Then I started retching, dry, thank God, but it was unbearable nonetheless. I grabbed a trash can, bent over it, and struggled against it as best as I could. Nothing came out, but the result was a long, drawn out period of sheer torture. I hadn't eaten anything in two days. That's what it was.
I was pathetic. There was no getting past it. I was stuck like this. I pulled a bag of almonds out of my drawer and slowly chewed on one, then another, each time careful not to swallow too hard. It wasn't going to fill my stomach but it might calm it down a bit.
After a moment of veritable composure I sat back and cleared my head. Trial. They were going to trial. They had to. The DA wasn't going to give them a deal on a sting operation. There had to be something.
I pulled out my phone and went over the evidence. They were screwed. The only thing I could do was hope that they didn't come after me before they got taken in. They weren't going to do that. I was their new toy that they could twist around their fingers and spin back and forth, and I'd give in. I'd let them do whatever they wanted for just one more taste of their bodies.
No.
I couldn't allow my mind to go in that direction. I dialed up Stella. “What?” She answered.
“Are they starting to get impatient?”
“Landon is pacing around the room.”
“Alright. Send them in.” I wasn't prepared, not for Carter's easy swagger or Landon's quick stride, especially not their eyes, smiling, staring through my clothes. They were both wearing tank tops and tight jeans that left little to the imagination. They could've ran around the desk and torn off my clothes and I would've let them do it.
I grabbed another water bottle, just something to do with my hands while they closed in, Landon sat on my left and Carter on my right, both of them flirting subtly. They wanted it as badly as I did. I had to stay focused or else I'd end up with them both on top of me again, taking turns.
“You have a plan, right?” Landon jumped in.
“Told you to let him work it out. He's smooth.”
“Nah, this is our future. This shit's gonna effect us for the rest of our lives.”
“You're going to trial,” I started in. “The DA won't give you a good deal. So what we're going to focus on is litigation.”
“Liti—what?” Landon leaned in.
“Kind of like when they question a witness and the lawyer yells out, 'I object.'”
“You gonna do that?” Landon was on edge, and he didn't show any sign of letting up.
“The prosecutor, the guy coming up against us, is going to sit you down in front of the jury and ask you a lot of questions. It's a trap, and you're going to have to know how to come up against them.”
“How do we know what they're going to ask?” Landon was like a lion, ready to pounce on a gazelle.
“Chill,” Carter's voice was low, but commanding. When he spoke, Landon listened.
“Show me the ad. Can you find it?”
“I saved it.” Carter was ready, and pulled out his phone. “Look,” he handed it to me.
It was your basic Gregslist ad on their job page asking for somebody who could make an H delivery. “So it doesn't actually name the drug?”
“It's H.” Landon said. “Everyone knows what that is.”
“Not everybody,” I said. “Listen, they're going to ask you everything about the job, why you wanted to get it, what you were expecting, everything. Play it off, come up with a feasible story, and I need you to practice. Now walk me through exactly what happened. How did you contact them? Online? By phone?”
“I texted him,” Carter said.
“What did you say?”
He took back his phone to show me the conversation. “We don't say nothing on the phone. People tap that shit.”
“Alright, here's the deal. You tell them you wanted some extra cash, you looked up the job and asked about it. You had no idea what you were going to do.”
“That ain't enough,” Landon said.
“I got it. Don't worry.” I told them, doing my best to reassure them.
Carter nodded with a slight smile. “You comin over tonight?”
I sighed. “I can't.”
“Why not?” Landon sat back.
“I've got a lot of work to do.”
“Nah, you're just playing that shit off.” Carter sucked in air sharply through his teeth, a quick swipe of the eyes, and my body went warm. I was sweating.
“I'll see you guys in court next week.”
“Come on,” Carter got up. “Anytime,” he glanced back before they walked out. I could practically see his cock jumping in his pants.
God I wanted him, but I couldn't allow it. As beautiful as they were, they were trouble. All of the things that went along with it, the weed, the booze, that pill.
Chapter 8
I told Stella that she could take the week off and retreated to my room with a bottle of sleeping pills and my phone on silent. I couldn't face the world. The light, the noise, even a shift in the temperature was another pain, another round of self-deprecation. I deserved it. I knew I did. I had no business doing drugs the way I did, but I was determined to fix things, so I bought myself a bottle of sleeping pills and told myself that I was going to force my way through it.
I needed time to convalesce and rediscover my pillow. It was the only option I had. I knew it wasn't going to work, but at least I wouldn't have to deal with anyone else. I could simply learn to be again. By the third day, the world had gone from a blaring noise to a dull roar, and things began to get a little bit more manageable. I could withstand light for more than a few seconds and even walk around without facing an assault of aches and pains. I was still upset, though. I found myself staring off into space, thinking of everything that could go wrong. I could lose my mind, drained of all serotonin. The cash would stop flowing in, and I'd end up with nothing but a useless degree and a pile of debt.
