Life Without Hope

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Life Without Hope Page 38

by Leo Sullivan


  ing endeavor?”

  Stevey D narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously and then

  answered, “A lot.” Someone laughed in the back of the courtroom.

  “How much is a lot?” I asked walking up closer to him.

  “Eighty … ninety thousand,” Stevey D said with his hustler’s

  bragging face on. The one thing about some hustlers I learned

  while living in the projects, they would never miss an opportuni-

  ty to shine. “I once made a hundred grand.”

  “Wow!” I gibed and made a face like I was really impressed. I

  walked over to the other side of the witness stand to make sure

  that the jur y could see me. This was important. I had to drive

  home my point to convince the jury that the witness could not be

  trusted. With a mock show of confession I furrowed my brow

  with disdain for the witness and went for the kill. With all my

  might I slammed the writing tablet I had in my hand down hard

  on the witness stand causing one of the elderly jurors to jump in

  her seat. Stevey D flinched nervously.

  “Last Friday didn’t you testify right here in this courtroom that

  you bought two to three hundred keys from the defendant? Each

  purchase was ten to fifteen keys at $20,000 a piece, but today

  you’re testifying that the most money that you’ve ever made was

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  one hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Davis, that would make it

  impossible to purchase fifteen keys. Mr. Davis, I think you’re a liar

  and the truth is not in you.”

  “Amen; the truth shall set you free,” a few members of the

  church were saying while others applauded. I looked over at the

  jury and saw faces of comprehension.

  “Objection!” Scandels shouted from the other side of the

  courtroom as he spread his arms, palms open making a face as if

  to say,

  your Honor, you see what she is doing to the witness

  .

  “Sustained. Ms. Evans, you will refrain from such an aggres-

  sive style of cross examining the witness.” Judge Stafford glared at

  me and then at the courtroom audience. I saw a sheen of perspi-

  ration starting to form on Stevey D’s forehead and his jittery

  movement was starting to get animated like a man sitting on a hot

  seat. Pressure.

  “Mr. Davis, could you tell the courtroom what it is you intend

  to get in return for your testimony here today.”

  “Objection! Your Honor, the government has not promised

  the witness anything in return for his testimony.”

  “Ms. Evans, I hope that you are going somewhere with this

  line of questioning,” the judge said impatiently.

  “Your Honor, we intend to show that the witness has a motive

  to make him risk perjury on the stand in the form of a significant

  reduction of sentence.”

  “Overruled. The witness shall answer the question.”

  “No, I was not promised anything,” Stevey D said, moving

  around in his chair like he was going to pee in his pants. I could

  tell that he and Scandels had gone over this. So I tried another

  approach, more tactful. Casually I strode over to the defense table

  and retrieved a piece of paper from a folder. Life was watching me

  with his hand posed under his chin. From the expression on his

  face I could tell, just like the rest of the courtroom, he wondered

  what the hell I was doing. After all, he had good reason. The man

  had placed a million dollars in my bank account. I walked back

  over to the witness stand, looked at the paper in my hand,

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  frowned at Stevey D and then looked at the jury.

  “I have here in my hand an arrest report. On April 10

  it says

  th

  here you were arrested for conspiracy to traffic in cocaine with the

  intent to sell to undercover agents while in possession of a firearm.

  Mr. Davis, you’re a convicted felon, aren’t you?” He nodded his

  head nervously. “You’ll have to speak up.”

  “Yes,” he answered. He was now sweating profusely.

  I looked at the paper and looked at him again. “You’re in a lot

  of trouble. Life plus three hundred months in prison.” Stevey D

  continued to squirm in his chair folding and unfolding his arms.

  I leaned against the witness stand, up close and in his face.

  “Mr. Davis, are you aware that this court can charge you with

  perjury if you get caught in a lie?”

  Stevey D nodded his head up and down and croaked a hoarse,

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “It looks to me like you can’t afford to do any more time, can

  you?”

  “No,” he said somberly, making a face that looked to me like

  a silent plea.

  I raised my voice. “Mr. Davis, I’m going to ask you again and

  you be very careful how you answer this question so that you don’t

  perjure yourself and get more time in prison. Do you, or do you

  not, expect to get anything in return for your testimony?” I asked

  threateningly, the lull and the suspense built with it. All in the

  courtroom anxiously waited to hear the answer. I could hear the

  old folks humming penitent mantras in the Lord’s name, a baby

  cried in the distance. I watched as Stevey D’s eyes skirted across

  the courtroom in search of Scandels. I saw fear, panic and uncer-

  tainty in the dark pools of his eyes. All informants are like human

  rats when trapped in a corner–they don’t care who they bite.

