111. Earning Freedom (1.2) with Michael Santos
111. Earning Freedom with Michael Santos
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Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term (1.2)
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I\u2019m reading from chapter 1 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term
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For more information, visit PrisonProfessors.com
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*******
\u201c\xbfQue Onda?\u201d Another man is locked in the same cell. Cuban, I presume from his accent. He stands by a waist-high metal locker in boxer shorts, staring at me. He looks like a thug. We\u2019re the same height, though he is heavier, with more fat than muscle. Crudely drawn tattoos look like chicken scratches across his arms and torso.
I nod.
\u201c\xbfDe donde eres?\u201d He wants to engage me.
\u201cI don\u2019t speak Spanish.\u201d
\u201cWhat is you, white?\u201d He speaks in English this time.
The man\u2019s question bothers me.\xa0 I think of myself as an American, un-hyphenated by ethnicity. \u201cI am what I am.\u201d
\u201cI thought you was Cuban.\u201d
\u201cMy dad\u2019s Cuban.\u201d
\u201cSo why the fuck you don\u2019t speak Spanish?\u201d
\u201cI speak English.\u201d I\u2019m ready for this guy\u2019s challenge, if that\u2019s what he wants.
\u201cWhere you from?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m from Seattle.\u201d
\u201cYou a cop?\u201d
I stare at him, wondering why he would ask such a ridiculous question when I\u2019m locked in a prison cell, wearing prisoner\u2019s clothing. \u201cHey dude, what is it you want?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m sayin\u2019, muthafucka come up in my house, lookin\u2019 Cuban but think he white, gotta ask if you\u2019s a cop.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m not a cop. I was arrested today. I\u2019m going to court tomorrow.\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019s arrested?\u201d He mocks me. \u201cWhere\u2019d they bust you?\u201d
\u201cKey Biscayne.\u201d
\u201cOh, so you got paper.\u201d
\u201cPaper? What are you talking about?\u201d
\u201cMoney, muthafucka, you got money!\u201d
\u201cWhy are you so interested in who I am? Who are you?\u201d
\u201cYou up in my cell, bitch. Don\u2019t be axin\u2019 me no muthafuckin\u2019 questions.\u201d
\u201cWhat are we doing here? Are you looking for a fight or what? It\u2019s late, I\u2019m tired, and I\u2019ve got to go to court tomorrow. But I\u2019ve got all you can handle if that\u2019s what you want.\u201d
He sizes me up. \u201cYou ain\u2019t no snitch is you?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m done talking to you.\u201d
\u201cOkay. That\u2019s good. Don\u2019t talk. That\u2019s you bunk, white boy.\u201d
The hostility in the cell surprises me. What\u2019s this about? I walk to the steel rack against the wall, unroll the mat, and stretch the sheet across it. I climb up without using the sink or the toilet, too exhausted for more confrontation. I turn on my side and stare out of a narrow vertical window. It\u2019s no more than six inches wide, but I can see outside. Spotlights shine on crabgrass, steel fences, and razor wire. I watch as a guard drives a white pickup slowly around the prison\u2019s perimeter and I fade into sleep.
It\u2019s an anxious sleep, and when I wake, I stare out the window, with tears filling my eyes. The man below me smells. I miss Lisa\u2019s perfumed skin, her hair, her body. This is going to destroy us. My only hope is Raymond. He has to free me from this nightmare. I wipe my watering eyes and drift back into sleep.
A guard unlocks the door and yells my name into the cell. His voice bounces off the concrete walls and startles me from a dead sleep. I jump down from the rack and he orders me to dress for court. I\u2019m still wearing my khakis and the t-shirt. Feeling beaten and exhausted, I slide into the canvas shoes and accompany the guard out of the cell. He slams the steel door behind us and uses a formidable key to lock the dead bolt.
I walk with other prisoners through the same door I entered last night. We join a throng of more than 100 men and the guards herd us into caged bullpens. The noise makes my head throb as I stand shoulder to shoulder with scores of angry prisoners. A clock on the wall shows that it isn\u2019t yet three, which explains why I feel exhausted. I can\u2019t believe court begins this early.
One by one, the guards call us out of the cage to change into our clothes. When I receive the mesh bag with my name on it, I see my clothes balled together at the bottom of the bag, ruined, my shoes on top of the shirt.
\u201cThe belt is missing,\u201d I tell the guard.
\u201cWhat?\u201d He growls.
\u201cMy belt is missing,\u201d I repeat.
