He slid another file over to Bill.
“Bill, you’ll handle the ball player. The district attorney’s office sent us a video from the gentlemen’s club incident. It’s pretty clear and detailed and doesn’t look good for our client. We’ll discuss that later after we go over Ben’s case.”
Richard faced me. “I’ll start with your case first, Ben, because I need you to head to the 6th Precinct right after I brief you. Co-Kayne, whose real name is Reginald Brown, was found with the couple’s blood on him and the gun in his hand when the cops caught him. His record label spokesman told us four witnesses saw him arguing with the gay couple inside the club, and he screamed he’d ‘fucking kill their faggot asses’ an hour before they were killed.”
I shook my head.
“It gets worse. The club has a video of him throwing his drink in one of the victim’s faces. Later on, the video shows the couple leaving the club, and three minutes later, Reggie stumbles out drunk, headed in the direction of the couple. He has a rap sheet full of drug and assault charges, and his music is full of homophobic lyrics.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically.
“Luckily, he lawyered up quickly, and we advised him not to say anything to the detectives until we send representation for him.”
“Co-Kayne only wanted a ‘brotha’ to represent him, so we knew you’d be perfect for this case,” Francis said.
“Excuse me for asking, but am I perfect because you think I’m capable of winning or because I’m the only black associate at the firm?”
Francis chuckled and said, “Both.”
“Well, Ben, we get the best of both worlds with you,” Tim said. “You appeal to our black and other minority clients, but you don’t act all ‘ghetto,’ so you’re a good asset to have.”
The partners laughed.
I didn’t.
They saw a disparity in the way I dressed, talked, and acted. To them, I was black but tolerable. They made jokes all the time about how, in their eyes, I didn’t “act black enough.” I didn’t want to do or say anything that would prevent me from making a partner, so most of the time, I laughed them off and let it slide, but deep down, their words tore me up inside. Since I was a kid, I never felt “black” enough when I was around my own people. When I played sports with other black kids, they’d often say things like “you talk white” or tease me for not understanding slang. My parents were respected judges. We lived in Brookville, Long Island, a mostly white upper-class neighborhood. I went to the prestigious Portledge Private School my entire childhood and grew up around mostly whites.
Richard leaned back in his burgundy executive chair, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
“We have nothing but confidence in you, Ben. These cases are important to the firm. It’s a lot to ask of the two of you to win both of these cases, but as an added incentive for the two of you to get a win, whoever does the best will be strongly considered for a partnership with this firm.”
My ears perked up when I heard the mention of “making partner.” Bill and I looked at each other. I knew what this was. They weren’t giving me this case because of my hard work. I got it by default because I was black.
If this case would be the one to boost my career and promote me to partner, I’d do everything legally possible to win, even though this case felt more like a suicide mission. Bill’s case seemed more winnable, and I bet the partners were rooting for him because he was white, but I wouldn’t let that discourage me from trying to win my case.
“All right, Ben, rush down to the 6th Precinct. Keep Tim posted on everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gathered my things and watched the partners smiling and laughing with Bill while they got the video ready for his case. I rushed out the door. I knew they had him pegged as the next partner, but I was determined to win my case.
Chapter 3
Billy
Sex, Lies, and Videos
“Whew, Ben’s going to have his hands full with that case,” Richard laughed.
“Yours is no walk in the park either, but be thankful that thug wanted a ‘brotha’ for a lawyer,” Francis said. “Your chances of winning this case are way better than Ben’s.”
The partners laughed while I put on an unsure grin.
The truth was, Ben was going to be strong competition. Some of my best strengths were that I was good at reading and understanding people. I could usually connect with anyone, especially trial juries, and that had helped me become a successful lawyer. Ben was a meticulous lawyer with a great eye for detail. He saw all the small things that most lawyers missed. He worked his ass off, but I needed this partnership, I was sure, more than he did.
