Michael bit into his coffee cake and sipped his coffee. He reclined on the big, comfy couch in Ted and Clydene’s reception room. Usually, they met in the living room—or “den,” as Clyde sometimes called it. But for special guests, they pulled out the reception room. Tucked into a corner of the house, just off the main foyer, the Jacksons’ reception room welcomed guests with light hues and plush chairs and sofas.
Michael was surprised at how good the coffee was today.
“Wow, that’s good!” he said to Clyde, the only other person in the room.
“Incredible what you can accomplish by cleaning the pot,” Clyde replied.
“You should do that more often.” Then he added, “I always wondered how you could be such a wonderful cook and have your coffee turn out so… uh…”
“Pukey?” Clyde said.
“Yeah, pukey,” Michael agreed with a large grin.
Mira, Ted, Jay, and Damian entered.
“Okay, let’s call the meeting to order,” Mira said. She was clearly in executive mode, as Michael called it, not the soft, timid creature she was most of the time. “As you know, Jay and Damian have been having some trouble with Baedes and his department. I’m going to ask them to tell us their story, all together here, so we can hear it from them. But first, we should ratify spending on their bail and legal fees.”
Ted interrupted her. “Point of order,” he said. “I’ve already worked out payment for legal expenses.”
Mira looked confused and a little disturbed. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve worked it all out. We don’t need the Committee’s money.”
“Okay,” she said, slowly, as though she weren’t sure how to pronounce the word. “Then I’ll hand the floor over to Jay and Damian.”
Jay thanked Mira, and he told the group his story and the story of his brother.
When he got to the part where WBH’s henchmen beat up Damian, Clyde interjected bitterly, “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure that falls within the realm of unfair competition.”
That elicited a chuckle from those gathered, even Damian himself, who was sitting quietly, listening, as Jay spoke.
Most of the crew had already heard pieces of the story. But they had never had the opportunity to hear the whole thing told by the men to whom is was happening, to see Damian’s bruised face in quiet witness, and to ask questions.
The first question came, interestingly enough, from Clyde. “So, they’re just misdemeanor drug-possession charges. Probably not even any jail time. Why don’t you just plead out?”
Damian suddenly spoke. “Because I need to fight,” he said. When no one seemed to understand, he continued. “I am not a criminal,” he said. “What I do, I do for my family, and for my community. And I do not bring drugs into my house, and I don’t allow anyone else to.” He paused and shook his head. “And these charges hurt you. Business associates stop working with you. The government denies you benefits. Even this little thing would ruin me. It would ruin my family, and it would ruin my business. So I have to fight it.”
Clyde nodded. “I understand,” she said.
Mira asked, “Okay. I know you’ve been threatened and attacked by mob thugs. What does that have to do with your arrest?”
Clyde answered for the two brothers. “Baedes is dragging his feet on finding the thugs, because he hates bullies and favors the underdog. And he thinks Jay and Damian are the bullies. He says they have a monopoly, and that they’re conducting unfair business. And that’s why he had Damian set up, because he wants to damage their reputation.”
Mira stared and thought. Jay looked confused. Damian sat quietly. Ted looked embarrassed.
Michael said, “I think you’re giving Baedes too much credit.” But secretly, what she said felt right to him.
Ted took an opposite view. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Clyde. You’re jumping to conclusions just because you feel sorry for these men.”
Clyde said, “I’ve never felt sorry for anyone. I’m saying that because it’s the truth.”
“Fine, then. How do you know it’s the truth?” Ted asked.
The next thing Clyde did both disappointed and amazed Michael. Instead of laying out reasons for her belief, she clammed up. She said nothing. She looked like she was about to say something, wanted to say something, and maybe even had something to say. But she didn’t say it. Michael stared at Clyde intently. And for an instant, he thought he saw a secret hiding behind her eyes. He glanced at Mira, to see if she noticed the same thing—Michael admired Mira’s ability to see into peoples’ souls. But Mira was involved in her own thoughts, whatever they might be.
“See,” Ted said. “I didn’t think there was anything there. Besides, Baedes wouldn’t look the other way and let the mob take over the town. He’d tell them to stay in line, contact the Attorney General, and file an antitrust suit.”
Now, that really was giving Baedes too much credit. Michael didn’t think Baedes even knew the word antitrust.
“A lawsuit would take forever, and by the time the smoke cleared, WBH would have lost their business.”
Ted looked at her as though she had two heads. “That’s not true. The court can issue a preliminary injunction to prevent irreparable harm, like the business going under. And I’m sure they have enough funding to sustain a legal challenge. There’s no reason they would resort to bribery and violence just to promote competition.”
Clyde was livid. “So what are you saying? Damian’s making it up? He didn’t really get beat up? Baedes didn’t back-shelf his case? What? Our city’s finest are as on the ball as ever with this one? Well,” Clyde backtracked, “I guess they are, but that’s beside the point—“
“I don’t see what we can do to help,” Mira interrupted, with an edge in her voice.
