Shame: The Story of a Pimp

By Joseph B. Haggerty

This is the story of a pimp, Shame, the women he uses and abuses and how he recruited and maintained them on the street. First the street is revealed through Shame's mother, Latisa, as she works for different pimps, including a pimp/gambler who uses her to entice customers with live sex shows until they crossed organized crime.

Shame has many run-ins with the law as a juvenile, but escapes detention while attending his mother's funeral. He falls in love, but is rejected when his lover finds out how old he is. As an adult, he encounters a couple of seasoned prostitutes. He convinces them to make him the kind of pimp they want. He quickly develops into a pimp like the rest of the vultures on the street. In the course of his initiation, a gangster pimp forcibly takes one of his women. Her wife-in-law attempts to rescue her.

Shame moves on, recruiting young victims and learning from other pimps the ins and outs of the street. He meets a young woman and against the unwritten rules of the street falls in love. Fighting against his feelings he cons her into believing he's in trouble to get her into prostitution. When she finds out he is a pimp, she turns on him. She is kidnapped and drugged into submission. She tries to escape, but is found dead of a drug overdose.

A policewoman who grew up with the drug victim conducts her own investigation. She goes undercover as a prostitute and another of Shame's women dies in a suspicious manner. She joins forces with a D.C. vice detective and they obtain enough evidence to get Shame arrested. The very dramatic trial does not turn out the way they expected and the victims of Shame decide to get their own justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 15, 2008
• ISBN: 9781425169343

Joseph B. Haggerty

Joseph B. Haggerty Sr. is an investigator with the Inspector General's Office. Joe recently left the Metropolitan Police Department of Washington, D.C. after 35 years as a police officer, detective and later an instructor at the Maurice T. Turner Jr., Institute of Police Science (Police Academy). He is married and has six grown children, five boys and a girl, and nine grandchildren. He is currently the President of the Writers' League of Washington and his writing credits include many short stories, articles and poems, which have been published in various newspapers and newsletters in the Metropolitan Washington area. One of his poems was recorded on a commercial CD as a tribute to the National Law Enforcement Memorial. Joe has also written several articles for Government publications, which have been distributed nationally. He has been an advocate for victims of prostitution and pornography both as a professional law enforcement officer and as a private citizen.

Book preview

PART ONE

The Making of a Pimp

CHAPTER ONE

You think it’s safe to go back on the street? Jody asked her wife-in-law. They had been hiding in Willy’s, a bar in the middle of the block. The police didn’t normally go into the bar, because the owner had complained about harassment.

Yea, her wife-in-law replied. We need to get some more money.

They exited the bar and walked to the corner. Almost immediately her wife-in-law got a date and left.

Jody stood on the corner beckoning to the passing cars until she saw the police car coming up the street, then she moved into the shadows. She watched as the car pulled to the curb and a lone officer got out and started walking towards her.

You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You are not required to answer any questions. Any answers may be used against you in court. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer one will be provided for you. You still have the right to stop answering questions at any time or to have a lawyer present during questioning. Now, do you understand your rights?

Yeah, yeah, I understand. Jody Sanchez was her name as far as the police were concerned. She had been busted by this cop before, for disorderly conduct, which resulted in her getting her ass kicked by her man, Scooter.

Where’s the money, Jody?

I ain’t got no money. I don’t know what yer’ talking about.

Okay baby, let’s go. You’re locked up. The uniformed officer placed his hand on her arm as to escort her, when in fact it was to prevent her from running.

"What for? I didn’t take anybody’s money.’’

This man says you did. The officer indicated a black man standing behind the opened back door of the policeman’s car.

Especially from such an ugly lookin’ African monkey like that, Jody said gritting her teeth and looking fiercely at the black man.

You stealin’ whore. You took it alright. I saw you. She stuck it in her bra, he said with a slight accent, looking to the officer. Check her bra, check her bra!

What da ya say, Jody? The officer said with a small smile on his face.

I ain’t got nothing in my bra, but tits and that nigger jus wants to see them.

The officer reached into her blouse feeling for her bra.

You pig mother fucker, get your hands off of me. You can’t do that. I’ll kill your mother fuckin’ ass. You honky pig bastard. Jody kept trying to move backwards to get the officer’s hand out of her blouse. She could feel his fingers slipping into her bra. She instinctu-ally kicked up and caught the officer right between his legs.

The officer let out a loud groan, releasing her and dropping to his knees, then he fell on his back, holding his crotch with both hands. Jody tried to run down the street to Willy’s, hoping that once inside she would be protected.

Another police car slammed to the curb and two officers jumped out. One quickly grabbed Jody, while the other went to the downed officer’s aid. The officer then returned to his car, picked up the microphone and called for an ambulance and some assistance. A crowd was gathering.

Jody was held against the car. The officer was very careful, making sure there was no way she could kick him, even though she appeared to be pregnant.

Quickly three other police vehicles arrived on the scene, including a transport wagon. Jody was put aboard the wagon accompanied by a policewoman, who had been in one of the other cars. The ambulance arrived and they put the moaning officer in the back, accompanied by another police officer and one of the ambulance attendants.

A number of prostitutes were gathered near the wagon’s back doors. Tell Scooter, where I am. Jody said as they closed the wagon doors.

Don’t worry girlfriend, we will. Don’t let them mother fuckers hurt you, one girl yelled so Jody could hear through the doors.

Jody’s eyes filled up with tears. She was afraid Scooter was going to be upset with her. He might not get her out of jail. She felt a jerk and realized the wagon was moving. The policewoman sitting acrossfrom her just kept staring.

When are you due? The policewoman finally asked.

Jody just looked at her slightly; tears were running down her cheeks. She felt no inclination whatsoever to talk to this woman.

The policewoman took the hint and nothing more was said all the way to the precinct.

Approximately how much money did you have on you when you got into the cab? asked a twelve-year veteran detective of the Third Police District of Washington, D.C. The detective was assigned to the midnight tour of duty and had conducted hundreds of these interviews with men who claimed to be robbery victims of prostitutes. With only one out of ten ending in an arrest and one out of ten of those actually being prosecuted.

