MARY JANE: Everything you’re telling me, Angel, it sounds like a real good motive to wanna murder somebody.
ANGEL: My question to you was: Is it ridiculous? Guard!
Scene 7: The yard, protective custody. A month later. Mary Jane speaks as Lucius Jenkins and Angel Cruz are being led into their cages.
MARY JANE: I had to concede that what Angel was saying was not ridiculous. What was ridiculous was the fact that I regularly earned acquittals for hardened career criminals: crack dealers, arsonists, murderers even—people with jaw-dropping rap sheets—and then, six months later I’d be asking bail for the same guy for the same offense or worse! Angel wasn’t a recidivist felon, he was a civilian. I believed I could get Angel an acquittal without having to put him on the stand. I believed that the jury, if led, wouldn’t convict Angel despite all the evidence. I could have plea-bargained Angel’s case; that would have been easy, routine—most of those young district attorneys feared me because I was that rare public defender who could ruin them by taking an open-and-shut case to trial and win anyway ’cuz I am—I was—a goddamn excellent attorney! I wouldn’t plea-bargain Angel’s case because right after our second meeting, he went back upstairs and was assaulted by two other inmates—beaten and raped. I wouldn’t plea-bargain Angel’s case because three days later, when the Associated Press reported that Reverend Kim had been rushed back to surgery and that he had died on the operating table, Angel was found unconscious in his cell the next morning with a bedsheet tied around his neck. I wouldn’t plea bargain Angel’s case because after Angel spent the next seventy-two hours in a prison psych ward and before being transferred to a special twenty-three-hour lockdown wing of Protective Custody, I sat Angel down and informed him that the D.A. had filed for first-degree felony murder and that the charge carried a mandatory sentence of “Life without the Possibility.” And Angel looked at me, and said, “Without the possibility of what?”
(VALDEZ reenters, leading ANGEL to his cage.)
VALDEZ: But if you do decide to fuck with me—ever—I will show you a world where mere misery is like toasting marshmallows ‘round the campfire in your long johns. You get me there, Droopy Dog? Hey! You like to pout? Thass okay, you could pout. Don’t pout too much, though. I might start feelin’ bad and have to come in there and … pet you. (To LUCIUS) Superstar? Florida …
(VALDEZ retires to his post upstage center.)
LUCIUS: Hey there, youngfella … I say, hey there, brother … What’s your name? What’s your name, man? Not up for conversatin’? Dass okay, I understand … Don’t make much sense to stare at the ground like that, though. You oughta be enjoyin’ this sun while you can feel it, brother. Don’t come out but one hour a day for us up here. One hour … I take my hour too. Don’t matter if it’s snowin’, rainin’, fire and brimstone, nuclear attack, they gonna bring me out here! I’m a take my one hour, you could bet on that! I love me some sun. Love it! You know, they got a country over there in Europe gets almost no sun whatsoever? It’s true. That’s a bunch a pale Europeans drinkin’ coffee over there, ain’t no denyin’ that. Feel bad for ’em. Takin’ no sun’s like drinkin’ no milk, depletes a man. Not a good prescription for mental health, I’ll tell ya that right now. Dass why you gotta take your one hour no matter what. Some men, they stop takin’ their hour, next thing ya know—well … I take my hour, and you should too! Don’t talk for a month, never talk again, but take your damn hour, enjoy whatever type a weather been provided … especially sun. Yes sir … ’specially the sunshine. Didn’t useta feel that way ’bout the sunshine, back in the day … betcha didn’t know dat. No sir … No way. Could ya juss tell me your name? Ya do speak the King’s English, doncha, son? I don’t know much Spanish ’cept; “Yo quiero uno eight-ball de Kokai-Yeno”! Useta say that all the time!
VALDEZ: You two ain’t makin’ love over there, are ya?
LUCIUS: Mothah—See now, thass wrong! Wrong! Man tryin’ ta vex me! Man tryin’ ta … Damn!!
(Pause)
ANGEL: Angel.
LUCIUS: What’s that?
ANGEL: Angel.
LUCIUS: Angel? I like that name. Thass a fine name. Say, Angel, would ya like a cigarette?
ANGEL: Nah.
LUCIUS: Nah?