Ted explained. “The fact that no arrests have been made, even with the abundance of evidence available, is interesting, and perhaps further investigation will find something there we can use. But the significance of this case is as follows…”
“Ted, you need to get to the point,” Clydene said.
Ted continued. “Most people who are brought up on drug charges—especially drug possession charges—never get the chance to challenge those charges, even if they’re innocent, because the drug laws themselves are stacked against the accused. That’s why it’s so easy for the police and district attorney to distort the evidence to get a conviction, or even to manufacture evidence.
“That’s why many defense lawyers won’t touch these cases, or they just recommend a plea bargain. Even if the accused is demonstrably innocent, most of them can’t afford the legal fees to bring these cases to trial. Therefore, most such cases never see a jury. Most people arrested on drug charges simply admit to being guilty, even if the evidence itself is circumstantial or shoddy.
“Now, we have someone who not only maintains his innocence, but is willing and able to defend it. Furthermore, my preliminary investigations indicate— This is off the record, by the way.“
“Of course,” Mira said.
“—indicate that the evidence against Damian was handled shoddily. Because of the way the physical evidence was handled, there may not be any physical evidence to directly implicate my client. All that’s left is the testimony of two police officers.”
There was a moment’s silence while those gathered mulled over Ted’s words.
“And I think I can sell the possibility,” Ted concluded, “that the evidence was planted.”
Michael asked Mira, “Does that sound interesting yet?”
In some places in the world, people don’t believe in snow. They believe snow doesn’t exist, that it is merely stuff of fairy tales and legends. Even in some parts of the United States, the people don’t believe in snow. Jane remembered one friend from her youth, couldn’t remember her name. What Jane did remember was that this friend grew up in southern California, where palm trees grow and the weather is moderate. But when she moved away from home to go to college in New England, the weather amazed her. The people of New England did not live with earthquakes and tsunamis. They lived with snow—and to a lesser extent hurricanes.
Jane remembered the conversation, or part of it anyway.
“I didn’t even believe in snow until I moved here,” her friend said.
Jane giggled.
“No, I’m serious,” the friend continued. “We never had snow in Los Angeles, and I thought it didn’t actually exist. I thought it was something you only hear about in stories and fairy tales.”
Jane remembered being amazed at how much a person’s past affects her, how much preconceptions can shape how she views the world. The first time this friend drove in snow, she was probably terrified. Jane, however, grew up with it.
She barreled along comfortably in her SUV, despite the fact that large white flakes were falling faster than she had expected. Yes, the weather man had warned her. But she needed to get home, and she didn’t want to wait for terrified drivers like her old, half-forgotten friend. Fortunately, the road was wide enough to make travel safe, even if she started to slide. It was wide enough for two lanes, though it was only marked for one. Cars frequently formed two lanes along this road during rush hour.
Jane approached a blue compact, putting along as though it were struggling to push through. There was less than an inch of fluff on the ground, and the surface provided plenty of traction, enough to go faster than 10 miles an hour.
“¡Hijole!” Jane said. “I could walk faster than this!”
She glanced in her rear-view mirror, then carefully pulled off to the right and began passing the little, blue car.
Suddenly, she saw the flashing red and blue lights in her rear-view mirror. For most people, it probably would not be a big deal. But recent events had set Jane on edge, terrified her even. And now a cop car was following her, coming from out of nowhere, into the here, pulling her over.
Her heart felt as if it had stopped.
Michael followed Ted down the old, courthouse hallway. The plaster walls, cracked in places, shone a simple off-white. The clean, black and white floor tiles alternated in a chess-board pattern. And a musty scent pervaded the air, the smell of old building.
“The trial is in Courtroom 2,” Ted said, “right up here to the right. Just grab a seat in the gallery. I need to meet with my client.”
“Knock ’em dead,” Michael said.
Before entering the courtroom, however, he found a men’s room. He was about to open the door when he heard a voice he knew from inside, a voice he could never forget, the voice of a large, crew-cut, beady-eyed bully.
“You’re all set for you testimony?” Baedes said.
“No problem,” said another voice.
“And if he accuses you of planting the evidence?”
“I’ll appear mildly flustered, but I’ll stand my ground, and our guy will handle it on cross.”
“Right,” the chief confirmed.
“Do you think he knows?” the other voice asked.
“About the evidence?”
“Yeah.”
“No. I think they’re expecting to lose. There’s a reason these cases never go to trial, in a sane world,” said the chief.
“It almost makes you wonder what’s the point.”
Michael heard them walking, and he quickly ducked to the side and sat on a nearby bench. Baedes exited the room, a younger officer next to him, turning away from Michael, walking down the hallway. They apparently did not even see him. But before they were out of earshot, Michael heard the chief say:
“The top dog can always use a little humiliation.”
Michael’s first thought was, That stupid, fucking jerk. I’d love to take that top dog down a notch. But he said nothing, did nothing to intervene or to challenge them. That would only have gotten him in trouble. No one would believe his story, anyhow, even if he were to call upon all his powers of persuasion to tell it. No one would believe the story, because the man in uniform and his boss would claim Michael made it up.
