Verwandte Artikel zu Color of Justice: A Novel (Zane Presents)

Color of Justice: A Novel (Zane Presents) - Softcover

Pridgen II, J. Leon

 
9781593093259: Color of Justice: A Novel (Zane Presents)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 159309325X ISBN 13: 9781593093259
Verlag: Strebor, 2011

Inhaltsangabe

An intriguing story about half-brothers who reunite in the legal justice system—one as a prosecuting attorney and the other on Death Row—and a race against time for the young prosecutor to save his older brother’s life.

At the age of one, James is adopted by his paternal grandparents, who raise him as their own son, never telling him about his older half-brother or his real parents. Six-year-old Warren—James’s brother—is left to his own devices.

Twenty-seven years later, James is flourishing as a prosecuting attorney until an event leads him to discover his older half-brother. Warren is now on Death Row, two weeks away from execution for the rape and murder of a white woman. He is innocent, but can James do anything to save his brother’s life before it’s too late?

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J. Leon Pridgen II is an author and actor. He currently lives outside of Charlotte, North Carolina, with his family. He has performed in a number of film, TV, and stage productions. He is also a veteran of the US Army and was stationed at Fort Bragg with the 82nd Airborne Division. He’s the author of Color of Justice and Hidden Secrets, Hidden Lives.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Color of Justice 1
I always loved this feeling. The nervous energy that starts on the inside. That moment of anticipation, when you know you’re on the verge of completing your mission and execution determines success or failure. There was an adrenaline rush I had become accustomed to playing college football at Eastern State University, but this was one of the few times I experienced that rush as a prosecutor.

I have prosecuted a number of cases. They were cakewalks; usually of the open-and-shut variety. I’d worked on several high-profile cases, but that was primarily doing research or as second chair. This was the first time the reins had been turned over to me completely. At twenty-seven years of age, I was being touted as the sharpest and most aggressive young federal prosecutor the city of Charlotte had ever known. I would not fail. I would not disappoint. It was time to execute!

Judge Henry Walters was presiding. He was nearing the end of his legal career and according to his detractors, losing control of his mental faculties. When I looked at him, that’s not what I saw. I saw a man who had fought for my civil rights, who helped defend the Wilmington Ten. This was the man who would regularly drive to Greensboro in the mid-seventies to have lunch at Woolworth’s lunch counter with his “black” friends. I had an immense amount of respect for the man.

“Your closing argument, Mr. Pruitt,” Judge Walters said.

Judge Walters had clarity in his voice and sharpness in his eyes that I had not seen him display over the last month. I sensed his adrenaline was flowing also.

I nodded my head, took a deep breath and rose to my feet. I looked at the defendant and his table of lawyers to my left. There sat Paul Hughes, a baldheaded and thick-bearded, heavy-set African American in his forties. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he could be a fun-loving, joke-telling uncle. But this man would take a life just as easily as he’d take his next breath. Trust me, he had the rap sheet to prove it. I then looked at his defense attorneys; both wore dark gray Brooks Brothers suits and starched shirts. The only way to tell these guys apart were their different color ties. I thought to myself, Let’s roll up our sleeves and knuckle up, boys. This is the last round and I’m about to unload.

I took my time and walked to the center of the courtroom. The only sound was that of my shoes clicking across the wooden floor. When I reached the center, I turned to face the jury. I made eye contact with as many of the jurors as I could. They were waiting for me to ease their minds and tell them it was okay to send Mr. Paul Hughes to prison for twenty years to life. I would.

“The law for me has always been black and white; no gray area. It is either right or wrong. No in-between. Crack cocaine is illegal. No one has the right to produce and distribute this vile substance that is so vicious that it destroys the very souls of our communities. I wouldn’t do it, you wouldn’t do it, but Paul Hughes would.” That momentary pause gave everyone the opportunity to look at Hughes. “One of my responsibilities is to ensure that if someone does break the law, they pay for their crimes against our society.” I gave my captive audience some time to let this sink in. Slowly, I continued, “You and I are here to ensure that the defendant, Paul ‘Major’ Hughes—a.k.a. Major Player—pays for his crimes. You’ve heard testimony from one of his lieutenants and a number of his minions. We have provided evidence from the records of his felonious organization. These records attest to the gross of four-and-a-half million dollars in the sale of cocaine, here in Charlotte. I’d say that was major for a major player. He played his game and he got caught. Now it’s time for you to play, to get into the game, and shut him down.” With that, I took my seat.

I was in the zone. In my view, the case was a slam-dunk. No amount of double talk or diversionary tactics would be able to sway this jury. It didn’t matter how much money Hughes threw at his lawyer; they couldn’t change what was about to happen. They were here to buy down Hughes’ time and pick up their check. If they had just mailed in their closing argument, it would have had the same effect as what they were going to be laying out for the jury.

I watched Hughes’ lead attorney get up, go to the jury, and make his feeble plea to them. By the time I’d decided to pay attention to his closing, he was done. He was done? Wait a minute. Weren’t they going to roll up their sleeves? Weren’t they going to knuckle up? They had just conceded the victory to me. It was no fun beating someone when they just laid down. This definitely wasn’t the monumental battle that I had hoped for. I was disappointed and almost became angry that they hadn’t offered more of a challenge. That is, until I looked at Paul Hughes.

Hughes sat there as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was trying to convey to the judge and jury that he was an innocent victim of a conspiracy. He was not. He was a predator. He had wreaked havoc on countless people’s lives. From drug dealers, to drug users, to innocent victims, lives had been lost and forever changed. The lives of sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers had been destroyed. What did Hughes care about any of these lives? Nothing; not one thing. He had afforded himself all the things that go along with this lifestyle. Money, cars, women, clothes. In other words, all the flash. The Panther and Bobcat games, concerts and clubs; if it was happening, Hughes was in the middle of it. To hell with Hughes; if his attorneys were willing to send him to the slaughterhouse, I would oblige them. Now I would get to introduce his slick ass to the flip side of that flash.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this concludes the closing arguments,” Judge Walters said. “Bailiff, please show the jury out. The court is in recess until the jury returns with a verdict.”

It was 3:17 p.m. I knew that if the jury didn’t reach a decision by 4:30, we would be back here again tomorrow. I picked up my three-year-old briefcase and put my file on Hughes inside. I couldn’t stand the look of this briefcase. It was a gift from my parents when I finished law school. It was a great briefcase; it just wasn’t worn enough yet. It didn’t afford me with the look of someone who’d grappled with the law for twenty years. My friend Chuck Mays asked me if I had ever seen Johnnie Cochran’s briefcase. He said it smelled of new leather every time he cracked it open. Now how Chuck had acquired that knowledge, I’d never know. Chuck had a knack for finding out things that others simply could not. His point was well taken, but I still liked the idea of a well-worn briefcase. It’d always been a part of my romanticism with the law.

I left the courtroom and decided to go get some air. It was mid-April. In Charlotte, North Carolina, that meant the temperature was already pushing eighty degrees. Not hot though; the winter cool was still in the air and the humidity was still a month and a half away.

“James!” A voice stopped me as I headed for the elevator. “What’s happening?” I knew it was none other than Jason Baines.

Jason was a fellow prosecutor whose concentration was primarily corporate fraud and embezzlement. But he tried to keep up with all the disciplines, and usually did.

“Jason, what up?”

“Dude, I’m hanging.”

Jason was from San Diego. He was thirty-six and had never...

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Verlag
Strebor
Erscheinungsdatum
2011
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
159309325X
ISBN 13 
9781593093259
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
320
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV
info@simonandschuster.nl

Herculesplein 96
Utrecht
3584 AA
Niederlande