Oh, I don’t know, about a hundred and twenty dollars. I know I had six twenty dollar bills left and some change, answered the rather robust man dressed in a red sports jacket over a red and black shirt with black pants and black shoes. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing two gold chains, showing how hep he was. He was slightly bald, well groomed, and his bloodshot eyes matched the color of his nose and sports jacket. He was a fifty-three-year-old businessman from Houston, Texas, in Washington on a business trip. He was married with two grown children. He was staying at the Hyatt. All the day’s activities had been completed and he caught a cab at the hotel entrance and asked the driver to take him where the action was. The driver took him to the eight hundred block of Fourteenth Street. He visited a few bars, drank and watched the nude dancers. After being turned down by a few of the dancers, he went out and caught another cab. They drove up Fourteenth Street through the prostitution area. When he told the driver to stop, two women jumped into the cab without being asked. They both surrounded him in the back seat, groping him and running their hands over his body. The cab driver ordered the women out of the car and asked him to check for his money. His money was gone.

Can you identify these women?

It all happened so fast. I don’t remember what they looked like, but they were both black.

How much money did you have when you left the Hyatt? The detective was showing a surprising amount of patience.

I know exactly. The man replied spitting as he spoke, I had two hundred dollars, all in twenties.

How much did you spend at the clubs on Fourteenth Street? The detective moved back slightly to avoid any future spit.

I spent about twenty dollars at the first place. I don’t know the name of the place, but it had an awning out front. Then I must have spent about fifty dollars at the other place. The man stopped and thought for a while. A big smile crossed his face. I spent it on this gorgeous blonde for drinks, but she turned me down flat.

Is that when you caught the second cab and went looking for a prostitute? The detective wanted to know.

Yeah, he said slobbering a little, but I just wanted to have a little fun and some sex. I never expected anything like this to happen.

Oh, brother, the detective thought, how many jerks like this are there in this world? He asked him a few more questions and then started questioning the cab driver.

The cab driver, a Nigerian student at Howard University, stated he picked the man up at 14th and H Streets. At Rhode Island Avenue, before the man could say anything to the women on the corner, two of them had jumped into the car and were all over him. The cab driver ordered them out of the car and asked his passenger to check for his money, fearing the man wouldn’t have enough money to pay the fare. He further stated when the two women exited the cab, cursing and laughing, he saw one of them stick a wad of money in her blouse. When the man said his money was gone, the cab driver went looking for the police. He found one within a few minutes and explained to him what had happened. The policeman talked with his passenger, but found the man couldn’t identify the women. The cab driver said he could and accompanied the officer in the police car as they drove around the area looking for the women. He saw one of them at 14th and P Streets. There were other women standing nearby, but neither looked like the other woman in his cab.

The detective conducting the interview then got a detailed description of both women. Suspect number one was described as a black female, light-skinned, wearing a black three-quarter length coat with a pink blouse underneath. She was the girl with the money. She was heavy set with gold in her teeth. Suspect number two was a black woman, brown skinned, wearing a brown waist-length leather jacket with black pants and brown boots. He then gave the cab driver a number of loose leaf notebooks containing photographs of prostitutes previously involved in robberies. No additional identifications were made.

What’s your name, a uniformed officer with papers in front of him asked in a dry voice and a stare to match. Everyone else in the small room was staring at her too. What’s your name, bitch? The officer repeated, hardening his look and his voice.

Jody Sanchez and you momma’s a bitch.

Listen you little fucking whore. I don’t like this anymore than you do. I’d much rather kick your face in, but we have to fill out this paperwork.

Officer Placido, step outside here a minute, please. The Lieutenant’s voice was firm, but understanding. Parham, finish the paperwork and have Brenda strip search her. The Lieutenant and the officer left the room. Another officer took his place.

Where do you live, Jody?

The Belshire Hotel.

Room number?

203.

What’s your birthday?

23rd of October, 1958.

Where were you born?

Fayetteville, North Carolina.

How long have you been in Washington?

Two years.

What’s your Social Security Number?

I don’t remember.

Okay. The officer rose and left the room.

A female officer then approached Jody and took the handcuffs off. She had been handcuffed since being put in the transport wagon. Her hands had been put behind her back. Taking the handcuffs off was a great relief, both physically and mentally. She stretched her arms and flexed her wrists, rubbing them where the cuffs had been. The female officer then ordered her to take her clothes off. As Jody did so, the officer examined each garment thoroughly. Sixty dollars fell out of her bra, along with her street identification card and half a joint. The female officer reported her findings to the lieutenant, who was waiting patiently in the hallway outside.

That’s my money. You can’t take that. I didn’t steal that money. That’s my money, Jody yelled in vain. Jody redressed and the male officers returned to the room. They continued their paperwork and advised her of her rights again. She knew she was in real trouble and started cooperating. She was charged with robbery pickpocket and assaulting a police officer. Still protesting her innocence, she was fingerprinted and photographed and then put in a cell.

The cell was about an eight foot square with a single toilet and a metal cot. She sat on the gray metal, shivering, not from the cold, but from fright. The cellblock was noisy. The male prisoners were kept on the other side, out of sight, but you could still hear them. One male prisoner kept banging on the bars and kicking the metal walls. He kept yelling, Let me out of here. I’m sick. I’m gonna’ die. Occasionally an officer or another prisoner would yell for him to shut up, but he would just get louder. Finally he was taken out, she had no idea where he went. She laid on the cot and tried to sleep. A few other women were brought into the cellblock, but she didn’t acknowledge them. Several hours later an officer came to her cell and unlocked it. He told her to come out. She was escorted to another transport wagon with two other women. One looked like a prostitute she had seen before, but she didn’t know her name, the other she didn’t know at all. They were taken to the Women’s Detention Center, where she would be kept until she had to go to court. It was early Sunday morning and she wouldn’t be going to court until Monday. She had been in the Center before and dreaded the long wait.

