Mama's Boy (11 page)

23

K
ay hadn't been able to get that little girl out of her mind.

Who's gonna take me to Daddies and D
onuts now?

“Just one more game, Mom. Please, please, please?”

Kay could only laugh at the sight of her son jumping up and down, acting like a child for a change and not some studious college student. That's why she gladly reached in her purse and handed him another twenty so that he and Charlie could go play another game of laser tag.

“Thank you so much!” Ryan exclaimed as he darted back to buy another game.

Camille walked over and set a Diet Coke down in front of Kay. They'd been at laser tag for the last hour and a half and both of them were ready to go. But Kay loved seeing her son relaxed, so she was willing to give him another hour, plus it had given her a chance to catch up with Camille.

“Are they playing again?” Camille said as she slid into her seat. “This is what, game number four?”

“Yes,” Kay said, taking a sip of her drink, “and the last one because I really do have to get home and get some work done.”

“Yeah,” Camille replied, “I saw the press conference. I thought you said you weren't doing any more cases because of the mayoral race.”

“Believe me, I'd rather not. But my boss just kind of put this on my table because it's so high profile.”

“Oh, so he needs his ace boon
coon
ADA to take it down?”

Kay laughed, ignoring Camille's obvious racial reference. “You got jokes.”

“You know I'm just messing with you,” Camille said. “You're the best ADA in that office, black, white, or purple. But that is a pretty sad case.”

“For the slain officer, it sure is. And with the video, it shouldn't be hard to prosecute,” Kay said.

“I just can't imagine Charlie being caught up in something like that,” Camille said.

“Charlie wouldn't be caught up in anything like that,” Kay replied. “Neither would Ryan. We got some good kids here. You and I might be busy moms but we make sure our boys are taken care of.”

They watched as two little boys dang near knocked each other down trying to get into the laser tag area.

“I don't know, Kay. Sometimes this whole parenting thing has me questioning whether I really know what I'm doing, because my sister gave her son everything, did everything right, and he still took a wrong path, robbing a store when he had the world at his fingertips.”

“Yeah, I know that happens,” Kay replied. “But we're laying the foundation right for our children. And we just have to trust them. Continue what we've built on.”

Camille looked unsure but nodded just the same. “So did the kid that shot the cop have a record?”

“Nope, he hadn't been in any real trouble, but if he's hanging out at one in the morning, looking the way he looked, I'll say it was just a matter of time.”

“Didn't they have some kind of protest down there? I saw something about that on the news the other day.”

“Yeah, that's what I don't understand,” Kay replied. “Black folks get all up in arms behind the wrong causes. Civil rights activists get folks all hyped up and they put on their marching caps when clearly the kid was in the wrong.”

“Oh, come on now, Kay. You don't think the justice system is just a little biased against black boys?”

“No, don't get me wrong. I do. I know there are a lot of things that need to be changed with the system. Our sentencing laws are unfair. But we can't continue putting ourselves into bad situations and then when we get capped for it, turn around and talk about ‘the white man did us wrong.' I can't tell you the number of young men that come through my office, who are buying and selling dope left and right and the minute they get caught, wanna get mad because the cop is harassing him. Well, the cop is trying to keep the drugs off the street. Stay away from a life of crime and you won't get harassed.”

“I wish it was that easy,” Camille replied. “I mean, I think we're being unrealistic to think that Ryan and Charlie are exempt just because they're privileged. When a police officer pulls them over, they see a black boy and automatically assume the worst.”

“I know that,” Kay replied. “That's why I teach my son to obey the law and when you're not obeying the law, don't be defiant. Un
fortunately, that's the reality. Until we change the mind-set, let's play it safe and just do what they say. What harm can be done in getting out of the car? It's when we try to be defiant that things always go wrong.”

“Hmph,” Camille said. “I think we're gonna have to agree to disagree because I don't want my son to become some pansy that shakes in fear every time a cop comes around.”

“If he's not doing anything wrong, there's no reason to fear.”

“Yeah, tell that to the countless black boys across the country who have been convicted and crucified because of the color of their skin.”

“Well, I know you're right to a degree. And that's why I do appreciate the work Phillip is doing. And I want to change some of those things as mayor. I don't know how, but I would love to be able to change that mind-set.”

“Girl, please. You're going to need some magic powers.” Camille waved her hand like the mere thought was unrealistic.

Kay laughed. “How about we change the subject? How are you and Vincent doing?”

