Betrayal in Black

by Mark M Bello

  “Mr. Hayes didn’t have to tell Randy he was in possession of a weapon. The victim provided that information voluntarily. His admission strongly suggests that he wanted no trouble and had no intention of using the firearm. Jones seemed to panic when he discovered that Mr. Hayes possessed a gun.

  “His fear may have been race-related. You’d have to ask him. To me, a law-abiding citizen is a law-abiding citizen, regardless of race. So yes, I believe the result would have been different had I been the officer. I don’t believe I’d have pulled this couple over in the first place.”

  “Any other questions from the jury?” Lynch scans the jury.

  No takers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re excused for the day.”

  Lynch begins checking her calendar and talking at the same time. “We will adjourn and reconvene on . . . let me see . . . Thursday. Have a good evening.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m tired, Mama. I’m tired; I’m frustrated and sad. I’m very lonely, but most of all, I am damned angry.”

  Sarah Hayes’ face twists in anguish. She and her mother, Lula Clarke, are seated in the kitchen of the Hayes’ refurbished brick colonial in the upscale Indian Village neighborhood of Detroit. The girls are watching cartoons in the living room. Sarah drifts off in thought. All the work we put into making this our home and Marcus will never get to enjoy—

  “Sarah? Sarah, honey. Where have you gone? Knock, knock.”

  Lula Clarke’s face registers the concern that any mother would have for a daughter in pain. Lula was the first member of her family to graduate from high school and attend college. She married her high school sweetheart and had planned to finish school at Wayne State to become a teacher.

  Her husband, Theo Clarke—short for Theodore—also planned to go to college and dreamed of becoming a civil rights lawyer. Vietnam ruined all that.

  Theo was drafted and shipped to Nam. He was killed by friendly fire just as America began withdrawing her troops. Suddenly widowed in her twenties, Lula was forced to raise two small children alone. Her dreams of college, a better life, and growing old with the man she loved were laid to waste in the jungles of Vietnam.

  After Theo’s death, Lula was forced to find a job to support her young family. She knew the pain and heartache of losing a husband and lover, the father of her children. Now, watching her daughter live through a similar tragedy is ripping her heart out. The difference between the two women is that Sarah did complete college. She has a bachelor’s degree in history from Wayne State University.

  “Sorry, Mama. Marcus will never enjoy our beautiful home. We had such hopes and dreams . . . They’re gone. All gone . . . ” Tears form. Sarah wipes them with her sleeve.

  “You must be careful, sweetheart,” Lula warns.

  “You have two beautiful babies to consider. The girls need their mama now, more than ever.”

  “How do people stand for this? How many people have to die before we rise up and say, ‘enough is enough?’” Sarah’s words are uttered with more force than she intends. She’s mad at the world, not at her mother.

  “That’s a difficult question with no simple answer, sweetheart. I’ve lived in this country and in this city much longer and through tougher times than you have. Every time our people take two steps forward, it seems that we take a step and a half backward. Things are changing for the better, but when you wear your difference on your face, when the color of your skin defines who you are to others, change doesn’t come easy,” Lulu laments.

  “Whatever!” Sarah growls. “It can’t do Marcus any good now, can it?”

  “That’s true, baby. I’m so sorry about Marcus. He was a good man, a great husband, and a wonderful father,” Lula reminisces, holding back emotions.

  Her heart aches for her daughter. She is doing the only thing a mother can do under tragic circumstances. She sits by her daughter’s side and listens as the younger woman pours her heart out.

  “A good man,” Sarah begins. “A good man. Yes, he was a good man, but he was also a black man. And when you’re black, being good isn’t always enough.”

  “No, sweetheart, it isn’t. A black man walks a different line, a tightrope. Sometimes that line is hard to see. That seems to be what happened here.”

  “What do you mean, Mama?”