Jody slept most of the day, but when she was awake she thought about Scooter and what he might do to her. He beat her for much less; in fact, he once beat her because another one of his women got into trouble and Jody had been with a trick several blocks away. Scooter had been real sweet about her being pregnant. She kept telling him it was his baby and believed it to be true, whether he did or not. She always used a rubber with the tricks and anyway most of the time they just wanted blowjobs. She had only been to bed with Scooter maybe six times in the last year, but she was sure it was his baby. She couldn’t imagine it being a trick’s baby and completely disregarded the idea. To admit it was a trick’s baby would be an insult. A trick on the street is a non-person, he has no identity, no meaning, except money.

Early Monday morning she was transported to court in a bus with thirty other women. She knew some of the women, but their conversation was limited. None had heard anything from Scooter. Once in the court cellblock, someone with the Pre-trial Services Agency of the Court interviewed her. She was hoping Scooter had gotten her a lawyer. He had on two previous occasions. Then she saw a familiar face, Martin Lenstein. He had been hired by Scooter to defend her once. She called to him.

Mr. Lenstein, Mr. Lenstein, over here.

He saw her motioning to him and walked over. Hello, Jody. What are you in here for?

Don’t you know? Didn’t Scooter tell you to come here? Jody sounded desperate.

No, I haven’t talked with Scooter since last month. What are you charged with? Lenstein sat next to Jody on one of the gray metal benches in what was known as the bullpen.

Robbery, and I think hitting a cop. Jody didn’t look at the lawyer as she spoke. She just stared at the floor.

Martin Lenstein was a short man about thirty years old, he was slightly overweight with rather longish brown hair and a mustache. He always wore similar looking charcoal or black suits and a pair of black penny loafer shoes. Well, Jody, let’s see. Do you have a phone number for Scooter? I’ll call him to see if he’ll pay me.

He’s at the Belshire Hotel. I don’t know the number, but we’re in room 203. Jody started to panic, as Lenstein wrote down the room number, What if he won’t pay you? What am I going to do?

Lenstein didn’t respond.

If he won’t pay, I will. You just get me out of here and I’ll work for you for a while.

What about Scooter?

Oh, that man will take me back anytime I want. Jody wanted to sound like she could handle everything, but in her present condition she knew it would be a long time before she could pay Lenstein herself.

Well, look, I’ll call him. Don’t worry. I’ll convince him to pay me. You just straighten yourself out and go into that courtroom looking as pregnant as you can. I’ll see you then. He rose from the bench, patted Jody on the shoulder, and walked out of the cellblock.

Jody began to feel a glimmer of hope. She thought that Scooter would be anxious to see her. Marty will talk him into it. Just then an elderly white woman vomited all over the floor, getting some on Jody’s shoes. A matron came in almost immediately to scrub the floor and clean up the mess. For the rest of the day she couldn’t escape that smell of vomit.

A little later another matron came and unlocked the bullpen. She had a list and began calling names from it. Abbott, Collins, Damino, Henderson, B. Johnson and C. Johnson. Line up as I called your name in single file right here at this door. The matron indicated the cellblock door. A group of six women prisoners exited the bullpen each time. On her third visit to the bullpen, the matron called Jody’s name. Jody got in line with the other women. She was all of a sudden reminded of her school days, lining up single file by name.

The matron took a head count, turned and started walking away. She turned her head slightly toward them and said, Follow me. Another matron moved in behind the line and they were marched to an elevator. The elevator traveled up two floors and opened. They were marched into a courtroom. Jody saw to her left the Judge’s bench with the Judge glancing slightly her way. She saw the steps leading to the Judge’s seat which, she noticed, was higher than any seat in the room. Even the seats in the jury box, which are built at a slight incline, were lower than the Judge’s seat. There seemed to be a lot of people sitting in the court. The front row was all men dressed in coats and ties. She looked over the crowd carefully, hoping to see Scooter or one of her wife-in-laws. Scooter had a stable of three girls, all black. Since they all lived with Scooter in a common law manner, they referred to each other as wife-in-laws. He thought white women were nothing but trouble. It was a white woman who got him busted the only two times he’d been busted. He managed to beat both cases, but it had cost him a lot of money. Jody saw Lenstein. Lenstein nodded his head in an affirmative motion. Jody felt extremely relieved. She began to feel even more confident that she would get out of jail.

Jody Sanchez, case number F36111, the court clerk called out.

Jody rose from her seat and slowly waddled out in front of the Judge in his high chair. Lenstein walked up and joined her. Miss Sanchez, you’re charged with robbery pickpocket and assaulting a police officer. As the Judge read the charges, he would glance at Jody between words, How do you plea?

Your Honor, my client pleas not guilty and requests a jury trial. Mr. Lenstein said this for about the thousandth time in front of a Judge on behalf of the thousand or so clients he had handled in the D.C. Superior Court.

Your Honor, the defendant, Miss Sanchez, is charged with robbery pickpocket and assaulting an officer of the law by kicking him in the groin and sending him to the hospital. The government would ask for a high bond and recommend fifty thousand. The prosecutor, who was an Assistant United States Attorney, knew the Judge wouldn’t set that high of bond, but he figured if he went high enough on the bond the Judge would settle on a bond a little higher than usual.

Your Honor, that’s true, but she has never failed to appear at any court date, and Your Honor, this lady is over five months pregnant. She certainly couldn’t be considered a danger to the community. Your Honor, my client was assaulted first and she was just defending herself and her unborn baby. Lenstein had found out a few facts in the case from some of the regular street people who usually hung around in the courthouse lobby waiting for friends to be released.

Mr. Lenstein, I’m setting a twenty-five thousand dollar bond on her, but we will accept ten percent. I want her to see a physician and get a report on this young lady’s pregnancy.

Your Honor, a good date for a status hearing would be October 6, the court clerk announced.

The Judge marked the date and addressed the two lawyers. Is that date agreeable to both sides? The prosecutor quickly nodded his head in an affirmative manner. Lenstein opened a small calendar book and nodded his head yes also. Judge Jones was a female who had been sitting on the bench for almost ten years; she had a reputation as a hard Judge. She usually gave high bonds and suggested her own dates for trial. Very few defense attorneys or prosecutors argued the prospective dates. They both knew when that date arrived it would more than likely be in front of another Judge and hopefully one easier to handle.