  “M ... M ... Mr. Scandels told me that if I testified against L,

  he would reduce my sentence to five years,” Stevey D stammered.

  A cacophony of voices rose from the crowded courtroom. The

  judge banged his gavel. I looked over at Scandels. He ran his

  hands through his hair in frustration, his once aplomb demeanor

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  now exposed to agitation as he looked up at the ceiling with an

  expression that read,

  what else can go wrong?

  I turned and mouthed to the cour troom, “If the evidence

  doesn’t fit …”

  Vociferous voices returned in singsong chorus, “You must

  acquit!”

  I turned to the judge, “No further questions Your Honor.” As

  I strolled back to the defense table I gave my Scandels a triumph

  glare. Taya and Adrienne stood to great me. I noticed that the

  older women were careful to mask their excitement, but I could

  see in their eyes, for a young inexperienced attorney, I did good.

  They were proud of me.

  I sat down next to Life. He said, “Hope that was very power-

  ful, praise Jesus. One down and 77 to go.” I had to do a second

  take with Life, lately he had been talking this religious Jesus and

  God stuff.

  “Your Honor, I would like to request a sidebar,” Scandels

  blurted out. The judge removed his glasses and massaged the brim

  of his bulbous nose and looked at Scandels annoyed.

  “What is the purpose of this sidebar?” the judge asked, dis-

  gruntled as he looked at his watch.

  “Your Honor, it’s a rather sensitive matter.”

  The judge shook his head dismayed. The judge calle
d for a

  sidebar. We all approached the bench, both parties, defense and

  prosecution, jocking for a position. I noticed a few reporters

  careening forward to hear a bit of juicy gossip. In hushed tones

  Scandels whispered.

  “Your Honor the press, along with the unusual crowd of spec-

  tators in the courtroom, is interfering with my case. It’s like I’m in

  one of them Black folks’ churches. I can hear them singing and

  moaning in the background.”

  Judge Statford silenced Scandels with a wave of his hand.

  Fuming mad, he spoke to Scandels through clinched teeth, the

  way a father chastises a son.

  “You of all people have let this woman come into my court-

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  room and make you look like a fool.” In the judge’s rage, he let it

  be known his prejudice for me and my staff. “You need to find a

  way to win this case, your very future may be relying on it coun-

  selor, and furthermore; let me worry about my courtroom and the

  spectators. This young woman has just handed you your ass on a

  silver platter.” With that said, the judge reared back in his chair.

  End of discussion.

  One of the government’s star witnesses, Tomica Edwards, was

  scheduled next to testify.

  *****

  The following morning as the trial was scheduled to begin, the

  courtroom was packed to capacity as usual. However, that day, I

  saw a woman that I have always admired, Sister Souljah. She and

  Nandi were sitting together talking. As soon as they saw me they

  waved. My heart soared. Sister Souljah is my girl! I can’t remem-

  ber a moment in my life I was more proud of being a Black

  woman handling my business. I guess that was around the time

  Life really star ted acting strange with this religious thing. He told

  me that he was giving his life to the Lord, but would then ask me

  to smuggle him in some Hennessy and something to smoke. I did

  it on a few occasions. I knew the man was a thug and he may have

  been running game on me, but I loved him. Besides, I think he

  was starting to take religion seriously. I knew just as I had planned,

  Life’s father’s church was having a subliminal effect on ever ybody

  like some magical spell. Black spirituality is one of the most pow-

  erful forces on this planet.

  As Tomica Edwards entered the courtroom, all eyes turned to

  her tall and regal beauty. Her amber complexion with long black

  hair, green cat eyes ensconced in high cheekbones, gave her the

  kind of exotic loveliness that makes one question the ancestr y of

  her linage. She moved with the graceful confidence of an experi-

  enced runway model. However, Tomica Edwards was living proof

  that looks could be deceiving. I spent many nights going over her

  criminal records. What I found interesting was she was a lesbian

  and that she hated men with a passion. Her specialty was boost-

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  ing everything from fur coats to eighteen-wheelers.

  Once Tomica took the stand and was sworn in, the hateful

  looks that she exchanged with Life made me want to ask what had

  he done to this woman to make her harbor so much animosity for

  him. The crux of this case was just how much did she know about

  Life? Because indeed, if she did know enough, she could by her-

  self put him away for the rest of his life. For the defense she would

  be difficult, because normally with a lengthy police record like

  hers you could use it against her. But in this case it would only

  serve to give credence to her testimony. As I looked on, it was evi-

  dent from the scornful look on her face, she had a debt to settle

  against Life and fully intended to.

  Scandels approached the witness stand cautiously, careful not

  to lose this witness like he did the last one. My assistant Adrienne

  was to cross-examine her. Earlier that week she confided to me

  that Tomica’s testimony was going to be the most damaging. The

  woman simply knew too much about the inner workings of Life

  Thugstin’s enterprise.

