by Leo Sullivan
“What sort of drugs were they?”
“Cocaine.”
Scandels rubbed his hands together and began to stroll away
from the witness box. Stevey D’s eyes followed him like a lost
child.
“How much drugs do you think Life Thugstin distributed
throughout the community?”
“Objection!” Taya Baker was on her feet. “Your Honor, that
calls for speculation.”
“Sustained. The witness is required to testify only to what he
knows to be a fact.” Scandels apologized to the court and contin-
ued with the witness.
“Approximately how much drugs did you buy from the defen-
dant?”
“Two or three hundred keys.”
“Bitch ass nigga tellin’ a damn lie,” Life mumbled next to me.
Scandels walked back up to the witness stand being sure to
handle the ner vous Stevey D with kid gloves.
“Other than him assaulting you with the weight, have you
ever known him to be violent?”
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“Yes,” Stevey D answered a little too quick for my liking. Now
I was sure that they rehearsed this whole thing, and now Scandels
was coaching him along.
“Could you please explain to the court?” Stevey D batted his
eyes, craned his neck forward and looked out into the audience.
“Life had a son by the name of Shawn L. He was about 3 years
old, somebody tried to rob him at the mall or sumpin’. Afterward,
him and his men went on a killin’ spree killin’ three cops and shov-
ing a stick of dynamite up one of the cops’ anus.”
“Objection! Objection! Objection!” All three of us rose in uni-
son. This was the precipice of disaster. The witness’ inflammatory
statement was past damaging; it could be the coup de grace to our
case. Adrienne Greene spoke vehemently. Her large breasts heaved
up with each pronounced word. She, like the rest of us, was angry
and made no secret of trying to hide it.
“Your Honor! This is outrageous! My client is not on trial for
murder. The prosecution is intentionally trying to soil the minds
of the jur y by tainting my client as a murderer, thus severely prej-
udicing him with the inference that he is responsible for other
crimes. Your Honor at this juncture the defense has no other
recourse but to ask the court for a mistrial,” Adrienne said
brusquely as a stir erupted throughout the courtroom. The judge
removed his glasses. With a weary hand he mopped at his bald
dome and glared at the prosecutors.
“The jur y is instructed to disregard the prosecutor’s last state-
ment. The defendant is not on trial for murder; therefore, any
implications of such can’t be used in this courtroom against him.
I will be more than happy to consider a motion for mistrial,” the
judge said. I’m sure at that moment I was not the only one at the
defense table that felt a ray of hope, and then the judge added,
“However, I will make my ruling depending on the outcome of
this trial.” My heart plummeted when I heard that. I wanted it to
end then. The damage was done irrevocably, like slapping each
juror in the face giving them a black eye, and then telling them to
forget about it. They would never forget about the black eye that
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Scandels had just slandered Life with. I wanted to kick myself.
Shrewd like a fox and conniving like the devil, Scandels had just
outwitted me. I would have to lie and wait to entrap him, but
how?
*****
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Chapter T
wenty
Chapter T
wenty
“The Lion’s Den”
– Hope –
Judge Stafford called for a recess for the remainder of the day. Life
looked over at me with a somber expression that stopped my heart
as the bailiffs led him away. I saw it in his eyes like my reflection
in the mirror, fear. Stevey D’s statement was damaging. We both
knew it.
It was Friday and Adrienne Greene, the more experienced of
our defense team, was scheduled to cross-examine the witness
Stevey D on Monday morning. I secretly wanted a piece of him,
to make him squirm on the stand. But the last few weeks I had not
been feeling well, I was just not myself. The weight loss, fatigue
and the preparation for the trial in such a short time had really
taken a toll on me.
*****
The prosecuting attorney held a news conference on the
courtroom stairs and did a long drawn out statement about the
war on drugs. He enjoyed the press and played every minute for
what it was worth. He made a promise to send a message to all
criminals. He also made a promise to send Life to prison for the
rest of his life.
My associates and I squeezed through the crowds of reporters
and spectators and into our waiting limousine. “No comment,”
was my response to the bombshell Scandels had just hit us with.
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Life Thugstin, the cop killer? That would be the headlines in the
morning newspaper.
*****
As soon as I was inside my house, like usual, I checked my
messages on my answering machine. My brother in prison called.
Shit! I forgot to send him his money order. It was right there on
the kitchen table. I checked the other messages, one was from my
Dad. Normally I would have called him to make sure he was tak-
ing his high blood pressure medicine but all of my energy has been
depleted. Another message was from Stan, my ex-husband’s lover.
