Page 11 of This Is Law 3
The guard ended up leaving out of the room, leaving just Dutch and I inside. Dutch took his seat on the other side of the table, and I took mine, sitting right in front of him. I sat with my arms folded, looking across at him.
“It gotta be all kinds of shit that we can try to sue this fuckin jail for. I been in this bitch since yesterday morning, and they didn’t let me get on the phone to call you until yesterday evening. When they took me to the back, where my cell was, niggas was coming up to me, treating me as if I was God. They were damn near asking me for my autograph. I’m well respected, and feared in this bitch, but Law, this not the place for me. I’m trying to get the fuck out of this shit, so that I can go back to the hospital, and sit with my son. I know that when it comes to these RICO cases, the chances of a nigga getting a bond is slim to none, but you going to have to try, and pull some strings for me. I can’t sit in this bitch,” I could hear it in his voice that he was scared, whichwas shocking coming from him because I’ve never witnessed Dutch fear anything in my life.
My eyes were glued to him the entire time, just taking in the things that he was saying. I didn’t know where I should start. I could feel my breathing getting heavier, and my heart was beating faster than it usually would.
“I don’t see how the fuck niggas be surviving in this bitch. You know when you lived with me, I would have a chef at the house three to four times a week, and we would eat good, nutritious food. I don’t know what the fuck that slop was that they whipped up yesterday for dinner, and this morning for breakfast. I’m going on two days of not eating. I refuse to eat that shit.” he was still going on, and on. I still hadn’t jumped in to say anything. I was just letting this nigga ramble on and hear himself talk.
He was getting ready to spark up another conversation, but that’s when he paused, looked me up, and down, and I felt like in this moment, that’s when it hit him that he was the one doing all the talking, and I had yet to join.
Originally, there had been this smile on his face, as he was going on, and on about bullshit because he felt like what was happening right now could be solved by me. He was carrying on like he didn’t have a major issue. It wasn’t until he stopped talking, and looked at me, that he saw that I wasn’t on the same timing as him, so his smile disappeared, and the same mug that I had on my face is what he was now sporting.
“Why you looking at me like that, nigga? What? You did some digging, and you don’t think that you’re going to be able to get me out of this shit? Law, what’s good?” he asked, his voice damn near shaking.
“Ay, let me ask you something,” I started, about to get right to the punch with this shit.
“Ask me whatever you got to ask me,” Dutch responded, leaning back in his chair a little bit.
It’s almost like he could smell the direction that this conversation was getting ready to go in. That playful tone that he had coming in here had left. His energy matched mine now.
“You know a nigga named Dedrick?” I inquired.
“Nah. That name don’t sound too familiar to me. I gotta see what the nigga look like. You got a picture or something of him?” he asked me.
That’s when I went for the manilla folder that was in front of me, and I pulled out a printout of the screenshot that I’d taken from the video that Dedrick sent to me. I knew the direction that I wanted this meeting to go today, therefore I knew that Dutch was going to want to see a picture of Dedrick, so I made sure that I brought it with me.
I placed the picture in front of him, and he examined it. He looked at it for about fifteen seconds, and then he looked back up at me.
“I could have seen him before in passing. I’m not sure. Why you asking about him though? What that shit got to do with me? He the one snitching or some shit?” he wanted to know, totally oblivious to who Dedrick was. Then again, because I couldn’t trust this nigga as far as I could throw him, I really didn’t know if all of this was an act right now, or what.
“His pops name is Dennis. He was a hustler back in the day. They popped him years ago,” I shared, and after I said that, I could see it in his eyes that he was really thinking about it, and like a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he nodded.
“Oh yeah! I remember Dennis! They didn’t call him that though. They used to call him big D! Nigga used to have the city on lock. I always felt like if he never died, my organization probably wouldn’t have been as big as it is now because all the niggas would have been selling dope for him. Law, what’s good?Why you asking me about these niggas? How does this shit correlate with what the fuck I got going on? I’m trying to hear you explain ways to me on getting me out this bitch. I’m trying to make it back down to the hospital to see about my son. I should have never called his mama down here because that hoe so spiteful, and I think she’s going to have them pull the plug on him. Tell me some shit that I want to hear,” he switched up the subject on me. I could tell that he was getting agitated with me, but he was trying to keep his composure.
“Dennis headstone is just a few feet away from where my pops is buried,” was my response to the shit that he just said.
“That’s great, Law. Again, what the fuck that gotta do with me?” he roared. Like this shit was a game, I laughed right in his face, and I went ahead, and I pulled out the small, portable speaker that I had stashed in my briefcase.