There were times when it almost brought me to tears, and I was screaming into my pillow. That night was one of the hardest. I ended up taking three sleeping pills and staying in bed as long as I could. Rest came easy now. I wasn't rolling around, so upset I could barely think straight. That's when I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel. My aches and pains were gone. Light didn't bother me at all, and I found myself looking back on things, telling myself that everything would be OK.
I found myself in the shower once again, naked with images rushing through my head, surrounded by their bodies, drenched in heat and sweat as I watched them smile down with their cocks moving through me, violating me in every way possible. I saw Carter pulling his pants down just past his hips while his cock peeked out from behind the seam, pulsing with desire. Then, when it jumped out, how I felt my whole body screaming for it.
My hand moved easily now, slipping over the shaft and head. My cock was throbbing.
The most exhilarating thing was the way Carter teased me. He waited until the very last moment when I was ready to cum whether he touched me or not, and he pushed it just past that point when he knew I couldn't take it anymore. No man had ever done that before. The thrill was astounding, surmounting now, almost as if he were standing over me, his body illuminated with a celestial light, accenting the curves of his hips, his stomach and of course those broad shoulders.
Landon was just as compelling, a force of nature intent on desire. When he grabbed my cock, I thought I was going to cum and we hadn't even started yet, and he was so insistent, so eager. He needed me. That man wouldn't have had it any other way.
Landon was pushing through now, moving his brother aside saying, “Let me show you how it's done.”
And he did. He wouldn't go slow. No, he'd come in blazing, tearing through, his cock throbbing as he took my hole so fully. I 'd never come back from an experience like that, not without leaving some part of me behind.
My hand was Carter's mouth. My finger was Landon, caressing my prostate, gently first then with unrivaled stamina, sweat dripping down his face like the wate
r moving down my chest. It wouldn't be enough. This wasn't enough, but I was trapped. I couldn't help it. My body was moving of its own accord, tense and eager. Something was growing inside me, ready to push through like Carter's cock grazing my hole. It was flint to steel, and I was the tinder, sparking up, smoking, a fire growing.
Then it exploded, and I had to brace myself against the wall, shivering and moaning as a white stream flew out of my cock. I couldn't live with knowing that I'd never get a taste of them again. That was the one thing that would never be right. I'd spend countless mornings in the shower, and in bed, just aching for a taste of their bodies, all while they were suffering behind bars.
By the time court came around, I was worried, but I'd battled my demons, and now it was time to do the job I was hired to do. I put on my best suit, a baby blue button up with white slacks and gold cuff links. When I walked in, I stood out among the tired bureaucrats.
Judge Miller was in one her moods with her eyes drooping, and a long drawn out sigh as the clerk of the court went through the case file. The prosecutor, however was a wild card. Marissa Fleming was a snake in a bright blue skirt suit with a blond beehive and a sharp, cold demeanor. Carter stared around the room, summing things up while Landon shifted in his seat. He looked like he was ready to jump out.
“I don't like this shit,” he leaned past Carter to talk to me, his whisper echoing through the room.
Marissa caught on instantly and glanced back.
“Don't worry.” I knew I'd have to reassure him. There really was no way of knowing what would happen, but this wasn't going to work if he was on edge. In the end, it was Carter who pulled him aside to talk to him. It worked. When they walked back in, it was clear that he was ready.
We went through jury selection quickly. Marissa seemed to prefer white middle-class, a promising choice, so I singled out the minorities, specifically Latinos, anyone that looked like they didn't have a lot of money.
They called Landon to the stand. Then Marissa faced the jury. “Landon Ramos and his brother Carter are career criminals. Their blatant disregard for the law is apparent in everything they do. Their tattoos, their demeanor, even the way they talk is a sign of their guilt, but one thing stands out more than anything else.” She strode up to the evidence table and held up a bag with what looked like a blackish brown brick inside. This is heroin. On the night of April 14th they were caught moving this drug across county lines.”
“Do you deny this, Landon?” She moved closer to him, ready to get this done quick.
“I do—
“Answer the question,” the judge commanded.
He looked at me for help. I nodded my head just enough for him to notice.
“No.”
“See, he admits it. You have a confession right in front of you,” she told the jury. “Now you know just what to do.” She went and took a seat with a smug grin.
“No further questions?” The judge asked.
“No,” she said.
I stood up. “Landon, is this the ad that you responded to?” I held up a sheet for him to read.
“No. My brother responded to it.”
“Thank you.” I turned to the jury and began passing out copies of the ad to them. “Now, if you'll look at the ad. It refers to the drug as H. True, that is a common street term for heroin, but they had no way of knowing what the ad was referring to. Did you think it was a typo?” I asked Landon.
“We didn't know what it was. We just texted the person to see what it was about.”
“And if you'll look here,” I pulled out another stack of papers, “you'll see that there is no mention of the drug in their exchange. So there's no evidence that they took the job knowing what they were getting into. In fact, Carter asked the man twice what the job was for, and they never responded as you can see here.” I handed each juror a copy of the exchange. They were skeptical, and there really was no way I was going to get out of this, but I was going to put up a fight. One woman, an elderly white lady with a poof of box dye red hair gave me a look of disdain.
