Page 11 of This Is Law 3

I opened the briefcase up, pulled out a couple of folders, and then I took my seat.

The second I sat down my phone buzzed, indicating that I had a text message.

The text message came from Yaya. She sent me a prayer.

I read through her message with a smile on my face because that little action alone was speaking volumes to me.

I read through the message in its entirety, and I texted her back, thanking her, letting her know that I loved her, and that I was in the room, waiting for Dutch, and that I would hit her later.

The second I put the phone down, the door opened, and I turned my head to look at Dutch.

This nigga came in laughing with the guard, and he didn’t have a look of worry on his face because I’m sure that he thought that I was here to save the day and get him out of this mess.

Dutch was a cocky ass nigga. He put that same cockiness into me, making sure that I always knew that I was that nigga, and with that, you could just tell that he didn’t believe that he was going to spend a day in prison.

He probably thought that all of this was just one big game, and that he would be home soon.

I couldn’t wait for him to sit his ass down, so that he could hear this bomb that I was getting ready to drop on him.

“Law, this nigga talking about this color orange looks good on me, and that I need to get used to wearing this color. I told him he must not know who the fuck my god son is, and that I got the best attorney in the world representing me. Law, tell this nigga Ima be home soon, kicked up in my bed in a little while,” Dutch came in saying.

This nigga really thought that life was a joke. As badly as I wanted to mug him, and walk over to him, and tackle him down to the ground, I had to hold my composure.

His hands that were shackled up, those were the same hands that were used to pull the trigger and kill my pops. Those were the same fuckin hands that wiped tears from my eyes as a little boy, when I would go through phases, wanting my pops here with me. I really wanted to fuckin kill his ass.

“You crazy, man. What’s good?” I had to turn off all the hate, and the anger that I was feeling right now, which was hard because I wasn’t a fake person like that.

Dutch was shackled up from his hands to his feet, just like majority of my clients would be whenever I came around for our visits. It’s like the guard knew that there was no way in hell that Dutch would get out because he was still laughing from whatever it was that he’d told Dutch.

The guard ended up leaving out of the room, leaving just Dutch and I inside. Dutch took his seat on the other side of the table, and I took mine, sitting right in front of him. I sat with my arms folded, looking across at him.

“It gotta be all kinds of shit that we can try to sue this fuckin jail for. I been in this bitch since yesterday morning, and they didn’t let me get on the phone to call you until yesterday evening.

When they took me to the back, where my cell was, niggas was coming up to me, treating me as if I was God.

They were damn near asking me for my autograph.

I’m well respected, and feared in this bitch, but Law, this not the place for me.

I’m trying to get the fuck out of this shit, so that I can go back to the hospital, and sit with my son.

I know that when it comes to these RICO cases, the chances of a nigga getting a bond is slim to none, but you going to have to try, and pull some strings for me.

I can’t sit in this bitch,” I could hear it in his voice that he was scared, which was shocking coming from him because I’ve never witnessed Dutch fear anything in my life.

My eyes were glued to him the entire time, just taking in the things that he was saying. I didn’t know where I should start. I could feel my breathing getting heavier, and my heart was beating faster than it usually would.

“I don’t see how the fuck niggas be surviving in this bitch.

You know when you lived with me, I would have a chef at the house three to four times a week, and we would eat good, nutritious food.

I don’t know what the fuck that slop was that they whipped up yesterday for dinner, and this morning for breakfast. I’m going on two days of not eating.

I refuse to eat that shit.” he was still going on, and on.

I still hadn’t jumped in to say anything.

I was just letting this nigga ramble on and hear himself talk.

He was getting ready to spark up another conversation, but that’s when he paused, looked me up, and down, and I felt like in this moment, that’s when it hit him that he was the one doing all the talking, and I had yet to join.

Originally, there had been this smile on his face, as he was going on, and on about bullshit because he felt like what was happening right now could be solved by me.

He was carrying on like he didn’t have a major issue.

It wasn’t until he stopped talking, and looked at me, that he saw that I wasn’t on the same timing as him, so his smile disappeared, and the same mug that I had on my face is what he was now sporting.

“Why you looking at me like that, nigga? What? You did some digging, and you don’t think that you’re going to be able to get me out of this shit? Law, what’s good?” he asked, his voice damn near shaking.

“Ay, let me ask you something,” I started, about to get right to the punch with this shit.

“Ask me whatever you got to ask me,” Dutch responded, leaning back in his chair a little bit.

It’s almost like he could smell the direction that this conversation was getting ready to go in. That playful tone that he had coming in here had left. His energy matched mine now.

“You know a nigga named Dedrick?” I inquired.

“Nah. That name don’t sound too familiar to me. I gotta see what the nigga look like. You got a picture or something of him?” he asked me.

That’s when I went for the manilla folder that was in front of me, and I pulled out a printout of the screenshot that I’d taken from the video that Dedrick sent to me.

I knew the direction that I wanted this meeting to go today, therefore I knew that Dutch was going to want to see a picture of Dedrick, so I made sure that I brought it with me.

I placed the picture in front of him, and he examined it. He looked at it for about fifteen seconds, and then he looked back up at me.

“I could have seen him before in passing. I’m not sure.

Why you asking about him though? What that shit got to do with me?

He the one snitching or some shit?” he wanted to know, totally oblivious to who Dedrick was.

Then again, because I couldn’t trust this nigga as far as I could throw him, I really didn’t know if all of this was an act right now, or what.

“His pops name is Dennis. He was a hustler back in the day. They popped him years ago,” I shared, and after I said that, I could see it in his eyes that he was really thinking about it, and like a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he nodded.

“Oh yeah! I remember Dennis! They didn’t call him that though.

They used to call him big D! Nigga used to have the city on lock.

I always felt like if he never died, my organization probably wouldn’t have been as big as it is now because all the niggas would have been selling dope for him.

Law, what’s good? Why you asking me about these niggas?

How does this shit correlate with what the fuck I got going on?

I’m trying to hear you explain ways to me on getting me out this bitch.

I’m trying to make it back down to the hospital to see about my son.

I should have never called his mama down here because that hoe so spiteful, and I think she’s going to have them pull the plug on him.

Tell me some shit that I want to hear,” he switched up the subject on me.

I could tell that he was getting agitated with me, but he was trying to keep his composure.

“Dennis headstone is just a few feet away from where my pops is buried,” was my response to the shit that he just said.

“That’s great, Law. Again, what the fuck that gotta do with me?” he roared. Like this shit was a game, I laughed right in his face, and I went ahead, and I pulled out the small, portable speaker that I had stashed in my briefcase.

My phone was already paired to the portable speaker, so I scrolled, going right for the video, pressing play, making sure that the volume was up loud enough because I needed Dutch to hear what I was playing for him.

“You on some bullshit right now, Law. Why the fuck are you playing this shit for me?” Dutch’s voice roared.

By now, I could hear the shakiness in his voice.

Dutch was a smart dude. I’m sure by now he was understanding the correlation and knowing why I’d revealed to him that Dennis’s headstone was just a few feet away from my pops.

If he’d seen Dedrick the same day that he went to my pops to speak with him, and expose his hand, then he had to have known what was getting ready to play from this audio.

Well over ten times, I sat here, and I replayed the audio back-to-back, wanting, and needing Dutch to hear himself in the background, when he said, “I think your son might be on to me”.

I could hear it clear as day, and I knew that he could too, which is why his eyes were no longer on me.

Once I felt like he’d heard that part more than enough, that’s when I fast forwarded it to the other important part of the video. This was the actual confession.