ANGEL: No thanks.
LUCIUS: You’re smart ta say no. Learnin’ the ropes. But see, me, I don’t want nuthin’ in return for this cigarette, know what I’m sayin’? I’m not lookin’ for a wifey. Don’t close my eyes and pretend you’re my Aunt Mary … C’mon, son, have a cigarette.
ANGEL: Nah …
LUCIUS: Now whaddya think? My dick’s big enough to reach into your cage over there, wrestle ya to the ground, and insert itself up into ya? Hell, even Goliath wasn’t hung that strong. We in lockdown, kid. No contact never … This is juss a friendly gesture, fact, it ain’t even a friendly gesture, it’s what ya might call “humanitarian aid.” Smoke Lucky’s?
ANGEL: Nah.
LUCIUS: They’ll bring ya luck. Tell ya what I’m gonna do.
(LUCIUS looks toward VALDEZ.)
LUCIUS: I’m a throw this here Lucky over to you with the matches. After ya light that Lucky, I’d appreciate it if you’d send the matches back my way. Okay? Here goes … There … Ya got it?
(ANGEL looks toward VALDEZ.)
ANGEL: Nah … here.
(ANGEL tosses cigarette and matches back to LUCIUS.)
LUCIUS: What‘cha doin’, youngblood? C’mon baby, take it easy … Easy … dass a gift, me to you, ain’t nothing. No cause for alarm, no fire in the hole. Doan worry ‘bout that fool over there, he eatin’ Cheese Doodles. C‘mon, this is simple like arithmetic, brother. Okay? Journey of a million miles, it commence itself on that first step. Oh, c’mon … it’s a cigarette, amigo, not a engagement ring. Okay? Check out my “Hawthorne Wingo” now:
(LUCIUS arcs a perfectly soft hook shot with the cigarette/matches. They land at ANGEL’s feet.)
LUCIUS: Heaven sent, amigo, heaven sent.
(Pause)
ANGEL: Thanks.
LUCIUS: Thank you, brother, thank you. Could ya send over the matches, please? Merci … Taste good?
ANGEL: Mmm.
LUCIUS: Like ya knew that it would! Smokin’s good for ya, doan let ‘em tell ya otherwise: Lets a man stay humble. ’Cuz I figure, if a man successfully casts all his demons aside, he might get cocky, start thinkin’ he’s invincible, perfect, or somethin’. A man might start thinkin’ he don’t have ta depend on, well … on Higher Entities. Surgeon General is the general of what, anyway? He the general of the surgeons! Surgeons make money doin’ them cancer operations! Sound like there’s a little reverse psychology goin’ on. Higher Entities, they doan bother wit the double-talk, they come correct, jack … yes they do. Say, look at that seagull! Nice, right? I ain’t bothered to look at no wildlife in some time. Dass a nice flyin’ bird. Nice sun too. Hey, this is all right, ain’t it? Two gentlemen retirin’ to the smokin’ garden. No ice tea, but thass okay. I’m Lucius Jenkins, ya heard of me, right?
ANGEL: The guard, he told me not ta—
LUCIUS: Ya need ta forget about that guard, truss me. That man is troubled, still searchin’ for hisself. You need ta remember one thing here, son: Us, you and me, we here ’cuz we have ta be. Got no choice in the matter. But that man over there, he doan haveta be here but he here anyway! Now what that say ‘bout him? This is New York City, a man could work anywhere! Where he at? An doan tell me he raisin’ a family, ’cuz I’ll wager every cigarette, postage stamp, ramen noodle I got that man’s single! I mean, look at him! Would you get up under him? Only time he get laid, he gotta go to the ATM.
VALDEZ: Eight minutes!
LUCIUS: Man’s a damn pleasure seeker. Our pain, dass his pleasure. Dass some Sodom-and-Gomorrah jazz right there. Man ain’t nuthin’ but a test a faith. Ignore him.