“That'll be all, Landon. Thank you.”
I followed him back to our seats while Marissa called up Carter to the stand. He was calm, cool and collected as always. Very neutral, which would make it easier to fool the jury.
“Carter, have you ever sold drugs before?”
“Objection your honor,” I stood up, “her question does not pertain to this case.”
“Sustained,” the judge looked like she was starting to nod out.
“Very well. Why would you take the job if you didn't know what you were delivering?”
“We didn't take the job initially. We turned him down and started to walk out, but I'll bet that's not on your report.” It wasn't. “Then he pulled out a big ass bag of cash, so we took the case and did what he asked us to do.”
“So you admit to delivering heroin?”
“Yes.” He said without hesitation.
“Another confession,” she told the jury. “It's a simple case. You can get out of here in time for dinner if you're all in agreement, which you should be because it's obvious these men are guilty.” Trials usually only go one way. The jurors don't want to be there, and people tend to think the worst of others, so they simply say guilty and leave.
I turned back to Landon and saw Landon shaking in his seat behind the defendant's desk. I had to admit it, the man was scared and I felt for him. His life was on the line. It wasn't right for me to criticize them the way I did. They weren't just felons. They were extraordinary men who'd managed to wade above the bottom feeders and create an impressive life for themselves. That deserved to be recognized.
I had to remind myself why I was doing this. Most people label others. They put a big sticker on their foreheads and write them off the second they see something wrong. I wasn't that guy. I was one of the rare beasts that could look past a man's crimes and see the real live, breathing human being behind them.
I started as a defense lawyer, not because I wanted to get rich. That was part of it, of course, but because I couldn't live with myself if I put a man behind bars. Everyone deserves basic human dignity, respect and the benefit of a second chance.
I'd seen murderers, people with a thirst for violence crumble on the witness stand, just begging the families of the victims for forgiveness. They were sincere. They knew what they did and they hated themselves for it. Many spent the majority of their sentences beating themselves up, cutting themselves and making nooses just to get rid of the guilt.
Then there were the addicts, good people many of them who'd made a terrible choice. They didn't deserve to be locked up. Nearly eighty percent of our prison population is in jail for drug crimes, and we could easily cut that in half if we'd just give them the help they needed rather than locking them up just so they could come out and commit the same crimes over and over again. They usually did. A majority of people that get out of prison go right back.
I believed I these men. They deserved another chance, and I was going to fight for them. I wasn't going to look at them as felons or dangerous criminals. I was going to see them as the scared, hard working individuals in a terrible situation, because that's what they were.
When Marissa sat down I walked up to Carter. He had this wide-eyed look, like he was struggling to hold it together. I couldn't believe it. He was always so calm and cool. I had to help him. “Carter, did you think that there was anything shady about what was going on?”
“We just wanted the money,” he answered honestly.
“But did you know for certain that you were doing something illegal? Did you even look in the case they gave you?”
“It had a combination.” He met my eyes, and transformed himself once more into the cool strategist I knew him to be.
“So the case was unopened. You had no idea there was heroin in there?”
“No.”
“So the police handed you a case, that you couldn't even open, and busted you for a crime you didn't even know you we
re committing. Is that correct?”
“Absolutely.” He had a look of defiance.
“Now,” I turned to the jury, “I want you to think about what will happen to you if you run a red light on your way home.” I stopped for moment, and let them consider it. “There'll be a tiny camera above the light. It'll flash, take your picture and you'll get a letter in the mail saying you owe an exorbitant amount of money, even if all you did was pull up past the white line. Is that correct?” the jurors nodded, some of them indignant. “And I'll bet you'd be hard pressed to find somebody that couldn't tell you exactly why the city setup those cameras. It's about money, and we all know it.” I looked from one person to another, judging their reactions. “The city is a profit making machine. They've got public transport and infrastructure to fund road projects and of course the city council member's pockets to fill. It's all about profit. Now, I'm gonna tell you a secret. The police are the same way. They hide behind billboards to catch speeding drivers. They troll the roads, hunting down anyone they can find. I'm sure many of you have been victims of their dirty tactics, haven't you?” I challenged them, and received nothing but confirmation. “Sting operations are no different. They are an easy way to incur fines and scrape money out of the pockets of the needy, and the cops have no problem playing dirty, something I'm sure you've all witnessed with the recent round of riots and shootings we've seen in these past few years.
Why should we trust them now? They've hurt most if not all of you. They target you when you're driving. They question random people walking down the streets, search them and harass them. Maybe that's why we have the largest prison population in world, and not by a small margin either. It's by hundreds of thousands.
These men are victims of a broken, profit based system. Now I know that sounds like a cliché, but you've gotta look at the facts here. The police committed a crime. It's called entrapment. They handed them a bag of money that no man in his right mind would turn down and gave them a case without telling them what was in there. Why? They're not getting fined. No, they're being threatened with a sentence in a profit-based prison, lobbying for harsher laws and a stronger police presence that has grown in magnitudes since they first opened. If you don't believe me, look up your state senator's financial records. They're public information.
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