Chapter 2
TWO
“I don’t know what you’re waiting on,” I tell my oldest brother Ace as I nod toward the clothes and shoes laid out on the bench for him.
“This shit just…” he says while shaking his head in total disbelief. “It’s blowing me. How the fuck I get in jail?” he huffs, still as mad as he had been when he was arrested fifteen days ago. “This some bullshit and I want the fuck out of here.”
“Then change so we can go out here and get you out,” I say firmly.
We are in the holding cell inside the courthouse.
In twenty minutes, we will be one step closer to getting him bail and getting him home.
Of all my brothers, Ace is the one who should never be in jail, maybe Deuce, Tre, or Shiro.
Hell, even me, and I went to law school and passed the damn bar exam, but not Ace. He’s no criminal.
Ace got in dumb trouble when he was thirteen, but after that, he went straight as hell.
He never even got a damn speeding ticket.
He graduated high school, saved, bought my dad’s old F-150, and started a little local moving company.
He would pay us a few bucks to help. He did well and upgraded to a twelve-foot truck.
After a few years, one truck turned into three and now he has his own national moving company.
Being here for a felony drug charge is ridiculous and I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure he gets back home to his wife and sons.
As he reluctantly changes out of the county browns into the black pants, gray and black button up, and black tie, I put on my criminal defense attorney hat and detail what’s about to happen.
“This is just the bail hearing. Because it was over five hundred grams on the truck?—”
“This shit,” he grits as he rubs his hands.
His anxiety and claustrophobia are starting to take a real toll on him.
I can see it all over his weary face. His incessant pacing, nodding, and hand rubbing confirm it.
I hate seeing my brother like this. He’s one of the strongest people I know but anxiety affects even the mighty.
My strong, oldest brother is on the edge…
I gotta get him out of here.
“I know. I know,” I sympathize, then continue. “The prosecution is asking that bail be denied.”
“You know I can’t stay in here. It’s getting harder to breathe in here.
I’m not sleeping, eating, or even able to take a damn shit.
Get me out of here, bruh. Get me back to my Sade, the twins, and my fucking business.
It’s too much to be sitting in this shit, especially when I didn’t do shit. I need to go home, Quintus.”
“I know. Trust me, I know. That’s why I got something in the works to make sure.”
“What?” he asks curiously as he ties his tie with shaky hands.
“You let me handle that. I just need you to keep doing what you’re doing. Laying low and not talking. Even when we get in this courtroom, don’t say shit. Let me do all the talking,” I warn.
Defendants have a hard damn time being quiet.
I swear, no matter how many times I tell one not to talk, they fucking talk.
It’s usually an outburst but it’s still talking and can hurt the case.
I know my brother. Even in this situation, where it’s my domain, where I’m the highly sought out defense attorney with a ninety-five percent acquittal record and I’m the damn expert, his ass wants to know every damn thing.
“A’ight. Imma trust you, bruh. This is my fucking life,” he says with a heavy sigh.
“I know, which is why I’ve been working this,” I say without going into the details. Because the details shock even me. I had a whole ass plan that went left on me last night, real left.
“And what happens if I don’t get bail?”
“I’m getting you out of here this weekend, bail or no bail.”
“I hope so,” he says.
“Bako,” the correctional officer yells, approaching the door. “Five minutes,” he says and I stand.
“I’m heading out there. See you in five,” I say, then dap him up. He pulls me in for a hug.
“Get me out of here, Quintus,” he utters.
“I got you, bruh,” I assure him before walking to the door. I motion for the C.O. and he lets me out.
As I head to the courtroom, I replay the events of last night that are the clearest in my mental.
I arrived at the annual Black Law Association Masquerade Ball about twenty minutes late.
She arrived about thirty minutes after me.
Pictures and re-election posters with her face on them don’t do her justice.
Judge Mireya Coleman is perfection, and when she walked in wearing that dress, showing those toned legs and thick ass thighs, every man in there stopped and stared and I was one of them.
My eyes stayed glued to her fine ass until she reached the bar.
When she removed her masquerade mask before she took the first sip of her drink, my damn breath got caught in my chest. Her peanut butter skin was glowing and her smile had me out of my seat and on the stool next to her seconds later.
Her second bourbon Manhattan was my treat.
We were connected for the rest of the night and apparently morning too.
Waking up to her soft, naked body on mine this morning was a nice ass surprise but definitely not part of the original plan.
“Are you ready?” Aven, my legal assistant, asks as she hands me my leather bag.
“Yeah, I’m ready. Are we ready? Did you verify that Judge Wright’s calendar has room?”
“I did. I verified with his aide again this morning. We’re good if this works,” she says with a wry smile.
