Influence

by Carl Weber

  “I’on’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Now, did your brothers give them to you? If so, maybe we can arrange for you to go home.”

  “How many times I gotta tell you? I don’t know nothing about no dope, and my brothers ain’t give me shit.”

  I knew what was going on here. They were trying to trip me up. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know the oldest trick in the book. I was sure he thought if he asked me the same thing over and over in different ways, it would wear me down. This technique had extracted many confessions from both the innocent and the guilty. I was sticking with my story, though, no matter how many times he asked. Tired, hungry, even if I had to take a piss, my answer would remain the same. My only question was, how many more times was I going to have to repeat my answer, and how many people would I have to repeat it to before someone actually believed me and let me go home?

  Krush

  10

  I guess the Staten Island police didn’t pay their gas bills, because it was cold as shit in that little room they had me locked up in while I waited for someone to come tell me what the fuck was going on. I pulled my hoodie over my head and laid my arms on the table as a pillow, but before I could put my head down and get comfortable, I heard the door open. Two cops walked in and sat down.

  “Hey, Kirby, my name’s Detective Cutter, and this is my partner, Detective O’Malley. Can we get you a soda?”

  “Man, fuck you and fuck a soda, my name is Krush. When the fuck do I get my phone call?” I asked as I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. It was all an act. I was scared as fuck, but I wasn’t gonna let these motherfuckers see me sweat.

  “You can make a call in a few minutes, right after we have a little chat,” Cutter said all nice and shit.

  “What the fuck y’all want?” I huffed.

  “We wanna know whose dope that was in the car,” the fat cop snapped.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it ain’t mine.”

  “Look, Krush, Officer Blake already told us that you admitted to the pot. From where I stand, it seems like you’re a standup guy. So, why play games? You might as well cop to the heroin and get it over with. Save us all a lot of time. That way we can go to the ADA and tell him you cooperated.”

  I leaned back in my chair again. “Look, I ain’t copping to shit!” I regretted ever having opened my mouth about the weed being mine. Shit, I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, but who would have ever thought it would land me in this kind of trouble? If I had known that, I would have kept my big fucking mouth shut.

  “You wanna get your frat brothers all caught up in your mess?” Detective Cutter asked. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be tight, like real brothers?”

  “We are brothers, and they’re not caught in my mess, ’cause I ain’t got shit to do with it!”

  Who was this Cutter guy kidding? I had no doubt he’d been to each and every one of our interrogation rooms, trying to get us to talk. He’d probably fed the other guys the same bogus line about brothers. I hoped like hell they saw through his bullshit like I did.

  He kept pushing. “Well, if it wasn’t yours, then whose is it?

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” I was trying to remain calm, but these motherfuckers were stressing me the fuck out. If they were getting to me like this, I wondered what they were doing to the other bros. Although Lang had a tendency to run his fucking mouth like he already had a law degree, I was pretty sure that he and Tony could maintain until Langston’s pops got here and got us out. It was Kwesi who I was afraid would screw it up for everybody. I didn’t know what crazy-ass Sergeant Lanier had said to him on the way over, but Kwesi looked petrified when I saw them bringing him inside. I wanted to tell him to stay strong and keep his mouth shut, but he never even raised his head to acknowledge me. Damn, I sure could’ve used a blunt right about now.

  “Damn it, I swear to God, if you boys don’t get to talking—” O’Malley slammed his fist on the table, unable to hide his frustration.

  “You’ll what?” I asked, fighting like hell to keep from grinning. His outburst told me he wasn’t getting anywhere in this interrogation process, not only with me, but with the fellas either.

  “I’ll throw all your asses in Rikers, and then we’ll see how tough you are,” he threatened. “Sooner or later, one of you is gonna crack and wanna go home to Mama, and that’s the one who’s gonna get the deal.” He leaned in until we were almost nose to nose. “And if not, all of you are going to prison for a long time.”

  When I swallowed, it felt like I was trying to force a whole boiled egg down my throat. I’d been trying not to lose my cool in front of these guys, but I didn’t want to show them fear either. It sure was getting hard trying to hide it.

  “Stay silent all you want,” O’Malley said, “but somebody will talk first, and it’s the one who talks first who’s going to get out of here. Just remember that, kid.” On that note, he stood and headed out the door. He was probably on his way to the next interrogation room to try to get the next fella to talk.

  Hopefully, none of them would say a word.

  Kwesi

  11

  Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to ever be arrested for drugs. Guilty or not, with something like this on my record, getting accepted into medical school would be no more than a pipe dream. Even worse, what would my family think about the humiliation and embarrassment I was bringing to them? My mother and father had worked so hard to bring us all to this great country, and they wanted nothing more than for me and my brothers and sister to succeed. I could already see the shame on my father’s face, and I had not even called him.

  The two detectives that had come by earlier walked into the room again. They were nice men and had treated me kindly despite my accident.

  “You all cleaned up?” Detective Cutter asked, taking a seat and placing a McDonald’s double cheeseburger, fries, and a soda in front of me.

  “Yes. Thank you very much for the sweatpants. That was very embarrassing.”

