Heist 2 (5 page)

“How much money you got up in here, you little bitch-ass nigga?” I asked, hitting Zack again to let him know not to fucking lie to me. I heard bones crack in his cheek when the butt of the Glock connected with his face.

“Yo! Please, man! Stop! I . . . I . . . got,” Zack hollered. I smiled wickedly. I needed this power rush like nothing else. I was feeling high off seeing this nigga grovel.

When he said he only had about five G's on him, I forced his bony ass up from the floor, stuck my gun into his spine, and made him take me to the money. Turns out that five G's all of a sudden turned to twelve. See how niggas try to play you even when they are getting fucked up? How he telling me he only had five G's but really had twelve. I hit his ass again for lying. I can't front, that nigga face looked like a bloody mess by the time I was finished. It didn't even matter, though. I took the money and then turned my sights back to Zack.

“There was one thing I always taught you when I was showing you around the streets and the business . . . What was that?” I asked him with fire flashing in my eyes. He was moaning and trembling like the little bitch that he was.

“Um . . . um . . .” Zack stuttered. I could tell he remembered but he wasn't trying to say it. I slapped him across the face with the end of my gun again. This time a bigger gush of blood and two of his teeth shot from between his lips. He was crying now and he pissed on himself.

“Tell me what the fuck I taught you, bitch-ass nigga,” I growled. “Or else all of your teeth gon' be laying on this floor by the time I finish!”

“To be loyal to those that are loyal to you. All you got is your loyalty and good name in this game,” Zack repeated the exact words I had taught him when he was a young'un.

“Well it was something you should've always lived by, nigga,” I snarled with my face curled into a scowl with an evil Joker style grin on my lips.

I let off two shots into Zack's dome without hesitation. I watched as his body spun around, did a little jerk, and collapsed to the floor. I had a few more stops to make. LaBeckie just didn't know he had let a beast out of prison.

7

Shannon

W
ith reluctance I sent Mr. Kaufman to my first stash spot where I had seventy thousand dollars of the Bobby Knight heist money stashed away. He had told me his fees to represent me was going to be fifty thousand from the first court hearings until the trial. Instead of paying him a little bit here and there and since I didn't have access to the money myself, I instructed him to take the whole seventy G's. I told Mr. Kaufman to keep the other twenty thousand so that I could have that when I got out. He agreed to put the money in an escrow account in his law firm's name and promised me that I would have the twenty G's plus interest once he got me off the charges. It sounded like a good plan to me.

The money should've been easy enough for him to find. I called it hiding in plain sight because the cops and the feds would look everywhere except places that were right under their noses; I knew that from my experiences with Todd. He was the one who'd given me the idea about different stash spots in the first place. So, using one of the ideas I had learned from Todd, I had rented a gym locker at the sports club and I had paid it up for the year. I had put my own combination lock on it so that no one would fuck with it. It would just look like someone working out had put their stuff in and put a lock on it, especially since the fees were paid a year in advance. It was a place the feds and the cops would've never thought to look and I knew that. I didn't have to worry about Todd either because he was in the same boat as me: locked up.

I prayed for days after I revealed my stash spot to Mr. Kaufman that he would just take the money and come to court and work his magic for me. With the depression that had set in on me and the lifelong injuries I had acquired since being locked up, I didn't know how much longer I could survive inside the prison. I had already contemplated suicide a couple times. Every time I thought about killing myself, I had to work real hard to picture my son's face and think about how his life would change forever if I was gone.

“Let's go, Marshall,” a new female CO named Dugan yelled at me. It was time for me to lock out for court. I looked at the ugly CO and something about her was fishy. She was always extra rough when it came to me and she was always staring at me on the low. It was like she thought she knew me from somewhere or like she had something against me. I guess you could say my feelings about Dugan and about Kaufman was like a sixth sense I had about them. Kind of like what I felt when I spoke to Kaufman the day I gave him my stash information. It was the same nagging gut feeling that something wasn't right.

“Move your ass!” Dugan screamed as I dragged my bad leg, moving to assume the position so that she could cuff me for movement to the bus. It took everything inside of me not to cuss her ass out. But I didn't want any infractions keeping me from going to court, so I kept my mouth shut.

I was loaded into the prison transport bus that took inmates to court. I was feeling kind of good being dressed in regular clothes and seeing sunshine for a change. I hadn't realized how much keeping myself inside the prison and not taking yard time had worked on my mood and had contributed to the onset of the deep depression I felt. The clear sky and bright sun was doing wonders for lifting my mood. Thoughts of Mr. Kaufman walking up in that courtroom all sharp and ready to defend me helped to brighten my mood a little more too. For the first time in months, I was feeling much more hopeful about my situation than I had since I had been locked up.

