Defining Moments

by Ben Burgess Jr.

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Cases hit emotional chords when two lawyers force their clients to reckon interracial relationships and family drama. Will the racial tension of their cases destroy them or make them stronger?

When the prestigious law firm of Wayne, Rothstein, and Lincoln catches two major cases—a rape case against a white NBA star who allegedly raped a black stripper, and a murder case against a black rapper who allegedly killed a gay couple and two policemen—Bill O'Neil and Ben Turner are tasked with handling these racially charged litigations.

Release date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 288

Sample

“You heard that?” I asked my partner, Rashida.

“Yup, sounded like shots, Ebony.”

“Hit the lights. Let’s check it out.”

“Units, be advised, I’m getting numerous callers stating they’ve heard gunshots on the corner of Fourteenth Street and Tenth Avenue,” the radio dispatcher said.

I grabbed my radio, keyed the microphone, and responded, “Sixth Precinct Sergeant, Central. Show me responding. I’m two blocks away.”

“Sergeant, be advised: I’m now being told by various callers that this is a 10-13. Officers need immediate assistance. Callers are stating that two cops and two unidentified males have been shot. Are there units to back the sergeant and confirm?”

Every unit in the area agreed to back me up. Rashida’s light-skinned complexion reddened, and her dreads swayed as she stepped on the gas and weaved through traffic.

We got to the corner and rushed out of the car. Two of my cops, Officers Mendez and Mahoney, were holding a man at gunpoint. He had blood on his hands, wore a black T-shirt, and jeans.

“Drop your weapon and get on the ground with your hands on your head,” Mendez yelled.

Mahoney slowly moved in closer to the man with his gun pointed directly at the man’s chest.

“This is fucked-up. I didn’t do it. I found them like that,” the man at gunpoint yelled.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Drop the gun and get on the ground now,” Mendez yelled.

The man dropped the gun but put up a hell of a fight, swinging wildly at Mahoney when he moved in. Mahoney grabbed his arm and wrestled him facedown to the pavement. Rashida kicked the gun from out of the man’s reach while Mendez, Mahoney, and I fought and struggled to cuff him. My knee was on the man’s lower back while Rashida held his other arm for Mahoney to cuff. The man winced in pain as Mahoney tightened and locked the cuffs.

“Fuck you, pigs! I didn’t kill anybody. I want a fucking lawyer,” the perp said, squirming while Mendez frisked him before raising him up off the ground.

He hocked up the phlegm in his throat, turned his head, spat, and kicked at Mendez and Mahoney as they struggled to put him in the backseat of their marked car.

Winded, I asked Mendez, “Where are the cops Central said were shot?”

“Once we pulled up, we saw this guy holding a gun with blood all over him. He bolted, and we chased after him. We didn’t get to look for the other cops.”

“I’m on it. Handle things with this guy.”

Rashida and I ran around the corner. I scanned the area, and my eyes landed on a patrol car riddled with bullets on the corner of Gansevoot and Washington Streets. My heartbeat sped up. People were crowding around two men lying on the sidewalk in front of the Allouche Art Gallery.

“I’ll check on the men on the ground,” Rashida said, sprinting toward them.

Several shots were in the car doors, windows, and windshield. Gomez slumped against the driver’s-side door. His eyes were open and glazed over, but he wasn’t blinking. Roberts was shaking and holding his throat. I opened the driver’s-side door and gasped when I saw Gomez’s bullet-riddled body and a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. He was gone.

I moved toward the passenger side and opened the door, and Roberts fell to the concrete, gasping, grunting, and holding his neck. His bloody hands were covering a wound where he was hit in the throat, straining to breathe.

“Fuck,” I yelled.

Rashida came over to me.

“Both of the guys across the street were shot and killed—”

“Gomez and Roberts are hurt.”

Rashida stared at Gomez.

“Boss ... Gomez is—”

“I know, but we have to try. We can’t let both of them die out here.”

