The Room (3 page)

And even if we are successful in explaining the situation to them, and they understand it, they are afraid, for any one of many reasons, to attempt to destroy this cancer. They are afraid of recriminations and retaliations and feel they should leave well enough alone. In most cases they would rather move to another part of the country and start over again rather than try to do something about the problem.

I am certain you understand that my simply publishing your letter would be of no value whatsoever. It must be followed up vigorously. If not, it will just be another instance of a few people being temporarily – or perhaps I should say momentarily – (he nodded his agreement to the correction) outraged and then it will be forgotten as the many worries and responsibilities of everyday life push this from their minds.

Well, what exactly did you have in mind. I am certain you realize that I will cooperate in any way I can. There is just about nothing I will not do to help remedy this situation.

Well, Stacey and I have discussed that very thing and we were certain, after reading
your letter, that you were the individual we have been looking for to assist us.

You see, we want to mount an all-out campaign, using your experience as a springboard. I – we – believe, with you in the foreground, that the results will be both beneficial and efficacious.

What we intend to do is coordinate our efforts. Stacey will speak before professional and civic groups – or any other group that will listen to me – and I will continue a daily barrage in the paper. We will dig out all our old files: statements, letters, depositions, photographs, rumors, anything and everything that will arouse the public and force a legislative investigation. We are willing to use any and every tool available, no matter how devious, to bring this evil to the attention of the public, and eventually have something done to rectify this situation. We will not stop until an aroused public forces the legislature to act.

Are you certain this can be done. I mean these very men, the politicians from the top to the bottom, are the very men who helped create this situation. And too, they are very jealous of their power. They will not want to relinquish one iota of their authority. And I am certain they are not overly sensitive to the injustices heaped upon an unsuspecting public.

That, of course, is quite true. But – and this is
the
but – they are sensitive to the reactions and desires of their constituents. They want to stay in office and will do anything to do so.

As soon as there is enough public reaction you just see how fast someone gets up in the capital and demands an investigation. To begin with, the opposition party, no matter which party it may happen to be, will use anything to attack the incumbent party – and do not forget that this is an election year. And, relative to that, of course, precipitating such an investigation will be good publicity for anyone running for re-election, regardless of what party he belongs to. And all this is in addition to the fact that politicians love to keep their names before the public especially in the role of crusader and protector of the public welfare. They all have visions of living in the governors mansion or going to Washington. And do not
forget, our government, on all levels, is run by committee chairmen, and they will start an investigation over the size of a piece of penny bubble gum. Especially if there is the possibility of a protracted investigation with daily press and t.v. coverage.

And thats another thing. The campaign I referred to is to be a comprehensive one. Not just speeches by Stacey and editorials by me, but we intend to use television, mass-circulation magazines, interviews, personal appearances by any and all of us, and, if necessary, we will print and distribute pamphlets.

He shook his head and smiled at the two men. I must admit that I am a bit overwhelmed by all this. Of course I had hoped that something like this would happen, but I never dreamed it would become an actuality so fast. I am extremely grateful to you gentlemen for all this.

On the contrary. It is us who are grateful and obligated to you. You have enabled us to put into action a campaign that we have dreamed of for years. You are the one who is making all this possible.

With his eyes still closed, and a look of glowing satisfaction on his face, he reviewed the scenes and dialogue and found nothing that needed changing or improving. With their backing he would really show them. He would really shake the shit out of them.