  “Because Marcus was a good man, he wanted the officer to know that he was carrying a gun. He wanted no misunderstandings. He didn’t have to tell the man he had a gun, but he told him anyway. His honesty was his undoing. Why would he tell the officer that he had a gun if he had intended to use it?”

  “God help me, Mama. I told Marcus to tell the officer about the gun!” Sarah convulses in despair. “I got Marcus killed! Marcus tells him about the gun, and suddenly this cop flies into a panic, barking out all kinds of orders, pulling his gun and pointing it at Marcus, ready to shoot. Why couldn’t the cop listen to what we were saying? Why was he so impatient? Aren’t cops trained to be patient, to use their weapons as a last resort?”

  “But this was a white cop, Sarah. And to a white cop, a black man and a gun don’t mix. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

  “If Marcus hadn’t told him about the gun and the cop saw that he was carrying, would that have been any better?”

  “No, baby, and that’s why this is not on you. The fact is that this happens in a white community, with a black man, a gun, and a cop who claims he can’t see the black man’s hands. That combination is a recipe for disaster. It doesn’t matter who tells who what to do.”

  “I know you’re right, Mama. These days, just getting pulled over in a white neighborhood can be a recipe for disaster. These types of stops are not unusual. Black people know this.

  “But not everyone is shot to death. There’s something about this guy, this cop. Trigger-happy or something; racist more than likely. This cannot stand. I want justice for my husband, and I’m not going to get it in Cedar Ridge.”

  “I agree, honey. But Marcus is gone, and you’re still here. You must be careful. You feel me, Sarah? What do you plan to do?” Lula’s concerned, not only for her daughter but also for her granddaughters’ safety.

  “I’m not sure yet. I watched Viewpoint on Channel 4 Sunday morning. That prosecutor guy, Bialy, was on with another attorney, you know, the famous one, the Jewish guy.”

  “Zachary Blake?”

  “That’s the one. He’s supposed to be the best, right?”

  “That’s what they say. Why?”

  “I’m going to march myself into Bialy’s office and find out what the hell is being done to get justice for my Marcus. The cop’s suspended with pay. With pay, Mama! My husband is dead, and his killer gets a paid vacation? What kind of justice is that?”

  Sarah’s rage is building.

  “It’s no justice at all, sweetheart, but you need to think about this,” Lula cautions. “I’m not suggesting you stand down. Go talk to Bialy, but be respectful. Don’t go to the man’s office accusing and demanding. Don’t be telling him what he has to do or threatening what you’re going to do.

  “Make an appointment to see him. Go in there and politely ask something like, ‘how is the investigation going, Mr. Bialy? When can we expect to see an arrest or a trial?’ Do you understand?” Are you feeling me, Sarah?

  “I wouldn’t have to do this if I was white, now would I, Mama?”

  “Maybe not, sweetheart. I don’t know for sure. If you and Marcus were white, maybe the country is just as pissed as you are. But knowing that it’s wrong doesn’t make it any less true. And your kids need their mama.”

  “But Bialy is the prosecutor for Wayne County, Mama. Marcus was a Wayne County citizen. This guy should be in Marcus’s corner. He should want justice, too.”

  “You’re right, Sarah, my sweet Sarah. But, we don’t know that he doesn’t want justice for Marcus. You are only speculating. Also, you must remember two very important things.”

  “What are those?”

  “Bialy is
a white guy and a politician.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? He’s the damn prosecutor for crying out loud!”

  “But, he’s the white prosecutor, honey. What does he know about being black in America? What does he know about being pulled over for driving while black? What does he know about living with discrimination every day of your life or being a descendant of slaves?

  “He works in Detroit but lives in Northville. He works with black people and probably knows some socially. But what does he really know about the black experience? Every day, he leaves work in his BMW and drives it to his beautiful white suburban Northville home.

  “He probably doesn’t even think about black people unless he’s at work. Maybe because he’s prosecuting one, but who knows? But what real connection does he have? Has he ever experienced discrimination? Has he lost a loved one to senseless violence? Can he hear gunshots from a lounge chair on the front porch of his fancy-ass home? Are drugs being sold on a street corner somewhere close to Northville? Of course not!