Lenstein leaned over to Jody and whispered in her ear, Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.

Jody was led out of the courtroom by a matron. She was in utter disbelief. The Judge had put a twenty-five thousand dollar bond on her. No way would Scooter be able to come up with that much money, and most bondsmen would be leery about this type case, because of the severity of the crime and her being a prostitute. She was returned to the bullpen. All five of the other women returned to the cellblock one by one, but three were given their things and let go. Jody waited the rest of the day until a bus came for them and they were taken back to the Women’s Detention Center.

She returned to court three more times for a status hearing, a bond hearing and a motions hearing. Lowering the bond was denied and at the motions hearing Lenstein questioned the injured officer about what led to the assault. The court denied Mr. Lenstein’s motion to suppress the money the police had found in Jody’s bra. Finally, on December 13, she went to trial.

Lenstein was an excellent lawyer. What he lacked in manners, he made up for with humor. He made a joke out of the businessman on the stand. The jury seemed quite displeased with the Houston Texan. But Lenstein had a very hard time with the Nigerian cab driver. The cab driver’s answers were short and to the point. He wouldn’t deviate from his story, not one bit. Lenstein was terribly afraid the jury really believed the cab driver. The officer testified again at the trial.

The officer, David Cannish, had been assigned to the Third District for his entire seven years as a police officer. He had spent six months as an undercover officer for narcotics and another three months working undercover for prostitution cases. His beat included two blocks in the prostitution area. He had participated in numerous arrests and had a great deal of court experience. He was currently attempting to get into the Third District Detective Unit.

The officer was in perfect health now. Lenstein questioned the officer at length, going over the descriptions the cab driver gave him. He asked questions like, Did you observe any other women on the street that night wearing a black coat?

No, no I don’t believe I did. Officer Cannish answered, not remembering any other women on the street in black.

You mean on that long busy street you didn’t see any other woman with a black coat? Lenstein was trying to make the answer sound incredible.

Well, I wasn’t looking for any women in automobiles. There may have been a few with black coats.

Did Mr. Ukambu see these women?

The prosecutor stood immediately. Your Honor, that calls for a conclusion of what someone else saw or did.

Objection sustained, the Judge said looking at Lenstein.

Lenstein thought a minute. Do you recall whether or not you saw any other women wearing black coats while Mr. Ukambu was in your car?

No, I did not, the officer answered quickly.

So Jody Sanchez was the only woman you saw with a black coat while Mr. Ukambu was in your car, is that right?

Yes sir.

Now, the alleged other female, did you see anyone matching that description?

No sir, I did not, but I really didn’t get a chance to search much further. The officer addressed the jury, like the experienced witness he was.

I know, but you did radio a description of the woman on the radio before you came up on Miss Sanchez?

No sir, I was in the process of getting a complete description of the two women when Mr. Ukambu spotted her on the corner.

Had he already given you the description of the black coat or did someone give that description later? Lenstein was shooting in the dark, trying to find something wrong with the identification.

All he had told me at that point was that she was very heavy set and wearing a black coat. The officer was curious as to what direction Lenstein was going with these questions. He found out soon enough. So the detailed description of Miss Sanchez came after she was arrested. Is that correct? The Government had questioned the officer and the officer had related a very detailed description of Jody. Lenstein revealed to the jury that the description of Jody had come after she was arrested and, therefore, could have been made up to fit Jody. Reasonable doubt was all he had to prove.

Yes sir, Detective Traymore got the rest of the description at the precinct. I was in the hospital. The officer looked at the prosecutor.

But this was after Mr. Ukambu had pointed her out on the street and she had been arrested. Is that correct? Lenstein wanted to get the hospital out of the juror’s minds and reemphasize that the description came after Jody’s arrest.

Yes sir.

Now Officer Cannish, when you called Ms. Sanchez over to your car, did she cooperate? Lenstein figured he did all he could do with the robbery charge. He now had to concentrate on the assault charge.

Objection your Honor. Whether Ms. Sanchez walked to the car voluntarily or not is irrelevant and immaterial. He realized he had lost some ground on the robbery charge. His objection really didn’t have much basis, but he thought he might kill some of Lenstein’s momentum.

Your Honor, Ms. Sanchez is charged with assaulting this officer and I think it’s very important to show her actions leading up to the alleged assault. Lenstein figured the prosecutor just didn’t like him.

Objection overruled. You may answer the question, officer. The Judge looked to the officer as if he was just as interested in the answer as Lenstein was.

Yes sir. She came right over to the car.

Did she question you as to why you wanted to talk to her?

Yes sir. She said something to the effect of [what you want me for.] The officer was quoting Jody verbatim.

Did you tell her?

Yes sir. I told her she was identified as stealing a man’s money.

Jody leaned toward Lenstein and whispered, He never told me nothing about stealing anybody’s money; he’s lying.

Did you indicate what man she supposedly robbed?

No sir. Mr. Clarkings was not with me. Rodney Clarkings wasthe name of the man robbed.

But, Mr. Ukambu was, is that correct?

Yes sir.

Your Honor, we have gone over all this testimony before. Mr. Lenstein is just trying to confuse the witness. The prosecutor’s impatience with Lenstein was becoming fairly obvious.

Your Honor, we’re talking about a woman’s future here, as well as the future of her unborn child. If the prosecutor has an objection to make, would you kindly instruct him to make it in the proper form. Lenstein knew the prosecutor was interrupting him on purpose because he was making progress.

Gentlemen, would you both please approach the bench? The Judge was looking rather perturbed at both men as they approached. Gentlemen, I have no intention of wasting my time listening to you two argue. Mr. Delamar, if you have an objection, you had better put it in the proper form or I will overrule you every time. Mr. Lenstein, if you have a point to make with this witness, I wish you would hurry up and get to it. I’m getting a little tired of your beating around the bush. As the two lawyers and the Judge talked, a roaring sound was turned on, so the jury could not hear the bench conference. The witness on the stand was also asked to step down and take a seat in the audience until the conference was concluded.

