by Carl Weber
“You are a real piece of work, you know that? What do you want?” She sounded as irritated as she looked.
“Can we go to your chambers?”
“No, we can’t go to my chambers. I have cases to try.” She shot a quick glance at her court officer. “Now, what do you want to talk about?”
I stared at her for a brief moment, remembering in detail all the reasons we didn’t get along. “Okay, I was trying to spare you the embarrassment of finding this out from a colleague, or even worse a reporter, but—”
“Finding out what?” she snapped.
“That your son has been arrested!” I didn’t mean to say it so loud, but she had this way of getting under my skin that threw me off my game.
“Oh my God, what has Lamont done?”
“It’s not Lamont. It’s Langston,” I told her.
Her mouth fell open, but my words had stunned her into silence.
Langston
18
Although I had already been photographed and fingerprinted the moment I got out of the paddy wagon and was shuffled into central booking, I was still trying to digest the fact that we’d been arrested. All those reporters and television cameras waiting outside the police precinct when we walked out sure as hell hadn’t helped things. My dad had always said that the media was like the opposite sex: you had to embrace them, and they’d fall in love with you. Well, maybe that was true, but so far, I was not feeling the love from those reporters.
Tony, Krush, and I were placed in a holding cell that housed about thirty men. Half of them stank of liquor and were probably there on DUIs, while the other half looked like drug addicts and dope boys. Krush seemed to get along just fine with them. I’d asked the cops several times about Kwesi, but none of them seemed to know where he was. I was worried about my little African buddy. I just hoped he was all right.
“What the fuck? Y’all just got here!” I heard someone yell as my frat brothers and I were summoned by a guard.
“That’s what happens when you got a paid lawyer,” Krush bragged, bopping over to the gate. “Come on, y’all. I’m ready to get the fuck up outta here,” he said to me and Tony.
“Your friends over there hear anything about Kwesi?” I asked Krush as we were led out of the cell.
“Nah, ain’t nobody seen him. He may have got his ass caught up in some ICE shit. You know how Trump’s boys be fucking with immigrants,” Krush said. The way he was talking, you’d think he’d been locked up a million times before, instead of being the suburban college boy he really was. Unfortunately, his comment about Kwesi’s immigration status might have been accurate. The way things were going lately, there was a good possibility they were already working on Kwesi’s deportation order.
We were escorted from the holding room to the courtroom and guided toward the defense podium, where Lamont and Desiree were standing.
“Wait. Why are your brother and sister here? Where is your dad?” Tony’s voice cracked as he whispered to me. I peered back at the packed courtroom, looking for my dad, but he was nowhere to be found. Jesus, I hope he’s not mad.
“Just chill. Don’t worry. We’re good. My brother ain’t no joke either,” I told him, but inside, I was more than a little nervous. I had to remind myself that the people standing next to me bore the Hudson name. We were a family of bad-ass attorneys, and I would one day be joining the ranks. In spite of my fear, I knew that my boys and I would be home in time for an episode of Empire.
“Lamont and Desiree Hudson for the defense, Your Honor,” Lamont said.
“ADA David Wilkins for the State.”
“Langston Hudson, Anthony Baker, and Kirby Wright,” the silver-haired judge started in a stern voice after taking a moment to scrutinize each of us. “You are charged with felony possession of a controlled substance, possession with intent to distribute, as well as driving under the influence, in addition to use of a motor vehicle in the commission of a felony . . . the transportation of, and intent to distribute said controlled substance,” the judge said all in one breath. “How do you plead?”
We all said, “Not guilty,” at the same time.
“Bail recommendations, Mr. Wilkins?” the judge asked.
The ADA looked across the room. I turned to see if he was looking at anyone in particular. That’s when I noticed a familiar face. It was ADA James Brown, that slick-ass Uncle Tom who’d been in the interrogation room. He was sitting quietly in the back of the courtroom, observing. Brown gave the other ADA a discreet nod, and Wilkins nodded back.