  “Eat up before it gets cold. These things happen. You’re a college student, not a gangbanger,” Detective O’Malley replied, taking a seat next to his partner. “Hell, if I was arrested for something I didn’t do, I’d probably piss myself too.”

  I lowered my head in shame. “May I ask you gentlemen a favor, please?”

  “Well, that depends on what it is, but we’ll see what we can do,” Detective O’Malley replied.

  “Please, please, do not tell my friends that I relieved myself in such an embarrassing manner. I try to conduct myself around them with dignity and pride.”

  “Sure, sure,” O’Malley replied kindly. “We weren’t planning on telling anyone, and as long as you help us, we will definitely help you.”

  “Thank you,” I said humbly. “What do you want from me, Detective?”

  When the police took us into custody and were about to separate us, Langston announced that we should not talk to the police until his father arrived. But that was before I met Detectives O’Malley and Cutter. I was sure once Langston found out that they were trying to help us, he would not mind me explaining things.

  “I wanna know the truth about those drugs and which one of your buddies they belong to. Because I’m sure they don’t belong to you,” Cutter said.

  “I do not know, Detective. And to be honest with you, I do not think any of my friends would do this.”

  “You can stop trying to protect them, because when it boils down to it, if you think they are going to protect you, then you are sadly mistaken. I’ve seen it a million times.”

  He sounded sincere, but I had to disagree with his assessment of my frat brothers. “They are my friends. They are honest. You’ll see. We do not advocate drugs. This is all one big mistake, and things will get figured out.”

  “They don’t advocate drugs, huh? So, why did your friend Krush admit to the pot Officer Blake found in the car?”

  He was mak
ing a point I could not refute, and what made it worse was that he began laughing like I’d just told a joke.

  “I like you, Kwesi, but you really are naïve.” He laughed for a while more before he managed to get himself under control. Then, he appeared deadly serious. “That heroin did not magically appear in the trunk of that car. Someone put it there, and you need to be honest with yourself. If you didn’t put it there, who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then whoever did is playing you, because if you guys were such brothers, he would just come out and admit it so you wouldn’t get in trouble. Isn’t that what you would do?”

  Once again, he was making a valid point, but where did that leave me? Here, stuck in jail, that’s where. I didn’t want to believe that Langston, Tony, or Krush would tell lies to save themselves; lies that would land me behind bars for God knows how long. My family would be so disgraced. I’d have nothing.

  However, I was not going to give up on my friends, my brothers. “But there has to be another explanation,” I said hopefully.

  He rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. “Forget it.” He shooed his hand. “I can see right now you are going to be the first one they throw under the bus. I mean, technically, you’re not one of them, because you’re African and they’re American. They are going to stick up for each other first. So, guess who, more than likely, is going to end up doing the time for everybody?” He walked over to me and pointed hard against my chest with each word he spoke. “You are, buddy. And it will be a damn shame because, like I said before, I like you.”

  The more I sat there and listened to Officer O’Malley, the more I began to question my friendship with my frat brothers, who I’d only known a little under four years. Were they really as loyal and steadfast as I’d convinced myself they were? After all, we’d never been in such dire straits before, so I’d never had to test their commitment. What if Detective O’Malley was right and they would react to the pressure being put upon them? Would my being African suddenly separate me from them, giving them a reason to accuse me? I had no way of knowing for sure. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to start thinking about myself.

  James

  12

  “Okay, what’s so important that you dragged me down here?” I walked into the small corridor of rooms that peered into the interrogation rooms through one-way glass, stopping in front of Assistant District Attorney David Wilkins.

  “Him.” David pointed toward a young black man on the other side of the glass, sitting at a table and looking lost. I walked closer to the glass and studied the boy. He didn’t look like much to me, but Dave Wilkins wasn’t the type to call me down from the Staten Island DA’s office, where I was the assistant district attorney in charge of all criminal cases, over something trivial.

  “He doesn’t look like a serial killer. What’s he here for? Murder?”

  “No, drugs,” Dave said. “Highway patrol picked him and his three buddies up on the expressway with two kilos of heroin.”

  “That’s some serious weight for a kid his age. Is he talking?”

  “Not yet, but he’s already pissed himself he’s so scared. A day or two in Rikers and he’ll crack like an egg,” Detective Roger O’Malley replied. O’Malley was a lazy bastard about a year from his retirement. I’d always thought of him as a racist, although he was smart enough to keep his worst thoughts to himself when I was around. He knew I’d beat his ass if he ever pulled that bullshit on me.

  I turned back to ADA Wilkins. “Okay, Dave, they found a couple keys of dope in the car of four kids. What’s the big deal? This sounds like a no-brainer to me. You could have handled this yourself. Why am I here?”

  “I thought it was a no-brainer too, until I found out one of the suspects is the son of Bradley Hudson,” Wilkins replied, staring at me as he waited for my reaction to the name.

  I could barely believe my ears. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me. One of the suspects is the son of Bradley Hudson.” David smiled as if he’d given me a gift. “So, I think that’s a good enough reason, don’t you?”

