Authors: Leo Sullivan
your Uncle Toms.” His expression was sour, but I could read the
confusion in his eyes–to believe me or not.
I rose from the chair determined to keep my composure. This
was so unexpected, so unreal. It couldn’t be happening to me. I
reached into my briefcase and placed my new business card on the
desk. I wanted to tell him that today was my last day working for
the bureau but instead, I said, “Call me.” I heard my voice crack
with emotions. It took ever ything in my power to keep a straight
face. Life took one look at the card and laughed derisively causing
the shackles on his legs to rattle.
“
Them crackas taught you well. Hope, how can you sell your
own fuckin’ people out?” he asked as the CO came and opened the
door. I walked out the door and was once again welcomed to the
raucous applause of whistling, catcalls and some of the most vivid
descriptions of my butt that I had ever heard. I briskly walked
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down the long corridor at nearly a jogger’s pace with my briefcase
held tightly as if it were a shield. All of Life Thugstin’s preliminary
hearings and evidentiary proceeding had run the course of time.
Within a few days, one of the biggest trials the State of Florida has
ever known was set to begin. What Life Thugstin didn’t know was
the stage had already been set, rigged and arranged, like 98 per-
cent of Federal cases. I knew this because I had taken part in more
than a few legal lynchings. And every opportunity I was given, I
tried my best to intentionally sabotage a trial, or a court proceed-
ing.
I remember one par ticular case, the girl’s name was Keychia
Moore. She was 18 years old and the mother of three kids and
pregnant again. Her boyfriend, a small time drug dealer, sold
small amounts of coke in powder form, dime bags. A petty offense
that carried, at the most, probation and a small fine. Her
boyfriend made a sale to an undercover federal agent. The next
day the undercover agent came back wanting to purchase crack.
The boyfriend informed the agent that he did not have any. The
agent propositioned the boyfriend with a deal; he would purchase
a thousand dollars worth of the dimes if the boyfriend could cook
it up into crack. The boyfriend agreed. They cooked the dope up
in Keychia’s Section 8 apartment. Federal judges and prosecutors
are aware of this scheme, where urban Black men are tricked into
selling crack and then given life sentences.
After the boyfriend made the sale, federal agents stormed the
house. The boyfriend was shot and killed as he tried to escape out
a bedroom window. Keychia Moore was arrested and charged with
the sales to the undercover agent and her three kids were taken
away from her and placed into foster care. The ratio between crack
cocaine and powder cocaine is 100-to-1. Now instead of facing
probation and a fine, she faced a lifetime in prison. I was assigned
as her prosecutor. There was no way in hell I was going to help
send this young woman to prison for life, and all she merely did
was open the door for the undercover agent when he came to buy
the drugs. Her lawyer, an old public defender, had hardly any
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interest in her case, heck, the same people that signed his check
signed mine.
On the day that she was scheduled to go to trial, I sat at the
prosecutor’s table, painfully frustrated. Keychia and myself were
the only Blacks in the entire courtroom. I felt so uncomfortable.
Keychia, like most young Blacks had no relatives and friends to
come to the courtroom to support her. Her pensive sobs rocked
the cour troom. I lay awake in bed trying to figure out a way to
sabotage the trial then it hit me. A plan. I would have to take a
great risk, but I had to do it.
On the day of the trial, I casually opened up the case file on
her and in a mock display of shock at what I was looking at,
lawyer turned actor, I looked up at the judge in confusion, and
asked him could I approach the bench. He stared at me quizzical-
ly over the rim of his glasses.
“
Your Honor, I’m afraid the prosecution is forced to drop the
charges, due to the fact the statute of limitations has expired in
this case,” I said, as I tried to look flustered.
The judge looked at me with dismay as he removed his glasses.
“
What do you mean you’re going to have to drop the charges?”
he asked, disgruntled. His skin turned beet red.
“
The defendant filed a motion for a speedy trial, evidently it
was in oversight at my office, and just now discovered this.” I
passed the motion to the judge. The night before, I drafted it and
forged Keychia’s signature and post dated it. As the judge looked
at it, I prayed that Keychia’s lawyer would go along with it. Last
night the idea seemed like a brilliant plan, however, this morning
with the judge peering down at me, I realized just how stupid and
dangerous the idea was, I could lose my job, and possibly face
charges.
The judge massaged his face with a hand and sighed as he
began to rub the bridge of his nose the way people do when they
are having a long day.