Michael entered the courtroom as the jury was being empaneled. What he noticed next fascinated him and horrified him at the same time. Already seated in the courtroom was Beady-eyes himself, and seated next to him, his henchman in uniform.
Michael thought, Clyde was right. Beady-eyes is involved. Lucky guess?
Clyde had indeed been right, not just about a cop planting evidence for a drug bust— That was a big enough cliché by itself; it required no leap of logic or insight, or even truth or evidence. But why would he plant evidence? What was his motive? Did Clyde nail it on the head? As an ad man, Michael knew all about human nature, because it was part of his job, and he had learned to be an observer of human nature. For example, Mira had an almost astounding ability sometimes to sense what others were thinking, an ability that both endeared her to him and scared him. But Mira had not come up with Clyde’s crazy theory. Clyde had come up with this theory on her own, and everyone had thought it was outlandish, everyone including Mira.
Michael’s thoughts were cut short by the action in the courtroom.
The prosecutor gave his opening statement. Then Ted gave his, in which he claimed he would demonstrate that “the evidence against Mr. Alvarez was so shoddily handled that no one can know for certain if he’s guilty or innocent. That’s reasonable doubt.” Ted also said he would reveal an astounding fact: that the arresting officer himself had means, motive, and opportunity to plant the evidence. The prosecutor asked Dietrich—that was the officer’s name—to describe what had happened that day. He admitted the baggie of marijuana cigarettes into evidence. It was everything one would expect from watching courtroom television dramas.
But Ted’s cross-examination surprised everyone. Rather than scrutinizing the officer’s account of the events, Ted asked about fingerprints. “Are you aware of any forensic tests performed on the baggie or its contents?”
“Yes,” replied Dietrich. “The crime lab fingerprinted the baggie and its contents.”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor, matter-of-factly. “Hearsay.”
“I have here the forensics report, and I am prepared to call to the stand the technician who wrote this report.” He picked up several papers from his table and handed them to the prosecutor.
The prosecutor looked over the papers and said, “Objection withdrawn, and the state stipulates as to the content of this report.”
Ted handed the report to Dietrich.
“Please look on the second page,” Ted said with an air of smugness, “at the top of the page, and tell me if there were any fingerprints found on the baggie or its contents.”
He flipped to the second page and said, “Yes there were.”
“Whose?” Ted asked.
Dietrich hesitated.
“Whose fingerprints?” Ted repeated.
“Mine,” Dietrich said. “But that makes sense. I was the one who found it.”
“Were your fingerprints found only on the outside of the bag?”
“No,” Dietrich intoned.
“Were they found on the cigarettes as well?”
“I guess I touched them,” Dietrich said.
“Yes, I guess you did,” Ted said. “Were any other fingerprints found anywhere on the inside or outside of the bag, or on its contents?”
“No,” Dietrich replied.
“So were Mr. Alverez’s fingerprints anywhere on the evidence?”
“That doesn’t mean anything. He could have wiped them off.”
“He also could have left them somewhere less conspicuous. Didn’t you stop to think that if he had had the foresight to remove his fingerprints from the evidence, he would have had the foresight to put the evidence somewhere where a passing police officer couldn’t see it?”
“Objection,” the prosecutor replied.
“I withdraw the question,” Ted said. He looked a little taller than normal.
“One more thing,” Ted said. He picked up the sealed baggie and examined it. “Hey, one of the cigarettes is missing!” he said.
He showed the baggie to the jury and to the judge. The judge started to say something, when Ted exclaimed with great flair, “Oh, here it is!” And he reached behind Dietrich’s ear and pulled out a thin, white object. Then without opening the baggie, he pushed the object into the plastic, and magically, the cigarette returned to the inside of the bag. He showed it to everyone, as a giggle rustled throughout the courtroom.
“Very entertaining, Mr. Jackson,” said the judge. “I trust you have a point to make.”
“Yes, your honor.” Ted turned to Dietrich. “Do you think that’s a clever trick?”
“Well…” Dietrich hesitated. His eyes darted back and forth for a moment.
“Here’s a better question. Do you know how I did that particular trick?”
“I can imagine how you might have done it.”
“Because you’re an amateur magician yourself.”
“Yes,” Dietrich replied.
“You sometimes perform at kid’s birthday parties.”
“Uh…”
“… because it’s fun and a nice treat for the kids,” Ted said.
“Yes.”
“Indeed,” Ted said. “You could even perform a trick with an object like, oh, say, this,” and he held up the baggie of marijuana cigarettes. “You could make it look like you picked it up, even if you had planted it there yourself.”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor.
“Overruled,” said the judge.
“Yes, I guess so,” said Dietrich. “if I really wanted to.” He stressed the word “wanted.”
Ted continued. “And this type of sleight of hand is in fact very basic. Even an amateur like yourself could perform it convincingly.”
“With practice, I could. But I didn’t.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dietrich.” Ted strutted back to his seat.