Guilty As Sin

Keep them on, Jaywalker telepathically begged the witness. He’d actually heard lawyers object that they couldn’t see a witness’s eyes through a pair of dark lenses and succeeded in getting a judge to order them removed. It was something he himself would never do, especially with mirrored sunglasses. Never mind that they added a little something to the undercover mystique that enveloped the witness as he made his way to the stand. Sooner or later the jurors would get over that and begin to think of the shades as a prop, and the wearer as having something to hide besides his eyes.

And then, as though on cue, as soon as Trevor St. James had finished swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, he removed the sunglasses, folded them and slipped them into the outer pocket of his suit jacket as he took his seat. So before he’d even begun his testimony, the guy had treated the jurors to a glimpse of his street image and then unmasked himself as one of them. Nice touch, thought Jaywalker, wondering if St. James had scripted it, or Shaughnessey.

SHAUGHNESSEY: By whom are you employed, Mr. St. James?

It would be the only time in the entire trial that she addressed or referred to him as “Mr.”

ST. JAMES: I’m employed by the Drug Enforcement Administration, which is a division of the United States Department of Justice.

SHAUGHNESSEY: In what capacity?

ST. JAMES: As a drug enforcement agent.

SHAUGHNESSEY: How long have you been so employed?

ST. JAMES: Nine and a half years.

SHAUGHNESSEY: And as a DEA agent, is part of your work performed in an undercover capacity?

ST. JAMES: Yes. It’s actually a fairly large part of my work.

Shaughnessey had the witness describe what undercover work entailed. His explanation couldn’t have been news to anyone in the courtroom by this time, seeing as both lawyers had discussed the subject at some length during jury selection, and Shaughnessey had gone into it again in her opening statement. Still, it made for pretty good listening. Jaywalker had discovered long ago that jurors tend to be fascinated by everything about the world of bad guys. And here they were, about to be treated to an inside tour of that world from a bad guy who was really one of the good guys. What could possibly be better for the prosecution-and worse for the defense?

SHAUGHNESSEY: Did there come a time in September of 1984 that you were asked to participate in a narcotics investigation in Harlem?

ST. JAMES: Yes, there did.

SHAUGHNESSEY: Can you tell us how that came about?

ST. JAMES: Yes. I was assigned to the Philadelphia office at the time. But I’d grown up in Harlem and was familiar with the area. So somebody must have decided that I was well suited to impersonate an out-of-town dealer looking to buy large quantities of heroin to resell out of state.

SHAUGHNESSEY: And what did you do upon your arrival?

ST. JAMES: I met with the team leader, Lieutenant Pascarella, and the various members of the backup team. I learned that an individual initially known only as John Doe “Gramps” had been positively identified as Alonzo Barnett, and that he was the subject of intensive ongoing surveillance. I was told-

THE COURT: Mr. Jaywalker?

It was Judge Levine’s way of checking to make sure he was awake. But she needn’t have bothered. Jaywalker does a lot of things during the course of a trial, but falling asleep has never been among them. His decision not to object to what was obviously going to be hearsay testimony was therefore a calculated one. He wanted to hear what Trevor St. James had been told, and he wanted the jurors to hear it, too. So when he stood to say “No objection,” he threw in an exaggerated shrug, his way of saying, Hey, we’ve got nothing to hide here.

What Agent St. James had been told, it turned out, was pretty much what Jaywalker had expected, that up until that point in the investigation, the surveillance of Alonzo Barnett had failed to bear fruit. St. James’s job would be to figure out a way to approach Barnett, gain his confidence and attempt to buy drugs from him.

SHAUGHNESSEY: And how did you go about trying to do those things?

ST. JAMES: Well, surveillance had established that Mr. Barnett had several associates, individuals he hung out with. One of those associates in particular interested the team. They’d tentatively identified him as John Doe “Stump,” because he was short and heavyset. And they’d observed him in Mr. Barnett’s company on a number of occasions. So what I did was try to strike up a conversation with Stump one day, approaching him a few blocks away after he’d been seen meeting with Mr. Barnett.

SHAUGHNESSEY: Did you ever learn Stump’s true name?

ST. JAMES: Yeah, I think I heard it. I believe the backup team found it out at some point, but I honestly don’t remember it.

Agent St. James described how he’d called to a couple of people within earshot of Stump and asked them if they knew how to get to Big Wilt’s Small’s Paradise. Small’s was a Harlem institution that had opened way back in the 1920s. At some point the basketball legend Wilt Chamberlain had bought into it, hence the name. Everyone in Harlem had heard of it, but none of the people St. James asked knew exactly where it was. Except Stump.

“It’s up on 135th Street,” he told the stranger. “Over on 7th Avenue.”

“Which way is that?” St. James had asked him.

“Where you from, man?”

“Philly,” St. James had replied.

“Ain’t got no cheese steaks at Small’s, you know.”

“Ain’t lookin’ for no cheese steaks,” St. James had laughed, before rubbing both nostrils and sniffing in loudly.

The gesture hadn’t been lost on Stump. “What is it you might be lookin’ for?” he’d asked. “Little bit a blow?”

“Nah,” St. James had said. “Blow I can find any ole place. I be lookin’ for some shit, brotha. Some weight.”

Here Miki Shaughnessey stopped her witness and had him explain a few of his terms. Blow was cocaine, shit was heroin, and weight was a lot of it.

“How long you in town?” Stump had asked St. James.

“A few days. A week if I gotta be.”

“Do yourself a favor,” Stump had told him, “and stay away from Small’s. Place be crawling with the po-leece.”

“Good to know,” St. James had said.

“Tell you what,” Stump had offered. “You be back here this same time tomorrow. I see if I can’t hook you up with my man. He jus’ might be able to help you out with what you lookin’ for.”

St. James had said, “Bet,” meaning he’d be there.

But before Stump had walked off, he’d issued a warning of sorts to St. James. “’Tween now an’ then,” he’d said, “I be checkin’ you out, makin’ sure you ain’t the Man.”

The Man, Shaughnessey had St. James explain, was another term for the po-leece, and was definitely not to be confused with my man.

Several jurors laughed loudly at the distinction, until Jaywalker stared them down. This isn’t funny, he wanted them to know. There’s a man’s freedom on the line here.

As for Stump’s threat to check out the stranger, it was just that, a threat. Jaywalker knew that from his own undercover days. The same dealer who’d accuse him of being the Man one minute would sell to him the next one. The truth was, nobody ever really bothered to check out anybody. In the world of buying and selling drugs, caution got trumped by greed. Every time out.

SHAUGHNESSEY: What happened after that?

ST. JAMES: I met Stump the next day, like he’d suggested. But he said there was a problem. His man was spooked, he told me, and didn’t want to meet me.

SHAUGHNESSEY: What did you take him to mean when he said “spooked”?