STREET KARMA. Pain
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from and all, but Michelle’s different from all these hood-rats out here. I mean, she don’t even care about my bread… She never asked me for money—be having her own. She’s even offered to chip in, and pay for the phone line. Shit…it’s the least I can do. I been living with her since I moved out of my Mom’s spot—behind her parents back and shit. Plus, now you can reach me anytime… I really feel like Michelle’s really in my corner—ride or die—”
“Really, that’s all?”
“Remember when I was down for that ten-month bid at that juvie program…? Besides you, she’s the only one I wrote. I’m just telling you cause I look up to you—she ain’t just some other bitch I’m fucking. Dig?”
Rob nodded, and took a lungful of smoke from the Swisher Sweet. He exhaled, and seemed deep in thoughts for a beat. It wasn’t that he was against Michelle, he just knew how badly women could cloud the mind of an over enthusiastic youth. He and Low had come too far. They couldn’t get sidetracked now, and especially not by a hood rat. They were close enough to the prize for them to start tasting it. Rob just prayed Low didn’t allow a bitch to distract him from them getting some real paper.
“I feel ya,” Rob said.
Rob and Low had a business agreement. Michelle was now officially Low’s girlfriend. This meant she was off limits. NWA’s, Fuck Tha Police hummed through the speakers. Rob reached into the cars glove compartment, and pulled out a large envelope. He opened it and saw a color print of her driver’s license.
Damn, she’s pretty he thought to himself while admiring her hazel eyes, and bright smile. Rob had a weakness for light-skinned women. She was twenty-nine, and a dime.
LONNIE DAWSON
It was 2:04am when Lonnie Dawson drove her convertible, cherry red ‘71 Mustang Mach1 series into the drive-thru lane at McDonald’s. Joining a long waiting line behind a green Toyota Celica, Lonnie’s thoughts were on her bed. For the past twelve and a half hours she had been in her law office. Going through thousands of pages of federal motions, legal briefs, and criminal exhibits, she was preparing for her closing arguments in the morning.
Her entire body ached from sitting in the office chair for most of the day. She also noticed bags forming under her pretty hazel eyes. Lonnie glanced at her reflection in the rear view mirror. It was obvious the toll this case had taken on her. It wasn’t just her social life, but also her physical appearance. Over the past three years, Lonnie worked on preparing for this particular case, United States vs. Alberto Acevedo.
In less than eight hours all her blood, sweat, and tears would be in the hands of a federal jury for deliberation. Her client was not only charged with capital murder—which carried the death penalty. Acevedo was also charged with sixteen other counts. These included drug trafficking, conspiracy, running an on-going criminal enterprise—kingpin charge, racketeering, and witness intimidation.
Even with Lonnie Dawson as his defense attorney, Acevedo’s chance of walking on any of these counts was a long shot. Dawson, however, was currently on a successful run. Twenty-four of her cases received a not-guilty verdict. Dawson let out a deep sigh as the drive-thru lane began moving, only to come to an abrupt stop. The halt in her progress allowed her mind time to wander. It took her back to the day she was first assigned the case.
Lonnie Dawson was two years out of Harvard University’s School of Law, and she was already excelling tremendously as one of Miami’s public defenders. Even though a rookie, Dawson was already showing signs of being a very good attorney. She had a tenacious work ethic, and her no-nonsense approach in the courtroom earned her the reputation of a winner. It wasn’t long before coworkers, peers, and newshounds started to make her the topic of their daily discussions.
She continuously focused on errors in the police investigations, and uncovering loopholes in the judicial system. By the closing argument stages of her cases, it was clear that the backs of some of the most seasoned prosecutors were up against the wall before a jury even officially rendered a verdict. In the courtroom, the sight of defeat was painfully obvious on their faces.
Akbar Muhammad was a man who always heard Dawson’s name mentioned in board meetings. A senior partner of Muhammad and Johnson LLC, Muhammad was always looking for fresh, capable talent to bolster an already prestigious criminal law firm, based in Atlanta. So he decided to fly out to Miami. Muhammad was extremely meticulous, and researched all recruits himself. He knew that in order for him to properly assess Dawson, he’d have to observe her.
It was her eighth murder trial. The Defendant Rico Gonzalez, a Cuban Immigrant was accused of killing a Miami-Dade Police, Officer Julian Suarez. Day one of the trial, all chatter in the courtroom seemed to immediately cease when Lonnie Dawson stepped into the courtroom with a man, charged with murder. The attorney and client went directly to their places.
Dressed in white Nike tennis shoes, blue Levi’s, and a gray Southern University sweater with matching hat, Muhammad eased his way through the packed courtroom. Taking a seat on the prosecutor’s side of the courtroom. He observed Dawson’s stone cold demeanor. The two specially appointed prosecutors with over forty-two years of experience between them seemed quite uncomfortable. Fidgeting in their seats, they’d occasionally glanced over to the defense table. They tried nodding in that direction hoping to get a greeting, acknowledgement, but without luck. Lonnie Dawson remained poker faced. She was ready for war.
A sly smirk crept across Muhammad’s face as he stood up along with everyone else for Judge Alana Rodriguez to preside. Muhammad believed that Dawson already had the prosecutors’ hearts. When the trial began, Dawson went on the offensive attack, ripping the state’s case to shreds. She stood firm on her client’s plea of self-defense, pointing to accusations of police profiling, and corruption. By the time she was through with her opening statement, Dawson had vividly painted a picture of an envious dirty cop.
That was contrary to the officer’s many years of service, and the numerous service medals he received for good deeds. Dawson explained why a routine traffic stop was turned into an opportunity for revenge.
“…Officer Julian Suarez, a Cuban native, pulled over my client Rico Gonzalez on that fateful night of March 15th, knowing exactly who he was stopping. Rico, on the other hand, didn’t recognized Suarez, since it had been twenty years since he left his native country, Cuba. And he was obeying the law when he exited his work van, and consented to a full search of the vehicle. It wasn’t until a sufficient amount of cocaine was discovered in Rico’s van that he took a good look at Officer Suarez’s face. He realized that he was being set up. He refused to be handcuffed. There was an intense scuffle. Rico managed to overpower Officer Suarez, grabbed his service handgun from its holster, and held him at gunpoint. Rico next attempted to report the officer to his superiors by alerting them on his work issued walkie-talkie. Rico held Officer Suarez at gunpoint while waiting for help. Officer Suarez reached for his chest, claiming to be having a heart attack. He fell to the ground, and Rico gave a warning for Officer Suarez not to move. He saw the officer reaching for his ankle. It was then that my client fired twice hitting Officer Suarez in the head, killing him instantly…”
The entire courtroom was completely silent. Dawson paused, took a deep breath, and glanced at the twelve members of the jury. She now had their undivided attention. Then she continued. “Rico Gonzalez had ample amount of time and opportunity to flee. However he chose not to. Instead he waited for the authorities to arrive then willingly gave himself up.”
Picking up a plain white envelope, Dawson pulled out a document then said, “Your Honor, I would like to enter into evidence a certificate of death, for Yolanda Suarez.”
She handed the document to Judge Rodriguez. It was carefully scrutinized. Then the judge nodded her approval, and passed it to the bailiff. It was then passed to the jury.
“Yolanda Suarez, ladies and gentlemen of the jury is Officer Suarez’s first niece…” Dawson paused to pull out another document—a birth certificate of Julio Gonzalez. Then she continued. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Julio Gonzalez is Rico Gonzalez’s first born son with the now deceased Yolanda