Authors: Derek Blass
Mason looked at the young attorney. He was clearly talented but also had so much room to grow. There was leadership potential in Cruz, if he stepped out of himself a bit more. There was no doubt the young man was a bright star.
“
I think you're right, Cruz. I'll try to elicit those emotions from him. No guarantee though.”
“
Of course not, but I have confidence in you.” That was nice to hear, because Mason wasn't feeling so stellar. “What demonstratives are you going to use?”
“
Todd created a chronology of events that will be a primary piece for me. I have pictures of forensic evidence, the spent shells, Shaver's gun. I'll use most of them during the expert's testimony.” Martinez pushed the sliding glass door back open and tripped onto the patio.
“
Goddammit!”
“
Hey, you aren't getting drunk, are you?” Mason asked.
“
No,” Martinez answered indignantly. “Just missed that damn step.” Mason and Cruz kept looking at him. “Get outta here! I've barely had half my drink.”
Mason slipped a bundle of documents over towards Cruz. They were shrunken copies of the demonstratives.
“
How bad's it gonna be tomorrow?” Martinez asked.
Mason slowly took his glasses off of his face. “The truth?”
“
Of course the freakin' truth. I need to be prepared for this.”
“
Pretty damn bad. Sphinx is a good lawyer,” Mason said. Cruz watched Martinez's face for changes in expression. “Quite honestly, there's a whole bunch of shit to toss at you. The association with your wife's brother, Raul. The chase for Shaver. The arrest. You're in for an ass-whooping.” Martinez shrugged his shoulders and leaned on the wall.
“
He can get those things, but that doesn't change what happened at Livan Rodriguez's house.”
“
That's exactly right,” Cruz applauded. “Doesn't change the fact that Shaver walked into that man's house and killed him in cold blood. All Sphinx will be trying to get at is your credibility. And I don't see how Sphinx has a chance to bring your credibility as low as Shaver's will be. That whole 'man in blue' thing isn't going to last long at all.”
“
All right then, one more question. You think we're gonna win?” Mason and Cruz looked at each other. It was impossible to predict how a jury would come out. A jury was like a black box. You could do your best to get the right elements in there, but once deliberations began the chemistry project took over. Some personalities did well with others. Some personalities clashed. Other personalities took over while some remained weak. Juries were comprised of victims and aggressors much like the greater society. The victims blamed outside forces, usually beyond their control. The aggressors were unwilling to bend to fate. How the jury comes out often depended on the mix of these subtypes of people.
“
Well?”
“
Fifty-fifty,” Cruz finally answered. Mason just looked away.
F O R T Y-S I X
__________________________________________________
N
ot that bad, Tawny thought to herself. They got a meal at the hotel and then a decent room. She was sure some of the jurors lost their minds without a television, and it was undoubtedly something she would hear about. She had just read a book and fallen asleep to the heavy sound of the inhale and exhale of her breath.
The ride over to the courthouse was groggy and silent. The only person who looked more put together than yesterday was Rebecca. She was sitting in the front seat of the van, as uptight as ever. Tawny sighed and dug through her purse for some gum. The insurance man was sitting next to her. She extended her hand with a piece of gum in it. He shook his head no without saying anything else. Jerk.
The courthouse sat on a full block of the downtown area. There were two entrances and the bailiff said they would be using the back one to avoid the congestion. Tawny figured he meant the morning commute congestion. That was until they got about half a mile away from the courthouse.
The streets were packed with people. Cars were stuck, emitting wisps of exhaust up in the morning air. Emergency vehicles pulled up onto sidewalks with their lights flashing aimlessly. Tawny stopped chewing her gum and looked down at her watch. A few minutes past eight in the morning. This couldn't be right, she thought to herself. She'd never seen anything like this.
The van came to a stop behind a long row of cars that were honking like geese in flight. People rubbed up against the van as they scraped past. There were all sorts of homemade signs. Just about every right or interest was represented. It didn't seem like an upbeat atmosphere. In fact, the tension was tangible even inside the van.
The van driver picked up a walkie-talkie and spoke to someone named Chad. He asked for an escort at their location. Tawny was looking out of the window when all of a sudden a camera popped into her face. It surprised her enough to send her reeling back onto the insurance man.
“
Watch yourself!” he said as he pushed her away. Then more cameras popped up like like moles peeking their heads out of the ground. One became three which became ten. They surrounded the van and Tawny heard someone scream, “It's the jurors!” The van started to shake a little bit as more and more people accumulated around them. It was rocking back and forth slowly, like a ship on a lazy sea. Tawny moved away from the window as men and women plastered their hands and faces against the van. A small child sat perched on her father's shoulders, looking strangely calm.
The van driver called Chad again. Much more urgent this time.
Then the screaming started. Rebecca yelled when a man slammed his hand against her window. People outside were screaming to put Shaver away, to stop the reverse discrimination and let him go, to not fuck up the decision. Underlying the screams were thuds. The van sounded like the inside of a taut drum as people slammed their fists on its steel outer skin. Everyone inside the van was awake and fully alert at this point.
“
Get us out of here, driver,” the jockey said. Tawny noticed that Dawn had taken a hold of the insurance man's arm and smirked at the irony. Like grabbing onto a twig while falling through a tree. The driver tried to pull out from behind the row of cars and get onto the sidewalk, but the mass of people pushed back. Tawny saw a set of emergency lights coming their way.
“
Here comes the escort,” she said lightly. As the three motorcycle cops got closer, the van started to shake more violently. It was almost as if the people sensed their chance to yell at the jurors was ending soon. The child on the father's shoulders had disappeared. Tawny looked around the various windows of the van, concerned about the child but seeing nothing. The van was shaking enough now from side to side that they all slipped on the bench seats.