“Judge, we’re going to ask that no bail be set at this time for any of these young men.”
Lamont spoke up in protest. “Your Honor, my clients are three college students on the verge of graduating. They have no criminal records, not even a traffic citation outside of the ones received today. They pose no flight risk, and in all actuality, I should expect that they would be released on their own recognizance.”
“Your Honor, this wasn’t a simple traffic violation like Mr. Hudson is insinuating. The police confiscated several kilos of narcotics from the vehicle. In addition, Anthony Baker has ties to the Bloods street gang,” the ADA said matter-of-factly, even though he was twisting the facts.
I was starting to get a bad feeling when the judge glanced at our crimson sweatshirts. I felt even worse when Tony started yelling, “This is some bullshit! I ain’t in no gang! And I damn sure ain’t no Blood!” Tony took a step toward the ADA.
“Control your clients,” Judge Nichols warned Lamont.
“Let me handle this,” Lamont whispered harshly to Tony.
“In addition, the young man who was in the vehicle with them during the stop has already been arraigned earlier and given key information.” The ADA’s announcement felt like a punch in the gut.
“What kind of information?” Lamont asked. That’s exactly what I wanted to know. What the hell could Kwesi have said?
“What the fuck are they talking about? What did Kwesi say? This is crazy,” Tony and Krush began mumbling simultaneously.
“Your clients, Mr. Hudson.”
Lamont turned to me with gritted teeth, his eyes saying what his mouth wouldn’t. “Will you keep these two quiet? They’re not helping.”
“Yo, Tony, chill. Let Lamont handle this,” I said.
“Now, on the subject of bail,” the judge said. “Bail is set at one million dollars.”
“What the fuck!” Even I couldn’t control myself this time. I stared at my brother, willing him to do something.
“Your Honor, this is a clear violation of my clients’ Eighth Amendment rights!” Lamont interjected.
“Would you like me to take the DA’s office recommendation, Mr. Hudson? I can always change it to no bail.”
“But, Your Honor, they have no priors.” Lamont made his tone more respectful as he tried to reason with the judge.
“No buts. Bail is set at one million dollars.” Judge Nichols slammed the gavel down.
I wished I could slap the smirk off the ADA’s face as he said, “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Can somebody tell me what the hell just happened?” Krush leaned over and asked. Tony, who always had something to say, just stood there in silent shock.
“You got bail. That’s a start,” Lamont said. “We’re going to make a motion for a bail reduction hearing. We’ll get it reduced.”
“Easy for you to say,” Krush spat, almost on the verge of tears. “You get to go home and sleep safe and sound in your bed and not have to worry about a four-hundred-pound Negro named Bubba crawling up in bed with you.”
Desiree turned her attention to me. “Just hang in there, little brother.” She looked to the others. “All of you just hang in there, please. I’m not sure what’s going on. This is crazy, but I promise we are going to get you out of here. I promise. Daddy’s on his way.”
I could see the sincerity in Desiree’s eyes and believed that she was going to do all that she could for us. For now, though, she could only offer
encouragement as we were led back to the lockup.
Krush
19
“A million dollars! They gave us a million dollars bail. That’s some bullshit!” I told a couple of the brothers I’d met in the holding cell. Langston had been pulled out of the cell about five minutes ago to speak to his pops, who had finally shown up, and while I talked to the other prisoners, I kept an eye on Tony. He hadn’t spoken a word since we left the courtroom.
“Damn, I thought this fifty K they gave me for armed robbery was a lot,” one of the brothers replied, “but that shit ain’t nothin’ compared to you. What the fuck they got you on? A body?”
I wanted to lie and say yeah, because we were going to need all the street cred we could get once we hit Rikers, but I decided against it. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught in a lie, or even worse, have one of my boys bitch up and tell the truth. Besides, the truth wasn’t too bad either—if your goal was to impress a cell full of criminals.
