Free Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days by Tanner Colby, Bill Whitfield, Javon Beard Page B

could see the headlines: Michael Jackson’s Brother Shot by King of Pop’s Bodyguards.
    Javon: I still couldn’t see who it was, just that Bill had the guy pinned down. I ran out the garage to back him up. I was coming down the driveway when Bill put his hand up for me to stop. I was ready to open up a can of whoop-ass, no question, but he waved me off like, “I got this, I got this.”
    Bill: Randy cracked his window open and yelled, “Get that gun out my face before I call the press.”
    The press? That was the last thing the boss needed. I went up to the window and said, “Mr. Jackson, you can’t be doin’ this.”
    “I’m here to see my brother,” he said.
    “Not like this, you’re not. I’d appreciate it if you’d go back outside the gate. Go back outside, and I’ll inform Mr. Jackson that you’re here.”
    “I ain’t moving until I see my brother!”
    Javon: He started screaming, cussing his brains out, rapping all this stuff about money he’s owed and how he’s not leaving without it. “ Michael owe me money! I want my fuckin’ money! I ain’t fuckin’ moving till I get my fuckin’ money! ”
    Bill: I didn’t care what he wanted. I just wanted him outside the gate. I put my pistol away, trying to cool things down. I asked him to exit his vehicle so we could talk in a civilized manner. He refused. He just sat there in the car, threatening to call the press if he didn’t get to see his brother. I didn’t want him to call the press, and I couldn’t call the cops because that would just bring the press too. I was stuck. I had this angry little asshole cussing in my face, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
    I left Javon and the others to watch Randy and went in the house to talk to Mr. Jackson. “Your brother Randy’s crashed the gate,” I told him. “He says he’s here to see you about some financial matters, and he won’t leave until he talks to you.”
    Mr. Jackson raised his eyebrows for a moment. Then he winced and looked away. “Get rid of him,” he said.
    I went back down to try to talk to Randy again. He wouldn’t move. He just sat there in his car, screaming and cussing about his money.
    Javon: I had the idea to block Randy in with one of the trucks, bring the boss out through the side entrance, hop into a different car, and then slip away. But Mr. Jackson shot it down. He said, “He’ll just find out how to follow us to Liz’s party and cause a huge scene; she doesn’t deserve that.”
    Bill: After about thirty more minutes, I went in the house and told Mr. Jackson again that Randy wasn’t leaving. Mr. Jackson sat there for a moment, then he let out a sigh and said, “Okay. I’m just going to go to bed.”
    He went upstairs, closed the door, and didn’t come back out.
    Javon: That killed us. We were devastated, for Mr. Jackson and for ourselves. I was proud to work for him, and I wanted the chance to do that in public, to show people I worked for Michael Jackson. We had brand-new suits; we were very excited. Elizabeth Taylor’s birthday party? Are you kiddin’ me?! I’m just a normal guy. It was just human nature for us to be excited.
    And Mr. Jackson? He’d been making plans for two weeks. This was so important to him. It would have been one of the last times he and Ms. Taylor ever saw each other, and they were old friends. So for him to write it off and go to bed? That was a moment that let us know, okay, this family has some real power over him. If it had just been some ordinary person that busted through the gate, Mr. Jackson would have been like, “What are you guys waiting for? Escort him off the property and let’s go.” But this? This threw off his whole night.
    Bill: I was pissed. I didn’t even want Randy to take the car off the property anymore. I wanted him to get out of the car, because I wanted to whip his ass for ruining Mr. Jackson’s night.
    He sat in the driveway for another two hours. We had to call his father. That was the only option