full attention, “were the leader. The government must prove you
worked in concert, with at least five or more other persons, and
obtained a substantial income for over a year. By pleading guilty,
merely selling cocaine powder, the most time it carries is five years,
most importantly, it knocks all the air out of the government’s case
and establishes a leeway to counter attack all 78 witnesses that are
scheduled to testify against you for a reduced sentence.” Silence. I
could tell he was pondering what I said.
“
What about my co-defendants?” Life asked.
“
Annie Bell, the young lady you know as Black Pearl, is walk-
ing now. She has a slight limp and she lost a lung but she’s doing
a lot better. They moved her from the hospital to the FCI holding
facility for women up on the hill. The government gave her a deal
to testify against you.” I let the words hang in the air, watched his
reaction, felt his anxiety.
“
What happened?” he finally asked leaning forward in his seat
his brow furrowed with concern.
“
Your friend Annie Bell is a trooper. She told them to kiss her
ass.” Life erupted in laughter as he threw his head back and
slapped his thigh, all I could do was shake my head.
“
What about Trina?” he asked after his laughter subsided. At
that moment I saw something on his face, like maybe he had
asked a question that he really didn’t want an answer to.
“
Trina and Annie Bell are cellmates. Both of their lawyers told
me they’re ready to go to trial,” I said. Life was looking at me with
an expression of disbelief, like he was sure that Trina was going to
rat on him.
“
How much time are they facing?” he asked somberly.
“
Thirty years if they are found guilty. All charges dropped if
they agree to testify against you.” Life sighed a whistle through his
teeth. I continued, “A woman by the name of Tomica Edwards,
the woman that set you up at your estate, plans to testify against
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you in order to get a lenient sentence for herself and a friend by
the name of Evette Keys. However, Ms. Keys has sent word by her
attorney that she has no intention of taking the stand against you.
I’ll be honest, I think my staff of attorneys can crush the majority
of the government’s witnesses once they take the stand, but
Tomica Edwards and Calvin Johnson are going to be difficult wit-
nesses to crack.” Life just looked at me with a blank stare. I said,
“
The reason why I want you to plead guilty to the sales of cocaine
is because in law there is such a rule as buyer-seller relationship.
Meaning just because you sold someone drugs doesn’t mean you
employed them making you guilty of CCE kingpin status of run-
ning a continued criminal enterprise.” Suddenly a light bulb went
off in his head as it dawned on him what I was trying to get him
to understand.
“
By pleading guilty, I won’t be denying I sold drugs, but only
that I shouldn’t be charged with CCE.”
“
Exactly. Most importantly, ever yone that is testifying against
you says you sold them cocaine, or they know you from selling it.
In a sense we could use their testimony to help you.”
“
Yo, that’s brilliant, but I have one problem with that.”
“
What’s that?”
“
What about the conspiracy charge?”
“
What about it?” I said making a face. “Under federal law, it
takes two or more persons to conspire.”
“
Uh huh, so you’re saying that Tomica and Lil Cal are the only
two people that seem to be the biggest threat to my case?” I nod-
ded my head. Life sat the folder down and looked at me. His
entire demeanor had changed. I could tell he wanted to ask a ques-
tion, but thought better of it.
“
How are you and your father getting along?” I asked. Life
looked at me and frowned as if to say,
what does that have to do
with my trial?
“
Dig, we don’t get along. As far as I’m concerned I don’t have
a father.”
“
They did a story on you the other night on ABC’s Nightline.
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They said your father was ill, in the hospital with diabetes.”
“
Fuck him!”
“
What about your relationship with your stepmother?” I
asked, intentionally ignoring his attitude toward his dad.
Life arched his brow, “Hope, what are you getting at?”
“
Life you’re going to have to trust me on this. I have a plan. I
want you to tell your step mom to bring the church here, in a
show of support for your trial.”
“
Whaat!”
“
Listen, you have to trust me on this. By nature Black people
are spiritual people, soulful people. Whites have always been
intimidated by this.”
“
Hope, what da fuck dat gotta do wit my damn trial? If you’re
finna try some bullshit –”
“
No hear me out!” I said, slamming my fist down on the table
and standing up, wearing my frustration on my face. “As a Black
woman, I have always been hated, discriminated and severely
underestimated for my intellectual talents, told what I can’t do
because I was a poor Black girl from the Pork and Beans projects.
Now I have the knowledge and the wherewithal to beat these peo-
ple at their own game.” Life just looked at me, mouth agape at my
uncharacteristic outburst.
