Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler

by J. M. Benjamin

  When I got to county, I had to go through the whole process and procedure thing all over again with the million questions and all of that ’cause I had never been in before. They gave me some more bullpen therapy and sent me up to 4B, the reception block. When they cracked the cell, there was an old white man on the top bunk and a black kid on the bottom.

  “Where am I supposed to sleep?” I asked the officer.

  “There should be three mattresses.”

  I knew how niggas were, so I was prepared for whatever.

  The kid on the bottom was still lying in the bed when the cell locked, like he didn’t hear anybody come in.

  “Yo, my man!”

  No answer.

  “Yo, my man!” I yelled again, tapping him on the back.

  “Yo, what?” he said, rolling over. When he turned over I recognized him and he recognized me too.

  “Nigga, fuck you mean what?” I said.

  “Yo, I ain’t know who you was, Mil. What’s happenin’, baby?” he said, trying to clean it up. It was the kid Karim I had broke my knuckle on back in the day. Over the years he had fallen off and started getting high, sniffing dope. “I thought it was one of them Elizabeth or Newark heads tryin’ to come up in here running shit.”

  I just kept grilling him.

  “What you in here for, traffic warrant or something?” he asked.

  “Nah.”

  “You got knocked around the projects?”

  “Nah, yo. Don’t feel like talking about that shit. When we come out.”

  He laughed. “Oh, shit, this must be ya first time in here. You just missed when we come out. That’s it for the night. We in this muthafucka twenty three and a half hours a day. The other half is to shower or make a phone call. I know you getting bailed out tonight though, right?”

  “I ain’t got no bail.”

  “Damn! Fuck you got knocked wit’, a ton? Or killed a couple niggas?”

  “I’m here on some bullshit, that’s all.”

  “Me too, kid. They tryin’ to charge me wit’ selling dummy bags. I told them niggas they was fake, but they talking about they sending shit to the lab. I’ve been sittin’ here for two days waiting for that shit to come back. Yo, they probably give you bail tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “Yo, I’ll hit the floor, don’t even worry about it,” he told me, like he really had a choice, because I wasn’t trying to sleep on that filthy-ass floor.

  Between Karim vomiting from withdrawal and the old white man farting and snoring all night stinking up the spot and keeping me awake, I was ready to strangle these two bastards. I tossed and turned all night, and by the time I closed my eyes it was time for breakfast.

  The shit they were serving didn’t even look edible, so I gave my tray to Karim and lay back down. I heard somebody outside my cell asking, “Where Benson locked at?” and I got up to look out the door. It was my cousin on my father’s side, Marlon. He had been in county for three years fighting a murder charge. You could see that he was living good in here because the nigga looked like the hulk with his wig corn rolled to the back. He was big as hell.

  “Li’l cuz, what’s goin’ on?”

  “What up, yo!”

  “Somebody working downstairs last night told me you came in. I was fucked up. I called my shorty to get the word on what was going down out there and she told me they ran down on you. That shit is all over the streets she said, and that shit is in today’s paper, too. Damn, kid, they caught you with about thirty grand on you plus three secret indictments. You niggas came up out there, huh?”

  I hit him with half a smile.

  “Yo, you know they can bring the feds in ’cause of that dough. It’s over ten thousand U.S. currency,” Marlon told me. “I don’t think they will, though. I’m just letting you know. If they said you being held without bail, that’s probably because of the money. You just turned eighteen, huh? They said they was squattin’ on ya ass. You all right in there?”

  “Yeah, I’m cool. Hungry as hell, though.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I got you. I’ma send some cakes and shit down for you. If you ain’t out in two days, I’ma see if my man can get you on the tier with me. I’m on the workers’ tier, so you’ll have to get a job. You need me to call anybody for you? ’Cause you don’t come out until tonight.”

  “Yeah, call Mal for me and ask him what he found out.”

  “All right, what’s the number?”

  “555-7672.” I gave it to him.

  “I’ll be back this afternoon; I’ll let you know what he said.”

  “Good looking, yo.”

  “No doubt. Hold ya head, kid.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ay yo, Malik, this my li’l cousin up in here. Look out for him,” Marlon said as he was leaving.

  “I got you, yo!” I heard someone yell, but I couldn’t see him.

  * * *

  “Mil, wake up,” Karim yelled. “Your cousin is back.”

  “Ay yo, I spoke to Mal, and he said he got a lawyer Mu gave him the number to, and that the lawyer supposed to come check you out today, and get you in court for a bail hearing tomorrow, so just cool out until that happened. He said Lisa gonna be at the house tonight when you call, and a whole bunch of other chicks been calling to see what was up wit’ you. You two niggas sound just alike. I told him I was holding you down. He said he was gonna send me a couple of dollars and some flicks of some shorties at the club and shit. Yo, here some honey buns and shit. I’ma bring you some more tomorrow.”

  “Yo, what’s up with your case?” I asked him.

  “I’m still going to trial unless they come wit’ something like a twelve wit’ a six or ten wit’ a five. That ain’t shit, seeing as how I been sitting for over three already.”

  “Yeah, I hear you, but I ain’t trying to do no time.”