The partners mentioned awhile back that Ben grew up pampered and well off with both of his parents, who were successful judges. I didn’t have that luxury then, and I damn sure didn’t have it now. I grew up with just my mom and me in a poor, single-parent home. It was hard for us because, to this day, my mom still battled multiple sclerosis, deteriorating daily from it.
I made decent money, but becoming a partner would give me a big enough salary to easily cover all my bills, the financial ability to put my mom in a comfortable, assisted-living place full-time, and the flexibility to plan my proposal to my girl Ebony. The ring I’d bought for her had been sitting in my desk drawer for months. I looked at it every day, but I hadn’t popped the question yet because I had nowhere near enough money to give her the wedding she deserved.
A large projection screen descended from the ceiling. Francis operated the laptop on the conference table while Richard continued to talk.
“Now we’re lucky. The surveillance video had audio. After the NYPD vice unit raided the strip club two years ago, the owner, Jerrod, swore he’d run a legit business without prostitution. He had high-definition cameras installed throughout the club with audio capabilities as an attempt to stop the strippers from sleeping with the customers. He’s willing to testify on our client’s behalf.”
“What’s the name of the strip club?” I asked.
“J’s Gentlemen’s Quarters,” Francis answered.
“We’ll play the video so you can see what we’re dealing with here,” Richard said.
The video started with Johnny sitting in the corner of the strip club directly under the camera. Since he was so close to it, we could see and hear their conversation. The video showed the stripper, Sophia, saunter over to Johnny. He pulled out a wad of money and waved it at her. Sophia smiled, climbed into his lap, and straddled him.
“Damn, ma, how much?” he asked.
“It depends on what you’re looking for.”
“You know what I want.”
“Uh, we don’t do that here anymore. Are you a cop?”
“You don’t know who I am?”
“Should I?”
“Fuck, yeah. I’m Johnny Alfieri, the best white boy playin’ in the NBA.”
“Sorry, I don’t watch sports. Look, I can give you a private lap dance, but that’s about it.”
“The only type of lap dance I want from you involves you riding my lap with neither of us wearing clothes.” He laughed. She didn’t. “You really gonna lose out on making all this money?” He pointed to all of the scantily clad women walking around the strip club.
“Just name your price. Come on. I’m sure none of these other women here would turn down making this easy money.”
She looked like she was questioning whether she should.
“All right, get a VIP room, and we’ll fuck in there. No anal and no leaving marks. I want my money up front before we do anything,” she said, standing up.
Johnny smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
A devilish grin grew on his face as he slapped her on the ass and watched her walk away.
The video went to the next camera, where Sophia met up with Johnny in the VIP room.
She got undressed.
Johnny started fondling her breasts, and Sophia looked uncomfortable. “Wait.
.. I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry. I can’t,” Sophia said, gathering her clothes. She tried to leave, but Johnny blocked her path and grabbed her hand.
“Bitch, I already told you I’m not a cop, and I’m about to pay you good money.”
She ripped her hand from his grip, shoved past him, and rushed toward the door. Johnny grabbed her by the arm and slammed her against the wall. She winced and held the back of her head in pain. He placed his hands flat against the wall on both sides of her and said, “I always get what I want, and you’re gonna give me what I want.”
Johnny fumbled with his belt, pulled down his jeans, grabbed Sophia by the nape of her neck, and shoved her on the black leather couch. With his pants dropped to his ankles, he grabbed Sophia by her hair and held her head down, forcing his dick into her mouth until she coughed and gagged. Tears streamed down her face as she woefully sucked him.
“Don’t act like you don’t like this shit. I know you want this money,” Johnny said.
He stopped her, stood up, and maneuvered her until she was bent over. Sophia attempted to loosen herself from his grasp, but he wrenched her arm, forcing her to comply. Then he slid into her without protection.
“There we go. Tell me you like it,” he said.
“I like it,” she repeated.