(Pause)
LUCIUS: Say Angel … you ever heard that story concerning the mongoose and the black-eyed squirrel? See, there was this mongoose, oka
y? And this mongoose—this cat was smooth, right? Couldn’t tell this mongoose nuthin’ ’bout nuthin’. Brother had it all figured, okay? Till one day, he was out hunting for the venomous snakes, which, thass what mongoose do, they hunt all type a dangerous snakes—cobras, asps—so dig it: This brother’s out on the hunt, right? when here comes this little black-eyed squirrel. And this squirrel, he was—how you say?—he had been ousted from his community, okay, shunned, on account of—
ANGEL: I can’t—
LUCIUS: “Can’t”? Can’t what?
ANGEL: I can’t, I can’t … sleep. I can’t. In there, do you sleep?
LUCIUS: I sleep.
ANGEL: You breathe an’ shit?
LUCIUS: Mostly.
ANGEL: How?
LUCIUS: How? Dass a test a faith too.
ANGEL: M-Man.
LUCIUS: Hey.
ANGEL: I … I ain’t made for this—
LUCIUS: Hey! Don’t let that man see ya weak, brother.
ANGEL: This is fucked.
LUCIUS: C’mon now, son, pull it together.
ANGEL: I … I can’t—
LUCIUS: Breathe! You can breathe out here, can’t ya? Shoot, come on now. Breathe.
ANGEL: Doan wanna—
LUCIUS: No talkin’, just breathin’! Everybody gonna make it juss fine, everybody gonna breathe and sleep. Ya breathin’?
ANGEL: Yeah.
LUCIUS: Keep doin’ it then!
ANGEL: I … I—
LUCIUS: Have a cigarette, son, it’ll help ya. Here, already lit, built for puffin’. Believe me, jack, you talkin’ to a brother understands!
ANGEL: Fuck.
LUCIUS: Things can change, Angel. I changed. Like I said before—about the sun?—I love me some sun now, but I used ta hate the sun. Can ya imagine that? How’s a man gonna live in Miami Beach, he don’t like the sun? Shoulda moved somewhere else, I suppose, but thass a lot a work, a lot a planning. “Where should I go?” “What I’m goin’ to do when I get there?” “Do they sell cocaine in Alaska?” Stuff like that. Too much work. You still breathin’?
ANGEL: Yeah.
LUCIUS: Ok, so, lissen careful: there I was, Miami Beach. Paradise, right? Little apartment complex they got over there, second floor, view of the ocean, the ladies, everything … The ladies down there in Miami, Angel? Like nobody’s business, brother—awesome, incredible … Rent was cheap—didn’t pay but four hundred bucks a month on that little place. Did I mention it had a little terrace? Well, it did. Never went out on it. Cocaine in Miami? Plentiful, jack. Extremely plentiful. And cheap. Real cheap. Dirt cheap. For all intents and purposes, the shit was free. Pardon my language, but that’s what cocaine is: Shit … horseshit … Anyway—Oh! And Quaaludes? Them little 714’s? Like takin’ aspirin, baby. Take two, call me late for dinner. Heroin, Dilaudid? Juss pick up the phone! Thirty minutes, home delivery! Hated the sun though, hated it. I’m not talkin’ ‘bout “Gee, I wish it wasn’t so sunny,” I’m talkin’ hate. Pathological Dracula shit … Deep … Came a time, I stopped goin’ in ta work if it was too sunny. Useta call in sick, order a pizza and a twelve-pack for $8.50, how ya gonna beat that?! Delivery boy, he was all right, little Equadarian kid, useta pick me up a little somethin’ on the way, a nice bag, coupla pornos, whatever I wanted, useta blow a little smoke wit’ him, he’d leave happy. Nice little system. One day, he stopped by … I killed him. Killed him with a cowboy boot. I mean, I was wearin’ the boot at the time, thass how I killed him. After I killed him, I didn’t know what ta do so I chopped him up, threw him in the Dumpster, right next door. Next door! Can ya imagine that? And ya know what happened? “Nuthin’ … Not a damn thing. Kept waitin’ for the sirens, they never came … So I called up the pizza shop, toal em; “I never got my pizza.” You know what they did? They sent me another one. For free. Now, to me that’s a peculiar turn of events, doncha think? Unnatural … I’ll tell ya why I killed him. I killed him ’cuz he left the door open, said the place stunk, needed some air. But when the air came in, the sun came with it. Now, I think … I think that was a very unusual thing for me to do, killing that boy, don’t you? Highly unusual. And … nuthin’ happened! Nuthin’ … One day, I finally got up the gumption to leave Miami, but by then, I had killed five people. Five … killed three more up north, over here, but they was all white. Funny how people start payin’ attention when white people start droppin’ … And all a this, ’cuz I hated the sun. My enemy. The sun … I had everything in the world down there but I didn’t have nuthin’. Now I got nuthin’ but I got everythin’. I love the sun now. Love it. Before? Hate. Now? Love. Dass a conundrum, Kemosabe. When ya get back to your cell? Doan lie down. When ya can’t do nuthin’ else except lie down? Then ya gonna lie down and dig on what I juss toal ya … reflect … Every hour, I’m a bang on my wall three times, let ya remember you ain’t alone, okay?