That caused a shift in Camille's demeanor. As hard as Camille tried to act, Kay knew that the divorce was tearing at her soul. “We're doing okay. You know I never thought I'd be getting a divorce. But we're trying to remain amicable for Charlie and Zola's sake.”

“You don't think you can work it out?”

“Let's see . . . umm . . . his mistress is carrying twins. Not only do I not think I can work it out, I
know
I can't. I don't do ­baby-mama drama.”

“Yeah, I can't even get mad at you on that one. I wouldn't be able to handle that, either.”

Ryan and Charlie finally came bouncing back over. “Okay, I guess we can go now,” Ryan said.

“Really? Are you sure? You don't want one more game?” Camille asked.

“We're good,” he said with a laugh. “Because I know you're just kidding anyway.”

“You know me well,” she replied.

“I gotta get home and study anyway,” Ryan replied.

“Me, too,” Charlie echoed.

“How did we raise such studious young men?” Kay asked.

“We're just some blessed mamas, I guess,” Camille said.

As Kay watched them gather up their belongings, she couldn't help but smile. She turned to her friend. “Yeah, we're some of the lucky ones. We have some good kids and we just need to keep on counting our blessings.”

24

G
loria had been trying to keep her mind together; right now, laundry was helping her do that. She had just finished the second load when the doorbell rang. She prayed that it wasn't more reporters—they'd been turning away a slew of media requests left and right. But when she glanced outside, Gloria saw a black man standing in a nice suit. Next to him was a bald man wearing a dashiki. There were two men who looked like bodyguards standing behind them. She slid the door open just a bit.

“Hello, may I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Jones?” the man in the suit asked.

She nodded. “Yes, and you are?” They didn't look like reporters or police.

He extended his hand. “I'm Reverend Luther Clayborn from Greater Good Missionary Baptist Church out of Houston. You may have heard of,” he pointed to the dashiki-wearing man next to him, “Minister Reuben Muhammad.”

“As-salamu alaykum,” he said.

Gloria had no idea what that meant, so she just nodded.

She hadn't heard of either one of the men and she didn't understand why they were on her doorstep.

“Is your husband home? We would like to have a word with you two,” Rev. Clayborn said.

“He . . . he is. Hold on.” She closed the door and went back to the den, where Elton was perched back in his recliner, watching television. He'd been in his own world since he found out about Kayla. And since Gloria was still salty with him, that was just fine with her. “Elton, there are some men at the front door.”

“I'm not in the mood to talk to the police, Gloria.” He didn't take his eyes off the TV.

“No, it's not police. These are some ministers from Houston. Luther Clayborn and something Muhammad.”

Elton bolted upright. He must have known who they were because he jumped up and put his feet into his slippers and raced to the front of the house.

“Hello,” he said, opening the door and vigorously shaking their hands. “It's such an honor to meet you, Reverend Clayborn. I've heard great things about you.”

“I was wondering if I could come in and have a quick word with you?” Rev. Clayborn asked.

“Sure,” Elton replied, stepping to the side and gesturing for the men to come in.

The men entered. Gloria offered them a glass of lemonade and both of them declined. The bodyguards stood at the door, like they were guarding it.

“Would they like anything?” Gloria asked.

The dashiki-clad man spoke up. “They're fine.”

Gloria took a seat next to her husband. She had no idea what these men were here about. But the looks on their faces said they meant business.

“Well, Reverend Jones,” Rev. Clayborn began, “let me get straight to the point. We've been following the case of your son, and Minister Muhammad and I think this situation is prime to spearhead our Black Justice Coalition launch.”

“Excuse me?” Elton said.

Gloria's ears perked up. She couldn't tell if they were here to help her son or take advantage of him.

“What is a Black Justice Coalition?” Elton asked.

Minister Muhammad spoke up: “We are tired of seeing the black man denigrated and desecrated. And we are here to say we are not going to take it anymore.”

Gloria frowned. He sounded like he was giving a prepared speech.

He continued, “We've been looking for the perfect case to launch our campaign and we believe this is it.”

Gloria decided to speak up since her husband appeared to be too intimidated to ask questions.

“Why would you want to use my son's case?” she asked.

The two men exchanged glances, like they were trying to decide who would answer.

“Well, because there is video, and video makes this case visual, which paints a picture, if you will, of the battle that our young black men face,” Minister Muhammad said.

Rev. Clayborn picked up from there. “We believe that your son, with his clean record, is just what we need to bring attention to our cause. Kind of like Rosa Parks. She wasn't the first person to refuse
to give up her seat, but she was the prime candidate to spearhead the cause.”

Candidate? Cause?
Gloria frowned and looked at Elton. What in the world were these men talking about? And what did this case have to do with Rosa Parks?