I thought that was strange as I reflected back, he had been trying
to get in contact with me for the last few weeks and I never
returned the calls. I decided to call my Dad and then maybe Stan,
my way of keeping tabs on Marcus. Funny as it may have seemed,
I still loved the man.
“Hi baby girl!” My dad sounded excited to hear from me.
“We’ve been watchin’ the case on the news and in the papers down
here. They ran an article in the Miami Times about you being the
little girl from the Pork and Beans projects. Baby I’m so proud of
you.” I heard my Daddy’s voice quiver. “I don’t like that white
man the media say you used to work fo’, what his name?”
“David Scandels,” I responded.
My Dad went on to tell me that my oldest brother had been
arrested again for drugs. He had a bad drug addiction. I just
prayed that the media would not get wind of that. God knows I
love my family, but now I found my family background extreme-
ly embarrassing.
“Baby girl, I’m so happy you done made somet’in’ outta yo
life. I love you sweetheart.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” I said and hung up the phone and
wept a lone tear as I tried to force the thought of the long trial out
of my mind. Today, like the rest of the days, I was so tired.
I decided to go ahead and call Stan. I knew that one day I was
going to have to put my differences to the side. I took a deep
breath and made the ca
ll. He answered on the third ring.
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“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Hope Evans, you left your number on my
answering machine.” Silence.
“Hmmm, ah, yes.” Stan stuttered ner vously. “Hope, we need
to talk.”
“That’s why I called,” I said sarcastically. “Whatever it is you
have to talk about we can discuss it over the phone.”
“This is important, I don’t feel it would be appropriate to talk
over the phone.”
“Hell, was it appropriate to come into my home and use my
bed? Whatever you got to say Stan, please say it over the phone.”
I scuffed rudely, not realizing I was so bitter.
“Marcus is in the hospital. He is dying.”
“What!?” I screeched. “What’s wrong with him?” I heard my
voice say in a high pitch that seemed not to belong to me.
“Marcus has AIDS,” Stan said ominously.
I sat on the floor and looked at the tiny blemishes that started
to form on my arms like tiny rashes. Was it possible that I too, was
dying from this virulent disease? Oh God! I burst into tears and
began to cr y on the phone. “See what you have done! What about
you? Do you have it?”
“Yes, the doctors think he contracted it from me. I am what is
known as a carrier. It could be years before I start to show any
signs.”
“God help me! If I had a gun I would come over there and
blow your fuckin’ brains out.”
“Hope, I’m so –”
Click.
I hung the phone up in his face. Quickly, I undressed, exam-
ining myself in the mirror, my hands trembled, it was then that I
realized, if I did have the disease, I did not want to know. But that
weekend, I made an appointment to see my doctor, he did some
blood tests and said that he would let me know in the coming
weeks. I never told him about my ex-husband and the deadly dis-
ease.
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The entire weekend I was a wreck, but I found a way to relieve
stress by working on the case. My staff and I worked feverishly
going over all the documents and many depositions taken from
the witnesses that planned to testify against Life. The entire time,
in the back of my mind, I knew that there was a chance that I
wouldn’t test positive for AIDS. I was going on 26 years old, and
a single parent with my whole life ahead of me. I would just have
to wait for the test results to come back from the doctor’s office.
*****
On Monday, the day the trial was to continue, Adrienne was
scheduled to cross-examine the witness. She showed up at my
office sick and cramping so bad that she could hardly stand up
straight. So at the last moment it was decided that I would be the
one to cross-examine the witness, Stevey D. Secretly I loved the
opportunity to have the rat on stand. I knew he was a liar. Now
all I need to do was catch him in a lie and prove it. I had a plan.
*****
As usual, the courtroom was packed to capacity and the media
was there jocking for the scoop of the day. Also were the members
of the church and I saw my girl Nandi. For the sake of all the
media attention we thought it was best to not be seen hanging out
together, so while she was in town for the trial she stayed at a
hotel. When she saw me she saluted me with a clinched fist. Black
power! Next to her were some of my Delta sisters looking digni-
fied and proud.
By the time we arrived at the defense table, Life was already
there. As usual he was dressed immaculately with his Brooks
Brothers suit on. It made me want to drool all over him. And for
the first time since the bombshell had been dropped on me, I
smiled at the man with my child’s eyes, as I thought about all the
sexual fantasies I’d harbored for this brotha. Just being near him
made my panties wet. I decided if we beat this trial, I was going to
confess ever ything, he being the father to my son and the fact that
I loved him with my very last breath. Now two things hung over
my head like a dagger about to drop, one, to lose the trial and two,
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the very real imminent threat of my death.