My trembling hands reached to key in my radio. “Central, I need you to rush buses to this location now. We have confirmed four men shot. Two unidentified males and two officers. I repeat, two officers have been shot.”

I was nervous, but I needed to keep my composure. Panic was on Roberts’s face. Tears streamed from his eyes as he looked at me, and his legs kicked frantically as he fought to live.

“You’re going to be OK. Don’t give up on me, Roberts. Stay with me,” I shouted.

I couldn’t wait for the ambulance. I had to get Gomez and Roberts to a hospital ASAP.

“Fuck it. Rashida, let’s go. Grab Gomez. We’ll throw them both in the back of the car and drive them to Bellevue. We don’t have time to wait for the bus.”

Rashida nodded and helped me put Roberts and Gomez in the back of our patrol car.

More units arrived at the scene. I rushed over and immediately started delegating tasks. I pointed to the first group and said, “I need you to wait for EMS to take care of the victims across the street.”

I faced the other group. “I need you to search for witnesses and cameras in the area that might’ve caught this guy killing everyone.”

Everyone dispersed to handle their assignments. I hurried back to my car.

We screeched away from the corner, swerving in and out of traffic. At some places, Rashida drove on the sidewalk to avoid traffic and make it to the hospital as fast as possible. I turned to the backseat. Roberts’s movements were gradually slowing down. Gomez’s glassy, lifeless eyes were staring back at me. I didn’t want to believe it, but he was dead. I sighed and focused my attention on Roberts.

“Stay with me, OK? We’re going to get you some help. We’re almost there.”

I keyed the microphone on my radio and said, “Sixth Precinct Sergeant.”

“Sergeant, proceed.”

“Central, please contact Bellevue and advise them that I’m taking the two injured officers to the hospital myself. The officers are badly injured, and we’re losing time waiting for the ambulance.”

“10-4, Sergeant. I’m putting in the notification now.”

Once we pulled up to the hospital, the staff hurried outside with gurneys and equipment and rushed the officers inside. Blood covered my uniform and trembling hands. Rashida and I exchanged scared looks as we watched the hospital staff frantically work on Gomez and Roberts. My cell phone buzzed with a call from my commanding officer.

“Williams, where are you?” Inspector Phillips asked.

I brought him up to speed with all the details on the scene.

“Jesus, I’m on my way. Are you all right?”

“I’m good. I just hope the paramedics can save them. Once everything is cleared up, I’ll head back and take care of everything at the scene—”

“Everything at the scene is under control. I sent Captain Wallace there. I want you to make sure you’re all right. You saw a lot tonight. You can’t help anyone else if your head’s not focused.”

“Honestly, I’m good.”

“Keep me posted on Roberts and Gomez’s conditions if anything changes before I get there.”

“Yes, sir.”

I ended the call. The hospital staff looked up at me and shook their heads with saddened expressions. I knew it was too late. They both had passed.

I gradually opened my eyes and gathered my bearings as I heard my cell phone buzzing. I felt around the nightstand for my phone and grabbed it. The neon red digits on my cable box read two forty-three in the morning. Becky was sound asleep in my arms, nuzzled against my chest as I answered my cell phone.

“Hello,” I said groggily.

“Ben, I need you to wake up, buddy.”

I squinted to read the name of the person that was crazy enough to call me this early in the morning. My eyes bulged. I sat up when I realized it was Tim, one of the partners from my law firm.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Ben, we need you to come to the firm ASAP. An important case just came in, and it could define your career in a very positive way if you pull out a win.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to get into all the particulars. Hurry. The other partners and I will brief you when you get here.”

“I’m on my way now, sir.”

He ended the call.

I tried to ease out of bed without waking Becky. I tossed the covers off and draped my legs over the side of the bed. Becky stirred and rolled over next to me, her hard pink nipples exposed. She stretched and yawned.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Almost three.”

“What’s going on? What do they want now?”

Becky was used to seeing me jump whenever the partners called.

“I gotta go. A big case came in, and they want me to handle it.”

