ing endeavor?”
Stevey D narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously and then
answered, “A lot.” Someone laughed in the back of the courtroom.
“How much is a lot?” I asked walking up closer to him.
“Eighty … ninety thousand,” Stevey D said with his hustler’s
bragging face on. The one thing about some hustlers I learned
while living in the projects, they would never miss an opportuni-
ty to shine. “I once made a hundred grand.”
“Wow!” I gibed and made a face like I was really impressed. I
walked over to the other side of the witness stand to make sure
that the jur y could see me. This was important. I had to drive
home my point to convince the jury that the witness could not be
trusted. With a mock show of confession I furrowed my brow
with disdain for the witness and went for the kill. With all my
might I slammed the writing tablet I had in my hand down hard
on the witness stand causing one of the elderly jurors to jump in
her seat. Stevey D flinched nervously.
“Last Friday didn’t you testify right here in this courtroom that
you bought two to three hundred keys from the defendant? Each
purchase was ten to fifteen keys at $20,000 a piece, but today
you’re testifying that the most money that you’ve ever made was
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one hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Davis, that would make it
impossible to purchase fifteen keys. Mr. Davis, I think you’re a liar
and the truth is not in you.”
“Amen; the truth shall set you free,” a few members of the
church were saying while others applauded. I looked over at the
jury and saw faces of comprehension.
“Objection!” Scandels shouted from the other side of the
courtroom as he spread his arms, palms open making a face as if
to say,
your Honor, you see what she is doing to the witness
.
“Sustained. Ms. Evans, you will refrain from such an aggres-
sive style of cross examining the witness.” Judge Stafford glared at
me and then at the courtroom audience. I saw a sheen of perspi-
ration starting to form on Stevey D’s forehead and his jittery
movement was starting to get animated like a man sitting on a hot
seat. Pressure.
“Mr. Davis, could you tell the courtroom what it is you intend
to get in return for your testimony here today.”
“Objection! Your Honor, the government has not promised
the witness anything in return for his testimony.”
“Ms. Evans, I hope that you are going somewhere with this
line of questioning,” the judge said impatiently.
“Your Honor, we intend to show that the witness has a motive
to make him risk perjury on the stand in the form of a significant
reduction of sentence.”
“Overruled. The witness shall answer the question.”
“No, I was not promised anything,” Stevey D said, moving
around in his chair like he was going to pee in his pants. I could
tell that he and Scandels had gone over this. So I tried another
approach, more tactful. Casually I strode over to the defense table
and retrieved a piece of paper from a folder. Life was watching me
with his hand posed under his chin. From the expression on his
face I could tell, just like the rest of the courtroom, he wondered
what the hell I was doing. After all, he had good reason. The man
had placed a million dollars in my bank account. I walked back
over to the witness stand, looked at the paper in my hand,
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frowned at Stevey D and then looked at the jury.
“I have here in my hand an arrest report. On April 10
it says
th
here you were arrested for conspiracy to traffic in cocaine with the
intent to sell to undercover agents while in possession of a firearm.
Mr. Davis, you’re a convicted felon, aren’t you?” He nodded his
head nervously. “You’ll have to speak up.”
“Yes,” he answered. He was now sweating profusely.
I looked at the paper and looked at him again. “You’re in a lot
of trouble. Life plus three hundred months in prison.” Stevey D
continued to squirm in his chair folding and unfolding his arms.
I leaned against the witness stand, up close and in his face.
“Mr. Davis, are you aware that this court can charge you with
perjury if you get caught in a lie?”
Stevey D nodded his head up and down and croaked a hoarse,
“Yes ma’am.”
“It looks to me like you can’t afford to do any more time, can
you?”
“No,” he said somberly, making a face that looked to me like
a silent plea.
I raised my voice. “Mr. Davis, I’m going to ask you again and
you be very careful how you answer this question so that you don’t
perjure yourself and get more time in prison. Do you, or do you
not, expect to get anything in return for your testimony?” I asked
threateningly, the lull and the suspense built with it. All in the
courtroom anxiously waited to hear the answer. I could hear the
old folks humming penitent mantras in the Lord’s name, a baby
cried in the distance. I watched as Stevey D’s eyes skirted across
the courtroom in search of Scandels. I saw fear, panic and uncer-
tainty in the dark pools of his eyes. All informants are like human
rats when trapped in a corner–they don’t care who they bite.
“M ... M ... Mr. Scandels told me that if I testified against L,
he would reduce my sentence to five years,” Stevey D stammered.