  “Still, this is a man who you need on your side if you’re going to get justice for Marcus. A black woman challenging the system and taking on a white man—especially a white cop—is not going to have an easy time.

  “And that damned man in the White House doesn’t help things any. He represents the type of political hatred I’m talking about. Guys like him play to the worst fears of white men. Are you having a bad time of it right now? Lost your job? Having difficulty making ends meet? It’s not my fault or your fault. It’s the black man’s fault.

  “It’s the Muslims’ fault. Blame a Mexican immigrant. Man’s got everyone lining up, taking sides, white people versus people of color, different religions arguing their way is the right way.

  “This is a bad time in America. It’s an especially terrible time for a black woman to be taking on a white cop or the white establishment. Bialy will take this case in whatever direction the political winds blow.”

  Lula Clarke is a wise and experienced woman.

  “So, what would you have me do, Mama? I won’t sit back and do nothing,”

  “I’m not saying that you should. All I am saying is that you’re going to be locked in a political game. To get what you want, you’re going to need to learn how to play the game. That’s what I’m talking about.

  “Lose the attitude, respect the man’s position and his politics, and ask how he intends to handle this matter. He may not fully understand the black experience. Maybe you can help him out. Describe the terror of that night for you and your kids. Help him understand how the officer went so terribly wrong. Make him see the world through your eyes, through Marcus’s eyes, through a black person’s eyes.”

  “Do you really think that is possible, Mama?”

  “It’s what I have prayed for every day since the day you were born. I prayed that things would be better for you than they ever were for me.”

  “That’s not happening, Mama.”

  “No, baby, it isn’t, but you have an opportunity to shine a positive light on a very negative situation, and you need to take advantage of that opportunity. That’s why you have to go about this the right way.”

  “What if Bialy won’t do anything, Mama, won’t bring charges or anything?”

  “That would be where this Zachary Blake comes in. He can file a civil rights lawsuit, police brutality, or whatever they call it these days. He’s not afraid of taking on the man, that’s for sure. You might want to see Mr. Blake in addition to seeing Bialy. Hedge your bet some. Do you understand what I’m telling you, honey?”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. I love you, Mama. You always give me good advice.” Sarah loves this idea of a two-pronged attack.

  “I love you too, precious. And speaking of precious, where are those beautiful grandbabies of mine?”

  Lula shouts and alerts her grandchildren that the tickle torturer is in their midst. She creeps into the living room on tiptoes and wiggles her tickle fingers. The kids screech with delight and take off down the hall with Lulu hot on their trail.

  Sarah smiles to herself.

  They were watching cartoons and minding their own business. Why did she have to go and rile them up? Amazing woman, my mother, I’m so lucky to have her in my life. The kids and I need her now, more than ever.

  Sarah rises, clears the coffee dishes, and yells.

  “Mommy’s here, sweet babies! I’m coming to save you from the tickle monster. She’s in deep doo-doo!”

  She runs into the bedroom, where she finds her mother on the floor, two kids crawling all over her, and laughing hysterically. The vision before her quickly turns to memories of life growing up without a father.

  It’s a long row to hoe, sweet angels, a long row indeed. I’ll do what Mama suggests. I’ll be “politically correct” as Mama calls it, for you, my darlings, not for me, but for you.

  She dives into a pile of hysterical laughter.

  Chapter Eight

  Three days later, Sarah Hayes sits in the lobby of the Wayne County prosecutor’s office. She called two days earlier, identified herself to the receptionist, and was immediately connected to Lawrence Bialy. Bialy agreed to the meeting with a politician’s grace. He offered sincere condolences for the loss of her husband and vowed to investigate the matter vigorously.

  Sarah surveys the lavish office environment. Tax dollars are spent on things like this, but not to train better police officers or make our citizens safer.

