Authors: Treasure E. Blue
Chapter 35
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Five years had passed, and Keyshia was in her final year as a student at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice.
After the conversation with Ceasar, she'd found an alternative high school designed for teenage mothers. She'd taken on her studies with a vengeance, excelling academically to levels that surprised even her. She'd graduated at the top of her class with honors and was even featured in one of the city's newspapers as a student who had overcome many obstacles. Keyshia had received a number of scholarships and used them to help her along in college.
Keyshia and Ceasar had been holding Clyde down over the years by sending him letters and making sure he always had money in his commissary account. Along with Clyde, Jr., they visited him more than a dozen times so he could watch his son grow up. Each time they visited, it felt like Christmas, because they were able to spend the entire day together, hugging, kissing, and holding each other. But each visit left Keyshia with a bittersweet feeling inside, because even though she could touch Clyde and kiss him, she knew it was only temporary. Moments like these made her even more determined to get him out. She never told Clyde her plan, though, and he was happy just to know that she was still there for him and doing well for herself.
Ceasar became Keyshia's biggest cheerleader. He would pick up the baby after work and take care of him until Keyshia got home from school at ten o'clock at night.
Keyshia was a B student and maintained a 3.0 GPA. Math and philosophy kept her from being at the top of her class, but she wasn't mad because she figured that she was working three times as hard as the average student: In addition to being a full-time student, she had a full-time job and was a full-time mother.
During Keyshia's law studies class, she would find herself in the middle of sometimes nasty and heated debates about such issues as abortion, government regulation, homeland security, freedom of speech, and the war. She studied both sides of the issue at hand before committing herself to an opinion so she could slay her opponents by backing them into a corner and then using what they said against them. She learned she was a natural at this because the skills she needed to debate law issues were not so different from those she had used to survive on the streetsâwith both, it was a matter of attitude and knowing what you were talking about.
After one of those heated debates, her professor stopped her before she left the classroom. “Ms. Simmons, may I have a word with you?”
Keyshia tried to hide her displeasure, because she was sure the professor would have something arrogant to say to her. This was the second semester she had Professor Akills, and they never saw eye to eye. Keyshia thought that he always tried to embarrass her whenever she raised her hand to give her opinion or that he would purposely call on her when there was a tough question that needed to be answered. He did it so often that the other students in the class began to notice and would often ask Keyshia for the answers. This forced Keyshia to learn everything early on her syllabus or for a particular case or issue so she could be prepared if the professor called on her. Then one day it happened: Keyshia caught him slipping and nearly had him at a loss for words, and he conceded that she was absolutely right. At that point, Keyshia felt she had won the biggest victory in her life, and that moment changed her. But the assault did not end there, because Keyshia became his personal punching bag many times afterward. She never got used to the feeling of defeat, so she stayed sharp and on point at all times when she was in his class.
“Yes, Professor?” Keyshia asked now, expecting him to say something sarcastic.
“Ms. Simmons,” he asked sternly, “have you decided what law school you will be attending yet?”
“What?” Keyshia was taken aback by the question and wasn't sure how to answer it.
He said impatiently, “Come on, it's a simple enough question. You're not normally this speechless in class, Ms. Simmons.” Still flabbergasted by his comment, she said, “I was planning on becoming a paralegal.”
The professor raised an eyebrow and said mockingly, “Ms. Simmons, you can't be serious. A paralegal? I'm talking about obtaining your law degree.”
“I don't know. I never gave it much thought, to be honest with you.”
“Well, you should, because I intend to recommend you to the law school advisory board for a full scholarship, given to students who show a particular inclination and merit for law studies. Only three students are recommended each year, and you are to be one of them, Ms. Simmons. You would make a good litigation attorney because you could argue yourself out of a paper bag. I should know, you've embarrassed me this semester more times than I care to admit.”