\u201cLet\u2019s see here.\u201d The guard grabs a processing form from the bag and scans down the boxes. \u201cDon\u2019t show that you was wearin\u2019 no belt when you checked in.\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean? Of course I was wearing a belt. It was brown, alligator skin, matching my shoes.\u201d
\u201cForm don\u2019t say nothin\u2019 \u2019bout no belt. Now get the fuck dressed and quit pussyfootin\u2019 around. Next thing you\u2019re gonna tell me is that you ain\u2019t got no panties.\u201d
I know that I stink, and my clothes are damp, which will add to the disaster of this day, my first as a prisoner.
As soon as I dress, a guard leads me back to the bullpen. My legs ache from standing. Hours pass. At six, the guards begin calling us out in groups of two. They shackle my ankles, wrap a chain around my waist, weave handcuffs through the front of the chain and then lock my wrists in place. The chains are heavy on my body. Secured, we march awkwardly out toward waiting transport buses.
\u201cYou don\u2019t like the chains,\u201d one guard taunts while sucking on a cigarette, \u201cquit selling drugs.\u201d
I have a window seat on one of the three packed buses that maneuver through morning rush hour in Miami. I peer through the spaces between vertical steel bars and a tinted window, looking at the faces of other drivers\u2013people leading responsible lives. Legitimate work is something I haven\u2019t done since turning my back on responsibilities at my father\u2019s company.
We drive past the tollbooths that lead across the bay to Key Biscayne. I see the sign touting Key Biscayne as \u201cThe Island Paradise\u201d and I\u2019m overcome with sadness. My neck cramps as I try to wipe the tears on my shoulder. I may have a court date, but my gut tells me I won\u2019t be sleeping in my bed tonight.
The driver maneuvers our bus into an underground garage beneath the Federal Building. Guards march us through doors that lead to a series of adjacent bullpen cages. Still chained, we squeeze in like animals in a chute heading for slaughter. I don\u2019t understand this system, and I hate all that is happening. I\u2019m trapped. Worse yet, I\u2019m strangely uneasy about surrendering my fate to Raymond.
Paco, one of my cocaine suppliers, introduced me to Raymond. Paco praised him as one of the best lawyers in Miami, and when I visited his office, I was influenced by its opulence. I admired the photographs of Raymond smiling in victory with well-known organized crime figures. They stood victoriously outside a courthouse after beating federal racketeering charges. The press clippings convinced me I had to have Raymond on my team. Even though I wasn\u2019t expecting any legal problems, having a top-notch attorney on retainer made sense. I agreed to pay him tens of thousands in cash just in case.
*******
\u201cSantos. Santos. I need Michael Santos.\u201d I hear a guard yelling my name.
\u201cI\u2019m in here.\u201d I press my way through the crowd to the front of the cage.
\u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d He unlocks the gate for me to step out. After locking the cage behind us, he walks me to a tiny cubbyhole of a conference room for defendants to meet with their attorneys. I see Raymond sitting on a stool waiting for me. I notice immediately that he wears my Rolex.
\u201cHow\u2019re you holding up, Sport?\u201d He greets me as if we\u2019re partners in a tennis match.
\u201cI\u2019m okay. A little tired.\u201d I\u2019m embarrassed that Raymond sees me unshaven and in wrinkled, sweat-stained clothes.
\u201cDid they treat you okay in there?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t know. It\u2019s loud, crowded. I haven\u2019t been able to think about anything but getting out of this nightmare.\u201d
\u201cHave you eaten?\u201d
\u201cI can\u2019t eat.\u201d I shrug my shoulders. \u201cThey passed out bologna and white bread. Mine\u2019s still in the bag.\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019ve got to eat,\u201d he says, trying to encourage me. \u201cI need you strong through this.\u201d
\u201cI need you strong,\u201d I counter, feeling weaker than I hope I show. \u201cHow long am I going to be in here?\u201d
\u201cWe\u2019re trying to get you out on bond this morning. Lisa and your mother will meet me here at nine. I brought your watch for Lisa. If you were wearing it when they arrested you, they\u2019d have seized it.\u201d
\u201cWhy does my mom have to be here?\u201d
\u201cThis is a first appearance. We\u2019re going to enter a plea of not guilty to the charges.\xa0 Then I\u2019ll ask the judge to let you out on bond. I need your mother and Lisa here to show that you\u2019ve got community ties.\u201d
\u201cYou mean they\u2019re going to let me out?\u201d For the first time, a sense of hope begins to surface through my despair.