A cacophony of voices rose from the crowded courtroom. The
judge banged his gavel. I looked over at Scandels. He ran his
hands through his hair in frustration, his once aplomb demeanor
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now exposed to agitation as he looked up at the ceiling with an
expression that read,
what else can go wrong?
I turned and mouthed to the cour troom, “If the evidence
doesn’t fit …”
Vociferous voices returned in singsong chorus, “You must
acquit!”
I turned to the judge, “No further questions Your Honor.” As
I strolled back to the defense table I gave my Scandels a triumph
glare. Taya and Adrienne stood to great me. I noticed that the
older women were careful to mask their excitement, but I could
see in their eyes, for a young inexperienced attorney, I did good.
They were proud of me.
I sat down next to Life. He said, “Hope that was very power-
ful, praise Jesus. One down and 77 to go.” I had to do a second
take with Life, lately he had been talking this religious Jesus and
God stuff.
“Your Honor, I would like to request a sidebar,” Scandels
blurted out. The judge removed his glasses and massaged the brim
of his bulbous nose and looked at Scandels annoyed.
“What is the purpose of this sidebar?” the judge asked, dis-
gruntled as he looked at his watch.
“Your Honor, it’s a rather sensitive matter.”
The judge shook his head dismayed. The judge calle
d for a
sidebar. We all approached the bench, both parties, defense and
prosecution, jocking for a position. I noticed a few reporters
careening forward to hear a bit of juicy gossip. In hushed tones
Scandels whispered.
“Your Honor the press, along with the unusual crowd of spec-
tators in the courtroom, is interfering with my case. It’s like I’m in
one of them Black folks’ churches. I can hear them singing and
moaning in the background.”
Judge Statford silenced Scandels with a wave of his hand.
Fuming mad, he spoke to Scandels through clinched teeth, the
way a father chastises a son.
“You of all people have let this woman come into my court-
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room and make you look like a fool.” In the judge’s rage, he let it
be known his prejudice for me and my staff. “You need to find a
way to win this case, your very future may be relying on it coun-
selor, and furthermore; let me worry about my courtroom and the
spectators. This young woman has just handed you your ass on a
silver platter.” With that said, the judge reared back in his chair.
End of discussion.
One of the government’s star witnesses, Tomica Edwards, was
scheduled next to testify.
*****
The following morning as the trial was scheduled to begin, the
courtroom was packed to capacity as usual. However, that day, I
saw a woman that I have always admired, Sister Souljah. She and
Nandi were sitting together talking. As soon as they saw me they
waved. My heart soared. Sister Souljah is my girl! I can’t remem-
ber a moment in my life I was more proud of being a Black
woman handling my business. I guess that was around the time
Life really star ted acting strange with this religious thing. He told
me that he was giving his life to the Lord, but would then ask me
to smuggle him in some Hennessy and something to smoke. I did
it on a few occasions. I knew the man was a thug and he may have
been running game on me, but I loved him. Besides, I think he
was starting to take religion seriously. I knew just as I had planned,
Life’s father’s church was having a subliminal effect on ever ybody
like some magical spell. Black spirituality is one of the most pow-
erful forces on this planet.
As Tomica Edwards entered the courtroom, all eyes turned to
her tall and regal beauty. Her amber complexion with long black
hair, green cat eyes ensconced in high cheekbones, gave her the
kind of exotic loveliness that makes one question the ancestr y of
her linage. She moved with the graceful confidence of an experi-
enced runway model. However, Tomica Edwards was living proof
that looks could be deceiving. I spent many nights going over her
criminal records. What I found interesting was she was a lesbian
and that she hated men with a passion. Her specialty was boost-
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ing everything from fur coats to eighteen-wheelers.
Once Tomica took the stand and was sworn in, the hateful
looks that she exchanged with Life made me want to ask what had
he done to this woman to make her harbor so much animosity for
him. The crux of this case was just how much did she know about
Life? Because indeed, if she did know enough, she could by her-
self put him away for the rest of his life. For the defense she would
be difficult, because normally with a lengthy police record like
hers you could use it against her. But in this case it would only
serve to give credence to her testimony. As I looked on, it was evi-
dent from the scornful look on her face, she had a debt to settle
against Life and fully intended to.
Scandels approached the witness stand cautiously, careful not
to lose this witness like he did the last one. My assistant Adrienne
was to cross-examine her. Earlier that week she confided to me
that Tomica’s testimony was going to be the most damaging. The
woman simply knew too much about the inner workings of Life
Thugstin’s enterprise.