The prison bus was musty and the air was hard to breathe in, but I was trying to keep my mood light. I told myself it was all temporary. This whole shit—the stinking bus, the harassing-ass COs, and the lack of freedom—was all temporary now that I had one of the best lawyers in Virginia representing me.

It was noisy inside the bus with chicks yelling to each other across the aisle, talking about their situations, their kids, and their bids. I would never understand that shit—inmates who didn't know each other from a hole in the wall feeling so comfortable telling each other all of their business. Fuck that, I didn't trust a soul, especially a fucking convict bitch who might be jealous of me or, worse, who would try to screw me just because she needed something to do. Why would I share my personal struggles with these bitches? Not me. I sat there silent as a mute. Their back-and-forth banter was grinding my nerves.

There were about six other inmates aside from me on the bus all yelling to each other about how they hadn't seen or heard from their court-appointed attorneys and how they hoped their family members showed up so they could at least get a glimpse of their kids. Listening to them speak about those horrible court-appointed attorneys made me feel kind of good inside, since I had had the pleasure of telling my court-appointed attorney to get lost. I felt superior to those other inmates because I had been smart enough to save money for a situation like this. It's not like I was planning on getting locked up, but after the ultimate heist we pulled on Bobby Knight, I stashed away money just in case Jock had ever tried to front on me or if I had to get out of Dodge because of Todd. One thing my grandmother always taught me was to keep that “get mad” money stashed some place that the man didn't know about. It was a lesson well taught and definitely well learned.

The stories these chicks were telling were sorry as hell. One girl said she had never met her court-appointed attorney. Another one said all her attorney ever did was tell her to hurry up and take a plea deal that would leave her in prison for ten years. She said he was always in a rush and didn't care if he took a loss on a case. It was sad but I can't front, I was smiling to myself and saying in my head,
Y'all bitches couldn't afford a high-priced attorney like I got. I'm getting the fuck off on these charges.
I knew that Mr. Kaufman prided himself on winning cases and so far he'd had a perfect acquittal record. He had been in the newspaper so many times that they called him “front page Kaufman.” That was the type of attorney a bitch needed standing at the table with her.

Once we got to the courthouse in downtown Virginia Beach, we were pulled off the bus, searched again, and loaded into the courthouse through the back doors. I had crazy butterflies in my stomach and for some reason my heart wouldn't stop pounding.

Those bitches were still talking shit about how they couldn't wait to curse their attorneys out and yada, yada, yada. They were giving me a straight headache for real.

We were all placed in the court holding cell that is located behind the courtrooms. These cells were much cleaner than what we were used to in the prison. I found a spot in the corner and just sat and waited. My nerves were on edge because I knew from coming to court for Todd so many times that these hearings all depended on the judge and the defense attorneys.

One by one the court officers started pulling us out to go see the judge. Two chicks went ahead of me, one had come back kicking, spitting, screaming about fuck the crooked-ass system and the other one had come back in tears saying something about not being able to see her kids like that.

I can't front, their reactions were scary for me. It was like nobody was coming out of that courtroom with good results. There were rumblings inside the holding cell about how the judge was a bitch that wanted to make an example out of people. I was a little shook inside, but I was putting all of my hope into Mr. Kaufman. I said a quick little prayer before I heard the call.

“Marshall, Shannon!” The court officer finally called my name, sending a jolt of nerves and wave of nausea through my stomach. “Marshall, let's go!”

I jumped up like my legs were suddenly on springs. A cold feeling shot down my spine and I swallowed hard.

“Now or never, Shannon . . . you got this,” I whispered under my breath as I was led toward the little door that led to the courtroom.

When I stepped through the door, I couldn't believe how crowded the courtroom was. It was my first time being on the other side. I was usually a hopeful spectator in the back waiting for the judge to show a little leniency. Not this time . . . I was the spectacle today for everyone to see. It was like all eyes were on me. With my eyes almost bulging from the sockets, I looked over at the judge. Terror choked off my air supply and suddenly I felt lightheaded. Everyone was right: the judge looked evil as hell. She was a severely wrinkled white woman with a bird's nest of white hair on the top of her head. Her cheeks sagged and she had a permanent angry dip between her eyes right above the bridge of her nose. She reminded me of a witch from a children's fairy-tale book, and just like a child, I was terrified.