“Nah, me and my boys got caught out there with a couple of kilos of that black tar heroin. Motherfucking dog sniffed right through those coffee grounds.” I threw the coffee grounds in there for effect. I actually had no idea how the drugs were wrapped.
“Damn, y’all was rolling with some weight. No wonder they hit you with seven figures,” another brother said.
I bullshitted with my cell mates for a few more minutes before Langston was escorted into the cell. I jumped up to meet him by the gate.
“What did your pops say?” I tried to read the look on his face, searching for some sign of reassurance, but he barely looked at us. He seemed distracted.
“Is Tony all right?” he asked. The sound of the bars closing and locking behind him echoed loudly as we walked over to the corner where Tony was standing.
“I don’t know. I’m starting to think he might be on the verge of losing it,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s possible. That’s why I’m gonna need you to keep an eye on him.”
“What exactly do you mean by me? You’re gonna be keeping an eye on him too, aren’t you?”
“Well, not exactly,” Lang said. His voice was barely above a whisper, and all kinds of alarms started going off in my mind.
“What the fuck do you mean, not exactly?” I asked sharply.
“I’m getting bailed out, Krush. My pops is putting up the house just to get me out of here.” Lang shrugged halfheartedly.
My stomach lurched, and I could feel the bile at the back of my throat. “I keep hearing me, but what the fuck happened to us, bro?” I pointed at Tony, then myself, and then I flashed the frat sign. “What the fuck, Lang?”
“Krush, man, I promise you I tried to get him to get y’all out too, but . . .” Lang’s voice faded.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do, man?” I was shouting now. My emotions had gotten the best of me. I was scared and pissed off at the same time. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
Lang blinked stupidly a couple of times, then said, “Bro, you’re gonna have to call your parents.”
I took a step back, putting some distance between us, and exhaled hard, trying to maintain my composure. “Lang, you know damn well my people’s house ain’t worth a million dollars. Come on.”
“Yeah, I know, but Desiree is trying to get you a bail bondsman. We’re gonna get you out.” Although Lang sounded sincere, I really didn’t give a fuck, because he couldn’t make any promises. Desiree trying to do something wasn’t doing me any good at the moment. He was getting out, and my ass was going to be spending who knows how long at Rikers.
“My peeps ain’t got no hundred grand to give no bail bondsman, and you know Tony’s mama ain’t got it. She lives in the fucking PJs,” I said angrily.
“I’m sorry, man,” Lang said.
“Sorry.” I sucked my teeth and cut my eyes at my best friend like he was a fucking traitor. “Well, yeah, keep your fucking weak-ass apology.”
That was enough to set him off. He dropped the sincerity and stepped up in my face. “Whatever, man. Don’t act like I ain’t been looking out since we got here. Shit, it was you that got us pulled over with weed in the first place.”
“Yeah, but I owned that. It was your ride that they found the got-damn dope in. Not mine, not Tony’s, not Kwesi’s. Yours, Langton. About time you started owning that, bro.”
“You know that dope wasn’t mine!”
“Do I?” I asked. “All I know is me and Tony sitting in here about to go to Rikers Island, and your ass is going home to eat steak and lobster with your family. What’s wrong with that picture?”
We stared at each other long and hard, and then out of nowhere—Bam! Tony’s fist connected with Langston’s chin. He was knocked backward but maintained his balance.
“Oh, shit!” another inmate in the cell yelled, and suddenly, all eyes were on us.
“Yo!” I jumped between them and put my arms out to keep them apart. “Chill! Now ain’t the time for this.”
Lang rubbed his chin and turned away. Tony walked in the opposite direction.
A guard approached the cell door. “Break it up!” he yelled at the inmates, then he called out to Langston. “Hudson!”
My heart began pounding. I was pissed at Langston, but I still didn’t want to see him punished for the scuffle. Lord knows I’d heard enough stories about racist-ass guards abusing prisoners just because they felt like it.
“Yeah,” Lang said, shuffling over toward the guard.
“Let’s go.” The guard unlocked the door. “You’re getting out of here.”
