Flatbush Jones, Esquire

I was in my car when my phone rang. I’d just purchased one of those new Bluetooth speakers that clip to your visor and allow you to communicate through a preset channel on your Bluetooth equipped radio.

“Call from Flatbush Jones,” the British accented voice modulated over the Isley Brothers.

“Sup Flat?”

“This ain’t Flat. This Tessie,” a voice hummed through the car speakers.

“Hey Baby, wha's up?”

Tessie’s history in Flat’s life was a complicated one. Pound for pound, Tess had one of the purest hearts I’d ever experience. She was also a super freak from the word go. She and Flat had become friends a long while back, and after becoming friends, they realized they had something in common: they both liked women. Tess hit for both teams, and happily agreed that teaming up with Flat to seduce curious twenty somethings would be fun. It would be easy, too, as Tess was a twenty something herself.

Tess was buck wild. She’d starred in a couple of low budget adult movies, frequently attended sex parties quietly thrown in outlying hotels (“there’s the orgy room, the lesbian room, the anal room, the squirt room…you pay your entrance fee and join your party.”) and basically would get down in a moment’s notice, if she felt like it. No holds were barred with Tess.

Tess was no hoe. She never did any of this for money. If she liked you, she would allow you to experiment with any sexual madness you could dream up while you were together. If she didn’t like you, kick rocks. She had offered me all types of sexual favors just on GP. There are times to this day when I regret having passed on them. She couldn’t stand Irwin, who made a habit of groping her every time he was within five feet of her.

“For your boy to be gay he sure does like handling my merchandise,” she grumbled to me once, after sternly instructing me to never leave her alone with Irwin, again.

“Irwin ain’t gay. He just ain’t up for a lot of BS,” was all I could reply.

“OK, well, tell him to miss me with his BS the next time he jams his hands down my panties. Ewww…I need a shower.”

Tess got busy for fun. She was like that Schullberg character that agreed sex “was about the nicest thing two people could do for one another.” Even the films she did were more favors for significant others, one male, one female, who waned to break into the industry. Once, when she was broke, and I suggested she let Flat manage her as she makes the circuit of adult film production spots in Chicago, she refused to speak to me for a month.

She was also the closest thing to a wife that Flat had. When he was between places, he lived with Tess. When her kids needed help with their homework, Flat was there with his head full of answers. He helped her with her rent. She cooked for him and fussed over him when he wasn’t taking care of himself. They argued a lot, but I have seen marriages that lasted decades, produced well-reared kids and tons of community standing that lacked the level of love between Tess and Flat.

“Flat is in jail,” she said calmly. “I’m calling you to see if you can talk to Irwin about an appeal.”

“What happened?” Thank the Almighty for Bluetooth. My hands steadied the wheel.

“You know he and Emo went to court today.”

“That was today?”

“Yeah. We know yo’ boy. He went in expecting great things.”

“And?”

“I told you where he is. Great things? I think he missed the mark on that one.”

Emo was the mother of Flat’s fifteen-year-old daughter. She was about a decade older than Flatbush, and while Flat contributed his time and money to the raising of his child, he had left Emo with they type of emotional scars a woman doesn’t forget. With some women, it is best to walk away. To continue to abuse her love and trust would only make her tally the points she had to get even one day, at any cost.

That past summer, they’d argued over what Flat felt was Emo’s lax discipline regarding Ellen. Emo was one of those Black mothers that doesn’t want anyone telling her how to raise her child, and demanded her daughter respect her at all costs. The balancing act was, as in so many similar cases, the child was free to disrespect whomever else crossed her path. That was the way Flat described it, at least.

Flat seethed when Ellen’s grades dipped. He ranted when he caught her talking to boys on the telephone. He blew up when he saw her, clad in only her underwear, posing like a porn star on her myspace page. He lit into Emo, running her down as a mother. Such conversations are rarely productive. Emo lit into him. Anyone having witnessed these confrontations knows the female always wins.