He had an expression of shock at first, but then he seemed to enjoy it as he pumped into her. “Tell me you want this dick.”
“You know I want it, daddy. Give it to me.”
Sophia’s grunts and moans seemed to excite him. Johnny quickened his pace and smacked her ass cheeks. Sophia winced with each slap but continued to encourage him to keep fucking her.
“Come for me, daddy. I want you to come,” Sophia begged.
Johnny moaned, pulled out of her, and came on her back. He laughed. “See, I knew you’d like it.”
He threw the money against her forehead, adjusted his clothes, and walked out. Sophia picked up the money and wrapped her arms around her naked body. At first, it looked as if she were laughing, but it immediately turned into weeping. The video cut off.
“Now, you see our dilemma. If this goes to trial, we need to convince the jury that Sophia wanted that money, and those crocodile tears at the end were just her disappointment in her own life—not because she felt raped.”
“What is he saying? Does he think he raped her?” I asked.
“He’s a dumb jock who can barely spell his name. He’s impressionable. You can tell him he raped her, and the dumb son of a bitch would probably believe he did. You heard her. She wanted him to come inside her. She told him she wanted it and loved it. She’s a whore, and we need to convey that message to the jury if this goes to trial. We’re all counting on you, Billy.”
“What’s the woman’s name?” I asked.
“Sophia Winters, but her stripper name is Sapphire,” Francis said.
The partners chuckled.
“She’s just some dumb stripper that’s disappointed after fucking a rich client. He didn’t whisk her away and give her a happily-ever-after fantasy life like the whore Julia Roberts played in Pretty Woman,” Francis said.
I turned to Richard. “You keep saying if this goes to trial. What do you mean by if?”
“We had an anonymous friend of the firm reach out to her to set up a meeting for later on today after Johnny turns himself in and goes through arraignment,” Richard said.
“Who’s the friend?” I asked.
“That’s not important,” Francis said.
“How did you manage to set up a meeting with her?” I asked.
“We had our ‘friend’ tell her to hear us out, that there has to be an agreement we can come to that would suit both parties regarding this ‘misunderstanding,’” Richard said.
“She bought that?”
“Our friend said she’d hear us out.”
“Take her some place low-key, talk to her, and let’s settle this bullshit out of court,” Francis added.
“With all due respect, sir, talking to her after Alfieri turns himself in is tampering with a witness. I could get disbarred for that. The firm could get prosecuted for it too.”
“That’s why no one needs to know about it,” Francis said. “We want everything done discreetly, so it doesn’t come back to any of us. Bill, one of your biggest strengths is your charm. We need you to charm her into dropping this rape charge. Start cordial, and if she makes this go to trial, we’ll play dirty and dig deep into her past. From the information we gathered so far, she was caught in that raid at the strip club and arrested for prostitution. Explain to her that we’ll paint her like the whore of Babylon if she doesn’t fall in line. Everyone knows this case is bullshit. A sane person would jump at settling and drop the charges. Draw up an ironclad confidentiality provision. Alfieri is willing to pay up to $10 million to make her go away, but start at $2 million and slowly work your way up if she’s greedy. She needs to understand that it would be better for everyone if she just takes the money, signs the release and confidentiality agreements, and goes on about her life.”
A deal like this was highly unethical and illegal, but if I could win this case without even going to trial, it was something I had to consider strongly. I needed this partnership, and this was my shot, but morally, I didn’t feel right about going this route when I knew it was wrong, and I had so much to lose.
“If I convince her to take the money, is the partnership mine?” I asked.
Richard smiled. “We’d all highly consider it. Get this done for us, Bill. We need it resolved immediately.”
“I got this. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Richard said. “Look, Alfieri is on his way here. Talk with him a bit and then go with him to the precinct so he can turn himself in. We’ll make some calls to get him through Central Booking quickly and into arraignment. Most likely, he’ll get bail, and then you can meet up with Francis to talk to the whore.”
