Abuse of Discretion

by Pamela Samuels Young

  Jenny snatches her book and stuffs it back into her satchel. “I’m pretty sure Graylin wants an attorney who’s complying with his wishes,” she says with a cunning smile. “So if anybody’s getting removed from this case, it’s you, not me.”

  CHAPTER 42

  The Shepherd

  Chess is a game that requires keen intellect, intense concentration, and extended patience. Skills I not only possess but excel at. I watch Wallstreet examine the board, determined to snare me in a trap. That, however, is not going to happen.

  Roxbury—a young cat from the Boston area—sits down opposite me on Wallstreet’s side of the table.

  “We got a new king on campus,” Roxbury says, with an annoying laugh. “Just got here from the Bay Area. They call him Oaktown.”

  Roxbury is a low-level drug dealer and the biggest gossip at The Low. He’s worse than a teenage girl. We both ignore him, but Roxbury is the kind of guy who can have a conversation with himself.

  “Yeah,” he goes on, “and I hear he don’t like pimps.”

  “C’mon, man,” Wallstreet complains. “Can’t you see we’re busy right now.”

  I pretend not to care about what Roxbury is saying, but if this Oaktown cat means trouble for me, I need to take note. In a place like The Low, violence is rare for two reasons. First, the dudes sent here weren’t convicted of violent crimes, so that’s not part of their nature. Second, they recognize that it’s a privilege to be able to kick back in this lax environment. Getting into a fight means points on your record. And too many points can keep you from getting transferred to a camp, which has even more privileges, like working off-site. And on the flip side, too many points mean you could get kicked upstairs to a medium or maximum-security prison. Now, I’m not saying violence doesn’t happen at The Low. Just not the way it goes down on the regular at a state prison or a max facility.

  Roxbury keeps stoking the fire. “He’s in unit six. I hear he got lots of connections on the street. Even more than you.”

  I assume he’s referring to me, not Wallstreet. I’m busy watching my cellie. I concentrate on his eyes as they dart from one side of the board to the other. The most enjoyable part of this game is predicting what my opponent’s going to do next.

  Wallstreet transitions one of his knights, which isn’t what I expected him to do. There’s a much smarter move he could’ve made, but he’s focused only on trying to keep me from capturing his queen. You can’t win if you’re constantly playing defense. Sometimes you have to have the guts to go after your opponent.

  I taunt him. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

  Roxbury gets tired of being ignored and leaves. His comments, however, have registered with me. I’ve settled comfortably into prison life. I don’t need anyone disturbing my peace.

  It takes only three more moves to whip Wallstreet yet again. As I head back to my cell, I scan the grounds, looking for C.O. Sims. I spot him just before I reach the doorway of my building. Without slowing, I signal him with a slight jutting forward of my chin.

  By the time I reach my cell, he appears behind me.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Who’s this new guy from Oakland in unit six?”

  “Just another drug dealer is all I hear.” Sims chuckles. “You worried about having to share your popularity?”

  I want to tell him to screw himself, but I don’t have it like that. C.O. Sims holds all the cards and he can pull his hand and walk away at any time.

  “Just wondering what was up. I don’t want any problems.”

  “Bodyguard work ain’t in my job description.” Sims shrugs and walks away.

  Two hours later at the chow hall, I get my first look at Oaktown. He has an imposing, bad-ass look about him and neither smiles nor frowns. He’s the size of a mountain with deep-set eyes that pull you in like a magnet. So many tattoos cover his dark arms you can barely see any skin. He doesn’t look as if he belongs at The Low. The stench of violence emanates from his body like puddles of sweat.

  Other inmates are staying clear of him. I can almost smell their fear. I feel a twang of jealousy. People used to fear me too.

  As I’m leaving the chow hall, Oaktown walks up behind me.

  “I don’t like pimps,” he says. I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. “A pimp beat my mama to death. You gotta be weak to make your money off a woman.”

