Once a Dog Always a Dog!

Chapter 11

  I forget exactly what time it was that Cheyenne had left the hospital. The sun was up. And since it was the dead of winter, the sun didn't come up until about 7:00 A.M. or so. So I knew that it had to be after 7:00 A.M. But with the way things had been moving so fast it was probably more like twelve thirty in the afternoon. But even though it was a bitterly cold winter day, the New York media proved that they would stop at nothing to get at the heart of a breaking story such as mine. The media had gotten wind of the car accident when it was transmitted over the police scanners and all of the major newspapers and news stations dispatched crews to the scene of the accident and to the hospital. My accident was the lead story on the six A.M. newscasts. In fact, it wasn't until I had my nurse turn on the television in my room that I was able to realize the extent of the damages to both my car and to the car that I had hit. Both cars were almost unrecognizable. It was also from the news that I learned that Layla and I had to be cut out of the car. And of course, when the media found out that I was the one who was driving the car and that I was suspected of driving while under the influence, they went crazy with the story. I was watching the local ABC news channel and I couldn't believe how fast that  they had gotten all of the details. 

They knew that I had been coming from an album release party for T.L. and they knew that I had just been placed under arrest for being in possession of a controlled substance. Other than the devastation that I had caused the innocent victims, the thing that I focused on the most was when the reporters spoke about all of the possible criminal charges that I was facing. I had written about gangsta shit in my novels and about killings and drugs and jail and all of that. But this was no book that I was writing. This was real life. It was my life. And never in my wildest dreams did I see myself as the going to prison type. I wasn't built for prison. So, although I was feeling horrible and scared as all hell, I knew that I had to scan my brain and get in touch with as many people as I could who could help me and go to bat for me. My ass was in a serious sling and my neck was in a noose that was getting tighter by the second. At the same time as I watched the news coverage and feared and worried about what was to come, I couldn't help but feel extremely remorseful for the damage I had caused to the victims of the other families. And regardless of what would happen to me and what jail time I was going to face, I was determined to not let this be one of those times where I painted myself as the victim in order to deflect attention from the real victims in this tragedy, because it was clear who those victims were. 

Just as it was clear who was the major asshole in this whole ordeal that being, my black ass. Eventually, the doctor came to my room and explained to me that I had a severely sprained ankle and my right lung had also collapsed and that I would need to have quick, minor surgery to reinflate my lung. "Surgery?" "Yes, it's nothing major. We'll give you a local anesthetic and then make a small incision in between your ribs. Once we do that we will insert a tube that will allow for the reinflation of the lung." By 4:00 P.M. that same day, I was able to leave the hospital. I was accompanied by Attorney Jones, my mother, and Chris. Unfortunately for me I wasn't able to just hop in a car and go home. I was handcuffed and flanked on both sides of me by New York City police officers who were escorting me to a Brooklyn police precinct for processing, and then I would be heading off to jail before seeing a judge. It's funny, because although no one wants to go to jail, I knew that jail was what I deserved. I knew that, simply because it was very unfair that I was able to just walk out of the hospital with all of my physical faculties functioning okay, all the while I had put someone's lifeless body in a morgue and I had another victim fighting for his life with severe injuries. I desperately wanted to go and apologize to my victims and their families, but on the advice of my lawyer, I decided against it for the time being. 

Anyway, I ended up spending the night in jail, and the next day I went before a judge inside of a jam packed downtown Brooklyn courtroom. The judge read me the riot act and he rightly so ripped into my ass in a stern, but eloquent, way as I stood before him as humbly as I possibly could. The judge was careful not to talk to me as if I had been tried and convicted of my crime. But reading between the lines he knew that I was guilty. Since this was just my arraignment, he could only say but so much. It wasn't like I was going to jail right there at that moment so I wasn't too nervous. But just the mere fact of me standing in front of a judge was sort of surreal. It was almost like an out of body experience. I had this feeling of embarrassment mixed with disbelief as I listened to the judge. I had been charged with aggravated vehicular manslaughter, a crime that, in New York, carries a maximum of twenty five years in prison. I had also been charged with driving under the influence, the possession of a controlled substance, and I was hit with various traffic infractions. But since the cocaine amount that I had on me at the time of the accident was such a small amount, the most serious charge by far that I was facing was the aggravated vehicular manslaughter charge.