I was led over to the oakwood defendant's desk and I immediately noticed that there were two seats and both were empty. I crinkled my eyebrows a little bit but I still wasn't worried yet. I knew that one seat was for me and one was for Mr. Kaufman. I looked down at the desk and noticed there were no papers on it. I knew from experience that defense attorneys usually walked with huge files containing briefs from previous cases so that they could prove what judges in other districts did and allowed. So no papers, no Mr. Kaufman. Suddenly a cold sweat broke out all over my body and I felt like I would throw up.

This has to be a mistake! He is probably running late. Or he went to use the bathroom.
My mind raced with a million possibilities about Mr. Kaufman's absence. I whipped my head around frantically thinking he had to be somewhere in the courtroom . . . that maybe he had sat at the wrong seat or had run out to his car to get his folders. Something had to be wrong if Kaufman wasn't there and he had probably already collected my money from the gym locker.

“Miss Marshall, it is my understanding that you've fired your court-appointed attorney,” the judge said in a disgusted tone, her voice wet and filled with phlegm. I looked at her dumbfounded, too shocked about Kaufman's absence to get my words together. Finally the judge's words sank in. She wasn't asking me, she was telling me that she already knew I had let my court-appointed attorney go and replaced him with Mr. Kaufman.

“Um . . . yes . . . um . . .” I stumbled over my words.

“Well, with no attorney on record for your appearance, your case will be put down for eight weeks,” the judge said perfunctorily. “If you want to represent yourself, you'll have to file that motion with this court, Miss Marshall,” the judge continued in a dull uninterested tone.

“No! Wait! I hired an attorney! Saul Kaufman is my attorney!” I belted out as I saw the court officers heading in my direction to take me back. I was being dismissed just like that. The judge looked at me over the rim of her wire-frame glasses, her eyes flashing with fire.

“Miss Marshall! You will not have outbursts in my courtroom. No attorney has put himself on the record for you. Certainly not Saul Kaufman, who I saw make an appearance earlier today. He may be your dream attorney, but he sure hasn't recognized you as his client. Now I will not allow you to waste this court's time any longer. Next outburst, you will be held in contempt,” the judge growled.

With that, the court officer rushed over and roughly grabbed me as he tried to cuff me.

“I have an attorney! I paid him! Let me call him! Please! Mr. Kaufman is my attorney!” I cried as the officers manhandled me and began dragging me back toward the door that led to the cells. I could feel the hot tears welling up in my eyes, but the anger that was flashing in my chest was more overpowering. I truly felt like I had the strength of ten men at that moment. I had lost all hope and when that happens it seems like something inside of my mind just snapped loose. Miraculously, at that moment it seemed like all the pain I had suffered from my attack previously had gone. I went straight in attack mode.

“Get the fuck off of me!! Get off of me!” I screamed, bucking my body and dropping down to the floor. I flailed my arms and legs like a crazy woman and started spitting and kicking too. Within seconds there were about six court officers surrounding me and roughly putting their hands on me. Some of them slapped and punched me as they tried to grab me and I would get a kick in. I saw one of the officers drop to his knees as my foot connected with his balls. I didn't give a fuck at that point. I was kicking, spitting, screaming, and trying to bite them. Even if it meant they would beat my ass to a bloody pulp . . . what else did I have to live for.

“Ahhh!” I screamed when one of them finally had enough sense to spray me with pepper spray. “Aggg!” I coughed and wheezed as that shit set my entire face, throat, and chest on fire like I had swallowed a flaming torch. I was choking and gagging, but I was still trying to fight. Another blast from that potent spray and I finally collapsed. I felt pain coursing through my whole body once again so I finally gave up. My head was pounding and my heart was broken. Mr. Kaufman had got me.

“Take her to psych holding now!” one of the court officers screamed. They were still surrounding me but I didn't have any more fight left in me. They hogtied me with flex cuffs and carried my ass through the cell block. I could hear hushed murmurs from the chicks in the other cells talking about me. The officers took me to a small, padded holding room, but not before they got their rocks off with a few punches and slaps and rough slams into walls. I deserved it. I had put them through unnecessary bullshit that day and I knew it, but fuck it, at least I didn't go back to the regular cell crying and shit like a weak bitch.

Once the door to the padded room was locked, all I could do was slide down to the floor and scream at the top of my lungs. I kept screaming until my voice box could no longer make any sound.

It was crystal clear to me that Mr. Kaufman had pulled a heist on my ass. He had probably snatched my stash money as repayment for Todd's debt with no intentions of ever representing me.