Authors: Derek Blass
The door popped open again. A woman came in that Tawny didn't recognize—she wasn't the clerk. “Numbers twenty-eight forty-three, twenty-eight forty-nine and twenty-eight fifty, you're excused”. Tawny scanned her card. Twenty-eight fifty-one. Typical. “Those people with numbers I didn't call, you're staying here.” The woman started to walk back out of the room.
A woman in a white blouse and black skirt called out, “Wait! What about the rest of us?” The other woman ignored her and continued out of the room. “Oh my god! She just ignored me!” the woman whined. She was probably in her forties, the whiny woman. Pretty but tight-skinned and seemingly tight in other areas. Tawney laughed at her own description. A few people looked at her. Damn, it was out loud! Her face turned red again.
The woman came back into the room. “Twenty-eight sixty-two through eighty-four, you're excused. The rest of you are in the pool.” One man threw his card on the ground. Others sprung up and hurried out of the room.
“
Looks like we're the ones,” an awkward-looking black man said to her. She half-smiled and clutched her purse a bit closer.
“
At approximately quarter to nine we will call you into the courtroom. The judge will give you instructions as to the proceedings and how you will be selected to be a juror.” The woman delivered this information like she was reading off a menu. “Any questions?” The whiny woman made a move as if she was about to talk but was shut down just as quickly by an evil eye.
It was eight-thirty.
“
I just can't believe this,” a man said. This was the first time Tawny had looked at him. He was absolutely tiny. “I've got races on all these days. They better let me out of this!”
“
What kind of races?” the man to Tawny's right asked. He had grime under his nails and his overalls were spattered with paint. She found it hard to believe that someone would come to a courthouse looking like that.
“
Horse.”
“
You got bets?”
The small man looked bemused. “No, I ride them. Like a jockey, you know? On the horse's back?”
“
Ahhhhh,
un caballero
!”
“
Sure, that too.”
“
I've never seen one of you in real life, like outside of the horse.”
“
Believe it or not, we exist in the same realm as you non-horse riders,” the jockey said sarcastically.
The woman in the white blouse said, “I ride horses.” The jockey glared at her, but then must have decided to drop the whole conversation.
They sat there in silence until another door opened. A skinny man in a brown uniform came into the room. His last name was printed on a badge. Craven. “Go time, jurors. Come on through this door and another bailiff will escort you to the jury box.” He held the door open with one arm. Tawny couldn't see into the courtroom but heard its bustle. The jurors stood up and looked at each other before the jockey let out an exasperated sigh and barreled into the courtroom. Tawny brought up the rear of the column.
Her first glimpse of the courtroom was surprising. In many respects it was beautiful. Very high ceiling with thick, white crown molding. Gold accents all around. Tall, rectangular windows covered by velvet sashes. The bench seats were hand carved out of thick wood. She got to the jury box and noticed that all the seats were taken. Dismayed, she started to look for somewhere to sit and saw that jurors had spilled over into seats in front of the jury box.
“
Hey—lady,” the awkward black man said. “Here, you take mine.” She started to wave her hand in the air as if to say “no,” but he insisted. She sat down in the chair while the black man sat in one of the folding chairs in front of the jury box. The chair was actually plush. There was a brass foot rail in front of her. Maybe this wasn't going to be that bad.
She peered to her left and saw a cantankerous-looking old man sitting high above them. He wore a black robe and already had his gavel perched in the air. He motioned to the black man to hurry and sit down.
“
Ladies and gentlemen, you have been charged with what many agree to be the onerous task of serving on a jury. Welcome,” the judge started. “This case is set for a three-day trial. We will start with the jury selection process. In that process, the attorneys for the State and the defendant will get twenty minutes each to talk to you and ask questions.” The judge waved his hand in the general vicinity of the courtroom as if to direct the jurors' gaze toward the attorneys.
Tawny looked to her right where two big desks rested with a podium in between them. At the desk on her left was a dark man, although not black. He was very big, and aggressive looking. On her right was the other attorney. He looked older, more broken-in, and had sandy blond hair which was still thick and brushed to the side. Tawny liked his look, it was simple and comfortable.
“
Juror number one...” The bailiff standing next to the jury box pointed to a man seated at the opposite end of the jury box from Tawny. “...please stand up and give your answers to the questions behind me.” This was the first time Tawny had seen those questions. They were going to have to stand up and read these out loud? She immediately became hot and felt her chest moisten.
Juror after juror stood up and gave their information. All of them recited the information as fast as possible, like shy students in her classroom. The train of embarrassment rolled her way until it was finally her turn. She stood up with her purse clenched to her chest. Her glasses slipped down along the sweat on her nose.
“
Tawny Rednight, school teacher, thirty-four years old. I like my students and the Harry Potter series.” She sat down just as quickly as she had spoken and pushed her glasses back up the brim of her nose. The blond attorney got up next. His name was Mason West and Tawny was right, he was pretty comfortable. He possessed a calm demeanor and even spoke directly to her once. He asked whether she had any students of color, to which she answered she did. In fact, their school district was made up of over sixty-two percent Latinos. She saw him scribble something down.
The man sitting next to her called himself a long-distance truck driver. He looked wholly disinterested. When the aggressive attorney began his own inquiry, he asked the truck driver what he thought about immigration. The man looked into the gallery as if to make sure no illegals were present and then said, “They don't belong here, do they?” The attorney, he had a catchy name, Sphinx, asked another question. “Are all the Mexicans here in this country illegals?” To which the truck driver responded, “I doubt it, but I can't tell. Can you tell a Chinaman from a Jap?”
