Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days (30 page)

For me, I’m the youngest of six. My relationship with my father wasn’t the best. He was a former military man who played by very strict rules. He was the disciplinarian. I was on the other end of that coming up. That was true for a lot of black families from that time. The world wasn’t always a safe place for young black people, and the odds against making it felt so overwhelming. Gangs. Crime. Trouble at school. So if you got out of line, the belt came out. That’s how it was. Mr. Jackson even made that comment to me once, when we were talking about our families. He said he didn’t know why the media had made such a huge deal over the way his father used to discipline them. It was not uncommon back then. And to take a family from where they were? From Gary, Indiana, to as far as they made it? I think it’s hard to judge Joe Jackson if you didn’t live Joe Jackson’s life. If he hadn’t been who he was, who knows if the world would have ever heard of Michael Jackson.

I understood why he wasn’t close with some of his siblings. But all of them? The whole family? It didn’t make sense. Out of eight siblings, with all those nieces, nephews, and cousins, they couldn’t all be bad people. That’s just not possible. But we were given direct instructions that no one in the family was allowed to reach him except his mother. She was the only one who had his number, but the siblings would always convince her to divulge it. After I set up that iPhone for him, I must have changed his number four times in the first six months. Each time, it was to get away from his own family.

Even his mother—she had an open invitation to visit or call, but sometimes she’d call me and wouldn’t ask to speak to him. Maybe she didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want him to think she was intruding. She’d call me and I’d ask if she was trying to reach her son and she’d say no. She’d just say, “Is he okay? Is he eating?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s good. He’s watching a movie with the kids.”

“Oh, good. Thank you so much.”

And that was it. She was just checking on him, like mothers do.

And that was the vibe I got from most of his family too. They were just checking in on him. Which is why I had the feeling that his relationship with his family had suffered under all these handlers over the years. And without anyone from his family there, too many different people were able to reach in and put their hands in the basket and pull some money out, or manipulate him in the fragile state he was in. He really didn’t have anyone protecting him on that angle. He had security to protect his physical being. He had the best lawyers in the country taking care of his record deals and his publishing catalog. He had all that. What was missing from the organization was people who really gave a fuck about Michael Jackson.

14

After two months in New Jersey, Michael Jackson suffered two serious blows in rapid succession. That October, Sheikh Abdullah of Bahrain, weary of trying to extract a settlement from Jackson’s lawyers, filed a lawsuit against the singer in London, seeking to recoup the $7 million he’d paid for the never-delivered album and stage musical promised under the deal for Two Seas Records. Unlike the frivolous claims that ate up so much of Jackson’s time, this suit was potentially crippling. The all-encompassing language of the contract Jackson and Abdullah had signed gave the sheikh rights to any new recording or live-performance projects the singer might undertake. Jackson insisted that he’d been misled into signing a contract whose terms weren’t fully explained. Abdullah claimed he’d been used and deserted. Either way, Jackson’s ability to work was all but paralyzed until the issue could be resolved.

Just days after Abdullah’s claim was made, Fortress Investment Group made a move to foreclose on Neverland. On October 22, the group filed a Notice of Default and Election to Sell with the state of California. Jackson owed the full principal of his $23 million mortgage on the estate, plus $212,963 in interest. He had just ninety days to settle the account, or Neverland would be sold to the highest bidder.

In the autumn of 2007, Michael Jackson found himself marooned in the New Jersey basement of Connie and Dominic Cascio, his
resources tapped. As he had done so many times before, when beset by trouble, Jackson turned to a wealthy, powerful figure for help.

Bill:
One evening, after we’d been in New Jersey for a while, Mr. Jackson had us pick him up at the Cascios’ house and take him to meet with Londell McMillan, another one of these high-powered entertainment attorneys. Londell handled business for Prince, Stevie Wonder, Lil’ Kim, and he’d done some cases for Mr. Jackson in the past. I knew of Londell from other clients I used to work for, but I hadn’t heard his name come up with Mr. Jackson until that night.