“Not to mention the history that Jasper has,” added Minister Muhammad. “As you know, this city is a hotbed for racial intolerance. It's a perfect platform to launch this nationwide movement.”

“The protests are already in full effect,” Rev. Clayborn continued in what now felt like a well-rehearsed presentation. “But right now, they're random. We'll take over, organize, execute, and take this to the national stage.”

Gloria looked at her husband and then back at them. They were talking about her son as if he weren't a young boy sitting in a jail cell with real criminals. They were talking about him as a cause. He wasn't some poster child for black crusaders. He was just a frightened sixteen-year-old boy who wanted to come home.

“Elton, say something,” Gloria mumbled. She wanted her husband to tell these men to get out of her house, that they weren't interested in what these men were selling.

“Reverend, I know that your church is going through some things,” Rev. Clayborn continued. “This case could be just what we need to bring attention back to your church and get you some nationwide coverage.”

“We're not interested in coverage,” Gloria found herself saying since Elton seemed to have lost his voice. “We're interested in justice.”

“And so are we,” Rev. Clayborn said. “But justice comes to those who demand it. Have you hired an attorney yet?”

“Well, we're in the process of doing that,” Elton replied. “We're just having a little trouble.”

“Good, that you haven't hired anyone,” Rev. Clayborn replied. “Of course we'll help with your legal fees and, in fact, have an excellent attorney, Jerome Woods. He's worked on several other racially motivated police cases. We've already spoken with him and he is anxious to get on board. Have you done any TV interviews?”

“No,” Elton said. “That's not really our thing.”

“Well, we have to change that. We have to be vocal and vigilant,” Rev. Clayborn said.

Why is he answering these men's questions?
Gloria wondered. Elton must have known she was about to lose it because he told the men, “Can we step back in my office to talk about this? As you can imagine, it's pretty difficult on my wife.”

She wanted to tell Elton that there was nothing to talk about, ask him why he was entertaining this foolishness. At this point Gloria Jones had no words left for her husband or the men he had just welcomed into their home.

As she watched them walk into the back room, bodyguards included, the disgust she'd felt for her husband jumped to a whole new level.

25

G
loria was making this drive again, but this time she was by herself. It's not that she wanted to keep her husband in the dark, but she couldn't take the negative energy. Right now, her sole focus was on Jamal. She couldn't take the “if onlys” and “I told you sos” that Elton had been spewing lately. She just wanted to figure out how to save her son. And the way Elton had raved about how helpful the minister would be, Gloria knew that she'd have to do this alone because her husband had lost all good sense.

Gloria's mind drifted back to the conversation that she'd had with Riley yesterday, just minutes after the ministers left her home.

Her heart had stilled when his Houston office number popped up on her caller ID.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Mrs. Jones. It's Riley Manning.”

“Yes?” she said, it being the only word her mind could form. She wanted him to tell her he'd take their case. After the visit from those ministers, she
needed
him to tell her that he'd take their case.

“Well, after careful review, there is just no way I can take your case,” Riley said.

Gloria fell back against the wall to steady herself. Her knees seemed to have lost all elasticity.

“But I'm not giving up,” he quickly added. “I've reviewed the facts of your case. I've talked to Perry and we both agreed that a public defender would be a huge disservice to your son.”

“But if you won't take the case, what are we supposed to do?” she managed to say.

“That's just it. I did talk with one of my colleagues and he—”

Gloria stopped him. “No disrespect, but I need someone who's going to believe in my boy.”

“And I wouldn't give you someone who didn't,” Riley countered. “My colleague, Phillip Christiansen, is very committed to a proper defense. I've talked it over with him and while he hasn't officially agreed to take on the case, he would like to meet with you,” Riley said. “But we need to move fast. I don't know if you saw the press conference earlier this week, but this case is moving at monumental speed.”

“I-I saw it.”

“How soon can you get here?” he asked.

The sound of a blaring horn jolted Gloria back to the present. She'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't even realized that she'd weaved into another lane.

She gave an apologetic wave and focused her attention back on the road.

Fifteen minutes later, she was pulling into the parking lot of a small brick building that said
CHRISTIANSEN & C
ARVER LAW FIRM
.
This was a huge change from the high-rise that housed Riley's office.

Gloria parked, then made her way inside. The receptionist greeted her as soon as the door chimed.

“Good afternoon and welcome. How may I help you?” the woman asked.

“I have an appointment with Phillip Christiansen.”

She glanced down at a pad. “Is he expecting you?”