  “Hell fucking yeah,” I said, turning back to the glass with enthusiasm. “It’s like my birthday and Christmas all wrapped up into one. So, this kid’s the weak link?”

  “Pretty much,” Dave replied.

  “Okay, we have to move fast, ’cause we’re not going to be up against some local yahoos from the island. Tell me everything you got on this kid.”

  O’Malley glanced at a file. “His name’s Kwesi Adomako. His parents are college professors at Queens College and SUNY Stony Brook here on work visas. He, along with the other three, attends Howard University.”

  “So, whose dope is it?”

  “We don’t know. O’Malley and Cutter don’t think it’s this kid’s, though.”

  “He’s too weak,” Cutter said.

  “O’Malley, get this kid down to central booking ASAP. I want him in the system and in Rikers before we move the other three out of the building.”

  O’Malley got up and headed to the door.

  “You did good, Dave, really good, and I ain’t gonna forget it,” I said.

  “That’s exactly what I was counting on, James,” Dave replied with a smile.

  David was a terrific prosecutor, probably second only to me in our office, but he had been relegated to the 121st Precinct as a case officer because of questionable relationships with some of the staff. That was no longer tolerated in this “Me Too” era by our liberal female boss who happened to be the district attorney. Dave was looking for a way out, and he knew currying favor by bringing me a case like this might just do it.

  “So, what next?” Dave asked.

  “I need you to ride over to the courthouse and make sure this kid gets moved through the system fast. Make sure the judge gives him a high bail. I don’t want him on the street anytime soon,” I explained.

  “Piece of cake.” Dave sounded confident.

  “You sure about this?” Cutter asked. “They’re just kids, and this kid especially isn’t going to last very long in the system.”

  I looked through the window at the kid and O’Malley, who had gone back in there. I looked back at Cutter, who was tall and slim, wearing a dusty blue suit. It kind of reminded me of something one of the cops would wear on the old Barney Miller sitcom. “Well, then thank God he’s not one of our kids.”

  “Damn, that’s cold,” Cutter said.

  “No, that’s life,” I replied. “Oh, and Dave, on your way over to the courthouse, make a few off-the-record calls to the press and local networks. Make sure they know Bradley Hudson’s son has been arrested for possession with the intent to distribute. Also let them know that it’s one of the largest drug seizures in Staten Island history.”

  “But it’s not.”

  “Well, I guess they’ll have to print a redaction at some point.” I laughed, and after a brief pause, Dave and Cutter joined in.

  “Man, you really are a cold piece of work,” Cutter said.

  “Yeah, especially when I’m motivated,” I whispered.

  David slipped out the door while Cutter and I moved down the corridor to the next interrogation viewing room. I stared at the light-skinned young man handcuffed to the table in the adjoining interrogation room. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was staring back at me. “That’s him, isn’t it? That’s Hudson’s kid.”

  “Yep. How’d you know?”

  “He looks just like his old man thirty years ago,” I told him. “Anyone talk to him yet?’

  “No, he lawyered up the minute we walked in the room.”

  “Smart kid.” I headed for the exit.

  “Where you going?” Cutter asked.

  “I’m going to meet the son of the most famous black lawyer in the world and tell him he’s going to jail for twenty years,” I replied smugly. “Then I’m going to wait for his father to show up, and I’ll tell him the same damn thing.”

  Langston

 
; 13

  I’d been sitting in that cramped-up, musty-ass room, staring at the one-way glass ever since we’d arrived at the police station. They’d taken my iPhone and my Apple watch, so I had no perception of time, but I knew it was no longer minutes. It had been at least a few hours. Once I told them I wanted my lawyer, no one had even come in the room to see if I was still breathing. So, I sat there anxiously, my knees bouncing up and down as I wondered when the hell my father would arrive and get me out of this mess. I didn’t understand why the hell he wasn’t there already.

  I sure as hell hoped my sister Desiree believed me when I was able to make that quick call to her; otherwise, we were screwed. If the cops hadn’t taken my phone, which contained all my contacts, I would have called my father directly. Like an idiot, though, I didn’t have my family’s numbers memorized. Desiree’s was the only one I could dial from memory, so she was my only hope at the moment.

  Stay strong, Lang, The calvary is on the way. Stop being paranoid, I told myself just as the door to the interrogation room opened. The sudden motion scared the shit out of me, but I tried to shake it off.

  “Langston Hudson.” A tall, well-built black man entered the room and announced my name with authority. He was wearing a much better suit than the two detectives I’d seen earlier, so I assumed he was their superior. I’d been hoping someone would eventually come and tell me what the hell was going on; I guessed that someone was him. I watched without saying a word as he crossed the room and sat down in a chair a couple feet away from me.

  I nodded, sitting eagerly on the edge of my seat, although I still wasn’t answering a damn question without my lawyer present. To my surprise, he wasn’t talking either. He just sat there with a frown on his face, not even looking directly at me. After a few seconds, he came to life—not his body, but his eyes. He bent forward and rested his arms on his knees, hands clasped in front of him.

  “I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is James Brown. I’m the assistant district attorney in charge of your case.”