“
Counsel, what do you mean, oversight? This is plain and sim-
ple incompetence, and not in accordance with the jurisprudence
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of law that I practice in my courtroom,” the judge spoke sternly,
and then looked over at the defense table and shook the paper in
his hand as he pointed at Keychia’s attorney.
“
Why am I just learning of this ... this so called oversight?” he
asked, and glared at me. Right then and there I wanted to run out
of the cour troom as I watched Keychia’s lawyer stand and look at
the judge in consternation as he responded, “I am not aware of
such motion your Honor.”
“
Yes you is!” Keychia interjected indignantly.
Keychia’s lawyer approached the bench giving me a look that
said he was on to me and my scheme.
“
Your Honor, someone needs to be investigated and disbarred
and maybe even arrested. This is a travesty of injustice,” the lawyer
said angrily as he pointed an accusing finger at me, and then
added, “I want my client released at this ver y moment, or else I’m
filing for prosecution misconduct.”
The judge looked on and shr ugged his wear y shoulders.
“
This has been a long day for all of us,” he said as he looked
at me and shook his head, like he could not believe that I could
be so stupid. I glanced over at Keychia’s lawyer and I could have
sworn that old white man winked at me. One thing was for sure,
he had just proven to me that he was a better actor.
“
Will the defendant please rise,” the judge said. I watched as
Keychia struggled with the armrest on the chair to stand. She was
a ver y pretty girl with a light complexion and long wavy black
hair. With her enormous stomach, she looked like she was carry-
ing twins.
“
Young lady, I want you to consider yourself very fortunate.
Today, due the circumstances that would have violated your con-
stitutional rights, I have no other recourse but to drop the indict-
ment against you.” After the judge made his ruling, it was hard for
me to hide my delight. I turned my back and smiled as I walked
back to the prosecutor’s table.
*****
On the day that I visited Life Thugstin in SHU and he spit in
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my face, that pushed me over the edge in leaps and bounds. So
much hurt and pain, and yet, I had no choice but to turn the hurt
into motivation to propel myself forward. Life actually thought I
had sold him out, betrayed my own people, like so many others
had done. I wished that I could let him know, make him under-
stand me, the woman that only took the job for the government
in order to learn its legal tactics so that I could go back and help
others. If I were to become the female version of Hannibal I would
have to learn how to defeat these people at their own game. War.
The logistical kind you find in the courtroom. The battle of the
minds. When I had no way of possibly knowing, it would be a lot
sooner than I thought that I would find myself entrenched in war
in a crowded courtroom fighting for my client’s life.
*****
As planned, that was my last day working for the government.
I had “take this job and shove it” written all over my face. Well, at
least in my mind.
I walked up to my boss’ secretary, Joan Fiest. She was a
pompous overweight woman that wore too much make-up. Her
eyeliner made her look like a witch. She had a personality of a
shark with a wide mouth to match.
“
Hi, Ms. Fiest. Is Mr. Scandels in his office?” I asked. She was
the gatekeeper to his office and loved the job. She turned and
looked at me with a gaze that left no doubt of her disdain for me.
“
Hope, you know that David does not like to be disturbed
while he’s enjoying his morning coffee.” With that she gave me
one of her shark smiles with all eighty teeth. One tooth was
stained with red lipstick. She turned her back on me.
I stood there all of ten seconds counting backward, trying to
calm myself, trying to reason with my brain.
Why does this woman
dislike me so? I’ve had enough of her bullshit
, I thought as I decid-
ed to walk into my boss’s office unannounced.
I stormed by the gatekeeper. She looked up at me with rouge
cheeks, mouth agape.
“
Wait!” she hollered. I passed through the door without even
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knocking. He was reclined in his chair, feet propped up on his
desk with a simmering cup of coffee in his hand, pinky finger
extended. A man caught in the solitude of his thoughts. Ms. Fiest
rushed in behind me. She was winded like she had just run a
marathon. “Mr. Scandels, I tried to stop her.”
“
Excuse me sir, but I need to have a word with you. It’s impor-
tant.”
I watched as Mr. Scandels waved her away. After his secretary
had left, he cocked his head to an angle furrowing his brow in con-
centration at me in wonder, what could be so important to make
me barge into his office unannounced?
“
What can I do for you?” he asked. Today he wore a starched
white shirt, with a brown tie. His hair was thinning and this
morning it looked wet. He had a strong angular jaw line with a
deep dimpled chin that reminded me of a car toon character. His
demeanor was always poised like a man used to giving orders. He
had this uncanny way of making you feel uncomfortable, the way
powerful people do. And in his own right, he was a powerful man.
The head prosecutor for the Northern District of Florida carried