They met at a mall off Route 4, the Westfield Garden State Plaza. We pulled our car into the parking lot, and Londell pulled up in his vehicle alongside ours. It was about nine o’clock and it was dark, starting to get cold out. Londell climbed in the back with Mr. Jackson, and Javon and I got out and stood outside to let them discuss what they had to discuss. They signed some documents. Whole thing lasted less than half an hour.

After that, I started hearing Londell’s name in a lot of places where I used to hear Raymone’s. Before that, it was always “Call Raymone.” Now it was “Call Londell.” I got the feeling that was the beginning of Raymone being on the way out.

Javon:
While we were in Virginia, Reverend Jesse Jackson had come down for a visit. He was a longtime friend of the family, and while he was there, he’d invited Mr. Jackson to attend his birthday party, which was going to be in Los Angeles the first week of November. We didn’t hear about it again until New Jersey. We were about two, maybe three, weeks out from the party, and Mr. Jackson said he wanted to go, that he promised Jesse Jackson that he would be there.

Bill:
Getting to L.A. was a story in itself. First, Mr. Jackson wanted to drive back. He wanted to rent a luxury bus and spend a few days
on the road. He had me looking into that. He also asked me to start looking at houses to rent in Vegas, and he gave me specific instructions not to tell Raymone I was looking at houses. So I started making calls to realtors, got some listings and printed them out for Mr. Jackson. Then everything with the trip came to a complete stop. I called Raymone to discuss the travel itinerary, and she said, “That’s not happening. I don’t know how you guys are going to get back to the West Coast.”

I said, “Do you mean that you don’t know how we’re going to get to Jesse Jackson’s birthday party, or you don’t know how we’re getting out of New Jersey, period?”

She just said that he couldn’t afford it, that he didn’t have the money to send everyone back. She said they could maybe afford to fly out just Mr. Jackson and the kids, without security or the schoolteacher or anybody else. I told Mr. Jackson that she’d proposed that, and he said, “That’s such an idiot statement. She’s such an idiot. What about you guys? Who’s going to protect my kids? No.”

He told me to call Londell. Londell was the fixer now. I called him, told him the whole story. Londell called Jesse Jackson, who agreed to put up the money for us to travel and stay in L.A. So arrangements were made for us, Mike LaPerruque, Mr. Jackson, his hairstylist, the kids, and the schoolteacher to be flown into L.A. three days before the party.

We flew out commercial. We drove in to JFK from New Jersey, and I made arrangements with some people I knew to meet us at the airport and take the trucks back to the Cascios’ house; the plan was to have them shipped back to Las Vegas for us to use once we returned there. Prince’s dog had to be shipped too. We could take the cat on the plane in a carrier, but the dog was going to have to stay with the Cascios and be shipped later. Prince, he cried his eyes out when he had to leave that dog behind. He was in that backseat, sobbing the whole way to the airport. I asked Mr. Jackson, “Is he okay?”

He said, “Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s just upset, but I told him you’ll make sure Kenya’s okay. You’ll take care of it, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

At JFK, we were met by airport security and a few management officials. They knew we were coming in, and Mr. Jackson and the kids were cleared to go straight to the plane. Javon and Mike LaPerruque escorted them to the gate. I stayed with the bags. Mr. Jackson told me, “Bill, make sure you count the bags, because a lot of my stuff has gone missing at airports.”

“Yes, sir.”

There were about thirty bags. I was keeping a special eye on the case with the Oscars. He also had a Louis Vuitton briefcase and another leather case with all his jewelry and makeup. These two TSA guys were scanning each bag. I was watching and keeping track. The Louis Vuitton case was the last to go through. As that was being scanned, they said to me, “Sir, we can’t see inside this bag through our scanner. We need to open it.”

I said, “I don’t have the key, and I don’t know the combination.”

They said, “We have keys to open it. May we?”

“Sure.”

They opened it. I couldn’t see what they were looking at; they were on the other side of the scanner. But they opened up this briefcase, and one guy looked at the other guy, and that guy looked up at me and gave me this stunned, wide-eyed look. Yo, you talk about nervous? I didn’t know what was in that bag. I was getting ready to say, “That shit ain’t mine,” when they said, “Sir, could you step over here?”