  “Oh, you gonna get somethin’ for that shit they charging you wit’.”

  “But, yo! This my first offense. I ain’t never been locked up for drugs before.”

  “It don’t matter. You pose a threat and they need you off the streets for a little while. It’s all politics, baby boy. The question is, is your paper long enough to get the lowest plea bargain possible? ’Cause money talks when it comes to the system.”

  “Man, I’m tryin to get probation or somethin’, fuck that.”

  “Yeah, a’ight, keep thinkin’ that. Yo, I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I get off work. Let me know what your lawyer tell you.”

  “Kamil Benson,” the CO shouted. “Get ready, attorney visit.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Benson, My name is Muhammad Bashir. You can call me Mr. Bashir. A friend of yours and a brother of mine, Mustafa Ali, along with your brother, contacted me earlier yesterday. Since then I’ve been trying to find out all that I can about what exactly you’re being charged with. I have copies of the charges and I’m going to give you a copy of them. I need to ask you a few questions just to clarify what prevented you from being granted bail. Based on what you can remember about the arrest, tell me word for word what happened, just how it happened.”

  I explained it to him word for word from the time they put the cuffs on me until now.

  “So you’re telling me that while you were cuffed on the ground the officer searched the vehicle without asking permission, and didn’t show you a search warrant of any sort?”

  “Nope. I mean, yep, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Very good. Don’t worry. I’ll have you out on bond tomorrow.’

  “Thank you,” I said. “Have you spoken to my brother or Mustafa today?” I asked him.

  “Yes, they’re downstairs in the car waiting for me,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh, all right. Thank you again.”

  * * *

  “You have a collect call from Kamil, will you accept the charges?”

  “Yeah. Yo, what up, kid?” Mal said, happy to be hearing from me.

  “I’m good.”
/>   “You sure? Ain’t nobody take ya ass or nothing, did they?”

  “Nigga, shut the fuck up?” He made me laugh, something I needed right now ’cause this twenty-three and a half hours of lockup with three niggas in the cell was killing me. I heard Lisa in the background saying, “Kamal, don’t say that.”

  “He know I’m playing, girl, cool out! Yo, bro, Bashir told us that he should be able to get you bail tomorrow ’cause they did some bullshit taking the money like that. He was sayin’ somethin’ about illegal search or something. Mu know more about it than I do.”

  “When Mu get up here?”

  “I called him as soon as they knocked you and he flew up on the next flight and got in touch wit’ Bashir. Yo, we’ll be there tomorrow in court, so I’ma let your wife talk to you. Look at her cheezin’ and shit.”

  “Kamal, shut up! Hey, mookie, how you doin’?” Lisa asked. “I miss you,” she said as if I had been locked up for years already. “I wish I had never let you leave my house that day, and then you wouldn’t be in there.”

  “Nah, don’t say that. It ain’t ya fault. They was gonna—”

  “Time up! Everybody lock in!” the officer yelled.

  “Damn! Lisa, I gotta lock in.”

  “Okay! I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Benson, time’s up I said.”

  “Yeah, I heard you.”

  “Baby, go ahead. Don’t get in no trouble,” Lisa told me, picking up on the irritation in my tone of voice.

  “I ain’t. I’ll talk to you.”

  “Bye.”

  Still, I couldn’t sleep, especially with having court on my mind, so I stayed up until the morning came. By the time the lawyer had stated the obvious, and requested this and requested that, filing this and filing that, the judge had granted me bail: $100,000 with 10 percent, meaning I could use a bondsman. I felt like I just beat a murder rap, and by the sound of everybody in the back you would’ve thought I did too. My moms, my grandmother, Nique, Jasmine, Lisa, Mal, his girl, Mu, and Shareef were all there.

  “Depending on how long the paperwork takes, you should be out sometime this evening. Call me tomorrow so we can discuss your options,” Bashir said as he was leaving.

  I saw him and Mu exchange handshakes and hugs before he left. I could see Lisa wiping tears from her eyes as they were escorting me out of the courtroom.

  * * *

  “What happened in court?” my cousin asked.

  “They gave me a hundred thousand dollars bail.”

  “Word! They tryin’ to make an example out of you, probably ’cause of all that money you had. Can you make it?”

  I just laughed. “Yeah, I should be out before the night’s out.”

  “Damn, you niggas is livin’ it up out there. Mal must’ve overnighted that shit ’cause I got the money and the flicks today. He sent me two hundred dollars. That was good lookin’. You niggas chillin’ in the flicks, too.”

  “What flicks he sent you?”

  “The ones when y’all at some club in New York with all these Spanish chicks and shit up in there.”

  “Oh, I know what you talking about. Yo, you still got the number, right?”

  “Yeah, I got it back at my cell.”

  “If you need anything get at us, all right?”

  “That’s peace.”

  “Yo, I hope you beat that body or get something light.”

  “Appreciate that, yo. Let me get out of here, one!”

  * * *

  When I got outside, Mu and Mal were leaning against a green Land Cruiser. “What was you eatin’ in there, kid? You look like you put on some weight,” Mal joked.

  “Yeah, all right. What’s up, Mu?”

  “What up, baby?”