I knew I had to take the witness apar t on the stand. He was
what we lawyers call a hostile witness. Life must have sensed my
concerns. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “We gon’ be
OK as long as we keep fighting back.” I could smell cocoa butter
and something else sweet emitting from his body as his lips
brushed against my earlobe. Charge! At that moment in time, I
could have rushed to the witness stand and fought like hell for Life
Thugstin’s freedom. And now like lioness, my staff of all Black
females sat huddled around him, perfumes mingling, campaign-
ing a strategy to champion a cause to defeat our all white adver-
saries. In essence, we were the female version of Hannibal. I
looked over to my right, I could see that Adrienne was in pain but
still determined to support us with the resilience in the face of
adversity.
*****
After the prolonged ritual of introducing the judge and swear-
ing in the witness, I was finally able to cross examine the witness.
My mind was on attack mode. That day Stevey D was his same
nervous self. Eyes darting all over the courtroom. Today he wore a
black shirt and gray slacks. The gauze bandage around his head
looked to be soiled with blood. I approached the witness stand
gingerly and wore a broad smile, the kind we women use to flirt
with, to give him a little dose of female charm. I needed to loosen
him up, to make him vulnerable to entrap himself. I unbuttoned
the first two buttons on my blouse, leaned closer out of the view
of the jury and the audience. The only two people who could see
what I was doing were the judge and the witness on the stand.
“Please state your name for the record,” I said smiling, expos-
ing as much cleavage as I could get away with without being seen.
“Steven Davis.” He smiled back at me nervously while taking
the liberty to peek down my blouse. I knew that he had been in
the FCI holding facility for nineteen months snitching on all his
buddies. I also knew the disposition of Black men that languish in
prisons too long, if given the chance they would gladly make love
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to a hundred and ten year old woman in a wheelchair as if she
were God’s gift to man. I knotted my brow with sympathy, spoke
with empathy. I leaned on the witness stand up close, making my
breasts strain against the soft fabric of my blouse so that he could
spy on my nipples.
“Mr. Davis you said that you were assaulted.” I crinkled my
forehead and leaned forward. More cleavage. I looked up and
caught the judge’s eyes all in my blouse too, like maybe he was
into jungle fever at one time or another. With the question, Stevey
D looked past me and directly at Scandels, like maybe he was ask-
ing for permission to answer the question. I knew for sure right
then and there that the prosecuting office had been coaching him
right along. I intentionally blocked his view by positioning my
body so that he could not see the prosecutor’s table.
“Could you please tell the court again what happened on the
day that you were allegedly assaulted?”
I took a step back at the same time I buttoned up my blouse.
It was time for me to mount my attack.
“I was on the recreation yard lifting weights and Life crept up
behind me and hit me wit a weight.”
I frowned as I turned and cast a look at Life as if to say,
how
could you do such a thing to such a nice person?
“So you were on the rec yard minding your own business and
pow!” I gestured with my hand in a mock blow. “So after you were
struck, what happened then?”
Stevey D shrugged his narrow shoulders and said, “The next
thing I knew I woke up in the hospital a week later with 188
stitches in my head.”
“You woke up in the hospital? Why didn’t you fight back?” I
said, stabbing at his male ego. This was my bait luring him into
laxity, to cause a slip of the tongue.
“He crept up behind me. I never saw him comin’. My homies
told me he did it.”
“So, you never saw him hit you?” I asked, making a face.
Stevey D cut his eyes away from me and tried to look at the
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defense table. I blocked his view. “But I know it was him.”
I moved in for the kill. “Answer the question!” My voice
echoed in the courtroom. “Did you, or did you not, see the defen-
dant Life Thugstin hit you?!”
“Objection!” Scandels was on his feet. “Your Honor, Ms.
Evans is badgering the witness.”
“Your Honor, I simply want the witness to answer the ques-
tion,” I said curtly. The judge turned to the witness. “You are to
answer the question, either yes or no. Objection overruled.”
“No ... no, I didn’t see ‘em hit me,” Stevey D said reluctantly.
I turned to the jury with a sour expression, waited a second to
let the fact sink in. He didn’t see who hit him. I turned back to the
witness.
“How much did you make Mr. Davis, during your dr ug sell-