“I’m on it.”
* * *
I stared out my office window, waiting for Johnny to arrive. The paparazzi was parked in front of our building, waiting to get a shot of Johnny walking in. A sleek, black limo pulled up in front of the firm. The doors opened, and Johnny Alfieri stepped out, followed by two older white men. Johnny quickly walked past the media and avoided answering questions. I made my way to the elevator to meet him downstairs.
“Good morning. I’m Bill O’Neil. I’m going to be representing you, Mr. Alfieri.”
“Cool, just make sure you clear me of this shit, yo,” Johnny said.
He was about six foot six, blond with blue eyes, and had a cocky air about him. He wore a bandanna, with a long, white T-shirt and sagging baggy jeans.
A thin man wearing a gray suit, in his midthirties, with his black hair pulled back into a long ponytail, extended his hand to me.
“Please excuse his rudeness. Hi, I’m Johnny’s agent, Paul Marshall, and this is his publicist, Greg Goldman,” he said, pointing to another man.
I shook hands with the three of them.
Greg was tall too, about six foot four, stocky, with military-short, dirty-blond hair.
“Yo, your boss, Richard, said somethin’ about payin’ this bitch off and sweepin’ this shit under the rug. How quickly can we do that shit, yo?” Johnny asked.
I was annoyed with him already. He was trying way too hard to sound “street.” I’d Googled him before he came here and found out he grew up in East Hills, a wealthy town on Long Island, and he went to private schools as a kid. There was nothing “street” about him.
“Mr. Alfieri, let’s talk in the conference room first before we get into that,” I said.
I took Johnny, Greg, and Paul upstairs to our floor.
“Do you two mind if I talk to Mr. Alfieri privately before we all discuss the strategy for this case?” I asked Paul and Greg.
They both agreed and sat in the lobby while I talked to Johnny in the conference room.
“Yo, so we gonna talk to this
chick or what?” Johnny asked.
The firm had made a mistake telling him we would do some shit like that. I didn’t want him blabbing to anyone about the illegal tactic the firm was using, so I made sure to word my comment in a way that let him know we’d handle it without incriminating the firm.
“Under the law, an attorney can’t attempt to alter or prevent the testimony of a witness in a criminal or civil proceeding. The firm is going to do everything in its power to relay the message to her that we want this resolved out of court.”
“Fuck that, yo. I’ll go back to the club and talk to the bitch myself.”
“No. Under no circumstances should you ever go back to that club. Everything will get handled, I promise, but in the meantime, can you explain to me what exactly happened that night?” I asked.
“Did you see the video?”
“I did, but I want to hear your side of the story to understand things better.”
He sighed. “I’ll be straight wit’ you, homie. I wanted a pretty piece of ass, and I heard that club was known for their strippers fucking the clientele. I offered to pay her to fuck me in the VIP room, and she said yes. At first, she was feisty because she thought I was a cop, but I calmed her down, and it was cool. We handled our business, then I paid her and went on my way.”
It was almost humorous that he said she was “feisty.” He never mentioned her crying or fighting with him.
“Did she make any indication that might’ve suggested she didn’t want to have sex with you?”
“As I said, she was feisty at first, but after I calmed her down, she was begging me to fuck her. She wanted it. Now, she’s actin’ like a fucking victim so she can get famous. I didn’t rape that bitch.”
He didn’t avert his eyes from me. His voice was even-keeled. His body language indicated that he was telling the truth, but I wanted him to confirm it one more time.
“So, you’re certain you didn’t rape Sophia Winters.”
“Whatever the bitch’s name is, I swear on my life I didn’t rape her.”
“All right. We already arranged with the 47th Precinct that you’ll turn yourself in. Once you’re there, they’ll process you and bring you to Central Booking. The partners of my firm pulled some strings to expedite your process with the court to get you seen by the judge as soon as possible.”
Defining Moments Page 2