“
These white folks are going to do like they have always done.
They’re going to underestimate us and our strategy, and that is our
sole advantage.” I walked over to the window with my back to
Life. We were in the private section of the facility, a small room
designed for attorney/client visits. Today I wasn’t feeling too well,
and as of lately, I had been wearing my emotions on my sleeves.
“
So, you’re pretty sure about this, huh?” he asked evenly.
I turned facing him and said, “The only people that we have
to make an impression on is the judge and twelve jurors. From
what I’ve heard Judge Statford is a very conservative judge, some-
times that can be good. So far I’ve hired experts to come testify on
your behalf. One of them is a professor at UGA. She will testify
that people are influenced by their environment.” What I didn’t
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tell Life was Dr. Nandi Shakur was my girl and we devised a strat-
egy. I knew that we only had a 2 percent chance of winning, but
we had a chance.
*****
The first day of the trial was eventful. The media was there in
full blast. The place was a frenzy. My staff and I had to be escort-
ed through the rear entrance of the old court building. The day
before, I did an interview on BET and ABC. I was caught up in a
whirlwind of media and its hype. Most days I would be so
exhausted that I couldn’t even eat and I lost a considerable amount
of weight.
On the first day of the trial, I wore a stunning two-piece black
and gold suede Armani skirt suit. I made sure I dressed to impress
and the media quickly took notice. In fact, one of my pictures
appeared in the best-dressed column of the Enquirer. In the paper
I was standing next to Marsha Clark, the prosecuting attorney that
tried the O.J. case.
By the time my staff and I entered the courtroom, it was jam
packed. The section behind our defense table was mostly Black
folks, with only a sprinkle of whites and they were the media, and
I guess a few FBI agents. I could hear a soulful melodic hum, voic-
es, soft like a gentle breeze. As I sat down I turned my head all the
way around and saw all the elderly Black folks swaying back and
forth, some of them had paper fans fanning themselves. For some
reason the courtroom was hot, the air was stale. This was the
atmosphere I wanted. I asked Life to send his father’s church
parishioners, and that he had done. Too many old Black folks will
turn an old courthouse into a church house. Life entered the
courtroom, smiled, as the U.S. Marshals were escorting him. He
pumped my hand, I could feel the raw energy. With his cute dim-
ples and sexy smile, he was the most handsome man in the entire
courtroom. He wore a beige two-piece suit like he was modeling
it.
After we said a few words in hushed tones, I surreptitiously
looked over at the jur y, six women and six men, all white and they
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varied in age. In my peripheral vision, I saw Mr. Scandels. He sat
at the prosecutor’s table with his assistants. The expression on his
face was nonchalant and unconcerned; in fact, he was reading the
sports section of a newspaper.
I had the nervous jitters as I spoke with my assistant staff, Taya
Baker and Adrienne Greene, two older women that were instru-
mental in my educational development, and not just as a lawyer,
but in sisterhood. At one time they both taught at Spellman
College and they always invited me to Atlanta to attend their sem-
inars. This they did for free and paid all my expenses. Needless to
say, I hired them at $200 an hour apiece.
“
All rise! Court is in session. The Honorable Judge William
Statford presiding.”
The judge entered the courtroom. He was short and rotund
with chubby cheeks and a large round bald head. Once he took his
seat he placed on a pair of half glasses and began to read from a
document on his desk.
“
Errr, huh, here … we are here on the matter of United States
of America versus Life Thugstin.” With that he looked glaring
down at the defense table as if he wanted us to feel the weight of
his statement. “Counsel for the defendant, will you please state
your name for the record?” the judge asked. I rose from my seat in
unison with my associates. Three Black women taking on the
most power ful government in the world.
“
Hope Evans, your Honor. Assisting me will be my associates,
Taya Baker and Adrienne Greene,” I said and watched as prosecu-
tor David Scandels spoke introducing his staff as I had just done.
After ward the judge went on to give his lengthy instructions to the
jury, and admonishing warnings there was to be no talking to the
media nor was the jury allowed to watch the news or read any
papers that he felt could influence their decision. He went on to
explain the nature of each count in order for the defendant to be
found guilty of the CCE.
After the judge finished with his instructions to the jury, I
stood and prepared to give my opening argument. In the back-
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ground all I heard were the soulful melodies of old Black folks
droning, humming segued with an occasional
, Thank you Jesus …
Amen
. It was all so soft, soft like the wind.