Gloria nodded. “He is.”

“Okay. Please have a seat. Mr. Christiansen will be with you in a moment.”

As Gloria sat, she struggled to keep her nerves from getting frazzled. She really liked Riley and hated having to try to convince someone different of her son's innocence.

She smiled when the handsome man who looked more suited for a magazine cover than a law office greeted her with a warm smile. “Hello, Mrs. Jones. Phillip Christiansen. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

She stood to greet him. “Nice to meet you as well. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Well, come on back. You'll have to excuse my office. It's a little cluttered.”

She followed him down a small hallway. There were pictures and newspaper clippings, but these seemed more community oriented. He did appear to be successful, but the place just didn't seem as high class as Riley's office.

“Can I get you some bottled water, coffee?” Phillip asked once she was seated in his office.

“I'll take a water, please.”

Phillip reached in a small refrigerator behind his desk and pulled out an Ozarka water. Gloria took the water, unscrewed the cap, and took a quick sip as Phillip got settled behind his desk.

“So, first question. Do you truly believe that your son shooting the police officer was an accident?”

“I
know
it was an accident. And the voice that yelled, ‘You gon' die tonight, cop,' that wasn't my Jamal. It's one of the other boys,” she said.

“That should be easy enough to prove.”

“Jamal was just scared when the officer tackled him, instinct made him fight back, and then some kind of way, the gun went off,” Gloria said. “I know that my son will face some type of punishment,” she went on, “but he doesn't deserve a stiff sentence. He doesn't deserve the death penalty like the papers are saying he is facing. He's not a cold-blooded killer like they're trying to make him out to be.”

“Has your son ever been in trouble before?” Phillip asked.

“No, but I don't see what that has to do with anything.”

“Oh, it has everything to do with it. That's going to be the first thing the other side trots out,” Phillip replied.

She sighed. “Other than recently skipping school, he's never had so much as a disciplinary write-up.”

“Give me a second,” Phillip said, glancing over a file in his hand.

“Take your time,” she said. Gloria took in the scenery in the office. It was obvious from his University of Texas undergraduate degree and his Rice University law degree that this man was well qualified. What she didn't understand was why he wasn't in some big firm like Riley.

Gloria continued glancing around the room. She stopped when she got to a family photo. The image caused her to drop her bottle of water and gasp.

“Are you okay?” Phillip asked, looking up from his files.

“Y-yes,” she said, reaching down and picking up the water, which didn't spill since she placed the top back on. She pointed to the picture. “Your . . . Your wife?”

“Yes, that's my family. My adorable children, Leslie and Ryan.” He leaned back and smiled proudly. “And yes, my wife is Kay Christiansen, the prosecutor in your son's case.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“But let me be very clear,” Phillip continued. “My wife and I met in the courtroom, going up against each other. We both respect what the other one does. We don't bring our work home. We don't discuss our cases. We take our jobs very seriously. And if I take this case, I will fight for your son like he's my own. I just want to be very clear.”

“How . . .”

“How can we go against each other?” He picked the photo up off his desk and looked at it. The love he felt was obvious. “Well, because in the courtroom, we're not husband and wife. We're two attorneys who believe in the sanctity of the law. It just so happens that I'm on one side and she's on the other.” He set the frame back down. “Is that a problem for you?”

Gloria didn't dare tell him what her real problem was. If he knew that, he'd never take this case. “No . . . no problem,” she stammered.

“Good,” he continued. “After reviewing everything, I will say I am afraid for your son. Not only is the media persecuting him, but the prosecutor will go for blood. But I will take your case and fight to not only get a fair trial, but even possibly get the charges dismissed.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” Gloria said, all thoughts of Kayla Matthews
disappearing from her mind. “Did Mr. Manning explain our financial situation?”

“It's okay. There is a legal defense fund by the Save Our Boys Project that we'll tap into if necessary. Don't you worry about anything. Now, I can't say it's official until I meet your son and he agrees that he wants me.”

“Oh, he'll want you,” Gloria said with a huge smile.

“Good.” Phillip stood and took her hand. “You just worry about staying strong for your son and staying prayerful that we have the best outcome possible. I want to set things up to see him as soon as possible.”

Gloria had never felt so relieved. On the way up here, she'd told herself that if Phillip didn't take her case, they'd have to go with Rev. Clayborn and his militant friend, which she didn't want to do. She didn't have a good feeling about them.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Christiansen!”

He walked her out and she struggled to contain her excitement.

Now Gloria just needed to figure out how in the world she was going to tell her husband who their new attorney was.