Lenstein returned to the defense table. The officer returned to the witness stand. Officer Cannish, did you not indicate to Ms. Sanchez that the alleged person robbed was Mr. Ukambu, who was sitting in your car at the time?

No sir, I did not.

Did Ms. Sanchez make any statements to you at that time that would have led you to believe she thought Mr. Ukambu was the victim of the alleged robbery?

She may have jumped to that conclusion, but I didn’t tell her that.

That’s not what I asked you officer. Did Ms. Sanchez make any statements?

I don’t recall. The officer again answered quickly. He was getting a little exasperated with Lenstein.

Do you recall, officer, at what point you reached into her bra?

Your Honor, I object. There has been no testimony to the effect that the officer ever reached into Ms. Sanchez’s bra or into any part of her clothing. The prosecutor was hot. He knew Lenstein was trying to put thoughts in the jury’s mind without ever presenting any evidence or testimony.

Objection sustained. Mr. Lenstein, would you please try to lay some foundation for these questions. The jury should disregard. No pun was intended. The jury and half the courtroom audience laughed hardily at the Judge’s joke. The laughter cut the tenseness of the moment, which is what the Judge had hoped for. He had wanted to wait for both lawyers to finish questioning the officer, but it was getting late and he figured everybody would have to be there tomorrow anyway, so he called for a recess. The jury is instructed not to have any conversations with each other or anyone else concerning this case and to return to this court tomorrow morning at 9:30.

All rise. This courtroom will resume trial at 9:30 tomorrow morning, the clerk announced. First the Judge exited the courtroom, then the jury. Jody was returned to the Women’s Detention Center.

CHAPTER TWO

Jody couldn’t tell whether the trial was going well or not. She relied completely on Lenstein and had total confidence in his ability as a lawyer. She slept off and on during the night. She returned to the courthouse the following morning along with that day’s lock ups.

At 9:30, she was led back into the courtroom. Lenstein was making notes, but greeted her with a big smile. The Judge entered the courtroom and two minutes later the jury was brought in again. Officer Cannish was called to the stand again and reminded he was still under oath.

Lenstein rose from behind the defense table and walked to the other side of the room, away from the jury. Officer Cannish, what types of questions did you ask Ms. Sanchez when she came over to your car?

The officer addressed the jury instead of Lenstein. Well, the first thing I did, was to advise her of her rights. Then I asked her wherethe money was.

Lenstein knew police officers are taught how to testify in court. One of those lessons was to talk to the jury not the lawyer when answering the question. However, he had run into very few officers who really put this into practice. He decided to move behind the prosecutor’s table and to lower his voice. Did she answer your question?

Excuse me, I didn’t hear the question. The officer turned his head toward Lenstein.

Did she answer your question? Lenstein asked louder.

Yes. She said what money. Again the officer looked to the jury.

So she indicated she didn’t know what money you were talking about. Is that correct? Lenstein moved back to his table to look at his notes.

Yes sir. That’s what she wanted me to believe.

How do you know what she wanted you to believe? Lenstein addressed the jury this time.

From her answer. The officer answered quickly. Lenstein thought it better not to argue further. He figured he had made his point with the jury. Now, Officer Cannish, did you give Ms. Sanchez the full Miranda warning as per the Supreme Court’s decision and your department’s policy?

Yes sir, I did.

Did she sign anything acknowledging her rights?

No sir, she didn’t at that time.

Did you read her rights to her or did you advise her from your own memory?

I advised her from my own memory.

Would you now advise our jury, from your memory, the Miranda warning?

Your Honor, I object. The statements Ms. Sanchez made at the time of her arrest are not going to be used in this trail. Therefore, whether the officer advised her of her rights then is irrelevant and immaterial.

Your Honor, I believe what the officer told Ms. Sanchez at the time is material, if not in relationship to the alleged robbery, then directly to the assault which the government contends took place atthat time.

The objection is overruled. Officer Cannish, would you advise the jury of the Miranda warning.

Lenstein was really gambling here. He was hoping the officer would foul up and, therefore, discredit himself in front of the jury. His gamble lost. The officer recited the Miranda warning word for word. Lenstein had no further questions for the officer and realized he had left himself rather weak with the jury. Lenstein had also decided not to question the officer about reaching into Jody’s bra. Since the money was found in her bra, he felt it could only hurt Jody’s case.

The prosecution then called the policewoman who had searched Jody. She testified that she had been with Jody from the time she was arrested until she was placed in the precinct cellblock. She had searched Jody and recovered sixty dollars from her bra.

Lenstein inquired how many women she had occasion to search when arrested; how many of these she had strip-searched; how many of these women had secreted money in their brassieres? The policewoman had limited experience, as she had spent at least three years of her five years as a police officer in the communications section as a dispatcher.

After the policewoman’s testimony the Government rested its case. The defense was then given an opportunity to present witnesses. Lenstein had talked to a couple of other women who had been on the street that night and had observed the confrontation between Jody and Officer Cannish, but he felt their appearance and demeanor as witnesses would only hurt Jody’s chances. A couple had criminal records for which they could be impeached and all were prostitutes. Lenstein had no other choice, but to put Jody on the stand, which was really against his better judgment, but he thought she might invoke some sympathy from the jury with her pregnancy.

Jody was called to the stand. She waddled her way over to the seat and raised her right hand to be sworn in.

Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth? the clerk, who was now standing, asked Jody.

I do, she said and sat in the witness chair.

Lenstein made his questioning brief. He brought out that she had never seen either of these men before, Mr. Clarkings or Ukambu, that she had only been on the street that night for a short time, and that she struck out at the officer only when he tried to put his hand in her bra.

The prosecutor, Mr. Delamar, was waiting for this moment. He felt he had a fairly strong case. He knew the complainant, Mr. Clarkings, was worthless as a witness, but the cab driver and the arresting officer were strong.

Ms. Sanchez, what is your occupation?

I am a prostitute, but I used to be a waitress at a major hotel in Memphis. That was the first job Jody had gotten when she ran away from home.

Were you working as a prostitute when you became pregnant?