  I don’t turn around and just keep walking.

  “My homeboy Blaze asked me to look you up.” He’s matching me step for step. “Says you snatched his daughter and pimped her out.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I do know the name Blaze and that strikes even more fear in me. Blaze is behind bars for drug trafficking. But I know for a fact he did his share of killing when he was on the street. He just never got caught.

  Why would Blaze think I snatched his daughter?

  I want to speed up, but I don’t want it to look like I’m running scared.

  “How would you like it if somebody raped you?”

  I have to walk outside and across the yard to get back to my unit. My legs feel as if they’re going to give out any second.

  “You a chomo,” Oaktown says. “And I don’t like chomos. Stay out of my way. I don’t wanna even look at you.” He brushes past me, shoving me with his shoulder.

  I’ve never in my life been disrespected like this before. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. But I’m also fortunate. Nobody else was around to witness what this fool said to me. Respect is a big thing in prison. If you let a dude punk you, everybody will think you’re a bitch. And in prison, the only thing worse than a bitch is a snitch. I pick up my pace, anxious to get back to my cell so I can think.

  I’m not the kind of man to sit back and let somebody humiliate me. I have to find a way to let Oaktown know that.

  CHAPTER 43

  Graylin

  I finish my breakfast and wait in the day room. My fitness hearing starts in one hour. I’m nervous, but I’m ready to do what I have to do.

  My Uncle Dre spent two hours with me yesterday, telling me all the reasons why I don’t want my case transferred to adult court. I finally said okay, just so he would leave.

  Little Slice comes up to me in the day room and slaps me on the back.

  “You good to go?”

  I nod, but I’m really not.

  “Do what I told you to do and everything’ll go down just like I said it would. And when you win your case, you gonna owe me.”

  One of the staff walks me and two other boys across the covered walkway that connects juvenile hall to the courthouse. Ms. Angela and Ms. Jenny are waiting for me. Both of them have sour looks on their faces like they’re mad at somebody. Probably me.

  Ms. Angela stands up and gives me a hug. “Dre told me you guys talked for a long time yesterday.”

  “Yep.”

  “So are you ready to fight this fitness hearing?”

  “Yep.”

  Ms. Angela looks over at Ms. Jenny and smirks. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  I’m sorry that I’m going to have to hurt Ms. Angela’s feelings. But this is my life, not hers.

  Ms. Jenny comes over and hugs me too.

  “Just like at the detention hearing, you need to remember that the judge is watching you,” Ms. Angela says. “So sit up straight and be respectful. It’s more important than ever that the judge gets to see the kind of person you are. We know you’re a great kid. We want the judge to know it too.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “And say yes, not yeah,” Ms. Angela corrects me.

  I want to roll my eyes, but instead I say, “Yes, Ms. Angela.”

  When we enter the courtroom, I see my dad and Uncle Dre sitting on the back row.

  W-T-F!

  My granny a
nd my aunt Macie are here too! Why’d he have to bring them today of all days? I hurry to the front of the courtroom without even looking at them.

  The asshole prosecutor is already at his table. If my eyes could shoot bullets, I’d put a dozen holes in his head right here in the middle of this courtroom. He’s trying to put me in prison for nothing and I wish he would die.

  The bailiff asks everyone to stand as Judge Miller takes the bench. Everyone stands up, except me.

  Ms. Angela glares down at me and whispers, “What’s wrong with you? Get up!”

  I ignore her.

  Ms. Jenny is peering down at me too. They must think I’m wigging out, but they haven’t seen anything yet.

  Ms. Angela squeezes my shoulder, but I still don’t move. “Graylin, what are you doing? Stand up.”

  The judge props an elbow on her desk. “Ms. Ungerman, is there a reason your client’s disregarding the bailiff’s instruction to stand?”

  “Yeah,” I shout out, “cuz I don’t want to.”