  She is nervous, but not sure why. She closes her eyes and hears the calm voice of her mother. Don’t let him get to you, Sarah. Speak your peace and listen to what the man has to say. Don’t antagonize him. Whether he’s helpful or not, he’s the one who must decide to pursue justice for Marcus. Don’t get angry. Stay calm.

  “Mrs. Hayes?”

  Sarah jumps at the sudden sound of her name. Did I doze off?

  “Sorry, I must have been daydreaming,” she manages, recovering her wits.

  “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Would you like something to drink, water, coffee, soda?”

  Is he from around here? In Detroit, we don’t call it ‘soda.’ We call it ‘pop.’

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time. I just want to find out how my husband’s case is coming.”

  “No problem at all. Come on in.”

  They walk past the reception desk and an attractive white receptionist. Because Bialy’s office is at the end of a long hall, they walk past numerous offices, occupied by the many assistant prosecutors that work under Bialy. Some offices are empty. Sarah notices the occupied offices are staffed with white attorneys, staff members, or assistants.

  Can a black man get justice in a sea of white?

  They reach Bialy’s office. It is, without question, the most beautiful office Sarah has ever seen. Beautiful courtroom paintings adorn the walls. Bialy’s desk is carved wood with a matching executive chair and a gold bar nameplate that reads ‘Lawrence Bialy, Wayne County Prosecutor.’

  Bialy invites Sarah to sit in one of the matching side chairs, smaller versions of his executive chair. Her thoughts return to the expenditure of tax dollars.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hayes. My profound condolences for the loss of your husband.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How may I help you?”

  “What you are doing about my husband’s death? Is the police officer being investigated? Are charges being considered?”

  Bialy opens his mouth to speak, but Sarah continues.

  “If charges are being considered, what charges are they and, if not, why not?”

  She exhales, realizing that she’s held her breath for the entire speech.

  Bialy smiles a politician’s smile.

  “That was many questions in one. First of all, the officer is suspended. You know that, right?”

  “Yes. He’s suspended with pay and my husband’s dead. Marcus is six feet under while hi
s murderer is enjoying his damned vacation!” Relax Sarah. Listen to Mama. You’re coming on too strong.

  “I’m sure this is frustrating, Mrs. Hayes, but there is a process we must follow. Officer Jones is protected by a union and qualified immunity. And like any other defendant, he is considered innocent until proven guilty.

  “He hasn’t been charged yet. That’s why he’s still on the payroll. Not much I can do about that. If he is charged with a crime, there’s a whole lot I can do.”

  “What is going on with the investigation?”

  “I’m not supposed to share this with members of the public—”

  “In this case, I’m not just another member of the public, now am I?”

  “I suppose not.” Bialy paused. “Say—can you keep a secret?”

  This gets her attention.

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “We have turned this case over to the grand jury.”

  “Uh, okay. What does that mean? Is that a big deal?” Sarah does not understand the significance of this critical development.

  “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.” Bialy is condescending. “The grand jury is assigned our most important cases. It has independent power. It can subpoena people and records and do things that we prosecutors couldn’t do without a judge’s order.

  “The grand jury can indict a defendant or choose not to. If it doesn’t indict, we can go find more evidence and have them look into the case again. All of this can happen without broad public knowledge. You were an eyewitness in this case and will be required to testify. Your testimony will go a long way toward obtaining an indictment and a conviction. This is a significant development. Understand?”

  I’m not a child. “I do. I’m a college graduate,” she chides.

  “Obtaining an indictment is the process of being charged with a crime, right? There is already enough evidence to take this case to trial, isn’t there?”

  “That’s exactly right,” he concurs, eyebrows raised. “It’s simply a fancy term for formally charging the defendant with a crime. He would be charged or indicted, arrested, and jailed. He probably posts bail and is out while his case goes to trial. And if this case goes to trial, I will have my best people on it. I may even try this one myself.”