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Marshall looked at Roberta, who nodded. "These are admissions, Your Honor. And the defendant will get a chance to cross-examine this witness."

"Overruled. Go on, Mr. Jackson."

"Mr. Henderson, continue."

"Mbutu would always say how Douglas was a traitor to his people, that he represented the worst of black people and didn't deserve to live."

"Did he ever say he wanted to kill Farrel Douglas?"

"I renew my objection, Your Honor," said Rashad.

"And I renew my overruling," said Langworthy.

"Did he ever say he wanted to kill Farrel Douglas?" asked Marshall.

"Yes," said Henderson. "He said it a lot. Talked about how he'd like to see him publicly executed and shit like that."

"Watch your language," said Langworthy.

"Sorry, man," said Henderson. The gallery laughed.

"And did you know this man?" Marshall held up a picture of Anthony Collier, the man who'd been shot at the assassination.

"Yes, I did," said Henderson.

"Let the record reflect that the witness just identified a picture of Anthony Collier. Tell us where you know him from."

"I met him in 1995 at a rally for recruits for the Brotherhood."

"Did he join that day?"

"Yes he did."

"Did you see his picture in the newspaper after the assassination?"

"Yes."

"And what did you think when you saw it?"

"Your Honor," said Rashad. "This man's thoughts that day can't possibly be relevant."

"This witness knew the defendant and the alleged accomplice to the assassination," said Marshall. "Do I need to say any more?"

"Overruled," said Langworthy.

"Mr. Henderson again," said Marshall, "what did you think when you saw Anthony Collier in the newspaper after the assassination."

"I thought, Oh my God. He did it, Mbutu killed Farrel Douglas."

Marshall worked Henderson a little more, trying to shield the coming attacks by Rashad. He brought out Henderson's prior life of crime and his redemption in prison. He tried to leave Rashad nothing to ask.

"Mr. Henderson," began Rashad on cross-examination. "Weren't you dismissed from the Brotherhood for stealing?"

"No," said Henderson.

"Didn't you write several checks to yourself without permission?"

Henderson hesitated. Marshall was worried but tried not to look like it. He didn't know about this little matter. Henderson had obviously held out on him.

"I had permission," said Henderson.

"Mbutu was the only one who signed checks along with the treasurer. Were you the treasurer?"

"No, but—"

"Then the checks were not authorized, were they?"

"Look, man, everybody was allowed to sign checks, the place wasn't organized."

"You wrote five thousand dollars' worth of checks to yourself, isn't that right?"

"I don't know," said Henderson. He shifted in his seat.

He was buckling. Marshall needed to give him some time to think. "Your Honor," said Marshall. "This isn't relevant. The witness said that he signed the checks and that everyone did it."

"Overruled," said Langworthy.

"So," said Rashad. "Was it five thousand or not?"

"It was something like that," said Henderson.

"And what did you do with the money?"

"I spent it on this and that," said Henderson. "Clothes, food, you know."

"What about drugs?" said Rashad. "Didn't you also buy drugs?"

"Yeah, but I already said I was wrong in a lot of ways, but I changed all that."

"So, you stole money to buy drugs and you got kicked out, isn't that true?"

"It was not that simple."

"Okay," said Rashad. "About Mr. Collier. You say you met him at a Brotherhood rally?"

"That's right."

"Did you ever see Mr. Collier talk to Mr. Mbutu?"

"No."

"Did you introduce them?"

"No."

"So as far as you know, they didn't know each other."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Did you sign Collier up as a member?"

"No, that wasn't my job."

"But you said he signed up that day."

"Yes, I remember him signing up."

"But if you didn't sign him up, how do you know he did?"

"I guess maybe I don't, if you put it that way."

"One last thing. After you left the Brotherhood, did you ever say that you would 'get Mbutu'?"

"I might have said something like that, but it wasn't serious, man."

"Was it serious when you threatened his life?"

"I never did that."

"You didn't call his home and say that you would kill him?"

"If I said it, I didn't mean it."

"Maybe my client didn't mean it if he said he wanted Farrel Douglas dead."

"That's not a question, Your Honor," said Marshall.

"I withdraw it," said Rashad. "I'm done with this witness." He sat back down.

Marshall then called Bakaar Rasul, Mbutu's second in command. Rasul was a serious-looking man who wore flowing robes and carried a long wooden staff, which had been confiscated by security.

"State your name," said Marshall.

"I do not recognize the authority of this court to order me to do anything," said Rasul.

"I'm asking you to do it," said Marshall.

"I am Bakaar, Ali Khan Rasul. Son of Light."

"You are a follower of the defendant?"

"I object to the derogatory word
defendant
."

"Are you a follower of Mr. Mbutu?"

"Yes I am."

"In fact aren't you his second in command?"

"Yes, I am the keeper of knowledge and wisdom."

"And as such what are your duties?"

"I will not tell the secrets of my order to a slave like you."

"The witness will answer the questions or be held in contempt," said Langworthy.

"Contempt?" said Bakaar. "This whole so-called process is contemptible."

"Don't you speak to me that way, young man," said Langworthy.

"Your Honor," said Rashad. "I'm sure Bakaar will cooperate from this point on." Rashad stared at Bakaar with anger. Mbutu had a curious smile on his face. He should have been worried that Bakaar was embarrassing him and undermining his defense. But he wasn't. He seemed happy.

"What were your duties?" asked Marshall.

"I take your Fifth Amendment," said Rasul.

"You take the Fifth as to your job?"