ANGEL: Yeah.
LUCIUS: Hold up, today’s Monday, right?
ANGEL: Is it?
LUCIUS: Yeah, don’t drink the soup. You’ll be up all night.
(VALDEZ descends.)
VALDEZ: Are there infractions goin’ on over here?
LUCIUS: No sir.
VALDEZ: That cigarette Droopy Dog’s draggin’ on, you give it to him?
LUCIUS: Yes sir.
VALDEZ: That would be an infraction.
LUCIUS: Aw c’mon, man.
VALDEZ: Did you just say something, Superstar?
LUCIUS: How’s a man supposed ta know it’s a infraction to give another man a cigarette, when there ain’t never was no other man here ’cept me till now?
VALDEZ: You didn’t read the manual?
LUCIUS: The manual?
VALDEZ: The manual states quite clearly—
LUCIUS: Fuck your damn manual!
VALDEZ: Take a day off from the yard, both of you, so you can reflect on infractions.
LUCIUS: Bullshit, mothahfuckah!
VALDEZ: Two days!
LUCIUS: I’m gonna—
VALDEZ: A week! Perhaps your “Higher Entity” can sort this out for you. Cruz!
ANGEL: I didn’t say nuttin’—
VALDEZ: They releasing you.
ANGEL: They are?
VALDEZ: Just kidding. Away from your cages, girls, let’s go.
(Crossfade)
MARY JANE: On the first day of Angel’s trial, I was staring at a mountain of compelling evidence pointed squarely against my case. The D.A. had so much evidence and so many eyewitnesses to work with, he knew he couldn’t lose. Every piece of evidence he introduced, I found a way to cast the slimmest shadow of doubt. And his witnesses? They were all church members. I buried them one after the other. In court, I constantly had to suppress the urge to smile. On November eighteenth, the D.A. invited me for dinner and drinks at Patsy’s. I knew what was coming. He offered Angel this: Plead to manslaughter, he’d recommend the minimum sentence, Angel does eight years, everybody wins. I turned him down flat. He told me to talk it over with Angel, and get back to him in the morning. The next morning I told him: “Sorry, no deal.” I never consulted Angel in the matter, never even mentioned it. I knew I had a win … I knew it.
ACT II
Scene 1: The yard, days later.
MARY JANE: When I turned down the D.A.’s offer of a deal that morning, I was not humble, and I did not suppress my smile. And then, I made a mistake: I overlooked a prosecution eyewitness who was on the list to testify. He was a British Ph.D. candidate doing his thesis on Living Religions who had been at the church that night. I had assumed he was some kinda bearded flake from the land of academia, but he wasn’t. He was clean-cut, credible, and amazingly, had experience as a witness. He corroborated all the previous testimony of all the previous witnesses who I had previously discredited and I couldn’t shake him up. In a moment of weakness, I went to the D.A., looking for a deal, which of course, “Fuck you, bitch”! “Fuck you bitch”—well okay, fine—but that still didn’t change the fact that Angel did not intend to cause Reverend Kim’s
death. This was not first-degree murder. The law may not have seen it that way, but the fact is the law is fallible. Angel had tried every means at his disposal to bring back his friend. And when everything failed, he still didn’t give up. He made a foolish, perilous statement, but it was a statement. I find honor in that. I wanted to find honor in myself. And so I did. And it was right—Goddamnit, it was right.
Our Lady of 121st Street Page 12