  “I’m all right. Appreciate the lawyer.”

  “All I did was call him. Y’all paying him,” he said.

  As I looked up I could see niggas from county up in the windows. Somebody was waving. I thought it was Marlon, but I wasn’t sure. I still waved back, because those two days I felt their pain and shit was rough.

  “Damn, kid, how the hell you catch three secret indictments?” Mu asked.

  “I don’t know, yo. Probably fuckin’ wit’ all them white guys.”

  “Not necessarily. It be black muthafuckas, too, so you ain’t gonna be able to figure out who you served. You niggas making too much paper to not have niggas out there for you anyway. I know y’all ain’t so stingy and cheap that you can’t pay niggas proper to move that shit for you. You know you ain’t getting that money back, right?” he said. “I spoke to Muhammad and he told me that you definitely gonna have to do some time but it ain’t gonna be a lot if ya paper right. I told him to discuss that wit’ y’all. Make sure you call or go see him tomorrow, ’cause I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I just wanted to make sure you got up outta there ’cause that county jail shit ain’t no joke. You only sit if you have to, not if you don’t.”

  “Yo, Lisa’s at the house waitin’ on you, and Mommy and them said make sure you come by tomorrow,” Mal told me.

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Lisa jumped on me as soon as I came through the door, kissing all on me with her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. “Welcome home, baby!”

  “Lisa, you act like I been gone for years. I seen you in the courtroom crying.”

  “I couldn’t help it. It feels like years.”

  “What you gonna do when I gotta do years?”

  “Don’t talk like that. You ain’t gonna have to do no time.”

  “I wish you were right, girl.”

  “Hey, Kamil, welcome home,” Keya said.

  “Thanks, it’s good to be home.”

  “Yo, Mil, I’m gonna get up outta here and take this truck back to Reecie. I’ll call you when I’m back in VA.”

  “All right, Mu. I’ll talk to you.”

  “Lisa, it was nice meeting you. Take care of my li’l brother while I’m gone.”

  “I will. Nice meeting you too.”

  That night, after I took a long, hot bath to get the jail stench off of me, Lisa and I made love all night long. It was as though we belonged together, like we were made for each other.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  I had missed a total of five days from school and this was going to be my sixth because I had to go see my lawyer. I took off the first one, for my birthday on the third, and I was locked up on the fourth and the fifth and got out on the sixth. School wasn’t a priority now for me. I had to focus on this case and what I might be looking at. I wasn’t ready to go to prison, but I knew that it was one of the options in the game, and like everything else you do there are always consequences and repercussions behind it.

  When I called Bashir I told him that I’d be there by 11:00 a.m., but I was a little early.

  “Yes, may I help you?” the receptionist asked.

  “Yes, I have a scheduled appointment with Mr. Bashir at eleven o’clock.”

  “And your name is, sir?”

  “Kamil Benson.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Benson. Mr. Bashir is expecting you. Please have a seat while I inform him of your arrival.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Kamil, come in please. How are you this morning?” he asked.

  “I’m fine and yourself?”

  “Each day Allah allows me to wake up to see another day I’m blessed,” he replied. “Did Mustafa fill you in on what I said in reference to this matter?”

  “Basically he told me that you said I’d be looking at some time.”

  “That’s correct, but let me explain how it works. I’ve been talking to the prosecutor who will be handling your case and he feels strongly about what he has against you so he won’t hesitate to take this to trial if you don’t agree to plead out, and he will push for the maximum sentence; but you don’t have to worry because I’m advising you to plead out. That is what I feel is in your best interest, because I’ve dealt with this prosecu
tor before and if he says he has something on someone then he has it. He offered you a seven with a three-and-a-half stipulation.”

  “What?”

  “Calm down,” he said, smiling. “I said he offered it. I didn’t say we’d take it. We negotiated and negotiated and I got him down to a three with an eighteen-month stip, and that right there, my young brother, is a gift. If you agree to this they will not pursue the charges on the money; however, you will have to forfeit the right to fight for it back.”

  “I don’t care about that money,” I told him.

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Now, like I said, he’s willing to offer you three years with a mandatory minimum of eighteen months. Automatically that makes you eligible for a halfway house and work release, but you will probably do about six months before your paperwork goes through, which isn’t bad considering your charges. So you’d basically do six months in a youth correctional facility and the other twelve months in a halfway house going home on the weekends on furlough. What do you think?”

  I thought for a minute. The way he broke it down didn’t sound too bad, and it seemed like I didn’t have any other choice. “Yeah, that sounds decent if that’s the best you can do.”

  “This is the best anybody can do in your case, no matter how much you’re paying them. I have to call him back by five thirty and let him know so he can draw up the papers, and this thing will probably take place next month and you’ll be sentenced by May.”

  “May? Of this year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why so quick? I thought cases be getting dragged out for months and months, sometimes years.”

  “Not everyone’s situation is the same. If you were sitting in the county jail that would probably happen, but instead you’re out. The prosecutor has so many cases that he’s trying to get the cut-and-dried ones out of the way first. He has trial dates coming up and other people to negotiate with. He’s set on your case and he’s trying to get done with it and get it out of the way.”