  After a few introductory prologues, Scandels got right to the

  point. “Do you see the defendant, Life Thugstin, in the court-

  room?”

  Before he could get the words out of his mouth, Tomica point-

  ed. “ That’s the bastard right there!” I saw Life’s body stiffen with

  her words. Scandels turned and smirked at me. I noticed the judge

  smiled, too.

  Scandels had Tomica on the stand for three straight days. She

  told all. It appeared as if she knew all. She told of how she first met

  L as he was notorious by his peers, his rise in the dope trade from

  selling dime rocks to keys. She testified that at one time Life

  Thugstin had over two hundred people working for him in six dif-

  ferent states. At the time he was grossing anywhere from one to

  two million dollars a day. She told of his lavish lifestyle. He could

  fly to Colombia if he wanted to in his private jet. He had villas in

  Brazil, Costa Rica, he owned Lamborghinis and Ferraris. She

  claimed that the real mastermind was not Life Thugstin, but Trina

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  Vasquez. Tomica’s testimony was devastating. Often I would look

  over and see Life with his head down praying.

  After ward, on our turn to cross-examine the witness, Adrienne

  Greene did everything in her power to crack the imperturbable

  calm of Tomica. One thing the press and the jury could easily see,

  this was past a legal battle, this was personal, and for four grueling

  days Adrienne went at Tomica often to both the objection of

  Scandels and the scrutiny of the judge’s reprove. With the judge

  making his intentions known, he was siding with the prosecution.

  The beautiful Tomica, her stoic demeanor, a lesbian that felt supe-

  rior to all other women, was too much for Adrienne, and to this

  day I am sure that was what went through the jurors’ minds. Life

  was a small time hustler, turned multi-millionaire, that deserved

  to spend the rest of his life in prison, at least that was the message

  Tomica was sending to the jury. Once again I couldn’t help but

  wonder,

  what could he have possibly done to this woman?

  I glanced over at Life. It was the last day of Tomica’s testimo-

  ny. He had his head bowed in prayer. For the first time, in what

  felt like ages, I prayed, too, for both of us.

  *****

  I arrived home late that evening after picking my son up from

  the babysitter across the street. I found an urgent message on my

  answering machine. It was from my doctor concerning the blood

  test. He said that he needed to see me immediately.

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  Chapter T

  wenty One

  Chapter T

  wenty One

  “We Die Hard”

  – Life –

  I’m locked up and they won’t let me out! I remember sitting in a

  federal holding cell, wearing a thousand dollar Armani suit, seven

  hundred dollar Stacy Adam shoes and the weight of the trial

  weighing heavily on my head
. I remember always hearing rappers

  and wanna be gangstas saying they’d rather be judged by twelve

  than carried by six. That’s bullshit. You’ll never find a federal con-

  vict agree to that, in fact, it’s the opposite meaning; they’d rather

  have trial on the streets. That’s keeping it gangsta. Besides, in the

  federal system if you have a life sentence your paperwork release

  date simply states, “DECEASED.”

  About the only bright spot in my trial was the fact that Trina

  and Black Pearl beat their trial and got all the property and cars

  back at the Chateau G.P. The feds gave them everything but the

  money they found hidden underneath the floors. My right hand

  man, Major, was in the same unit with me. His attorneys were

  waiting for the outcome of my trial, so they continued to find ways

  to delay his. I told Major to go on ahead and testify against me,

  hell, 78 other niggas had done it for a time cut. Major flatly denied

  my offer, said that this was just the other part of the game and it

  felt too much like betrayal. Besides, once you start working for the

  government, it’s a full time job, you become a government rat.

  There was no doubt in my mind that after Tomica’s tell-all tes-

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  timony, I was going to prison for the rest of my life. I had to give

  Hope her props, she and the rest of my all female attorneys fought

  for me. Hope even had a few specialists come testify on my behalf.

  Black Pearl started writing me as soon as she got out. I never heard

  from Trina’s punk ass. She got ghost on a nigga.

  One of the specialists that testified on my behalf was a beau-

  tiful redbone sista. She seemed to radiate on the witness stand.

  Her long locks of hair were flowing down her back. Her name was

  Nandi Shakur. She and Hope were good together, natural. If I did-

  n’t know any better, I’d swear they were friends. When Dr. Shakur

  spoke she commanded an aura of authority. I noticed a few of the

  jury nodded their heads in agreement on the theory concerning

  socioeconomical crimes and about the environment that was

  intentionally created by the rich in the exploitation of the poor.

  She explained how drugs had been placed in the Black communi-

 

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