I was still in the middle of taking things out of my pockets; I hadn’t even gone through the metal detector yet. They said, “Don’t worry about your pockets, sir. Just come on through.”

I went to the other side and they turned the briefcase around. There was at least $300,000 in there. Ten-thousand-dollar stacks.
Nothing but the Benjamins. And these two guys didn’t know who I was with. Mr. Jackson had gone through separately. They thought this belonged to me. My first instinct was to run. My mind snapped into ghetto mode, you know? I’m a black man at the airport with a suitcase full of cash. I didn’t know what to do.

They said, “You have to claim this.”

Just as they were telling me what I needed to do and who I needed to call, the manager who’d escorted Mr. Jackson to the plane happened to be walking back. I flagged her down and said, “Ma’am, can you please tell them who I’m with?”

The manager looked down and saw the briefcase and said, “Oh, you’re with the . . .” She gestured back toward the gate. “Right. You’re fine.” She turned to the two agents. “He’s fine. Let him through.”

They let me through, and I got the carry-ons and headed to the gate. You talk about relief? I thought I was going to be detained. I didn’t know what.

We flew into LAX and we were met by a car service and a couple other security guys who worked for Jesse Jackson. The schoolteacher, the hairstylist, and I were going to stay at a hotel by the airport. Mr. Jackson and the kids were staying as the guest of some friend of Jesse Jackson’s in Beverly Hills. Mike LaPerruque was from L.A., so he stayed at his own house, and he didn’t live too far. Javon had his people in L.A. too; he stayed with his grandmother. I took Mr. Jackson and the kids to the house and then crashed at the hotel.

The party was at the Beverly Hilton two days later. I got in touch with Jesse Jackson’s people to go over the arrangements, which way we’d be coming in, what time, where. That night when we arrived, Jesse Jackson was outside waiting for us. Lots of big names. Larry King. Don Cornelius from
Soul Train
. We got out of the car, and the flashes from the cameras started going off—boom, boom, boom! They were all around us. Everywhere. We did the whole red carpet thing and then went inside.

As I was walking Mr. Jackson to his table, I saw Berry Gordy. I knew he’d been instrumental in Mr. Jackson’s career coming up at Motown, but I’d never heard Mr. Jackson mention his name before, so I wasn’t sure if there was some animosity between them. I whispered to Mr. Jackson, “Sir, there’s Berry Gordy.” When Mr. Jackson saw him? He damn near knocked a woman down rushing over to see him. He ran straight over to Berry Gordy and grabbed him and gave him the biggest hug.

It was a real friendship hug that they gave each other. When I saw that, I felt good about it. After the event, we went upstairs to a suite for the after-party, and Mr. Jackson and Berry Gordy were talking again. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but just from the looks on their faces, I could tell the conversation was deep. At one point, I did hear Mr. Jackson say, “Thank you. I miss you. I could use your help.” Maybe he was really opening up about the state he was in, the problems he was having. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it was good that he could talk to someone who went back that far, someone he knew. Once the party was over, we got the cars ready. Jesse Jackson walked him to the door and thanked him for being there, and we bounced.

The next morning, I got a call from the hotel desk around eleven. They said, “Will you be checking out today?”

I said, “I don’t think so.”

“Well, we only had a prepayment for three days, and we’re going to need another credit card to put on the account by noon.”

I called Mr. Jackson and made him aware of the situation. He told me to call Londell. I called Londell. Londell said, “Why are you guys still there?”

I said, “I don’t know. Nobody told me any different.”

He said, “Only three days were paid for at the hotel. He’s supposed to be out of the house he’s staying at too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That guy has other guests coming in. We told him that Mr. Jackson only needed the house for three days.”

Londell told me the rest was up to us. “Figure it out,” he said. Those were his exact words. I called Mr. Jackson and told him that Londell said there was nothing he could do and that we were going to have to leave the hotel. Mr. Jackson said, “Okay. I’ll call you right back.”