Larceny (24 page)

“Yeah. I'll be there in a few.”

After Jovan hung up with Mark, he kissed Sonya and got in the shower while she went downstairs to cook breakfast. In the shower, he started getting his thoughts together. Damn, Bilal's shit was all fucked up. Jovan knew he had to leave now for sure. He knew Bilal wasn't saying a word, but Meeka knew Bilal gave him that gun, and he know how scared females could get. They wasn't used to this shit. Plus, she was pregnant, so he knew she was gonna tell.

Jovan had $3.5 million, his van, the 850 BMW, and two hundred thousand worth in jewelry. What he was gonna do was leave Mark a retainer fee, tell him that it was from Bilal's family, pack his shit, and head to Atlanta or maybe California. Wherever he went, it had to be far the fuck away from D.C.

Jovan got out of the shower, ate a little something, and told Sonya he had to leave for work. When he got to the door, he grabbed Sonya and held her tight. Jovan gave her the most passionate kiss ever. He put his heart and soul in it, because this was the last time he was ever gonna touch her.

She looked at him and said, “Damn, Jovan!”

“What, boo?”

“You just kissed me like this is the last time we're ever gonna kiss.”

“Naw, boo, I ain't going nowhere. I'll be back later on to finish it up. Bye.”

As Jovan walked down the hall, he was crushed that he was lying to Sonya, 'cause if there was anybody he wanted to be with, it was her. He knew he wouldn't find anyone else like her.

Jovan went straight to Mark's office when he got in, because he wanted Mark to fill him in on everything before he packed his shit. Mark told Jovan everything about their old client, Bilal Davis. He said that he wouldn't be able to see him until about three days from now, after all the processing.

“Okay, Mark, before I get too deep into this case, I first gotta go take care of something at home,” Jovan said.

“Okay, Jovan, but hurry back. I'ma need your special services on this one.”

“You got it, Mark,” Jovan said, leaving Mark's office.

As Jovan was leaving the building, cars pulled up from everywhere. Uniformed and plainclothes officers, even the FBI, had their guns in Jovan's face.

“Don't fuckin' move. You're under arrest!” someone yelled at him with a gun in his face.

“What?”

“Put your hands on your head!” another one yelled.

Now, as Jovan was putting his hands on his head, the Channel 5 News van pulled up. At that time, Mark came out of the building and said, “What the hell is going on?”

Mark knew some of the agents who were arresting Jovan, and one of them said, “Mark, it's a long story. Come on down to Homicide and I'll fill you in.”

“Homicide?”

“Yeah, Mark, it's a real messy situation,” the agent said to Mark.

As Jovan was being handcuffed and hustled past the TV reporter, he held his head down, trying to cover his face from the camera. He heard the reporter say, “Jovan Price is being arrested for the murder of D.C. Police Narcotics Detective Anthony T. Bridges.”

Jovan was taken downtown to the Homicide Division and interrogated. They knew he was in the legal field, so they did everything according to the law. Once Jovan was arrested, he was read his Miranda rights, and while attempting to interrogate him again, they asked him if he wanted to exercise his rights.

Jovan replied, “Yes, I wish to exercise my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent. I also would like to request an attorney from the law offices in which I'm employed,” Jovan said.

At that moment, Michelle Robinson walked in and said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. It is obvious that my client wishes not to speak with you. I ask that you leave so I can converse with him in private.”

The feds were mad as fuck, but they couldn't do anything. Everything was according to the law.

“Jovan, what the hell is going on?” Michelle asked him once the feds had left the room.

“I don't know, Michelle. That's what I'm trying to figure out,” Jovan told Michelle.

“They said they got an indictment on you in two hours, and you know with all the publicity in this case, it's gonna be hard for me to get those grand jury transcripts.”

“Yeah, I know, but work your way around and try and get them as fast as you can.”

Jovan really didn't need the grand jury transcripts. He already knew that it would say that Meeka snitched. She probably told the police that Bilal gave him the gun and that she argued with Bilal not to give it to him. She would have said that Bilal was at home with her when the murder took place, and that left only one suspect: Jovan.

Jovan's main thing now was that outta all the murders he had committed, he didn't set up an alibi for this one. Fuck, his tightest job ever turned into his sloppiest work overnight.

