“Do you have something to say?” the judge asked, staring at Lamar.
“Sure, I do. Why is this PD sitting here telling you all that I don’t want bail? I am not biting my tongue.”
“Let me stop you right there,” the judge said.
A big smile was spread across the prosecutor’s face.
“Firstly, your lawyer’s name is Mr. Moore. Second, he’s the attorney of record, so his word is what matters in here, you got that?”
“Well, I want another lawyer. I want to buy my own lawyer.”
“Your Honor,” AUSA Reynolds said, standing. “If I may the Court’s indulgence. The defendant completed the financial assessment and indicated that he has no job. He further indicated that he has no assets. Any attempt by the defendant to acquire his own attorney will be objected to by our office, putting the burden on the defendant to prove where the money came from to hire any attorney.”
“You see that Mr. Dunken?” the judge asked. “This is why you’re always warned of your right to remain silent. That doesn’t only refer to snitching on co-defendants. But in any fashion, it’s best to remain silent and discuss things privately with your attorney, and not in open court. I am going to set this matter aside, and I expect papers from the defense and prosecution with respect to bail or detention. If that is all?”
“It is, Your Honor,” AUSA Reynolds said.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mr. Moore said. He then whispered to his client, “ I will be up to the jail to see you in a day or two. Do not talk to anyone about your case in jail or on the phone. No one. That includes your cellmate and your mother.”
“My mother’s dead.”
“My apologies. Your father.”
“My father’s dead.”
“Wow,” the lawyer said, watching US marshals pull his clients away. He knew then what type of client he had on his hands.
AFTER BEING ESCORTED to a courthouse bullpen, Lamar looked over the indictment. He didn’t even know some of the names listed as codefendants. The document was lengthy and filled with enough legal terms to be mistaken for a Black’s Law Dictionary. While trying to understand the legal jargon therein, he was distracted by the voice of a man he wanted to kill: Sean “Slam” Mason.
Seconds later Slam—bitching and complaining—walked by him, wearing a pair of shiny handcuffs followed by two suit boys. “But, I wasn’t selling drugs with them, young niggas, out there.” They locked Slam in the cell next to Lamar and walked away.
How the fuck I end up on a case with this clown? Lamar thought. This pussy—
Interrupting his thoughts, Slam yelled, “Aye, young buck, ya man, Gunna, outta pocket.” He was locked in the holding tank next to Lamar. “That nigga lined me the fuck up, dragging me in y’all bullshit conspiracy. That nut ass nigga sold me guns and wore a wire on me when I paid that nigga to kill you. Now I know why he failed.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lamar said calmly. He was blown away by the revelation, though.
“Man, he was caught selling to that nigga, Snitchy Billy. You know that hot ass mutha fucka was an informant. He talked Gunna into joining the government’s team, man. That nigga has been an informant for years. I’m telling you now, they tried to get me to flip on you, but ya boy Gunna is a straight rat, man. He told agents your every move.”
“Slam, get the fuck outta here, yo,” Lamar said, slapping his knee with the indictment. “I ain’t buying that shit.”
“You ain’t gotta, dickhead. That nigga is the one that told me y’all was going to run down on me and Nikia. Why do you think I set up that nigga to die for me and got her and ya daughter outta the city? He was feeding me everything. I gotta tell ya, youngin’, you woulda had me, but he was putting me on all of the moves that you were telling him about. But when he agreed to kill you for some money, but only grazed ya ass, I was pissed the fuck off. That nigga ain’t no good. I hope they give me bail and let me the fuck outta here. I just did twenty. I ain’t doing no more.”
Lamar sat silently for a second, and then said, “OK...OK, Slam, listen. You ain’t getting bail, so we’re going across the street and you know they ain’t gone let us on the same block.” He didn’t add that it was still on sight that he would attempt to kill him. “I can tell you now that I am taking them to trial and making them prove this bullshit against me. Just keep my name outta ya mouth. That’s all I ask.”
“Little bit too late for that, youngin’. You already know that I just got released from doing a long ass sentence, and I ain’t about to get another one for nobody.”
Lamar put two and two together and just slammed his back against the wall. Slam was already broken.
CHAPTER 53
Lamar walked through the double doors of unit 5-North, dressed in a green jumpsuit and a pair of white skippy sneakers. He had a bedroll tucked under an arm, and his ID in his hand. He approached the CO station to get his bed assignment at the Federal Detention Center—a building hidden amongst other downtown Philadelphia buildings. This one, though, housed 950 inmates and was disrespectful across the street from the African American Museum.
Lamar walked by the men, watching TV on one of four wall mounted televisions. Glancing at the top tier he saw treadmills but knew that the jail didn’t have any weights for him to workout. He made it to his cell door and peeked in before opening the door. No one was inside of the cell, so he opened the door, walked in, and pulled the door shut behind him. The door opened and a close friend stepped into the room behind him.
“Wassup, playa?”
“Ah man, wassup? Long time no sees, Shep.” Lamar smiled and half-hugged his old head, David Shepard, whom he hadn’t seen in three years.
Lamar looked Shep from head to toe. His former solid two hundred and five-pound body was about one hundred and forty. His face was sunk in and he had bags the size of a king pillow on his face. He looked awful, and Lamar wanted to explore what had gotten into his old head.
“Damn, Shep, you looking skinnier than a greyhound. Ya people ain’t been sending you that money I was hittin’ them off with?” Lamar asked as Shep threw himself down into a plastic chair. He looked like he hadn't eaten in months.
“Yeah, I’ve been gettin’ it, lil nigga. Good lookin’ out. Wassup, though? Wassup with Crook?”
“Crook still on State Road. He goes to trial next month. I dropped a buck and some change on his lawyer, so Insha Allah, his lawyer can spank that shit.”
“Oh, OK, that’s wassup. I heard you were out there stuntin’ like ya daddy. Driving spaceships and shit, doing it real B I G.” Shep laughed.
“I was definitely getting it in—”
Shep cut off Lamar. “Aye, hold up. You know Gunna slid through here for about two weeks. He slid right out. I don’t know how he did that when he told me that he got booked for buying a quarter ounce of coke. That was freaky.”