Emo then called Flatbush’s mom, her child’s grandmother. She made it clear that bad, physical things happen to Flat should he continue to interfere. In other cultures, this is a declaration of war. Black Americans have reached such a low point where it is now just communication. It is a sad day where gender solidarity reached such lows where a woman feels confident sharing threats with another woman regarding her offspring?



News of this call sent Flat into another rage, and he lashed out, verbally, at Emo. Apparently, they traded barbed voice mails. Flat listened, erased, and returned them. Emo listened, saved and took them to the local police department, where she obtained an order of protection against Flat. She conveniently forgot to mention her role in the matter. As they are wont to do, police, especially male ones, have little interest in getting an angry Black woman angry with THEM. They gave her the paperwork, and a court date, and return to their search for donut nirvana.

Flat knew none of this. One day he is stopped by erstwhile law enforcement authorities that are concerned the twelve-year-old Caddy Flat is driving has no taillight. Running his license, the fuzz learns that Mr. Jones is wanted for failing to appear in court in regards to an order of protection he did not know existed. Angry, once Flat got out, he began letting Emo know that if she didn’t rescind the order and squash all of the silliness, she would disappear. Although language like that can cause for folk to get orders of protection, apparently this was an off week for Flat, thinking wise.

After getting along for a bit, Emo tells Flat she will drop the order of protection, and there is no need for him to return to court. As Flat explained this to me, he grew resentful that I made references to Charlie Brown, Lucy and an old football.

Things didn’t get interesting until Flat was arrested once again, for not showing up to court. “But she told me not to come!” he told us over the phone. It wasn’t worth reminding him she hadn’t told him about the order at all, either.

Irwin stepped in, doing as he does for so many of his friends who need legal representation badly and need a solid source of funding even more.

Flat had little money. He had no clout. Now he had a lawyer, and he was angry that he didn’t get Johnnie Cochran.

Flatbush needled Irwin. He criticized his technique. He explained that he wanted a more aggressive attorney. Irwin would quietly mutter, “Flat, let me lawyer…” and push on.

One day Flat shared with me something he brought to Irwin’s attention: “Emo says the prosecutor went to school with Irwin and doesn’t respect him at all. I let him know this so he could step up his game.”

After a few months of this, Flat made the announcement that he was terminating Irwin, and representing himself forthwith. I do believe he used the word forthwith.

This led to a heated discussion later that day between he and I.

“Flat, man,” I started over a beer, “you can’t do this. This is a minor, misdemeanor case. If you work this right you can walk scott free. If you screw up, the judge can hit you with a year. Me, you and Irwin are in our late thirties. Are you willing to give up a year of your life?”

“Irwin wants me to take a plea. I didn’t do anything. I’m not pleading guilty.”

“The plea is what? Time served and anger management?”

“Yeah. I’m not doing it.”

“That’s silly. If you get locked up, a condition of release could be having to do anger management anyway.”

“I’ve done time before.”

“Not for anything so stupid.”

“I didn’t do it! I’m being railroaded.”

“Dummy, Geronimo Pratt you AIN’T. You talking about a year of your life over some foolishness. The end result…”

“Plus, I’m not happy with the way Irwin is handling this…”

“Yeah, in light of that air retainer you paid him, I could see why you are so highly critical.”

“Look, I have paid lawyers before. I have seen them get way more aggressive.”

“Those were criminal felony cases! Night and day.”

“He just keeps saying, ‘Let me lawyer’. The type of lawyering he’s doing, I can do just as well.”

“At half the price.”

“I asked Ir to get me a fee schedule. He has yet to do that.”

“Perhaps because eh is doing this as a favor for a friend?”

“Don’t be my friend. Tell me what I owe you and let’s nail this crazy bitch to the wall.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“I’ve been reading case procedure. I can do this. Irwin is wasting my time.”

“Cool. For the record, though, man, ever since this cat got his law license, he is good enough to call when you are going through drama, he is a good enough name to drop as your mouthpiece, but ya’ll never give the man any gratitude for his work.”

“ I said ‘Thanks!’”