“Look, Jovan, I'm gonna take the case. Mark can't be your attorney because you're his employee, and he also can't take your co-defendant, because it would be a conflict of interest issue,” Michelle said.

“So it's you and me, Michelle?”

“Yeah, and we're gonna ride this thing out until the wheels fall off, Jovan. Well, there isn't too much we can do right now but go ahead and let 'em process you. When you get over to the D.C. jail, we can get everything together. Is there anyone you want me to call?”

“Yeah, listen.”

Jovan told Michelle to come closer so he could whisper in her ear. She understood everything he said very clearly, and she nodded her head and left.

 

 

 

While I was still at work, Germain came running downstairs as if a bomb was about to go off in the building, screaming, “Sonya, Sonya!”

“What, Germain? What's going on?” I asked her.

“Oh my God, Sonya. Look!” she said, pointing to the television.

“Look at what, Germain? You're scaring me,” I said, full of fear that something terrible had happened.

Germain then grabbed my hand and led me to the television. When I looked at the television, I saw Jovan's face. Instantly my whole body went numb as I listened to the news reporters. As I collapsed on the floor, Germain and another coworker had to pick me up and shake me back to reality.

“Oh, my God. Please tell me I'm having a nightmare! This can't be true. Not Jovan. It can't be. Nooo!” I cried out loud as I covered my face with my hands and slid off the wall onto the floor. “No, not the man I'm in love with. This shit ain't supposed to happen to me!” I said as I continued to cry my heart out.

I cried so hard that the pupils in my eyes began to swell. Nothing in the world could explain what I was feeling at that moment, and I mean nothing! I was in such a daze that Germain had to wave her hand across my face as if to wake me from a hypnotic spell.

I took off work and went straight home to wait for Jovan to call and tell me what to do—for him to tell me that this wasn't him, that someone was trying to frame him, that it was some type of lawyer scheme. I wanted him to tell me anything, but just not tell me that it was him. Hell, no. Not Jovan, not my boo. I wouldn't believe it if it wasn't on camera, because that was not his style.

While at home, I cried so much that I cried myself to sleep without eating or drinking anything. I fell asleep in my living room with Jovan's T-shirt on, smelling his scent. I was missing my man, wondering when was he gonna call and tell me to come visit him. Whatever Jovan wanted me to do, I'd do it. If he needed money for a lawyer, I had that. Every visiting day, I'd be there looking fly, representing for my man. If he needed me to run errands, then I'd take all my leave from my job to be his aide. I'd do anything for Jovan. Anything.

 

 

 

I was fingerprinted and processed at central cell booking then transported to the D.C. jail, also know as the Lion's Den. I was given an orange jumper, some blue karate shoes (that's what they call 'em) and a bedroll. I was sent straight to the hole and placed on special handling lockdown, mainly because of the publicity in my case. As I was being transported, handcuffed and shackled, through the hallway and escorted by a white-shirt lieutenant, I could hear dudes talking as I went by.

“Slim, ain't that the lawyer dude that was on TV today?” one inmate said.

“Yeah, that's him. They say he put in that work on that policeman,” another inmate said. Normally, other dudes would take that as a compliment, but I was ashamed. I never wanted my work to be known.

As I was led to my cell and locked in, I could see everybody standing in their cells looking at me. Some were whispering to each other; others were asking the corrections officer what time they would be able to come out for their one hour of recreation. They could use that time to take a shower or use the phone, play basketball, or just go around and talk to other inmates through the bars.

As I was making my bed, I heard someone call my name. At first I thought it was Bilal, but the voice was different.

“Jovan. Hey, Jovan,” the voice said.

“Yeah, who dat?”

“Chaz.”

“Who?”

“Li'l Chaz from the Valley!” he said as he screamed through the bars.

“Yeah, nigga. What's up, youngin'?” I said, remembering him.

“Ain't shit, slim. I saw you come through the door.”

“Then why you ain't say nothin'?”

“I was gonna let you get your shit together first. Look, I'm on detail, and I come out in about ten minutes. I'ma come down and holla at you, 'cause I ain't try'na scream through these bars. You know how the walls got ears around here,” Chaz said.

“Yeah, I'm hip,” I said, knowing that niggas were eavesdropping.

Chaz was from Valley Green Southeast. When I was doing shit on Whaler Place back in the day, shorty was my number one youngin'. He used to pump coke, and plus, he wasn't no dummy. I had always liked this youngin', but the thing was his ass stayed locked up.