I object your Honor. At what time Ms. Sanchez became pregnant has no bearing on this trial. Lenstein sounded angry. He knew Delamar was trying to use Jody’s pregnancy against her.

Objection sustained. Mr. Delamar, please stick to the facts of this case.

I’m sorry your Honor. Delamar knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted the jury to believe that the pregnancy had resulted from her prostitution activities and possibly take away some of the sympathy they may naturally feel for her.

Now, Ms. Sanchez, did you know Officer Cannish before the night you were arrested?

Lenstein thought about objecting again, but decided to wait to see what Delamar was getting at.

Yes, I’ve had conversations with him at times.

Conversations! Didn’t he arrest a man, two weeks prior to this incident, for assaulting you? Delamar was shouting at Jody.

Your Honor, I object. What prior contacts Officer Cannish and my client may have had in the past are totally irrelevant and immaterial to this case.

Your Honor, Ms. Sanchez alleges that Officer Cannish assaulted her and, therefore, she assaulted him. I believe the fact that Officer Cannish had prior contact with this witness, under the circumstances, is relevant and material to the frame of mind of both at the time Ms. Sanchez was arrested. Again Delamar was fairly sure he would lose his argument, but he had gotten the information to the jury.

"Objection sustained. The past contacts between the officer and

Ms. Sanchez have no bearing on this case. Mr. Delamar, I must ask you again to stay within the facts of this case. The jury is instructed to disregard the question and the reference to prior contacts between Officer Cannish and Ms. Sanchez."

Ms. Sanchez, when you were arrested, you had on your person the sum of sixty dollars. Is that correct?

Yes.

Where did that money come from?

It was mine. I had it when I came out that night.

Do you usually make a habit of carrying that much money on you when you come out to work as a prostitute? Delamar sat down, knowing Lenstein was going to object.

Objection, your Honor. There has been no testimony to the effect that Ms. Sanchez was working as a prostitute that night.

Objection sustained.

Delamar stood again. Ms. Sanchez, were you working as a prostitute that night?

No. Jody was emphatic.

What were you doing at the corner of 14th and P Streets, Northwest, at two a.m.?

I was standing. Waiting for a friend.

Is your friend a prostitute or a pimp?

Objection your Honor. The occupation of Ms. Sanchez’s friend has no bearing on this case either. Lenstein was becoming very frustrated with Delamar.

Your Honor, the testimony throughout this case indicated that there were two suspects involved in the robbery. I believe the identity of Ms. Sanchez’s friend has a great deal of bearing on this case. Delamar was really pushing it. He was familiar with this Judge, but he was beginning to think he was about to get a good tongue-lashing.

Your Honor, Mr. Delamar has already tried and convicted my client. I respectfully request a mistrial so as my client may get a chance to prove her innocence with a prosecutor interested in justice instead of one who would use underhanded tactics to prejudice this jury.

Would both Mr. Delamar and Mr. Lenstein please approach the bench. The Judge was angry, but he did his best to control his emotions.

As both men approached the bench, Jody was escorted back to her chair and the roaring sound was heard again to cover the conversation between the lawyers and the Judge from the jury and the witnesses.

Mr. Delamar, this whole line of questioning is becoming quite one-sided. If you have no further questions of this witness except the ones you seem determined to ask, then I suggest you dispense with questioning this witness any further. As for you, Mr. Lenstein, any accusations you may wish to express in this court toward the fairness of this trial, I suggest that you do in the form of an appeal if your client is found guilty. Neither lawyer argued with the Judge. They both returned to their respective tables. The roar was turned off and Jody again sat in the witness stand.

The request for a mistrial is denied. Mr. Delamar, do you have any further questions of this witness? The Judge looked directly at Delamar.

No, your Honor, I do not.

Mr. Lenstein, any redirect?

Lenstein was thinking fast. He had lost a lot of ground with the prosecutor’s questions. Just one question, your Honor. Ms. Sanchez, Mr. Delamar wants to make a big deal over the fact that you had sixty dollars on you that night. What were your intentions in the use of that money?

Your Honor, the intentions of the money, whether hers or Mr. Clarkings’, are certainly not relevant to this case. Delamar had no intention of giving Lenstein any ground at all.

Your Honor, I intend to show why Ms. Sanchez had that much money on her that night. That’s certainly relevant to the defense of this witness.

The Judge, believing that Delamar might have over-stepped his bounds somewhat, ruled in favor of Lenstein.

I was planning on buying a bassinette for the baby. Hecht’s had one on sale.

A muffled chuckle was heard from the jury box. Lenstein couldn’t identify the juror, but he knew the case was lost.

Any recross Mr. Delamar? The Judge asked, hoping there would be none.

Delamar had heard the chuckle too and decided the jury already knew she was lying. No, Your Honor.

Ms. Sanchez, you may step down. The court will take a brief recess for ten minutes.

When court resumed again, the defense rested its case. The Judge instructed the lawyers to conduct their closing arguments.

Mr. Delamar’s closing statements were rather brief, but made a lasting impression on the jury. This self-confessed convicted prostitute who makes her living by selling her body for money, who by her own admission has sex with countless men, now stands before you, pregnant, accused of robbery and assaulting an officer of the law, sworn to protect you and I and even her. The government has shown her total disregard for the law and its law enforcers and believes it has shown beyond a reasonable doubt that this woman is guilty of robbery pickpocket and assaulting a police officer.

Mr. Lenstein knew he had lost the case, but still he argued sincerely and determinedly that his client was a victim of circumstances. Circumstances that would change her entire life and the life of her unborn child. He mostly played for sympathy from the jury, hoping that this mostly black jury would show mercy and acquit her so she could have a chance to raise her baby to be a proper citizen in our society.

The Judge gave the jury the instructions for their deliberations and all the options they had to consider before reaching a verdict.

The jury was then escorted to the jury room. Outside the jury room, a U.S. Marshal guarded them until they reached their verdict.

Jody was taken back to the court cellblock. Lenstein returned to his office across the street, very depressed. He had other clients waiting and couldn’t dwell on this one case. Delamar returned to his office, where he started work on his next trial, hoping it would go equally as well.

