A Knock at Midnight(36)
Sharanda recruited friends far and wide to roll up their sleeves and turn that dusty, abandoned storefront into a place fit for the mouthwatering menu she had in mind. She kept doing hair to have money to invest in Cooking on Lamar, but she talked to the other stylists at A New Attitude about taking over the Terrell salon. In the process of setting up the diner, Sharanda had discovered something about herself. Food was her passion, and the restaurant was her dream—cooking for people, preparing Pearlie’s and Genice’s and her own recipes, seeing people come together to enjoy and savor her food. Getting the restaurant off the ground while raising Clenesha to have all that she never had was hard work, but for the first time in a long time Sharanda felt happy and complete.
All the while, Julie would not leave her alone. Sharanda had told her no every which way, but still, Julie called. “Look,” Sharanda said one day, more to get her off the phone than anything else, “when I get done here I’ll come by the record shop, okay? See how y’all are doing. But I’m telling you now, Spider’s long gone, and I don’t know nobody else.”
At the record shop, Sharanda flipped through CDs as she talked to Julie. The sound system, usually the best part of the shop, was turned down low. And Julie seemed stressed. Even her voice sounded different.
“Sharanda, you gotta help us,” Julie pleaded. “I know you know people.”
“I know who you know!” Sharanda said, trying to turn the tone of the conversation. “Everybody from Terrell, mostly. And most of ’em locked up in the same raid that got you!”
She stood there for a while between the stacks, exchanging gossip with Julie about people from the neighborhood, how much time they’d gotten, where they were serving it, who was on house arrest, the debt incurred from hiring a lawyer. It was the same conversation everybody in Terrell had been having since the raid, same as in the salon. But Julie kept bringing it back to the question of a hookup.
“What about Big O?” she asked. “Or one of Spider’s old people?” She just wouldn’t let it go.
“I told you I don’t know those people no more. Those numbers are long gone,” Sharanda said, exasperated. And finally, to get Julie off her back, “But let me see what I can do.”
Sharanda knew something was off by Julie’s demeanor. What she didn’t know was that Julie Franklin was wearing a wire. For Sharanda, those last eight words would mean the difference between freedom and a life in prison.
* * *
—
ON THE MORNING of April 7, 1999, Sharanda was in Dallas at Weasel’s, getting ready to have a garage sale. She was bent over the kitchen table writing prices for the items on small stickers when the phone rang. Weasel picked up. “What? Mama, slow down so I can understand you,” she said. She motioned to her oldest boy to turn down the TV. The tone in her voice made Sharanda stop writing and look up. “Mama?” Weasel said. “What’s going on?”
Genice was stammering and upset. Police had raided her house on Rose Hill Drive before dawn that morning.
“Scared me half to death,” Genice said to Weasel. “Practically broke down the door, guns out, everything. Tore up the whole house! They took Mitchell to jail and told me I am under arrest, too. They are standing here now and let me call you to come and get me dressed and take me to the station to turn myself in.”
“I’m on my way now!” said Weasel, shaking as she hung up the phone.
Weasel rushed to get dressed to drive to Terrell while she filled Sharanda in on the news. They were both in shock and spoke in hushed tones trying to figure out what could possibly be going on. Sharanda stayed behind to watch the kids while Weasel went to Terrell.
It was a setup. Once Weasel arrived to take Genice to turn herself in, she was told there were two other names on their warrant, hers and Sharanda’s. Weasel was under arrest, too, and would need to turn herself in along with Genice.
Genice, Weasel, and Mitchell were processed and released on a personal recognizance bond, a mechanism that allows low-risk defendants to be released from jail without having to put up any money. They were not interviewed by police that day, but law enforcement made one thing clear during their interactions: It was Sharanda they wanted.
First thing the next morning, Sharanda turned herself in. Sharanda and her entire family—Cooter, Weasel, Genice, and Mitchell—had been indicted on federal drug charges. She was fingerprinted, processed, and also released on personal recognizance bond.
Their family nightmare had begun.
* * *
—
SHARANDA HAD NEVER been in any trouble with the law, not even a traffic ticket. But now she found herself charged with six counts of aiding and abetting the distribution of crack cocaine and one count of conspiracy to traffic crack cocaine. She knew she had better get a good lawyer.
Her cousin Charlotte recommended James Murphy. “He’s real good,” she told Sharanda. “Helped out a few people we know on state criminal cases. Don’t cry to nobody else. He’ll hook you up! He’s legit. Matter of fact, I’ll introduce you.”
Her cousin was good as her word. And Murphy certainly looked the part, like a young Matlock—a little goofy-looking, with a thick handlebar mustache and protruding teeth that reminded Sharanda of a beaver and endeared him to her right away. He wore a nice suit to their meeting and treated Sharanda with the utmost respect and attentiveness, listening carefully to her side of the story, taking detailed notes—the way a lawyer is supposed to do, Sharanda thought.