Lang eased out of the cell without looking back at us. I glanced over at Tony, who was glaring at him. Then another guard walked up and shocked the hell out of me when he said, “You two fellas can go ahead and get ready too.”
“Us?” I asked quickly, hoping that a miracle had happened. “We’re leaving too?”
“Yep. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes,” he said.
“We’re going home?” Tony spoke for the first time.
“Nah.” The guard shook his head. “Y’all are heading to Rikers.”
Suddenly, I was speechless too. Tony and I stared silently at our frat brother as he walked away from the lockup. Lang turned around and said, “I promise I’m gonna get y’all out as soon as I can.”
I couldn’t respond as I made my way over to a bench to sit down before my legs gave out. Things were going from bad to worse, and I didn’t know what we were going to do.
“I can’t believe he left us in here,” I muttered to myself.
Tony said, “Shit, what was he supposed to do? I know if the roles were reversed, I’d have done the same thing. You would have too. It ain’t fucking Chuck E. Cheese they’re sending us to. It’s jail.”
“Wait, so you don’t blame him? Why’d you hit him then?” I asked, confused.
“Mostly frustration. But if we’re going to jail, he needed to get hit in the mouth.” That actually made me chuckle, and I reached out and dapped him up. He continued, “Something ain’t right, though. I’m telling you, K.”
“What do you mean?”
“Where the fuck is Kwesi, and why didn’t he go with us before the judge?”
“Yeah, I been thinking about that too. You think he sold us out?”
“It’s possible. He’s a weak motherfucker,” Tony stated bitterly. “You know how hard it’s gonna be to get released without Lang in here with us? Shit is about to get real.”
“Hey, we can’t give up,” I said, struggling to stay positive. “Lang’s our brother. He doesn’t wanna see us up in here, and he’s gonna help get us the fuck out. All we can do is believe in him.”
“I hear you, but who’s to say he won’t go right back to his family and their fuckin’ mansion and forget all about us? Right now, the only people we can trust for real is each other,” he said.
I looked over at Tony, who looked as defeated as I felt. I prayed that he was wrong and that Langston was going to be true to his word to u
s, his brothers.
“I hear that,” I said. “No matter what happens, we have to stick together.”
We gave each other the frat handshake, sealing our bond.
James
20
I stood off to the side, next to a pillar on the Richmond County Courthouse steps, watching Bradley Hudson escort his son Langston out of the building, followed by his two older children. As they were immediately accosted by a swarm of reporters and cameramen, I fought the grin that began spreading across my face.
“Mr. Hudson! Mr. Hudson! Any comment on your son’s arrest?” a reporter shouted.
Bradley stopped at the cluster of microphones in front of the courthouse steps. “Yes, I have a comment.” He flashed a smile to the cameras and placed his arm around Langston. They’d brought the kid a fresh white collared shirt and a pair of slacks, cleaned him up real nice for this moment in the spotlight. I had to give it to him; the man knew how to play up to the media. “My son is innocent of these alleged crimes, and we intend to prove that in a court of law, not in the press. I hope you all respect that he is considered innocent until proven guilty.”
“Mr. Hudson, are you representing the other three defendants as well? And if so, when will they be bailed out?” Barry Witten from the Daily News shouted. Barry was an old friend, and we’d just had an off-the-record chat before the Hudsons came out. I guess he’d taken our conversation to heart and now wanted some of the same answers I did.
“We haven’t been retained by any of them as of yet, and you’d have to ask their families about their bail status. Thank you,” Bradley replied then ushered his family toward a silver Rolls Royce before the reporters started asking real questions.
The Hudson shit storm was growing bigger and bigger, and I couldn’t have been more pleased. I’d originally come outside the court building to confront Bradley in front of the media and let him know that I would be prosecuting his son’s case on behalf of the DA’s office; but I decided that could wait, because Mr. Big Shot had his hands full already with the swarm of reporters. No need to fire all your bullets if the first one has hit the target.
