Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

“The prosecutor has a strong case against you,” Bernstein had told her.

“And I’m telling you, somebody is setting me up. I’m a college student! I’ve never hugged a block in my life.”

“Hugged a block? What’s that? I’m confused.”

Landy exhaled her frustration. He wasn’t getting the full picture here. She felt he was stuck in a time warp. Landy needed someone who understood the culture; someone more liberal. She needed CNN, and his vibe was Fox News.

“It means that I’ve never sold drugs and you need to believe that, cuz it’s true. I need a miracle, Mr. Bernstein. You have to get me off so I can go back to my life.”

“I can’t make you any promises.”

“What can you make then? I can’t go to jail. This isn’t me!”

His reaction to her outburst was expressionless. Landy had her hair in cornrows and a scowl on her face, looking the part of a thug. He thought of her as one of his own who had been brainwashed by the niggers with their street swag and ghetto troubles. She wanted to be with them and look like them, and it bothered Bernstein.

“It’s not what you’re telling me; it’s what it looks like to the judge and the prosecutor and a jury if you decide to take this case to trial. Which I wouldn’t advise.”

“But I don’t have a criminal record.”

“This is an election year, and politicians up for reelection don’t hold any sympathy for criminals, especially drug dealers,” he had warned her.

Landy had frowned. Her lawyer’s words already had her defeated.

Bernstein had continued with, “Sentencing for drug distribution and trafficking can generally range from three to five years to life in prison.”

The little color in Landy’s face drained, and she had appeared paler than she already was. Her earlier scowl transitioned into a worried pout.

Michael Bernstein continued to advise her about the harsh New York City drug laws—the Rockefeller Laws. Drug trafficking and distribution was a felony and a more serious crime than drug possession, and they wanted to hit Landy with intent to sell charge.

“It’s not fair,” Landy had cried out.

Bernstein continued to express apathy to her plight. He felt, if you lie around in the mud with pigs then eventually, you’re gonna get dirty and be slaughtered. And now she had nigger charges.

“Take a plea deal. I can arrange something with the ADA, and you might do a year in jail.”

“A year!” she hollered. She didn’t want to do a day in jail.

“Right now, it’s the best deal you’re gonna get from the ADA.”

Landy felt like this was all a nightmare. This wasn’t happening to her. She was a good girl. She was in school trying to get a degree and next thing she knew, all hell broke loose when plainclothes narcotics officers suddenly sprung on her with their guns drawn. They spewed out threats and demands, subsequently searching her and finding the unexpected in her book bag. Now her life was ruined.

Landy stood inside the courtroom flanked by her inept attorney and gazed at the gray-haired and stern-faced judge who looked to be in his early fifties. Her cornrows were replaced with long, spiral curls, and her urban attire became a loose-fitting dress and ballerina flats. Landy looked like a young lady from the Long Island suburbs who didn’t know a thing about staying in the ghetto.

The judge asked her how she pleaded to the charges against her, and she reluctantly replied, “Guilty, Your Honor.”

Charlie was truly enjoying the show. When Landy turned around and glanced at Charlie sitting in the courtroom observing her sentencing, it didn’t register. She knew that she had been set up, but she didn’t know the who or the why.

The judge continued with his courtroom jargon, but now Landy wasn’t paying too much attention to what he was saying. She once again glanced back at Charlie seated two rows behind her, and it dawned on her.

Landy glared at the bitch. This had to be Charlie’s doing. She didn’t know anyone else grimy enough to plant drugs on her and have her set up—and Charlie was fucking that cop.

To add insult to injury, Charlie pointed to herself and then to Landy and mouthed to her, “I did this to you. I put you in here.”

The hard, stoic look on Landy’s face suddenly cracked. How could I have been so stupid and naïve? she thought. Charlie had singlehandedly destroyed her life. She started to weep openly, which turned into heavy sobs with her shoulders heaving up and down. No one cared for her tears. She did the crime and now she was about to do the time, they all believed.

The judge sentenced Landy to a year in jail. With good behavior, she would most likely do a little more than half that. It was a slap on the wrist to Charlie, but the punishment would do.

Michael Bernstein felt that he had done a remarkable job with Landy’s case. A year in jail and eligible for release within six months, she should be kissing his ass.