Though Keyshia was basically the same age as most of her fellow college students, she felt much older because they seemed so lax when it came to their education, while she was a lot more willing and determined to get what she wanted in a hurryâher degree. She worked in a law office during the day and went to school at night. She was like a sponge in school and at her job, soaking up everything and doing whatever needed to be done, such as typing, taking memos, filing, or data entry tabulation.
At Hemmingway, Adorno, and Shaw, a law office that specialized in criminal cases, she learned about the inner workings and jargon of the law. Her manager, Ms. Hemmingway, was a black woman. Coworkers often mistook Keyshia for her, they looked so similar. Ms. Hemmingway was fond of Keyshia, because she reminded her of herself when she was coming up and working hard during the day while attending law school at night. She often had private talks with Keyshia, urging her to become a lawyer, but Keyshia thought she was just flattering her, and besides, she had no time to commit to several more years of school; her man was rotting away in jail, and she needed to find a loophole or mistake that had happened during his trial.
One day at work, Keyshia was asked to pull a file on one of their newest clients, a case in which Hemmingway, Adorno, and Shaw had won an appeal because of improper counsel. This particular case caught Keyshia's attention because not only was it a federal case like Clyde's, but it was an embezzlement case, which in the court's eyes was just as bad as a bank robbery.
On Keyshia's lunch break, she studied all the briefs on the case and learned that evidence that would have helped Clyde had been omitted from his case. She could not believe how negligent the defense had been with his trial and highlighted each and every infraction that she thought would apply to Clyde's case.
Keyshia filed paperwork to obtain transcripts from Clyde's trial, and in the meantime she contacted his public defender and learned that he had filed an appeal within thirty days after Clyde was found guilty and that it was still pending after all these years.
“Hey, Ceasar,” Keyshia said as she walked through the door.
Ceasar was on the couch half-asleep when she walked in, and he yawned as he asked, “Oh, hey, Keyshia, how was school tonight?”
“We had a test in philosophy and it kicked my butt, but I think I passed.”
“Good,” said Ceasar as he stood up and stretched.
“How was Clyde, Jr. today?”
“Oh, his teacher said he told her off today because he didn't want to take a nap because he preferred to finish coloring.”
Keyshia chuckled and said, “What am I going to do with that boy?”
“He's just doing the same thing Clyde used to do when he was little, because he was afraid to go to sleep thinking he was gonna miss something.” They both laughed.
“Anyway,” Ceasar said, “he had his dinner and bath, so I'm going to sleep.”
“Thanks, Ceasar,” Keyshia said as he walked toward his room.
Ceasar snapped his fingers suddenly. “Oh yeah, a package came for you today. It's heavy as hell, too. It's on the dining table. I'll see you in the morning.”
“Night, Ceasar.”
Keyshia knew that it was the transcripts and waited till he'd closed his room door to pick up the package and run to her room. He was right, she thought, that package weighed a ton. She put it on her bed and looked over at Clyde, Jr., who was sound asleep in his bed. Clyde, Jr. was growing fast, and it was evident he was going to be as tall as his daddy. She turned on the desk light and ripped open the package, then pulled out the mounds of paper and began reading each one.
Keyshia stayed up all that night underlining sections of the briefs with yellow and red highlighters. She made notes on anything disputable and was happy to see that even to her unskilled eyes, there were several questionable and dubious items. She knew she had her work cut out for her and wasn't the least bit daunted by it all.
Every night and all weekend for a month straight, Keyshia spent time picking the case apart one page at a time. Ceasar noticed the amount of time she was spending on the “project” she was doing for school and became interested in her clandestine task.
It was Saturday afternoon and he was standing at Keyshia's room door with little Clyde's coat in his hand. He and his nephew had just come back from the matinee at the Magic Johnson Theatre on 125th Street.
“Keyshia, what are you doing?” he asked.
Keyshia jumped. “Damn, Ceasar, you scared me half to death.”