The motorcycle cops lost momentum. Their lights weren't making forward progress toward the van. Tawny could see the three cops waving people back to no avail. A van followed about fifty feet behind the motorcycle cops. It shot out chunky waves of siren wails. Then it stopped and started to shake a bit. People were pushing it back and forth too.
Some of the people around Tawny's van were caught in the mayhem. They had scared faces, bulging from the pressure of the people around them. She watched as one woman started swinging her elbows to get room. Others seemed to be taking advantage of the mayhem. They bore wicked smiles while pushing against the people around them. This created a mixture of willing and unwilling participants in a veritable mosh pit.
Tawny heard a faint
thu-thump
. This occurred several more times over the next few seconds. She saw smoke start to rise from various places around the van. She imagined that the friction of all these people had started a fire. As the smoke spread so did the people. People close to the van started to cough and pull their shirts over their faces. Tawny saw a column of spartan-like riot police creating a rift in the crowd. They marched in formation, slowly eating their way through the mass of people who were now trying to find cover from whatever was in the smoke.
The insurance man was leaning across Tawny now. His mouth agape. The column came closer and closer to the van until the front of it, three police officers, reached the driver's side window. They stopped to verify that the column was still intact and then proceeded to pass the van. The officers moved like a centipede through dirt.
When the end of the column passed, the driver started the van again. They crept behind the officers, watching the mass of people around them disperse. Every couple of minutes or so the column would stop to shoot off some more canisters into the crowds.
When the van finally made it within eyesight of the courthouse, Tawny could not believe what she saw. What was visible of the ground was littered with empty bottles, paper, clothes, and scraps of food. The ground usually disappeared in the swell of people though. Heads bobbed and jostled as far as Tawny could see. Police in full, black riot gear mixed with soldiers in tan uniforms. There was a wall of fifteen-deep national guardsmen posted in front of the courthouse.
When the mass caught wind of the slowly moving group of officers and its trailing payload, a cheer started from afar and then overwhelmed the van like a shock wave.
“
Oh my God,” the insurance man said. All of the jurors shared his sentiment and clustered together in the van. They could do nothing but watch thousands of sets of eyes turn to look at them. The sound of the column's feet hitting the ground in unison was all but washed out now. Cheers and chants emanated from the crowd. Lights and cameras pointed at them as both sides looked at each other in surprise.
The van finally turned the corner to the back of the courthouse. This area was shut off except to police and military personnel. The column broke off from the van, still in formation, never relinquishing its image of force.
Once the van went into the underground parking lot, Tawny felt like she could breathe again. Bailiffs slammed the doors to the lot shut and swung an enormous metal bar in front of the doors to keep them closed. One of the bailiffs hurriedly approached them from the other side of the lot.
“
Let's get going. The judge is waiting.”
“
No rest for the weary, huh?” Tawny said. A few of the other jurors grunted to agree with her assessment. They followed the bailiff to the open elevator. It's dim light spilled out just into the dark garage. They all squeezed in and stood shoulder to neck, elbow to breast, as the elevator seemed to struggle under their weight. A ding sounded and they got off on the first floor. The bailiff beckoned them to hurry, but no one really did. The stress of getting to the courthouse left them all exhausted.
Another bailiff opened the courtroom doors and Tawny could see that the judge, lawyers and gallery were all in place.
“
So nice of you to join us,” Judge Melburn said.
“
Great way of getting us over here,” the jockey shot back.
“
Who does the State call as its first witness?” The judge had not even waited for all the jurors to be seated. A loud cheer and wailing horns sounded just after the judge stopped talking. “Hold on a moment. Bailiffs, I want you to confiscate every person's cell phone in here. Someone must be communicating with people on the outside.” He paused as the bailiffs looked at him to see if this order was for real. They already had plenty on their plates. “Who is it? Which one of you is communicating—texting is probably what you are doing—with the outside?” No one responded. “Bailiffs...” Judge Melburn said with a wave of his finger towards the crowd.
This interlude gave Tawny a moment to pull a tissue out of her purse and dab her forehead. The bailiffs went around collecting people's cell phones. Once the tedious process was completed, the judge sat back in his chair and repeated his earlier question, “Who does the State call as its first witness?”
“
Dr. Rajeed Ganesh.” Tawny watched as a younger Indian man stood up from the gallery and walked to the witness box. He had a brisk, slightly nervous pace. He gripped a binder under his left arm and adjusted his glasses with his other hand. Once seated in the witness box, the clerk of the court made him swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. This was just as she imagined it in her dreams last night.
* * * *
Cruz pushed his way through the seemingly endless crowd to get to the courthouse. Sandra followed behind him, holding onto his hand. Martinez was off to their side somewhere, cutting his own path through the thicket.
They stayed a half of a mile away from the courthouse with the anticipation that yesterday's crowds would lessen by the morning. That was entirely incorrect. Most of the night they heard people, bustling like locusts, milling around their hotel. Their hotel was actually the center of the chaos. Most of the media covering the event were staying there. Anytime they stepped out of their room they were bombarded with questions and cameras. Even Sandra, used to the spotlight, was growing tired of the coverage.
The media presence at the first day of the trial was nothing in comparison to today. Vans encompassed the hotel, which was large in regular times, but dwarfed now. Satellite dishes perched on the top of most of the vans, sometimes extending towards the sky, other times rotating to pick up their signal, but always in motion like antennae on bugs. Cruz had seen all sorts of badges hanging from people's necks. Local and national, big and small news stations alike. Reporters from New York, California and Florida The hotel lobby was awash with different cultures and languages and smells.