My phone was already paired to the portable speaker, so I scrolled, going right for the video, pressing play, making sure that the volume was up loud enough because I needed Dutch to hear what I was playing for him.
“You on some bullshit right now, Law. Why the fuck are you playing this shit for me?” Dutch’s voice roared.
By now, I could hear the shakiness in his voice. Dutch was a smart dude. I’m sure by now he was understanding the correlation and knowing why I’d revealed to him that Dennis’s headstone was just a few feet away from my pops. If he’d seen Dedrick the same day that he went to my pops to speak with him, and expose his hand, then he had to have known what was getting ready to play from this audio.
Well over ten times, I sat here, and I replayed the audio back-to-back, wanting, and needing Dutch to hear himself in the background, when he said, “I think your son might be on to me”. I could hear it clear as day, and I knew that he could too, which is why his eyes were no longer on me. Once I felt like he’dheard that part more than enough, that’s when I fast forwarded it to the other important part of the video. This was the actual confession.
I kept rewinding, so that he could hear the part where he said, “Finds out that I killed you”. That part of the video had to have repeated itself well over twenty times. When I felt like I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing that shit anymore, that’s when I stopped playing it all together, and I sat back in the chair, arms crossed, looking this nigga in his eyes.
“You move like you this real ass nigga, and as if when God created you, He only made one version of you. You used to always boast about the fact that there could only be one Dutch Throne. If you’re this real nigga that you claim to be, look me in my eyes, and tell me that you heard on that audio the same shit that I heard. Look me in my eyes and tell me that you took my pops away from me when I was only three years old. Look me in my eyes, and tell me the truth,” my voice was calm because I had to play the game. I knew that if I got buck with him and showed that monster side of me, that I wouldn’t get that confession from him that I so desperately wanted.
When he sucked his teeth, and I could feel the anger that was radiating from his side of the table, I knew that he was going to take the coward way out, and I wasn’t going to get the confession from him that I was looking for.
“Nigga, I don’t know if you got a hold of the shit that I was out here selling, but you sound stupid as fuck right now! If that’s your version of hearing a confession from me, then you’re obviously not this big-time lawyer that I’ve made you out to be for all these years. All I hear on that audio is a bunch of wind, and a nigga reciting some gay ass poem to his pops. You sitting there trying to convince yourself that you hear some shit from me off in the background because for whatever fucked up reason, you have it made up in your mind that I’m your enemy,ever since you let your mama plant that bullshit in your head. No disrespect towards you, or Knox, but I’m not worried about that shit right now! I’m worried about the shit that I’m up against! I’m worried about my motha fuckin freedom, and you coming down here on some straight bullshit!” he roared, picking up his hands that were shackled together, and he slammed them down on the table.
There was a smile on my face because I was getting a rise out of this nigga. Being an attorney for as long as I was, I knew that if you pushed, and pushed a person, telling them the harsh truth that they didn’t want to hear, it was only a matter of time before they got so angry, leaving them with no choice but to tell the truth.
“It’s no sense in talking about your case, man. I pulled that shit up last night. The shit that they have on you, God would have to come down from Heaven, and sit in front of the judge, and tell him to let you walk away. You rushing home to get back to a nigga that should be dead any minute now. I heard about the way Kross got shot up. That nigga not waking up from that shit, so accept the fact that when the feds came and swooped you up from his hospital room, that that would be the last time that you laid eyes on him. Back to my pops though. What was the final straw that made you kill him? Was it because he got more respect in the streets than you did? Was he smarter than you? You didn’t like the idea of my pops basically being the boss, and having the final say so? What was it? What would make a nigga stoop so low that they had to shoot their so-called best friend in the back? Tell me, Dutch,” I kept going on.
“Nigga, fuck you! Talk about motha fuckin disrespect! I took your black ass in after your grandma died, and I gave you a perfect life. I could have been a selfish ass nigga and let them hand your ass over to the system, and let’s see the kind of poor ass lifestyle that you would have had growing up. You owe meyour fuckin life because I made sure that I gave you the best one! Niggas brag on you, and the shit that you do in the courtroom, but you gotta remember who made it possible for that shit. I paid top dollar for you to go to the best private schools, and I handled your college tuition like it was nothing. If I didn’t raise you, do you think that you would have had any of this shit? And this the thanks that I get from you? I’ll never extend my hand to another motha fucka in my life,” he was spiraling, and all I could do was continue laughing, while shaking my head.