\u201cI\u2019m sure going to try.\u201d
Raymond can see that I need something to pick up my spirits. He\u2019s like the baseball coach trying to encourage a little leaguer in a slump. \u201cYou need to toughen up. We\u2019ll make a good case. You don\u2019t have an arrest record. There aren\u2019t any allegations of violence or weapons. You\u2019ve got family support.\u201d
\u201cHow much will it cost?\u201d
\u201cWe need to talk about that, Sport,\u201d Raymond says as he leans back against the wall. \u201cYou\u2019ve been charged with operating a Continuing Criminal Enterprise. It carries a possible life sentence. If the judge agrees to bond, it\u2019s going to be high. What can we offer the court?\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean, a life sentence?\u201d Fear overtakes me. \u201cFor what? What\u2019s that mean?\u201d
Raymond holds my wrist, trying to steady my nerves. \u201cDon\u2019t worry. We talked about this. It\u2019s only the beginning. The government always overcharges.\u201d He dismisses the concern with a wave of his hand. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to trust me, leave this to me. For now we\u2019ve got to have a plan for the bond request so we can get you out of here. What kind of assets can you pledge?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t have anything.\u201d I\u2019m embarrassed to admit that my whole life is a charade. \u201cI told Lisa to get everything we have for you.\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d Raymond squints at me, disbelieving. \u201cYou didn\u2019t put anything away?\u201d
I scratch my head, and then I rub my face in shame. \u201cI bought some property in Spain from Paco. He hasn\u2019t given me the title yet. Lisa was supposed to talk with him yesterday about getting the money back so we could finish paying you. That\u2019s all I have.\u201d
I sense Raymond\u2019s incredulity and sinking respect as he scratches his head.
\u201cHow about your parents? What can they put up?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t have anything, Raymond. Let\u2019s just think about beating these charges, not the bond.\u201d
\u201cHow much is Lisa bringing me today? We need money to beat this thing, Sport.\u201d
\u201cShe has about a hundred grand. Paco will give her the rest and she\u2019ll pay you off.\u201d
\u201cTell me about this property. What\u2019s it worth?\u201d
\u201cA couple hundred thousand. Paco owes it to me from a deal we made that never went through. We\u2019ve been waiting for him to transfer the title, but after we left your office yesterday, I told Lisa to get a hold of him and pull together whatever cash he could return immediately.\u201d
Raymond shakes his head in disbelief. \u201cI can\u2019t believe you don\u2019t have anything set aside. How do you own a watch like this with no money?\u201d
I feel like I\u2019m eight-years-old. Totally deflated, I sink deeper into my chair.
\u201cDon\u2019t worry.\u201d Raymond begins to recover. He can see that his questions about my finances are pushing me into a dark hole. \u201cWe\u2019ll be okay. I\u2019ll talk with Paco about this property. I\u2019ve got to get into the courtroom.\u201d
The guard lets Raymond out and leads me back to the cage. I don\u2019t understand the talk about a life sentence. Why a life sentence? Also, Raymond\u2019s slightly veiled disdain for my financial situation troubles me. I\u2019m not prepared for any of this, not emotionally, not physically, and certainly not intellectually. I\u2019m totally in Raymond\u2019s hands. I feel nauseous, unsettled, but I dismiss the instinct that I should plead guilty and cut my losses. I\u2019ve got to trust Raymond.
*******
When the guard leads me into the courtroom I see Lisa and my mom. They hardly know each other and my mom has never accepted Lisa as a part of my life. Yet in that courtroom they hold each other, one supporting the other as I sit at the defendant\u2019s table beside Raymond. We can\u2019t talk, but I nod before turning away to face the court.
To steady myself I study the ornate courtroom\u2013the elaborate paneling, the carvings in heavy wood, the high ceiling and podium. The room invokes a sense of majesty and ceremony. Prosecutors sit at a table to my left. To them I\u2019m a nonentity, just another criminal. The judge considers arguments that I can\u2019t comprehend. I feel foolish, ill equipped to grasp the significance of all that is happening. The only words that register with me are possible life sentence. They resonate through my mind. Why? I see the judge\u2019s forehead crease when he stares down at me.
\u201cThere will be no bail for this defendant.\u201d The judge slams the wooden gavel on the podium after he rules.
This must be the longest day of my life. Federal marshals lead me back to the crowded bullpen.\xa0 I\u2019m dejected, thinking of my mom and Lisa tearfully embracing each other. The packed cage doesn\u2019t faze me as I press my way to a rear corner and slouch to the filthy concrete floor. My back rests against the evenly spaced steel bars and I drop my head to my knees.