“Ugh, it’s so early.”

“I know. Get some sleep, baby. I’ll call you once things calm down.”

“Since I’m up now, wanna have a quickie before you go in? You’ll be more relaxed for work.”

“Rain check.”

Rebecca sulked and buried her face in the pillow.

Seeing her lying there naked was tempting, but I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish. After I showered and got dressed, I rushed toward the door.

“Don’t work too hard, babe. Call me when you get a free minute during the day,” she said, adjusting my tie.

“I will. I promise.”

I gave her a quick kiss and ran out the door of our brownstone. Since it was early in the morning, I figured the commute from Fort Green, Brooklyn, to the firm in Midtown Manhattan shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.

I was a junior associate at one of the biggest law firms in New York—Wayne, Rothstein, and Lincoln. I was also the only African American associate. Many at the firm felt that I was only hired because of affirmative action. Working in a prestigious law firm came with loads of responsibilities, and being the only black associate, I had to work twice as hard as the other associates just to be seen for who I was and what I was capable of.

I spent eight years grinding, busting my ass night in and night out, sometimes working eighteen hours a day so I’d be taken seriously and earn the respect of the partners. I sacrificed, missing important events, special milestones, and anniversaries with Becky and my family to take on every assignment the partners asked of me. I wanted to make a name for myself and rise in the firm, with one goal: making partner. I did everything possible to be close to flawless in my work. I’d seen firsthand how different things were when a white associate made a mistake and when I, their token black guy, made one. One fuckup would erase all the positive things I’d done and bring me back to square one.

With all my hard work, the partners often had me serve as the first chair, along with the senior partners on some of the most critical and newsworthy cases handled by the firm. If what Tim said was true, this case had to be huge and might be what I needed to push the firm to make me a partner finally.

I turned on the radio and flipped to the go-to news station in NY, 1010 Wins, to get an idea of what I was going in for as I sped to the firm.

The top news was about a rapper named “Co-Kayne” who was arrested for killing a pair of cops and a gay couple. The police found him standing over the couple’s bodies, holding the murder weapon and covered in their blood. I prayed that wasn’t the case I was handling, but I was sure that it probably was. Other trending news was about an NBA player, Johnny Alfieri, who was scheduled to turn himself in to the police after a stripper made claims that he raped her.

I pulled up to the firm and parked my BMW 750 in the parking lot underneath the building. Bill, another associate who had a winning record as good as mine, pulled his Range Rover into a spot close to me. The guy exuded confidence. He was a brown-haired, blue-eyed pretty boy that joked and laughed with the partners regularly. They playfully teased him about his black girlfriend, and, when they thought I was out of earshot, shared stories with him about the times they fucked black women. He had lots of photos with his girlfriend all over his office, but I kept very few personal things in mine. I heard how the other partners dogged black women. I didn’t want them to have animosity toward me because I was dating a white one. I kept my private life private.

To most of the people of color around the firm, Bill gave the appearance of being “down.” If you closed your eyes and heard him speak, he even sounded “black.” Every morning, he greeted and hugged the firm’s only black secretary, Mrs. Wilson, but I knew it was all for show. While he might’ve had her and most of the minorities around the office fooled, I saw through his façade. He was just another bigot that hid it well.

“You’re here early,” I said as we walked toward the elevator.

“Yeah, Francis said he and the other partners needed me to come in for a case ASAP.”

“Me too. Tim called me. I wonder why they needed both of us.”

Bill’s cell phone buzzed on our way up to the office. He pulled it out of his pants pocket and answered it.

“Hey, babe, I had to come into work early. What’s up?” he said.

His eyes widened. “Oh my God. Are you OK?”

He looked shaken and alarmed by the call.

“Fuck it, where are you? I’ll come to you. It doesn’t matter if I’m at the firm. I’ll explain to the partners I have a family emergency. Babe ... You say you’re all right, but I can hear in your voice you’re shaken up. All right, I’ll calm down, but as soon as I handle things here, I’ll call you. I love you, babe. See you soon.”