After hearing Chaz tell me he was on detail, I was somewhat glad, because even though this was a lockdown block, they still had at least two detail workers who cleaned up, and in return, they got to come out of their cells for a few extra hours and walk the tier or use the phone. I figured when he came out I'd get him to make a call for me.

When Chaz came out for recreation, he came straight down to my cell and started sliding me shit through the bars. He gave me a bag of soap, toothpaste, lotion, peanut butter and crackers, and some cigarettes so I could buy food off of other niggas' trays, and a big-ass knife with ridges on the side. In D.C. jail, it was a must that one kept a knife on him, or at least somewhere close by.

I put the knife up in a good spot, and shorty and me kicked it for the next hour.

“Yeah, Jay, I saw that shit on TV earlier,” Chaz said.

“Yeah, you know that's some bullshit,” I said, looking him in the eye.

“Whatever it is, I know you can handle it.”

“Hey, Chaz, you see them bring my man Bilal in here?”

“Naw, but I heard they got him in the intake block.”

“The intake block?”

“Yeah, you know Bilal got that power in here. These mu'fuckas do whatever he says.”

“How long you think they gonna keep me on special handling?”

“Most likely until the publicity dies down. Look, Jovan, I've only got like twenty minutes left. You want me to call somebody for you?” Chaz asked.

“Yeah, hold up.” I wrote Sonya's number down and gave it to Chaz. “Tell her I said to call my grandmother and comfort her, and to come see me tomorrow on visits.”

“Okay, slim, is that all?”

“Oh, tell her I said I love her.”

“A'ight, slim.”

“Oh, Chaz,” I said before he left to make the call to Sonya.

“What's up, Jovan?”

“Why you in here on lockdown?” I asked him curiously.

“'Cause I had to put that knife in one of them bitch niggas upstairs who wasn't hip to my work.”

 

 

 

At 10:00 p.m. I received a collect call from the D.C. jail. The operator said, “You have a collect call from Jovan. Press five if you accept.”

“Hello, baby. Please tell me that wasn't you,” I said anxiously.

“Hold up. This ain't Jovan,” a man said.

“Then who the hell is this?” I said.

“I'm a friend of Jovan's. He asked me to deliver you this message.”

“Okay, I'm sorry,” I said.

“I understand. He wants you to call his grandmother and comfort her. Also, he wants you to come visit him tomorrow, and he told me to tell you he loves you,” Chaz said.

At that moment, tears gushed outta my eyes like a waterfall. “Tell him that I'll be there and that I love him also.”

“I sure will.”

“Thank you, and hey, I'm sorry for cursing at you,” I said, embarrassed.

“It's okay. Like I said, I understand,” Chaz said.

The call I had been waiting for all night had finally come through, and it wasn't even Jovan. Even though it wasn't him, the message that he sent still rang in my ears like church bells.

 

 

 

The next morning, I was told to get ready for a visit. Visiting hours didn't start until 1:00 p.m. and it was only 9:30 a.m. I thought it must have been Michelle coming to talk about the case. Well, whoever it was, I was ready, because I had to get a message to Bilal to get me outta this hole.

The lieutenant cuffed and walked me to the visiting room, and when I came through the door, they led me to the same conference room I'd interviewed Bilal in. It was Michelle and Andy, Mark's investigator.

“Hey, Jovan, how they treating you?” Michelle asked me.

“Like shit. They got me locked down because of all the publicity.”

“Don't worry 'bout that. I'll call the jail and pull a few strings for you,” Andy said.

“Okay, Andy. Thanks.”

“Now, Jovan, this is it. The prosecutor says she got some concrete evidence on you, but she's not gonna disclose that information to me. She and I don't get along that well, so I'ma have Mark try and pull it outta her no later than within the next couple of weeks so we'll have it,” Michelle said.

“Good.”

“Also, I called the number you gave me. Everything is okay on that end.”

“What 'bout the lab reports on the gun?”

“I have that. There are no fingerprints, and only one shot was fired. The gun is registered to a Ms. Tameka Gonzales,” Michelle said.

“That's all it says?” I asked Michelle.

“Yes.”

“What about the grand jury transcripts?”

“We're still working on it. Have you seen your co-defendant, Bilal Davis, yet?”

“Naw, they got him in the intake block.”