The jury was out approximately two hours.

All persons involved in the case of Jody Sanchez were summoned to the courtroom at three o’clock. As everyone took their place in the courtroom, Jody was led back to the defense table. After the Judge had taken his seat, the jury was led into the jury box.

Has the jury reached a verdict? The Judge asked looking over to the jury.

A white haired gentleman stood up and said, "Yes we have, Your

Honor."

Lenstein rose from his seat, helping Jody to her feet.

Ms. Sanchez, would you please face the jury? Jody turned and looked at the white haired man and then at each juror quickly. None returned her gaze.

How do you find the defendant, Jody Sanchez, on the charge of robbery pickpocket, guilty or not guilty? The Judge asked with both hands clasped in front of him.

We find the defendant, Jody Sanchez, guilty of the charge of robbery pickpocket.

Lenstein squeezed her hand and leaned his body towards her so she could use it as a brace. The courtroom was unusually quiet as the Judge spoke again.

How do you find the defendant, Jody Sanchez, on the charge of assaulting a police officer, guilty or not guilty?

We find the defendant, Jody Sanchez, not guilty to the charge of assaulting a police officer, but we find her guilty of simple assault.

Jody, all of a sudden, could smell vomit again, strong in her nostrils, not knowing whether it was hers or someone else’s. She fainted in Lenstein’s strained arms. Two Marshals came to Lenstein’s aid as well as Jody’s. They carried her to the back and summoned the courthouse nurse.

Lenstein in the meantime had the jury polled. All repeated the same verdict.

Depending on Ms. Sanchez’s health at that time, this case will be continued until January 30, for sentencing. The Judge then congratulated the jury for doing its duty and exited the courtroom.

It was pouring down raining. Traffic was relatively light. Most people were at home, or a bar, or a party waiting for Midnight. The sidewalks had only the have to’s out. The intersection was 14th and Q Streets, Northwest. It was 11:45 on New Year’s Eve. A blue Camaro pulled to the curb, on the southside of Q Street just past the corner. Two white guys, one eighteen, the other nineteen, were in the car, both had been drinking beer most of the night. A black girl, with a blond wig and black Danskin body suit, approached the car. Theyoung man on the passenger side rolled down the window halfway.

Hi ya fellas. You want a date? The black girl said smiling and bending to give the guys a shot of cleavage through her open black leather coat.

How much is it gonna cost us? Asked the experienced nineteen year old as he tapped his friend on the leg. They both gaped at the girl’s half covered breasts.

How much money you boys got? A little apprehension began to show on her face. You guys ain’t cops are you? She started to back away from the car.

Wait baby, we’ll give you twenty bucks a piece for a blow job, okay?

She stepped toward the car again, this time reaching for the door handle. Make it twenty-five a piece and we’ll do it in the car.

Okay. Steve you get in the back. Let her do me first.

Tawanda got in the front seat and directed the boy to a nearby alley. At least she would be out of the rain and she could make some more money. She had already given her man, Scooter, a hundred bucks that night. He had been real bitchy, telling her she had to make a lot more money. With one girl in jail and another nursing a deserved beating for not bringing in enough money, Tawanda was his only means of support. It was bad enough she had to work New Year’s Eve, but she believed she was now the bottom lady and she had to maintain her status. The bottom lady is the same as being the pimp’s main lady. She quickly removed a rubber from her purse and put it on the young driver as he ooh’ed and ah’ed with her every touch.

Across the city in the Southeastern section, at the Women’s Detention Center, another young woman was holding her pregnant tummy.

Mavis Walker looked at her watch as the seconds ticked off. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero...Happy New Year, she said in a somewhat subdued yell. The cellblock was still. Then a few more happy new years were heard on down the rows of cells. A rather loud groan was heard from one of the cells.

Jody, was that you? Are you all right? Elizabeth West was a shoplifter; she had the cell next to Jody. She was one of those womenthat always wanted to take care of you, whether you wanted her to or not.

Jody was laid out on her cot. She had started feeling contractions about a half-an-hour ago, but they were starting to get closer together. Liz, you better call the matron. I think I’m having my baby. Jody’s hand was on her stomach; the baby seemed to be moving.

Miss Lewis...Miss Lewis. Jody’s having her baby. You better get someone in here. Liz’s voice was a dead ringer for Pee Wee Herman, a comedian and former kids show host.

Okay, I’m coming. Eleanor Lewis was a forty-two-year-old woman. She had been a matron at the Woman’s Detention Center for twenty years and had endured every imaginable situation with prisoners. She had actually fought a few and hopefully saved a few. She was very religious, and felt a great deal of mercy and forgiveness for sinners.

Jody, honey, are you about to give birth to some poor little baby to be raised in this sinful world? Ms. Lewis was standing in front of Jody’s cell looking in. Are you having contractions, honey?

Yes, and they are about nine minutes apart right now, Jody said while trying to catch her breath after the last contraction.

Well, I think we should get you down to the infirmary right away young lady. She pulled a ring full of keys from a hook on her belt. She opened Jody’s cell and went to help her to her feet. She escorted Jody to the end of the cellblock, where her desk and phone were located. She sat Jody next to her desk and called the main station to get an escort to the infirmary. While they waited for the escort to come, Jody and Ms. Lewis timed her contractions, which were now seven minutes apart. By the time the escort got there, her contractions were only five minutes apart.

You know Dr. Billings is not available tonight. He’s at some big party that the Mayor’s having, the escort reported as she arrived. The nurse isn’t on duty tonight either. She got sick about nine o’clock this evening. We think she had her own little party in the infirmary; two prisoners came out of there with the strong smell of alcohol on their breath."

Did they call an ambulance? Ms. Lewis asked.

Yes Ma’am, but the fire board said all the ambulances were on call and they didn’t know when they could get us one. I’ll take her down to the infirmary, but I’ll warn you, I don’t know anything about delivering a baby. The escort looked worried.

The escort’s voice had carried into the cellblock. With ears peaked, Elizabeth West, heard every word. Ms. Lewis...Ms. Lewis, Liz called. Mavis Walker has done some mid-wifing before. She could help.

