’re going to do it aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re going to take the

  case. I knew it. You go boy!”

  * * *

  Jarvis walked to the women’s side of the jail. He signed in and requested to speak with Clarice Duncan, the suspect in the Erik Verdin, Jr. murder case.

  A female guard brought Clarice to reception room. She sat down while the officer stood

  8

  off in a corner.

  “Do I know you?”

  “No. No you don’t. I’m from the Public Defender’s Office. My name is Jarvis Thorton and if you don’t mind, I’d like discuss your case with you.”

  “Oh. I think I’ve seen your name in the papers. You do a lot of community service work.”

  Terry was right on the money about the Duncan girl being fine. Even after being in custody for several days without the benefit of make-up or any of the other female amenities, she was still a beauty. Caramel brown skin, almond shaped eyes, and even in her inmate clothes you could see that every curve was exactly where it was supposed to be. WHEW!

  “I am considering taking on your case, but I must admit that right now it’s not looking to good for you. I’d like to hear your version of what happened that night, then maybe I can outline a strategy for your defense.”

  “I didn’t kill Erik. You must believe me. I didn’t like him but I didn’t kill him.” Her eyes, the eyes of an Egyptian princess, were making a silent, desperate plea for help. Clarice sniffed as tears began to roll down her cheeks. He offered her his handkerchief. Without hearing a word, Jarvis already knew that this girl was innocent.

  “Well you see Mr.-?”

  “Thorton.”

  “-Mr. Thorton. It's just Mother and me. My mother is very sick with diabetes. Her treatments are many and expensive. Medicaid doesn’t cover all of her medical costs. Prescriptions, doctor's visits, dialysis. We struggle to pay the rent and utilities where we live,

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  because the neighborhood is a little pricey, but I wanted my mother to be safe when I wasn’t there. Good jobs are hard to find with just a high school education. I signed up with a temporary agency. Clean Sweep. They provide janitorial and maid services. The assignments only pay minimum wage so I have to work a lot of doubles for us to get by. I was given an assignment in one of the Verdin’s office buildings downtown.”

  “Which one? The Verdin’s own a lot of real estate.”

  “The Drexler. Near the ‘Q’. I was on the night cleaning crew. I was responsible for floors twelve through sixteen.

  I’d see Erik on the elevator when I was making my rounds sometimes. He would speak and I woul
d say hello. I didn’t know that he was the owner of the building. I just assumed that he was an executive with one of the business’ that rented space there.

  At first, I used to see him randomly, but more and more he appeared to be timing me so that he could see me more often. I didn’t want any trouble. I just wanted to do my work so I could go home to be with Mother and rest for my second shift.

  Then one day, he stops to tell me that they needed help to assist the live-in maid. I was hesitant at first, because of the way he was looking at me. Men have been giving me that kind of look ever since I turned fifteen. He sensed my apprehension, but said its okay. ‘We really do need the help.’ He said he admired my work and that he would triple whatever the agency was paying. Triple! Can you imagine that Mr. Thorton? I had never cleaned a mansion before, but it couldn’t have been any harder than cleaning the five floors of an office building. Plus, I’d have the help of the live-in maid. No more working doubles. I could spend more time with Mother. It was really a blessing. So I accepted.”

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  She paused to wipe away some more tears. “Anyway, Mother took a turn for the worse and needed increased dialysis treatments and visiting nursing care. I couldn’t afford it. So, reluctantly, I asked Erik for a raise only because they had so much and Mother really needed those treatments.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He took advantage of my situation. He told me that he’d get mother her own dialysis machine and daily nursing care if he could be with me twice a week.”

  “That low life bastard.”

  “I didn’t want to Mr. Thorton, believe me I didn’t, but my Mother would have died if she didn’t get that additional care. So twice a week I would just lay there while he slobbered all over me and then did his ‘business.’ But he did make good on his promises. Mother got her own dialysis machine and round the clock nursing care and eventually made a full recovery.

  On the date in question, I had just finished showering after one of our ‘appointments.’ I asked Erik if he was going to drive me home or if I should call for a cab? When he didn’t answer, I shook him. He still didn’t answer, so I turned him over. That’s when I saw all the blood on the bed and the knife in his chest which was full of stab wounds. I screamed. I kept calling his name. I pulled the knife from his chest, thinking that maybe with it out he would come to. That was when his mother burst in screaming, ‘YOU KILLED HIM. YOU TRAMP. YOU KILLED MY BABY.’