  Dead silence follows my words. It’s as if somebody waved a magic wand and everybody is frozen in place.

  Judge Miller narrows her eyes and wags her finger at me. “Young man, do you understand the seriousness of this hearing?”

  “Yeah, I do. And it’s bullshit, so I ain’t participating.” I fold my arms and slide down so low in my chair that my chin almost touches the table.

  When I see Ms. Angela turn around and stick out her arm toward the back of the room, I know that’s a signal for my dad. He wants to run up here and strangle me. But I’m not worried because I know the bailiff won’t let him.

  “Young man, that kind of language and the disrespect you’re showing are not acceptable in my courtroom. Would you please stand?”

  “Ain’t no reason for me to stand cuz we don’t need to have no fitness hearing,” I shout at the judge. “I want to be tried as an adult. So go ahead and send me to adult court cuz I ain’t staying here to get railroaded for something I didn’t do.”

  Jenny’s face is so red it looks like she got stung by a zillion bumblebees.

  Nobody’s saying anything, so I keep talking. “I want justice my way. I wanna be in adult court with a jury of my peers.”

  “Your Honor,” Ms. Jenny sputters. “May we approach?”

  “Counselor, that sounds like an excellent idea. Why don’t you?”

  Both of my attorneys and the prosecutor almost stumble over each other getting up to the bench. They’re trying to talk low, but I can hear everything they’re saying.

  Ms. Jenny opens her mouth to say something, but Ms. Angela cuts in.

  “Your Honor, since our client’s been detained at juvenile hall, he’s been unduly influenced by another juvenile there. That juvenile has convinced him that he’d be better off in adult court because he’d be entitled to a jury. And he’s convinced that a jury won’t convict him. We’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t listen. Please excuse his behavior today. This is all an act.”

  Ms. Jenny isn’t saying anything. Her arms are crossed and her head is tilted to the side.

  The stupid prosecutor throws up his hands. “Well, if the boy’s own attorneys can’t control him, the juvenile court system certainly can’t rehabilitate him.”

  Judge Miller frowns. “Have you explained to your client the consequences of what could happen to him if this case is transferred to adult court?”

  Ms. Angela and Ms. Jenny nod at the same time. “Repeatedly,” Ms. Angela says.

  The judge drums her fingers on a stack of papers on her desk. “From what I know of this young man’s background, this is not a situation where I feel the minor should be sent to adult court.” She eyes the prosecutor. “So unless Mr. Martinez puts on an unusually strong case, that’s unlikely to happen. But the conduct he’s displaying in my courtroom right now is very troubling and might cause me to change my mind.”

  “Your Honor, can we have a short break to speak with our client?” Ms. Angela says.

  “Sounds like a great idea.” The judge checks her watch. “I’ll give you twenty minutes. But if your client comes back in here acting like this, I might be inclined to grant his wish.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Angela

  As soon as we’re behind closed doors, Gus explodes. “What the hell is wrong with you? You have no idea what you’re doing!”

  Graylin slouches down further in his chair, his hands clasped, staring at the wall.

  “Sit up and look at me!” Gus yells.

  Graylin takes his time sitting up. His eyes remain focused on the wall, not his dad.

  “Please lower your voice,” Jenny warns him. “We don’t want one of the deputies coming in here. And it’s not helping things when you yell at him. We need to talk this out.”

  Gus whirls around to face Jenny. “Lady, there ain’t nothing for us to talk about. My son is black. He don’t get the same chances a white kid might get. I’m handling this my way, not yours. And he’s gonna do what I tell him to do. Even if I have to beat his ass to make him do it.”

  “But I can get a jury in adult court,” Graylin pleads, “Little Slice said—”

  “I don’t care what that fool said. Do you understand that you’re facing felony charges? You’re gonna go back into that courtroom and act like you got some home training. I didn’t raise you this way.”

  Graylin flies out of his chair and stands chest-to-chest with his father. Both of their faces are distorted with rage.