Ms. Lewis returned to the cellblock. Is that true Mavis?

Yes Ma’am. Mavis Walker was about fifty years old, she wrote numbers for an illegal lottery and helped her husband run an after hours joint on French Street. She had been in and out of jail about twelve times, but never for more than sixty days. How many babies have you helped deliver?

Oh, I don’t know Ma’am, maybe thirty or forty. I can’t remember all of them.

Well Mavis, I’ve delivered a few myself, but I sure would like your help.

Is this Jody Sanchez’s baby, a trick baby? Mavis looked a little cockeyed as she said it.

Yes, this is Jody’s baby. She said it’s her man’s. What difference does it make, will you help or not?

I’ll help you. I guess one more poor little infant in this world ain’t gonna make that much difference.

As Ms. Lewis and Mavis walked back to her desk, Ms. Lewis told the escort to stay and guard the cellblock, that she would take Jody to the infirmary.

All three entered an elevator and proceeded to the basement floor where the infirmary was located. The infirmary door was locked, but Ms. Lewis had a master key. Jody’s contractions were now two minutes apart and holding. While Mavis laid Jody on a bed and got her into the best position, Ms. Lewis prepared towels and water.

At approximately one a.m., Jody Sanchez gave birth to an eight pound, two ounce boy, the color of a chocolate malt. Mavis clapped as Ms. Lewis held the crying bundle. Jody cried along with a broad smile. Ms. Lewis laid the baby next to Jody as she gazed in pure wonderment at the child she had just given birth to.

Who can take the baby for ya’ Jody? If you don’t give it to someone to take care of, then the Government will take him and put him in a foster home somewhere. Mavis spoke to Jody as a mother would to a daughter. She had known of other children born to mothers in jail and somehow the child and mother never managed to see each other again.

They can’t take my baby, can they? Jody clutched the bundle.

Ms. Lewis spoke up as the authority. Do you think they’re going to let you raise him in here? Use your head, girl. What do you think is going to happen to him?

Jody opened the blanket to look at the baby closer. Tears started to well up in her eyes. All this time and this waiting and they were going to take him away.

You God Damned whore, Mavis blurted out. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s all you do. Then when you get pregnant, you think all of a sudden you’re a mother. A child can’t be raised by a mother who is a prostitute. Is that what you want for your baby? Don’t you have some parents somewhere? What about the father of this baby? Isn’t there anyone you could give it to, so you don’t lose him?

My mother. I’ll call my mother. She’ll take him. I know she will. She loves kids and she’s alone a lot now. She needs someone to love. Jody felt some hope of saving her baby. She lives in Raleigh, North Carolina. Do you think they’ll let me call Raleigh?

Mavis turned to Ms. Lewis, Ms. Lewis?

I think we can arrange that. You can call her tomorrow from the hospital. Now you try to get some sleep. I’m going to try to get a hold of an ambulance or permission to take you and the baby to the hospital myself. Ms. Lewis walked to the door of the infirmary and stopped. She turned and addressed Mavis. Mavis, I’m trusting you to stay here with her and the baby while I make the necessary arrangements. I’ll send the escort down as soon as I can." She left the infirmary, closing the door behind her.

Mavis could hear her footsteps as she walked away. There was a door to the outside world on the basement level. Mavis knew where it was, but she had no intention of escaping. She took most of her stints in jail as vacations.

Hello Mama? This is Latisa, Mama. How are you? Mama, please don’t cry. Mama, I just had a baby. It’s a boy, Mama. Mama, I don’t have much time to talk. Mama, I’ve been arrested and I’m in jail. I can’t really explain right now, but Mama, they want to take away my baby. Mama, I don’t want them to take my baby, but they say if I don’t have someone to take care of the baby, they will have to give it away. Please Mama, if you love me, please come to Washington and get my baby. Oh, please, Mama, please. I beg you. Please don’t let them take away my baby.

Loretta Mendoza Williamson lived in Raleigh, North Carolina. She was thirty-nine years old. Latisa was her only living child. She had two other pregnancies, but both ended badly. One was a miscarriage after three months, the other baby was stillborn, both had been boys. Latisa was delivered with no complications and she was cherished. Loretta had married young, at the age of seventeen, to a soldier stationed in Fayetteville. His name was Renaldo Mendoza. He was very handsome and Loretta had been very happy. Many of her friends said their marriage would have many problems, because she was black and he was Mexican. Even though their skin tones were almost identical, they suffered many racial insults from both sides. Renaldo had planned on being a career soldier, but when Latisa was thirteen her father died in a freak accident. A truck he was driving had a blowout. He lost control and hit a chain link fence. The top rail of the fence pierced the windshield and impaled Sergeant Mendoza through the chest, bursting his heart.

Loretta obtained a job as a ticket clerk at the train station in Fayetteville. There she met Jeremiah Williamson, who was then the head porter on one of the Amtrak lines. Latisa was then seventeen and greatly resented the affection her mother had for this man. When Loretta and Jeremiah decided to move to Raleigh, Latisa ran away. Loretta only heard from her daughter twice over the next two years and both times she had requested money. Loretta had sent her what she could and pleaded each time for her daughter to come home. Each time Latisa said she would in a month or so, but she didn’t. Jeremiah would check out each city that the trains took him to, with Latisa’s picture in hand, per Loretta’s pleas. Each time no one knew her, but many times Jeremiah had other distractions.

Now Loretta was to travel to Washington, D.C., a place she had never been before. She had to find the Women’s Detention Center and ask to see a Jody Sanchez, the name her daughter was using. She was to bring home a grandson, whose father she didn’t know. She would, of course, because she loved her daughter and knew that if she had her daughter’s son, then her daughter would have to come home after she got out of jail.

The baby was beautiful. Loretta started to cry as she saw the name tag on the clear plastic bed where the baby rested peacefully. The name tag read Baby Boy, unnamed. His birth certificate read John Doe Sanchez. Loretta made arrangements with the hospital to have the birth certificate changed to the name she had