These threats of a life sentence feel real, so much more real than Raymond has prepared me to cope with mentally. I don\u2019t have enough money to fight this battle or to support Lisa. I need to get out of here, but I don\u2019t know how.
When I return to the prison, guards assign me to a different housing unit than I slept in last night. I\u2019d been in a classification unit, though I didn\u2019t know anyone was evaluating me. This is a strange environment, where guards order me to specific locations, expecting me to comply without question. I\u2019m now in Coral Unit, and I must sleep in a room with six other prisoners about whom I know nothing. Everyone snores as I climb onto my rack, still in my clothes. This time I don\u2019t have a window.
*******
It\u2019s my third day in prison and a counselor approves me to receive visitors. I call Lisa and ask her to come. \u201cDid Raymond give you my watch?\u201d I ask, my entire identity wrapped up in my possessions. When she tells me that he did, I ask her to bring it.
\u201cCan you wear a watch like yours in there?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t want to keep it here. I just want to feel it on my wrist again.\u201d I need some physical remembrance of the life I lived only 72 hours ago. We all wear white t-shirts and khaki pants. As much as I want to hold Lisa, I also want the other prisoners to see her beside me.
Within minutes of her arrival guards reprimand me for kissing her. They cite rules permitting a brief kiss at the start and end of each visit.\xa0 If I kiss her again, they warn, they\u2019ll terminate my visiting privileges for one month. We sit on metal chairs at a round, Formica-topped, white table. I listen as Lisa describes the fallout from my arrest. Her mother is urging her to leave me though she pledges her undying love. The thought of her abandoning me strikes another jolt to my vanishing confidence.
\u201cWhat about Raymond?\u201d I ask, and inquire whether she paid him.
\u201cI gave him the money. He\u2019s working through the property deal with Paco. They\u2019ve already talked.\u201d
\u201cYou mean he wants the money and the property? That\u2019s worth way more than the $200 thousand he wanted!\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t care. You can always make more money. I just want you home.\u201d
I tell Lisa about my time inside. We have a law library and I\u2019ve read scores of legal cases during the few days I\u2019ve spent here. I may only have a high school education, but I understand what I read. The government has charged me with operating a Continuing Criminal Enterprise. Those law books describe the charges as the \u201ckingpin statute.\u201d To convict, the government has to prove that I managed five people who participated in drug deals involving significant amounts of money. I know I\u2019m guilty.
\u201cMaybe I should plead guilty,\u201d I suggest to her. By pleading guilty early in the proceedings, I understand that the government might reduce the charges, or agree to a lighter sentence. The cases I\u2019ve read suggest that if a jury convicts me, I\u2019ll receive a long sentence, maybe life.
\u201cAre you crazy?\u201d Lisa doesn\u2019t want to hear my reasoning. \u201cWe\u2019re not pleading guilty to anything! They didn\u2019t catch you with anything. Raymond told me this would happen, that you\u2019d want to break down. He told me to keep you strong in here.\u201d
\u201cIf I plead guilty I could probably get a 10-year sentence.\u201d
\u201cAnd what am I supposed to do for 10 years? You\u2019re my husband and I need you home.\u201d
\u201cI wouldn\u2019t serve 10 years. There\u2019s parole and good time. I\u2019d probably be home in three years or something.\u201d
\u201cMichael, they didn\u2019t catch you with anything.\u201d
\u201cNo, but Alex and Tony are testifying against me.\u201d
\u201cNo one is going to believe them. They were caught in the act, with cocaine.\u201d
\u201cBaby, I\u2019m just saying we should think about pleading guilty, cutting our losses. This charge accuses me of being the boss. The government doesn\u2019t have to catch me with anything. Prosecutors only have to prove that I supervised others who sold cocaine.\u201d
\u201cWho do you think you are, Al Capone?\u201d Lisa laughs, mocking me. \u201cThis place is just playing with your mind. Where\u2019s my strong husband?\u201d She reaches over to hold my hand and I look at the guard to see if he\u2019s watching. \u201cWe have to trust in Raymond. He says we can win and that\u2019s what we\u2019re going to do.\u201d
I\u2019m still uneasy when our visit ends and I return to the housing unit. Later, I hear a guard\u2019s voice paging me over the loudspeaker to report to the visiting room again. Raymond has come to see me. We sit in a small conference room reserved for attorney-client visits. Raymond tells me that Lisa described my fears about the trial and he asks how I\u2019m holding up. I want to appear unshakable, as if I can handle this struggle, though I know I\u2019m in deep, way over my head. I tell him what I\u2019ve read in the law books\u2013about all the people serving life sentences for the same charges as mine.