After a few introductory prologues, Scandels got right to the
point. “Do you see the defendant, Life Thugstin, in the court-
room?”
Before he could get the words out of his mouth, Tomica point-
ed. “ That’s the bastard right there!” I saw Life’s body stiffen with
her words. Scandels turned and smirked at me. I noticed the judge
smiled, too.
Scandels had Tomica on the stand for three straight days. She
told all. It appeared as if she knew all. She told of how she first met
L as he was notorious by his peers, his rise in the dope trade from
selling dime rocks to keys. She testified that at one time Life
Thugstin had over two hundred people working for him in six dif-
ferent states. At the time he was grossing anywhere from one to
two million dollars a day. She told of his lavish lifestyle. He could
fly to Colombia if he wanted to in his private jet. He had villas in
Brazil, Costa Rica, he owned Lamborghinis and Ferraris. She
claimed that the real mastermind was not Life Thugstin, but Trina
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Vasquez. Tomica’s testimony was devastating. Often I would look
After ward, on our turn to cross-examine the witness, Adrienne
Greene did everything in her power to crack the imperturbable
calm of Tomica. One thing the press and the jury could easily see,
this was past a legal battle, this was personal, and for four grueling
days Adrienne went at Tomica often to both the objection of
Scandels and the scrutiny of the judge’s reprove. With the judge
making his intentions known, he was siding with the prosecution.
The beautiful Tomica, her stoic demeanor, a lesbian that felt supe-
rior to all other women, was too much for Adrienne, and to this
day I am sure that was what went through the jurors’ minds. Life
was a small time hustler, turned multi-millionaire, that deserved
to spend the rest of his life in prison, at least that was the message
Tomica was sending to the jury. Once again I couldn’t help but
wonder,
what could he have possibly done to this woman?
I glanced over at Life. It was the last day of Tomica’s testimo-
ny. He had his head bowed in prayer. For the first time, in what
felt like ages, I prayed, too, for both of us.
*****
I arrived home late that evening after picking my son up from
the babysitter across the street. I found an urgent message on my
answering machine. It was from my doctor concerning the blood
test. He said that he needed to see me immediately.
293
Chapter T
wenty One
Chapter T
wenty One
“We Die Hard”
– Life –
I’m locked up and they won’t let me out! I remember sitting in a
federal holding cell, wearing a thousand dollar Armani suit, seven
hundred dollar Stacy Adam shoes and the weight of the trial
weighing heavily on my head
. I remember always hearing rappers
and wanna be gangstas saying they’d rather be judged by twelve
than carried by six. That’s bullshit. You’ll never find a federal con-
vict agree to that, in fact, it’s the opposite meaning; they’d rather
have trial on the streets. That’s keeping it gangsta. Besides, in the
federal system if you have a life sentence your paperwork release
date simply states, “DECEASED.”
About the only bright spot in my trial was the fact that Trina
and Black Pearl beat their trial and got all the property and cars
back at the Chateau G.P. The feds gave them everything but the
money they found hidden underneath the floors. My right hand
man, Major, was in the same unit with me. His attorneys were
waiting for the outcome of my trial, so they continued to find ways
to delay his. I told Major to go on ahead and testify against me,
hell, 78 other niggas had done it for a time cut. Major flatly denied
my offer, said that this was just the other part of the game and it
felt too much like betrayal. Besides, once you start working for the
government, it’s a full time job, you become a government rat.
There was no doubt in my mind that after Tomica’s tell-all tes-
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timony, I was going to prison for the rest of my life. I had to give
Hope her props, she and the rest of my all female attorneys fought
for me. Hope even had a few specialists come testify on my behalf.
Black Pearl started writing me as soon as she got out. I never heard
from Trina’s punk ass. She got ghost on a nigga.
One of the specialists that testified on my behalf was a beau-
tiful redbone sista. She seemed to radiate on the witness stand.
Her long locks of hair were flowing down her back. Her name was
Nandi Shakur. She and Hope were good together, natural. If I did-
n’t know any better, I’d swear they were friends. When Dr. Shakur
spoke she commanded an aura of authority. I noticed a few of the
jury nodded their heads in agreement on the theory concerning
socioeconomical crimes and about the environment that was
intentionally created by the rich in the exploitation of the poor.
She explained how drugs had been placed in the Black communi-