He ended the call.

“You all right?” I asked.

“My girl is a sergeant for NYPD in Manhattan. Some rapper went crazy and killed two cops she worked with and two other guys around a club on Washington Street. The cops died right after she rushed them to the hospital.”

“I heard about that on the radio on the way here. Sorry about your girl.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence for a minute.

“I wonder if that’s the case they want us to handle,” I said.

“I hope not. It’ll be a conflict of interest for me.”

We took the elevator to the twenty-first floor, walked down the hall to the conference room, and saw the three partners of the law firm, Richard Wayne, Tim Rothstein, and Francis Lincoln, sitting at the head of the long mahogany conference table.

“All right, gentlemen, have a seat,” Richard said. “We’re pressed for time, so we need to move fast. I’m going to be talking quickly, so I suggest both of you take notes.”

I nodded and took out my legal pad.

“The firm picked up two clients with very difficult cases. One of the clients is the rapper Co-Kayne that allegedly killed two cops and a gay couple. Our other client is an NBA player that allegedly raped a stripper at a gentlemen’s club.”

I knew he was worried about these cases. His face was as red as his bloodshot eyes. Richard slid a file over to me.

“Ben, we want you to handle the rapper case. You’re going to be the first chair, and Tim will be second to help advise and oversee everything.”

He slid another file over to Bill.

“Bill, you’ll handle the ball player. The district attorney’s office sent us a video from the gentlemen’s club incident. It’s pretty clear and detailed and doesn’t look good for our client. We’ll discuss that later after we go over Ben’s case.”

Richard faced me. “I’ll start with your case first, Ben, because I need you to head to the 6th Precinct right after I brief you. Co-Kayne, whose real name is Reginald Brown, was found with the couple’s blood on him and the gun in his hand when the cops caught him. His record label spokesman told us four witnesses saw him arguing with the gay couple inside the club, and he screamed he’d ‘fucking kill their faggot asses’ an hour before they were killed.”

I shook my head.

“It gets worse. The club has a video of him throwing his drink in one of the victim’s faces. Later on, the video shows the couple leaving the club, and three minutes later, Reggie stumbles out drunk, headed in the direction of the couple. He has a rap sheet full of drug and assault charges, and his music is full of homophobic lyrics.”

“Great,” I said sarcastically.

“Luckily, he lawyered up quickly, and we advised him not to say anything to the detectives until we send representation for him.”

“Co-Kayne only wanted a ‘brotha’ to represent him, so we knew you’d be perfect for this case,” Francis said.

“Excuse me for asking, but am I perfect because you think I’m capable of winning or because I’m the only black associate at the firm?”

Francis chuckled and said, “Both.”

“Well, Ben, we get the best of both worlds with you,” Tim said. “You appeal to our black and other minority clients, but you don’t act all ‘ghetto,’ so you’re a good asset to have.”

The partners laughed.

I didn’t.

They saw a disparity in the way I dressed, talked, and acted. To them, I was black but tolerable. They made jokes all the time about how, in their eyes, I didn’t “act black enough.” I didn’t want to do or say anything that would prevent me from making a partner, so most of the time, I laughed them off and let it slide, but deep down, their words tore me up inside. Since I was a kid, I never felt “black” enough when I was around my own people. When I played sports with other black kids, they’d often say things like “you talk white” or tease me for not understanding slang. My parents were respected judges. We lived in Brookville, Long Island, a mostly white upper-class neighborhood. I went to the prestigious Portledge Private School my entire childhood and grew up around mostly whites.

Richard leaned back in his burgundy executive chair, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

“We have nothing but confidence in you, Ben. These cases are important to the firm. It’s a lot to ask of the two of you to win both of these cases, but as an added incentive for the two of you to get a win, whoever does the best will be strongly considered for a partnership with this firm.”

My ears perked up when I heard the mention of “making partner.” Bill and I looked at each other. I knew what this was. They weren’t giving me this case because of my hard work. I got it by default because I was black.