\u201cI don\u2019t want you reading those books,\u201d Raymond admonishes me. \u201cThey\u2019re just going to mess with your head and cloud your thinking. Those guys didn\u2019t have me representing them. They may have had shoddy lawyers for all we know. Besides, those books only show the losers. They don\u2019t publish the cases about the defendants who beat the pants off the government. That\u2019s what we\u2019re going to do.\u201d
I need that expression of confidence that we can prevail. \u201cWhat am I supposed to say when people ask about my case?\u201d
\u201cIf you have to say anything, tell them you\u2019ve been wrongfully charged with a crime and that you will vindicate your name through a trial. I need you strong,\u201d he repeats, with an authority that bolsters my spirits. \u201cThis is my business and I\u2019m the best in the world at what I do. Let me try this case.\u201d
Raymond forewarns me that the U.S. marshals will transfer me from Miami to Seattle. He promises to send copies of briefings he will file with the court, and says that he will fly to Seattle to prepare the case a few times before the trial begins.
\u201cWhen are we going to trial?\u201d
\u201cWe go to trial when we\u2019re ready, Sport.\u201d
Raymond conveys the message that we\u2019re in control and that he has a strategy to deliver my acquittal. He urges me to stay strong while he determines the most advantageous time to try the case. Raymond insists that I not ask questions about what he is planning and insinuates that he has tactics he can\u2019t share with me. I leave our meeting feeling optimistic, wondering if Raymond is bribing the judge. That must be the reason he needs so much money.
*******
Thanks to Raymond\u2019s heads-up, I\u2019m not surprised the following morning when the marshals transfer me in chains on the vans, buses, and airplanes they reserve for prisoner transport. I\u2019m held over in Oklahoma and Arizona prisons before arriving in Seattle. When the marshals book me into jail, I\u2019m among several other men\u2013most of whom are friends and now my co-defendants.\xa0 They\u2019ll stand trial with me for playing a role in distributing the cocaine I sent from Miami.
Since moving to Miami more than a year ago, I isolated myself from the day-to-day activities of the trafficking scheme. From afar I could limit my role to logistics, coordinating with suppliers to ensure that the local distributors had enough coke to meet their demand. This strategy, I convinced myself, would ensure that I\u2019d never face problems with the law. Yet here I sit, locked in the same jail with many of those who worked with me.
In the Miami prison I felt alone, totally new to confinement. The shock, together with the ominous possibility of a life sentence, wreaked havoc on my mental state. But in Seattle my tension lessens, even if I am locked in jail. I miss Lisa, of course. My father returned to Seattle when I was transferred here, and my sister Julie lives nearby. They spend a few hours with me on each visiting day.\xa0 They also accept my collect phone calls, allowing my delusions of innocence and release to continue.
I adjust to the rhythms of this particular jail, actually enjoying the time I\u2019m spending with my codefendants and others who have an indirect relationship to my case. While we wait for our judicial proceedings they teach me card games and chess. One day my spirits lift when I spot David, a Colombian I\u2019ve worked with before but haven\u2019t seen for nearly a year.
Even when we did see each other in the past, we didn\u2019t communicate much because David doesn\u2019t speak English. His role in my organization was to store cocaine that Rico would distribute in Seattle. When Rico began cooperating with the DEA, he led the agents to David and his stash house.
David pulls me to a corner of the jail and tries urgently to communicate a message. He whispers and takes precautions to ensure others don\u2019t hear us. I can\u2019t understand him and our inability to communicate frustrates him. I try to bring a bilingual prisoner over to translate, but David stops me. This is a private matter, he insists. He borrows a Spanish-English dictionary. Finally, I get the message he\u2019s been trying to convey.
When the DEA agents arrested David, they didn\u2019t find eight kilograms of cocaine that he had hidden. I\u2019d been out of the loop, unaware that eight kilograms existed until David told me. My understanding had been that the government seized everything when Rico began cooperating with them. David explains that he was holding that cocaine for the Colombian suppliers who had fled after the arrests. He wants someone to retrieve and sell it, though he doesn\u2019t know anyone in Seattle.
David proposes a solution to my immediate problem. If I can coordinate this transaction, he offers to split the proceeds. At current prices, eight kilograms of cocaine will bring more than $200,000. My cut will cover Lisa\u2019s expenses while I wait for Raymond to free me. From my perspective this isn\u2019t even a risk since I\u2019m already facing trial.
