chapter 17
LEVI JENKINS SAT in a Tuscaloosa, Alabama, jail wearing an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to showcase the barbed-wire tattoos on his lanky arms. He was craving a dip of Skoal. He cussed under his breath for getting caught transporting the precursors for manufacturing crystal methamphetamine. He was especially disgusted at his situation because he had the biggest drug run of his career brewing, and he didn’t need this attention. Arguing his innocence had proven useless. No one was buying the story that his church was purchasing a case of Sudafed to deliver to the needy in Haiti.
The twenty-seven-year-old neophyte drug dealer knew that his boss and half brother, Moon Pie, wouldn’t help, so he called their cousin in Tupelo, who had finally passed the bar exam on his fourth attempt. He was a classic ambulance-chasing plaintiffs’ lawyer but with a gift for being hired by clients who couldn’t pay or who were seldom offered settlements, much less awarded judgments. After two minutes of cussing and ranting about issues of jurisdiction and licensing, the lawyer finally promised to see what he could do.
Back in his cell, Levi bragged about the big stick his lawyer would wave. Levi assured his cellmates that he would be out within twenty-four hours. What Levi didn’t know was that officials within the Mississippi Drug Task Force had already put the wheels in motion to spring Levi. All that was left was the final paperwork. The rail-thin drug runner was a well-connected small fish they hoped would lead them to a large fish—a fish significantly large enough to make their careers. The Alabama counterparts just had to make it appear that Levi’s less-than-competent cousin was responsible for his release.
Jenkins was known as Levi by everybody, but his momma insisted on calling him by his full name, Leviticus. He was from a wide spot in the road in Monroe County, Mississippi, called Becker Bottom. He perpetrated his illegal activities only on the unsuspecting folks in the surrounding counties—never in his own. It was one of a few codes that he followed. Levi was a two-bit hustler whose initial crimes were mostly scams. His most successful con to date was selling hot tubs and television satellite systems to folks who lived far out in the country. He convinced his unsophisticated victims to make deposits either in cash or by check written to him personally. No spa or dish deliveries were ever made. He had not graduated to violent crime just yet, but he was heading down that path with the allure of drug money—which his half brother, Moon Pie, was blazing.
Like many small-time criminals, he loved to talk about his conquests, embellishing the stories when the truth sounded just as good, maybe even better. Levi Jenkins told so many lies that he could hardly remember the truth.
When the jailers moved Levi into the main population, a huge guy accosted him—the common-law husband to a girl Levi had once dated. The mountain of a man had endured years of being compared to Levi’s two redeeming qualities: he was a big spender, and he was otherwise well gifted. Levi would spend his last cent to impress a date with expensive dinners, movies, concerts, gifts, and flowers. He would also listen to every story and small detail his date wanted to discuss. This and his other “characteristics” were endearing.
When Levi’s ex-girlfriend’s huge husband saw Levi, all he wanted to do was punch him in the mouth. Levi sensed the danger, but there was no way to retreat. After a few minutes of increasing tension between the two of them with each unanswered threat, Levi finally had to fight. The promise of violence fueled the other prisoners’ enthusiasm as they cheered and jeered from their cells. In short order, Levi had his ass handed to him. He had a bloody nose and a cut under his left eye, and was nearly unconscious from a relentless chokehold before the guards rushed in to stop the one-sided fight.
The guards aggressively and effectively subdued Levi and his huge foe, making sure neither one had any more fight left in him. When Levi tried to stand without permission, an older guard kneed him in the groin, even though it was immediately obvious to everyone that Levi wasn’t going to cause any more problems. Levi’s enormous assailant loved the outcome. While Levi rolled on the nasty jail floor, two suddenly sober University of Alabama fraternity brothers huddled in a corner vowed to never drink again.
The sheriff shouted obscenities at the top of his lungs as he hurriedly entered the jail block, angry that his men had momentarily lost control of the prisoners. When he saw the situation, he knew any lawyer could successfully challenge the guards’ reaction to the fight. He loathed lawyers. His day had just gotten complicated, and the handling of what he assumed to be an irrelevant prisoner had just become a nightmare.
Writhing in intense pain, Levi swore to himself to never be incarcerated again. Grimacing, he obeyed the deputies who pulled him to his feet.