“When was the last time you bought groceries with gratitude? I gotta hear both sides here, man. You wrong as hell on this, but good luck.”

Tessie’s voice came through my Altima’s speakers.

“The trial should have been an hour. It took five.”

“Oh.”

“At one point, I just put my head down and prayed, Lord, please let him shut up!”

Every question he asked was a legitimate question, but JD, he has no legal training, so he asked them the wrong way, and they were objected to. The objections were sustained.” Tess sounded tired.

“If he’d had an attorney, honestly? Emo would have been toast. As it was, Flat spent fifty minutes cross examining Emo, every question being objected and stricken, the judge getting angrier and angrier.”

“Male judge?”

“Female. White lady, but JD, she was fair. For real. Sentencing is in three weeks.”

I stopped at a light.

“Three weeks? Why is he in lockup now?”

“I think he angered the judge by wasting the court’s time. She revoked his bail after finding him guilty, doubled it, and sent him packing.”

“Why would he choose a bench trial? He would have done better getting a jury to hear his side.”

Wearily, Tessie said, “I don’t know. Can you please call Irwin and ask if he can appeal? Emo needs her ass beat for all of this silliness, but Flat didn’t make this any better.”

"What happened?"

"He would ask questions, like, You know I wasn't stalking you. Why You lying? When asked to rephrase, it was, You know I wasn't stalking you, why you lying Bitch? It was awful."

“No one testified on his behalf??”

“His mother was supposed to. You know, when he was rolling, she was always hitting him up for five hundred here, seven fifty there. He never refused. He always sent money to his siblings, even when they wouldn’t talk to him. This is crazy.”

“So…his mother?”

“She said she didn’t feel comfortable doing it. Emo probably threatened to not let her see Ellen if she did.”

“Damn. I’m sorry. I’ll get right on this. Be easy Baby.”

I called Irwin and got his voicemail. As I pulled into my driveway a bit later, he called.

“Hey JD!”

“Ir?”

“Hey…”

“Look, man, I know ya’ll got your differences.”

“Who?”

Irwin was being a bit too innocent, a tad too calm.

“You and Flat…”

“Oh. No biggie.”

“He’s back in jail. He pissed off the judge. She raised his bail. Emo won the case. Can we get an appeal filed to get him back in circulation before the holiday?”

“Hmmmm…well, JD, as an attorney, I have to tell you. The max he could get is a year. Knock off time served, plus day for day for good behavior, he’ll be out in four months. An appeal will take at least six months to get before a judge.”

“Oh.”

“Hmmm…he probably asked some good questions. Just didn’t know how to frame them. Probably dragged the trial on with all of his questions being objected to…”

“Hmmm…”

“She probably raised his bail to prove a point. You know, if he keeps his mouth shut at sentencing, she may just go for time served.”

“How do you know all of this? Have you talked to Tess?”

“No. I practice law in Cook County. I know the judge. I was prepared to do a plea with no anger management but counseling for them both. Sometimes, JD, you gotta let a lawyer lawyer. Flat didn’t. Guess his new attorney wasn’t as sharp as he thought he’d be…”

That reminded me of something I’d shared with friends years before. I have the reputation of being the asshole of the group. I’d countered that distinction went to Irwin. No one believed it at the time. Sweet, quiet innocent Irwin? But what I’d seen once or twice before, I was hearing over my car stereo right then.

“Ir…did you set this up?”

“You watch too much TV, JD. Hey, I wanted to thank you for the business you’ve been sending me. As of today, you’re the only one of the crew that pays me for the work I do for you, and I appreciate it.”

“Uh, OK. So, what we gonna do about Flat?”

“Oh, nothing we can do. That’s why it always pays to screen your counsel. More decent people get screwed because they have bad lawyers. The worst are those who have never set foot in anyone’s law school, passed not one bar exam nor practiced anywhere. Remember, a man who represents himself has a fool for a client. Let’s grab a beer next week. Tell ya girl and J I said “hey!” I gotta draft some briefs.”

Damn.