“It’ll work. Let’s go.”
Aven and I head to Courtroom A on the second floor. Ace’s case is the first one on the docket and the judge prefers a closed court, so only the prosecutor and her assistant are inside along with a bailiff.
As a professional courtesy, I greet the prosecutor before walking to the table for the defense.
Aven sits in the gallery directly behind me.
After pulling up my brief and case notes on my MacBook, Aven passes it to me and I place it on the table.
Because the legal system is absolutely adversarial, there’s a privacy screen on my monitor, shielding my casework from the prosecution.
Not even five minutes later, the court reporter enters followed by the courtroom deputy.
After placing a tumbler on the judge’s table in the bench, she walks to her station and gets comfortable, engaging in small talk with the deputy.
The prosecutor and her assistant are talking lowly while I say a silent prayer that this shit goes well.
The door to the right of the judge’s bench opens and a correctional officer followed by Ace then another C.O. walks out. They escort Ace to my table and remove his handcuffs before he sits. Ace turns and greets Aven then glares at the prosecutor.
“Chill,” I utter so only he can hear and he nods.
A lot is on the line for him and I know it which is why I thought of the plan for last night. I just didn’t see this morning happening. I’m still not sure how that shit happened.
“All rise. Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Mireya Coleman presiding,” the bailiff announces and we all stand as the beautiful judge enters.
Even in that big ass judge’s robe, she looks amazing.
There’s a file in her hand she’s concentrating on as she enters, examining the file as she sits.
“You may be seated,” she says with her head bowed.
When she lifts her head, her eyes immediately spot me and her mouth opens partially.
She swallows so hard it can be heard throughout the courtroom.
“Um…” She clears her throat then starts over.
“Please directly reflect that Mr. Bako is present in custody this morning. Mr. Quintus Bako is here on his behalf. Miss Mercer and Mr. Pio are here on behalf of the state. This is the date and time to set the defendant’s motion for reasonable bail.
I have read the motion and the opposition.
” She pauses and exhales again. “Mr. um…. Mr. Bako, do you have anything you want to add to your motion for bail?”
Here goes nothing.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I say, then adjust my suit jacket and stand. “Unfortunately, at this time, the defense respectfully requests that this Court recuse itself from this matter pursuant to Rule 2.11 due to a personal conflict of interest."
“Excuse me,” she snaps at the same time the prosecutor yells.
“What! Your Honor, may we please approach the bench?” Mercer says while she frantically gathers her file.
“Yes, both of you approach now,” Judge Coleman says through gritted teeth. As soon as we are in front of her, her hand covers the mic. “Excuse me, Mr. Bako. What personal conflict of interest?” she snaps directly at me and I see rage in her beautiful eyes.
“I would like to know myself. This trial is scheduled to begin in two weeks and this type of delay is only going to push our—” Mercer fires off but the judge stops her.
“Miss Mercer, please, we are all aware of the calendar. Right now, I’m trying to figure out the absurdity of this alleged Rule 2.11 violation that prevents me from trying a case on my docket in my courtroom. Now, please enlighten us, Mr. Bako,” the judge says with so much attitude.
She’s pissed and her anger is about to elevate at my words.
“Because the defendant, Mr. Ace Bako, is your family member,” I start and her eyebrow knit together. “He’s your brother-in-law.”
“Excuse me?!” she questions with incredulity.
“We’re married, last night, remember?” I say, and by her agape mouth, even tighter knitted brows, and tilted head, she doesn’t remember.
Hell, I don’t either, but we are. “Here,” I say, then hand her the printed copy of our digital license I discovered in my email this morning.
She snatches it and glares at it. “You probably have one in your email too,” I add and she rolls her eyes.
Without looking up from the license, she removes her hand from the mic. “Deputy, please escort the defendant, Mr. Bako, back to the holding cell while we go to my chambers,” she says and he nods. I turn to Ace and assure him that everything is fine with my eyes and he nods. She bangs her gavel.
“Court is in recess for twenty. Miss Mercer, take a break,” she demands.
“Your Honor, I have to object to that,” Mercer says quickly.
“Duly noted but you will hear my decision after recess. Feel free to reserve your right for appeal. I would do the same if I were you. But, please, take the recess,” Mireya says, then nods. Her eyes turn to me after she dismisses the prosecutor. “Counselor, my chambers now,” she grits, then stands.
She practically marches out of the courtroom and I follow her through the door. When we walk into her chambers, her judicial aide rushes in behind us.
“Kenya, I got this,” she says, and without a word, her aide turns around, walks out, and closes the door. “What the hell is this?” she says as she practically throws the printout at me. I catch it before it hits her floor.