Smiling, Ceasar walked closer and watched her put her hands across the papers she was working on. “I'm sorry, but I'll ask again. What are you doing that's so important that you can't spend time with your family no more?”
Keyshia gazed at him for a second and answered, “I'm working on this projectâ”
Ceasar quickly cut her off. “I know, you're working on a project for school, but what is it about?”
Keyshia decided to come clean, so she searched the papers and handed one to Ceasar to read for himself. He stared at it and looked at Keyshia before he began reading.
“
United States v. Clyde Barker. . . .
You just don't get enough, do you?” Ceasar said, giving her a sly smile.
Keyshia shrugged. “I got to try to save my man.”
Ceasar melted and walked over to hug the girl who loved his brother more than she loved herself at times. He released her, wiped the tears from his eyes, and asked, “Well, what can I do to help?”
She smiled and began showing and explaining everything to him.
Later that night, Ceasar and Keyshia sat on the couch relaxing after going through all the paperwork.
“Do you really think what you found could get Clyde's case reopened?”
Keyshia nodded slowly. “According to the law and other cases similar to Clyde's, yes, it can. All we have to do now is get a lawyer to file an appeal and hope that a judge will grant it. After that, he would go through the entire trial process all over again and we would pray that a jury would see things our way this time.”
Ceasar asked, “What does Clyde think of all this?”
“I didn't tell him. I don't want to get his hopes up too high.”
Ceasar thought about that and agreed. “Why can't we just go to a lawyer now and see if you're right, see if he got a chance?”
Keyshia looked at Ceasar and said, “Do you have any idea what it would cost to have a lawyer go through these files, Ceasar? It took me over a month just to come up with what I got, and that's exactly what they would have to do just to get to the crux of this case. Do you have any idea what lawyers bill by the hour these days? And they don't even do the research! They get some lowly intern or prelaw student to do the bulk of the work and bill the client two hundred dollars an hour. I know, 'cause that's how they do it at my job.” Keyshia paused to let Ceasar process it all and then continued, “This way, we can file the papers and necessary documents now, and if his decision gets overturned, we could hire a lawyer to try the case.”
“What makes you think this time will be any different?”
Keyshia edged closer to him and said, “That's where you come in, Ceasar.”
He was taken aback for a moment. “What could I do to make a difference in his case?”
Keyshia took a breath and threw caution to the wind. “I think Martha had something to do with the bank robbery, Ceasar.”
Ceasar looked at her and then laughed. “Come on, Keyshia, you're stretching it now. How could Martha possibly be part of Sonny and Wolf's shit?” He scratched his head and laughed again. “Martha the bank robber.”
“I'm serious, Ceasar. I thought it was silly when I first thought about it, too, but everything points to her.”
Ceasar tilted his head and asked, “How did you come up with this?”
“Well, when I went to see Sonny that time I couldn't see Clyde at Rikers, he slipped up and said he shouldn't have ever listened to her.” She stared at Ceasar and continued, “When I asked him who he was talking about, he said nobody.”
“And?” Ceasar said.
Keyshia asked quietly, “Where were you the morning of the bank robbery, Ceasar?”
As if a bolt of lightning struck him, his eyes widened and his mouth opened.
“Exactly,” Keyshia said, “and it doesn't stop there. Clyde called her right before we got to the bank to ask if she'd heard from you or Sonny. She said she hadn't heard from either of you. Now if she knew you was coming over to her house that morning, why did she tell Clyde she hadn't heard from you? She even tried to get Clyde to stop over at her house after he told her he was going to the bank and see you.”
“That bitch. She told me she wanted to see me and that it was an emergency. But when I got there nobody answered the door, so I left and went to work.”
“That was the dummy move, Ceasar, to get you out of the bank so you wouldn't recognize Sonny!”
Ceasar stood up and began pacing the floor, fuming. He went to the closet to get his jacket and said, “I'm going to see that bitch right now!”
Keyshia jumped up and stopped him. “No, Ceasar, you can't!”