If this case would be the one to boost my career and promote me to partner, I’d do everything legally possible to win, even though this case felt more like a suicide mission. Bill’s case seemed more winnable, and I bet the partners were rooting for him because he was white, but I wouldn’t let that discourage me from trying to win my case.

“All right, Ben, rush down to the 6th Precinct. Keep Tim posted on everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

I gathered my things and watched the partners smiling and laughing with Bill while they got the video ready for his case. I rushed out the door. I knew they had him pegged as the next partner, but I was determined to win my case.

“Whew, Ben’s going to have his hands full with that case,” Richard laughed.

“Yours is no walk in the park either, but be thankful that thug wanted a ‘brotha’ for a lawyer,” Francis said. “Your chances of winning this case are way better than Ben’s.”

The partners laughed while I put on an unsure grin.

The truth was, Ben was going to be strong competition. Some of my best strengths were that I was good at reading and understanding people. I could usually connect with anyone, especially trial juries, and that had helped me become a successful lawyer. Ben was a meticulous lawyer with a great eye for detail. He saw all the small things that most lawyers missed. He worked his ass off, but I needed this partnership, I was sure, more than he did.

The partners mentioned awhile back that Ben grew up pampered and well off with both of his parents, who were successful judges. I didn’t have that luxury then, and I damn sure didn’t have it now. I grew up with just my mom and me in a poor, single-parent home. It was hard for us because, to this day, my mom still battled multiple sclerosis, deteriorating daily from it.

I made decent money, but becoming a partner would give me a big enough salary to easily cover all my bills, the financial ability to put my mom in a comfortable, assisted-living place full-time, and the flexibility to plan my proposal to my girl Ebony. The ring I’d bought for her had been sitting in my desk drawer for months. I looked at it every day, but I hadn’t popped the question yet because I had nowhere near enough money to give her the wedding she deserved.

A large projection screen descended from the ceiling. Francis operated the laptop on the conference table while Richard continued to talk.

“Now we’re lucky. The surveillance video had audio. After the NYPD vice unit raided the strip club two years ago, the owner, Jerrod, swore he’d run a legit business without prostitution. He had high-definition cameras installed throughout the club with audio capabilities as an attempt to stop the strippers from sleeping with the customers. He’s willing to testify on our client’s behalf.”

“What’s the name of the strip club?” I asked.

“J’s Gentlemen’s Quarters,” Francis answered.

“We’ll play the video so you can see what we’re dealing with here,” Richard said.

The video started with Johnny sitting in the corner of the strip club directly under the camera. Since he was so close to it, we could see and hear their conversation. The video showed the stripper, Sophia, saunter over to Johnny. He pulled out a wad of money and waved it at her. Sophia smiled, climbed into his lap, and straddled him.

“Damn, ma, how much?” he asked.

“It depends on what you’re looking for.”

“You know what I want.”

“Uh, we don’t do that here anymore. Are you a cop?”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“Should I?”

“Fuck, yeah. I’m Johnny Alfieri, the best white boy playin’ in the NBA.”

“Sorry, I don’t watch sports. Look, I can give you a private lap dance, but that’s about it.”

“The only type of lap dance I want from you involves you riding my lap with neither of us wearing clothes.” He laughed. She didn’t. “You really gonna lose out on making all this money?” He pointed to all of the scantily clad women walking around the strip club.

“Just name your price. Come on. I’m sure none of these other women here would turn down making this easy money.”

She looked like she was questioning whether she should.

“All right, get a VIP room, and we’ll fuck in there. No anal and no leaving marks. I want my money up front before we do anything,” she said, standing up.

Johnny smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

A devilish grin grew on his face as he slapped her on the ass and watched her walk away.

The video went to the next camera, where Sophia met up with Johnny in the VIP room.

She got undressed.

Johnny started fondling her breasts, and Sophia looked uncomfortable. “Wait... I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry. I c. . .