Once the two attorneys finished, the judge explained that there was a peremptory strike process. Apparently, each attorney would get five strikes. That would leave thirteen jurors. One alternate out of the thirteen. Both attorneys were huddled at their desks. This was the first time Tawny saw the accused man. He was seated next to the attorney Sphinx. He looked up at the jurors and caught her gazing at him. It sent a shiver down her spine and her eyes darted away.
The image of his face was burned in her mind even after shifting her vision. A long scar ran down his forehead and to his left eye, which was covered by a patch. His hands resembled concrete blocks on the end of a tree limb. There was a general aura of coldness around him. She glanced back and felt relieved that he wasn't still looking at her. She felt the net of focus loosen and watched as both sides worked furiously on their selections.
The prosecutor called out a number and the truck driver next to her stood up. He slid out of the jury box and as he did said to her, “Thank Jesus for that.” Then the other attorney called out a number. The young man who had identified himself as another teacher stood up and left as well. He had said he liked, “Democracy and a fair police force.” When the defense attorney asked him if he knew about this case, the man answered affirmatively. Tawny must have been out of it because she hadn't heard anything about this case. She didn't pay much attention to the news anyway.
The attorneys went back and forth with their selections. When they were left with only two strikes each, Tawny started to wonder if she was really going to be left on the jury. It kind of made her feel good, as if in not being stricken, she was selected. She looked around at the other people remaining and saw the jockey and the woman with the white blouse. The nice black man who had given her a seat also remained.
She heard the prosecutor say, “Eighteen.” No one got up immediately. The judge said, “Juror eighteen, you may leave.” A woman finally rose from her seat. She was lanky and a bit crazed-looking to Tawny. While she stood up, she didn't move from her seat just yet. Instead, she peered at the judge, who seemed mildly amused by this occurrence. Then the woman started yelling.
“
These police officers do what they can! You don't know what they deal with on a daily basis!” She was generally directing this tirade to the people in the gallery, most of whom were deflecting the words by directing their attention elsewhere. Two of the bailiffs jumped to action and grabbed the woman.
“
I will put you in county jail if you don't stop this right now!” the judge yelled. The woman paid him no attention, “The dead man was just a leech! Living on our system, a drain!”
“
That is quite enough!!” the judge yelled as he stood up and slammed his gavel down on the bench. The woman stopped talking but struggled with the bailiffs. They got a hold of both of her arms and dragged her out of the courtroom. The judge managed to slap a day in jail on her before she was fully out. He turned to the remaining jurors and said, “You will disregard what just happened. The case you may hear is controversial, but it is your imperative, your duty, to have no prejudgment when this case starts.” He sat down and adjusted his robe. “Go on, counsel.” The attorneys struck three more people without incident. Tawny looked around, a bit shocked. She was on her first jury.
F O R T Y-F O U R
__________________________________________________
T
he judge let them take a break after the attorneys finished jury selection. It was actually an exhausting procedure for everyone involved. Even Shaver found himself fatigued. The breaks didn't mean anything to him. He didn't smoke, he had no one to talk to. They were actually more isolating than when everyone was sitting around him, constantly keeping him at the periphery of their attention.
The hoard of people filtered back into the courtroom as the judge directed the prosecutor to begin his opening statement. Shaver watched as the prosecutor swayed in front of the jurors, like a multi-headed snake. He began with an introduction to the case, combing and plucking the jurors in preparation for the evidence he was to present. The man was convincing, Shaver thought to himself. A ball of nerves shuddered momentarily in his stomach before he suppressed the emotion.
Then the prosecutor told a story of that old man, undoubtedly woven together from equal parts bullshit and fairy tale. A transparent attempt to rile feelings that left Shaver feeling ill. As if these people cared about that man.
“
Don't be confused, ladies and gentlemen, this is a case about murder. Don't be fooled either. There was no defense, no justifiable use of force here. Instead, an old man was murdered in his bed.” The prosecutor turned and pointed at him. “This is a cold-blooded killer, capable of aiming directly at a helpless man's chest,” the prosecutor raised his arms as if holding a gun and came right up to Shaver, “and pulling the trigger three times. No hesitation. No remorse.”
Shaver bore a hole through the prosecutor with his eyes. The two men stood staring at each other. Far too long. Mason broke the contest first—out of necessity. He redirected his attention to the jurors and continued. “This is a monster that needs to be put away for the rest of his life. The State is asking for murder in the second degree. The State is asking you to protect your fellow citizens from sharing Mr. Rodriguez's fate.”
As the prosecutor wrapped up his opening, Shaver heard an extra amount of commotion behind him. He looked and saw that people were standing up and rushing to the windows. This seemed to awaken the judge from his reverie. He pounded his gavel a couple of times, but almost the entire gallery was crowded around the windows at the back of the courtroom. “Bailiffs, go settle these people down!” A woman shrieked and fainted. Two of the bailiffs pushed through the crowd and created some space around her.
“
Don't even think about it,” Sphinx said to Shaver.
“
What're you talking about?” Shaver asked as he looked at all of the bailiffs dealing with the crowd around the windows.
“
What's going on back there?!” the judge bellowed.
“
People are fighting!” someone screamed.
“
Who?!”
“
Everyone!” someone cried back to him. “People are fighting each other...the cops are fighting the people! It's a sea of bodies! It must have tripled in size since this morning!”
Shaver started to go to see for himself until the judge screamed out to the bailiffs, “Bailiffs! Secure the prisoner!” Three of the bailiffs came to their senses and redirected their attention to Shaver. Just then the a chorus of footsteps sounded from down the marble hall outside of the courtroom. They stomped in relentless unison until they burst through the courtroom doors. Six policemen stormed in.
“
Your Honor, we need to stop this trial right now!”