Bakaar stood up in the witness stand. "This country has committed genocide on the black man, the original man. He has killed, castrated, and lynched us. He's injected us with the syphilis and the AIDS virus, poisoned our children, and now, he enlists men like you to help in his war—"

"Bailiffs, take this witness out!" said Langworthy. Two bailiffs went to Bakaar and took him out. Mbutu supporters cheered and applauded. Bakaar continued his rant all the way out of the courtroom. The TV cameras captured it all. Several reporters went toward the door.

"Bailiffs, close the court," said Langworthy. "Before you all go scrambling for your cell phones, I want to say that this outburst is to be ignored by the jury. Let nothing said by that last witness make you think less of the defendant or more of the government's case."

Marshall couldn't believe that Rashad had let Bakaar testify. Mbutu had probably overruled him. But these were just preliminary witnesses, anyway. He wanted to lay the foundation for Mbutu as an irrational and desperate man. He also wanted to see what Rashad and his team were made of. So far, they were competent, but not formidable.

Langworthy had seen enough for the day. He adjourned the case and let everyone go. The reporters literally stampeded to the doors. Marshall and his team filed out, refusing to make statements. Rashad held court with the media, dodging questions about his conspiracy defense.

"We did solid work today," said Ryder. "We tied him to Collier."

"That last guy was priceless," said Walter. "I know the jury thinks they're all nuts now."

"Maybe," said Marshall. "But we still have a long way to go. The real fight will be with our primary witnesses."

"Still no word on whether Mbutu will testify?" asked Ryder.

"No," said Marshall.

"I think it's just a ploy," said Walter. "He won't do it."

"Right," said Roberta. "Rashad wants to keep the possibility out there, but he won't let him testify. It's too risky."

Roberta was as keen as ever, despite her involvement in the dirty affairs behind the trial. She spoke the words without much passion, and Walter seemed to notice this. Their rivalry had gone cold, and he seemed a little sad about it.

They all went back to the office, where they received polite applause from the staff, who had obviously been watching on TV. Marshall felt happy for the first time in days. Then he turned to go into his office and the trouble fell back upon him. He walked back into the bugged office and sat at his desk.

40
Bounty

D
anny watched as Quince sold the guns to the young boys. He'd been kicking around all day, waiting for a chance to snatch the sonofabitch. Lewis Quince talked with the two young black boys in the backyard of an old house. The yard was thick with weeds. An old garage was in the yard, but it was literally falling apart.

Danny was in the alley by the house next door. He hid behind an abandoned car, watching.

Quince was a devil, thought Danny. He sold guns to dealers and paranoid people living in the ghetto. He was putting death into the hands of people all over town.

Danny needed to get Quince alone. No one could see him take the man, or he might end up in even more hot water. And he could tell that Quince was not one to be taken lightly. He'd been popped by the feds, so if he got caught again, it was good-bye for twenty-five years. A man in that position will kill anyone.

He thought about what Vinny would say about all this. She would tell him to get his ass off the street, to stop being such a macho asshole, and do what's right for once. Vinny was a good woman, but she didn't understand how men were. They had to take chances, it was their nature. And Marshall was his friend.

Quince took a gun and placed a silencer on it. He fired into the old garage. All Danny heard was a muffled pop. The young boys smiled and slapped five. They pulled out a wad of cash and started counting out money to Quince.

Quince put the gun into his waistband. How many people had died by one of his guns, Danny thought. How many cops had taken one because of this man? Everyone reviled drug dealers for what they did, but men like Quince were worse. Many of the inner-city drug dealers were just kids, lost souls in a nation that no longer cared about its less fortunate. Quince could claim no such status. He was probably an educated man from a good family just looking for an easy way to some cash. People like him preyed on the underclass like a vulture, eating the carrion of hopelessness and despair.

Danny pulled his guns and walked quickly to the three men. He raised the Glock and aimed it at Quince. The revolver he put on one of the two kids.

"This muthafucka is mine," said Danny. "You two brothas walk away from his ass." He was ten yards or so away from them. He kept moving forward.

Quince froze. He searched Danny's face but did not recognize him. The two kids panicked. One of them dropped the money he was counting. Some of the bills blew away in the wind.

"Yo, we don't know this nigga," said one of the boys.

"Don't matter, just get away from his ass," said Danny. Five yards now, he slowed his approach. If he got too close, he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on all of them.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Quince.

"You can call me shut the fuck up," said Danny.

"You can't be a cop. Where's your badge?" asked Quince.

"One more word, and I'll put one in your fuckin' head," said Danny. "Now, put your hands up and follow me."

Quince complied. Danny started to close the gap, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

* * *

Marshall sat in his office with the door opened. It didn't really matter, but he felt less violated with an open door. He tried to go through his routine and forget about the device. He made a few calls and read over some case notes on the ballistics and DNA evidence. So far, it looked good. He had done a good job in court, but his opening statement haunted him. He had indicted Mbutu in the official record without telling all that he knew. He had committed a crime today, and his more righteous self could not forget that. But he had done it for a good reason, he thought. If he revealed what he knew, the killers would surely go into hiding and start to cover their tracks. And that "covering" could mean more deaths. Right now, the killers' ignorance was all he had.

Roberta walked by his office door and stopped. She had an upset look on her face. She just stared at Marshall for a moment, then walked to the elevator. Marshall waited a minute, then followed.

In the lobby, he found Roberta in a corner pacing nervously. Marshall saw some of the TV reporters on the street doing taped reports. He went to Roberta, who was shaking.

"This was in my door at home this morning." She held out a piece of paper. On it was written:

GET RID OF THE BLACK JURORS

"Do you know when it was put there?" asked Marshall. "No," said Roberta. "I didn't want to tell you until the trial session was over."

"The black jurors," said Marshall. "They're getting scared for some reason."

"So, this is about the case? I thought you were up to something, but they want you to blow the case."

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