  “This ain’t your life! It’s my life!” Graylin’s eyes are glassy with tears. “That judge is going to lock me up for something I didn’t do. I want a jury trial. At least that way I’ll have a chance to show them I’m innocent. I don’t have a chance in here. You’re always telling me to man up. Well, that’s what I’m doing. I’m being a man. And a man makes his own decisions.”

  Gus is momentarily stunned into silence by his son’s defiance. Before he can respond, I step between them.

  “Let’s all calm down.” I grab Graylin by the arm and pull him away. “I’m going to ask for a continuance.”

  Graylin jerks his arm away from me. “I don’t want a continuance. I’m not going to change my mind and nobody in this room can make me.”

  Gus reaches around me and tries to grab his son, but Graylin jumps back out of his reach. “Boy, are you—”

  “Both of you cut it out!” Jenny yells. “Let’s give Graylin a few minutes alone to think about what he’s about to do.”

  I pull Gus toward the door and Jenny follows. We walk a few feet down the hallway, away from the clusters of parents and kids waiting for their cases to be heard. “When we go back into court,” I say, “we need to press the judge hard for her help. Maybe she’ll do the right thing despite Graylin’s behavior.”

  Jenny exhales. “But that’s not what Graylin wants.”

  “Screw what Graylin wants!” Gus says. “What are you going to say to me when my fourteen-year-old son gets locked up?”

  Everyone in the hallway is staring at us now. I’m surprised that one of the sheriff’s deputies hasn’t come over.

  “If you’re going to prevent me from following Graylin’s wishes,” Jenny says, “then I’ll have to resign from the case.”

  Gus spreads his hands, palms up. “See ya.”

  Jenny starts to walk away. “Wait!” Now I’m the one yelling. “This is not the time for you to bail. Graylin needs you in there. Both of you need to chill!”

  When I see the bailiff walking toward us, I know he’s about to tell us to quiet down. Instead he says, “Judge Miller wants everybody back in the courtroom.”

  ***

  When we return, Martinez is sitting on the edge of the prosecution table. The judge is standing nearby. She’s not wearing her robe.

  “Did you two work things out with your client?” the jud
ge asks.

  Her question is directed to Jenny, but I’m the one who responds. “Your Honor, we can’t seem to get him to change his mind.”

  The judge marches over to where Graylin is standing and pins him with a gaze intense enough to spark a fire.

  “Young man, do you understand what you’re doing?”

  Graylin has resumed his gangbanger persona. His arms are locked across his chest and his head is arrogantly cocked to the side. “Yep. I want me some justice.”

  His right leg is trembling, but he’s otherwise staying in character.

  “If you’re convicted in adult court,” Judge Miller tells him, “the consequences are much more serious. You could end up with multiple felonies on your record that might never go away. It’s best for you to have your case heard in juvenile court.”

  “Sounds like you already decided to convict me,” Graylin says, just as surly as before. “This is why we need Black Lives Matter cuz the black man keeps getting fucked by the system. I said I don’t wanna be here. So send me to adult court, damn it!”

  The judge’s pert lips flatten into a straight line.

  I immediately start pleading Graylin’s case. “Your Honor, my client is not himself. You’ve read the detention report. He’s a great kid. This is an act. We’d like you to take into account that he’s been influenced by—”

  “Counselor, I don’t care who influenced him,” Judge Miller bristles. “If one of my sons talked to me like this, I’d—” She catches herself. “Well, that’s beside the point.”

  “But, Your Honor,” I continue, “he’s pretending to—”

  “I don’t care if he’s pretending. Your client’s disrespectful behavior and his failure to listen to your advice tell me better than that detention report ever could that he’s unfit for the juvenile justice system. So trying to rehabilitate him would indeed be a waste of this court’s time. Since he wants to be in adult court, that’s precisely where I’m sending him. Let me get my robe so we can put this on the record.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Angela