I call Tom, Lisa\u2019s brother, and invite him to visit. In the past, I relied upon Tom as a courier to transport cocaine. Since we both want the best for Lisa, I trust him. The government charged Tom in my indictment, but the minor role he played in the conspiracy allowed him to remain free on bail during the judicial proceedings in Seattle. During our visit I explain what I\u2019ve learned from David.
We visit in a tiny booth with a glass partition separating us. I show him a map that David has drawn for me.\xa0 It feels as if I\u2019m coordinating a treasure hunt from the jail. The potential life sentence no longer troubles me, as I\u2019ve resigned myself to let Raymond handle the trial. My focus has switched to providing Lisa with more financial resources.
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing to it,\u201d I explain to Tom. He may be out on bail facing federal charges, but he, too, sees the opportunity. I instruct Tom to deliver the cocaine to Walt, one of my clients who wasn\u2019t I implicated in the indictment.
\u201cJust pick up the eight kilos. Once you get it, call Walt and he\u2019ll sell it. Tell Walt I\u2019ll finance him.\xa0 He can pay over time, without pressure. The whole thing shouldn\u2019t take more than an hour and we make a hundred grand.\u201d
I return to my housing unit, completely oblivious to the new crime I\u2019ve just committed. During a phone conversation the following morning Tom says all is well. Within days Tom receives tens of thousands of dollars and sends Lisa what she needs. He rents a home near the jail and pays for Lisa to move to Seattle so she can visit while we await my victory and release.
\u201cI knew you\u2019d be able to handle this.\u201d She places her hand against the glass that separates us in the visiting room, smiling at me as if I\u2019m a hero.
I'm visiting with Lisa whenever we\u2019re allowed, and there is something about providing for her that empowers me, even if my family doesn\u2019t like her. They don\u2019t understand, especially now that I\u2019m in jail and still shutting them out by refusing to talk about my case. I\u2019ll make things right once Raymond frees me from these charges. For now I need to take care of Lisa. That\u2019s about all I can manage.
*******
At 23, I\u2019m younger than most of the prisoners around me. Raymond, my attorney, flies to Seattle whenever necessary. On visiting days, other prisoners see me with my striking wife. I walk with a swagger, filled with delusions that I\u2019m quite the man about the cellblock. I play it up, enjoying the role of kingpin during those first few months in the Seattle jail, thinking that I\u2019ll soon be walking out victoriously, beating the feds.
I spend my first Christmas behind bars, and then I celebrate my 24th birthday in January 1988 with a Snickers-bar party for all the prisoners in my housing unit. The time in jail hasn\u2019t been bad, but only because I\u2019m certain my liberty is coming. My mother continuously asks what I\u2019ll do once I get out. She has a hard time defending me to relatives and friends who inquire about my predicament. But I don\u2019t have an answer for her, as I haven\u2019t thought about anything besides beating the case. I\u2019ll think about the future later, I tell her, suggesting that she ignore what others say.
After five months of pretrial detention, I\u2019m impatient, ready for the action to begin. The government doesn\u2019t have any tape recordings of me doing deals.\xa0 Further, DEA agents didn\u2019t catch me with any drugs or any money, and the people who\u2019ve agreed to testify against me have self-interests in blaming me even though they were the ones caught with cocaine. I can\u2019t wait for Raymond to persuade the jury that I shouldn\u2019t be in jail.
Before the trial starts Raymond coaches me on the testimony I\u2019ll give. We sit for hours in a small conference room adjacent to my housing unit while he fires questions as if he\u2019s the prosecutor trying to rattle me.
\u201cWhen you answer,\u201d he coaches, \u201clook at the jury. Find a juror you like and talk directly to her. Speak clearly, without rushing your words. We need them to trust you, to believe that you\u2019re just like them.\u201d
I\u2019m getting excited. It feels like we\u2019re approaching opening night and I\u2019ve got star billing.
\u201cIs the jury going to know how much time I\u2019m facing?\u201d The jurors would not convict me, I\u2019m certain, if they knew I was facing a life sentence.
\u201cWe\u2019re not allowed to discuss the possible sentence. The trial is about determining guilt or innocence.\u201d
\u201cCan I slip the possible sentence into one of my answers when I\u2019m on the stand?\u201d
Raymond pauses to consider my question. \u201cWell I can\u2019t say anything about the sentence, but if you see an opportunity, take it quickly because the prosecutor will object in a hurry.\u201d
I\u2019m ready the following morning when the marshals transport me from the jail to the courthouse.
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