Rah
I stared at the folder on the table my lawyer had been flipping through for the past ten minutes like whatever was in it would change my chances.
My stomach turned. But I didn’t say anything, just leaned back in the hard chair with my jaw clenched as he kept going.
“This is your third open murder case. If you take any of them to trial, you risk everything. Illinois law doesn’t play.
First-degree murder carries twenty years to natural life, and for these, the State’s pushing for life without parole.
There’s no good-time credit for murder convictions.
You’d serve every day.” He slid the plea deal toward me.
“They’re offering forty years. You’d be eligible for supervised release afterward, but if you roll the dice and lose, you’ll die behind bars. ”
I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to admit it either, but he was right. I did kill Carlos, but he’d brought that shit on himself. He had the plug, power, and money, and he couldn’t even put me on. I wasn’t some little nigga he tossed crumbs to when he felt generous.
And Nell and Lavell were simps with no backbone. They didn’t deserve to flip money with me. They were sloppy, greedy, and dumb. I couldn’t keep letting people like that eat off me while I stayed hungry.
My lawyer talking about “life without parole” didn’t scare me because I regretted what I did. It scared me because it meant I might never get another chance to come back out and show these niggas who really ran shit.
I had stupidly told the truth about Moses, thinking it would help my case.
I should have turned on him and put it all on him.
“So, that’s it?” I spit. “Forty years or life?”
He nodded slowly. “That’s it.”
I looked down at the paper with my name printed bold under The State of Illinois vs. Rahzan Ramili, and my lawyer slid the pen across the table.
“If you sign it now,” he said. “They’ll take you straight to court for sentencing.”
It was like my body moved on its own. I picked up the pen and signed.
Two hours later, I was standing in front of the judge.
As the State read the plea agreement out loud, my lawyer stood beside me, whispering when to speak.
The judge asked the standard questions: Did anyone force you to sign this deal? Do you understand the terms of this deal? Are you pleading guilty because you are, in fact, guilty?
My voice barely made it out. “Yes, Your Honor.”
He reviewed the papers for what felt like forever before speaking again. “The court accepts the plea agreement. The defendant is sentenced to forty years in the Illinois Department of Corrections, followed by three years of mandatory supervised release.”
My fate was sealed with the bang of the gavel.
I heard someone crying behind me and knew that it was my mother. As I turned around, she crumpled in my father’s arms, shaking. But what caught me off guard was who was sitting across the aisle.
I’d seen Fabe and Aaliyah together in court before.
But this time was different. He had his arm around her with his hand rubbing her shoulders.
They were intimately close. When Aaliyah noticed me watching, she actually let a slow, taunting grin that made my blood boil spread on her face and then laid her head on Fabe’s shoulder, cozy like she wanted me to see how much she loved that nigga.
Fabe stared right back at me, like he wanted me to know he hated me. And sitting behind them were Solae’s parents, glaring at me like they wished I’d rot in hell before I even made it to Stateville.
Everybody, people I broke bread with, people I fed, had turned on me.
Aaliyah was a hoe for real, and Fabe was a disloyal snake that thought he could fill my shoes. It was cool, though. He could have her. She was never worth shit anyway.
And Solae was probably smiling somewhere too, knowing I was locked up. She only got a damn year for trying to kill me, and somehow, I’m the villain? It wasn’t fair. I hoped her time inside ruined her and made the kids hate her when she got out. She deserved that much.
They cuffed me right there in front of all of them, but I kept my head high. They could glare all they wanted. I’d make them remember I was the one they shouldn’t have crossed, and the prison walls wouldn’t stop me.