And that goddamn Smith.
Public defender
. What the hell does he care. Probably trying to get a job in the d.a./s office anyway. All they want you to do is plead guilty. Yeah, they tell you if youre not guilty say so. But they do everything they can to get you to plead guilty.
Public defender
. ha.
Defender
. My
ass
defender. Couldnt even defend that, the rotten a.k./s. Afraid to bug the judge because they might get in front of him when they have a private practice. Just trying to make friends with every son of a bitch in court except their client.
Client?
Aint that a crock of shit. Just another bum to them. Dont even want to sit too close to you. Youre just a springboard to a jr. partnership anyway. A deaf mute could do a better job. With somebody like Stacey Lowry
defending me I/d be on the streets right now. All it takes is money. And influence. And if you got the money you got the influence. You got that and you go free. Shit. Got the money and you dont even have to go to trial. They wouldn’t bother taking a mickey mouse case like this to court if they knew I had a good lawyer. But as soon as they see you have to use a goddamn public defender they want to send you away for life. Just want to pad the record. Make it look good. Boy, look at all the convictions he has. He must be good. We/ll have to run him for d.a. next election, and then governor. And after that who knows … Yeah, who knows. Ya wouldnt even make a good dog catcher ya rotten son of a bitch. They dont care who they destroy. Just all in a days work. Whats the difference who they do in as long as it helps their career. Nothing but a bunch of goddamn assassins. And they have the nerve to call other people leeches sucking the blood of society, or weeds that should be plucked out and destroyed. Where in the hell do they get the nerve to send a man to the gas chamber. Theyre no better than a professional assassin. They both kill for money. The only difference is that the pro only kills occasionally, but these bastards destroy as many lives as possible every day. Only they do it legally. At least the professional killer takes his chances. These bastards do it with immunity. Wearing their silk suits and hiding behind the courts and law books. And if you say anything they shrug their shoulders and tell you they didnt do anything wrong. They were just doing their job. They destroy and kill hundreds – thousands – every year, and theyre patted on the back. Good job. Thats the way herkimer. Great record you got there boy. Some stupid son of a bitch kills somebody and everybody wants to kill him. Hes an animal. The other ones a brilliant prosecutor. And what happens if someone is proven innocent of a crime. Are they happy because an innocent man was not unjustly convicted. O, no. You bet your sweet ass theyre not. Doesn’t make any difference to them that the man was innocent. Krist no. The only thing that counts is that they lost a case. Probably go home and beat up the wife and kids. And then think of what they should have done to get a conviction. So what if hes innocent. Cant mar their wonderful record by having an innocent man going free. Never get to the governors mansion that way. And what do those
fucking p.d./s do. Nothing. Just keep their goddamn noses stuck up the judges ass. They dont even bother to close their eyes. They dont have to. They just make like the whole thing doesn’t exist. They dont even ignore it. They don’t have to. aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh shit! The hell with the whole goddamn bunch of them. Wipe out the whole damn bunch of them. The whole rotten system. By the time I’m finished with them everyone will know how rotten the system is. I/ll beat them at their own game. Then
theyll
sweat.

Wiping the palms of his hands on his legs then stretching out on the bunk. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the door and unconsciously flexed his leg muscles in time with the beating of his heart. For many seconds his concentration was intense as he glared at the locked door

then he breathed deeply and adjusted himself on the bunk until he was looking at the ceiling. He listened to his heart beating for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He stood as the charges were read, recognizing a few of the words, but for the most part it could have been a foreign language: to wit; therefore; blablablabla. He stood hearing, but not listening. Only the sound registered. He knew he was standing there and that it wasn’t a dream, but that was about all he knew. Eventually the judge asked him how he pleaded and he simply answered not guilty. He had been only vaguely aware of the p.d. standing beside him until he told him to sit down. Sliding a piece of paper and a pencil in front of him he told him to write down any questions that came to mind, that he didn’t want him speaking to him while witnesses were giving testimony, that he couldn’t listen to them, the d.a. and him at the same time. He accepted the paper and pencil silently and blankly. He knew this was the man who was going to defend him, some sort of someone whose name he didn’t know, someone he had never seen before, someone who had passed him a piece of paper and a pencil, spoken a few words then ignored him completely as he glanced at papers. And he just sat as his defense counsel looked at papers and spoke,
from time to time, to the d.a. He knew that whoever it was sitting beside him had already sold him out, so he leaned forward, pencil in hand, as the first witness was called.

He wanted to listen intently and absorb every word, every gesture. He held his pencil poised, ready to take notes, and when his attorney failed to notice discrepancies in testimony he would make note of them and provide the ammunition necessary to destroy the prosecutions case.

The first witnesses were the arresting officers and, from time to time, he would start to make a note, but he couldnt find the proper words to define exactly what was going through his head. His frustration increased as the testimony proceeded and he leaned further and further back in his chair, and soon the pencil was lying on the piece of paper. He listened to stipulations being made and agreed to for purposes of the preliminary hearing and then the judge would say so stipulated and it would be entered in the record. And then they started waiving. This was waived and noted; that was waived and noted. When they finished the stipulating and waiving the p.d. asked for a dismissal of the case on various grounds, citing various cases and decisions and the prosecuting attorney asked that they not be and cited cases and decisions. There was a brief recess while the judge retired to chambers to decide on the motions for dismissal.

When the judge returned he spoke briefly to the attorneys, referring to their citations, then quoted a few himself before denying the motion for dismissal. Then there were questions and answers and a lot of other dumb shit and his goddamn lawyer just sat on his ass letting everything slide by, never once doing a fucking thing for him. Not once did the son of a bitch try. It was bullshit. The whole fucking thing was nothing but a bunch of bullshit.

He had no idea how long he sat in that fucking courtroom, but time and the bullshit were endless. Finally the bullshit ended and he was led from the courtroom. Then, eventually, he was back in his cell.

He sat on the edge of the bunk almost apathetically as the door clanged shut
behind him. His eyes burned and felt heavy. They ached from the enormous weight that seemed to be pressing on their lids. The light seemed to scrape them. Yet there was energy in his body. It wanted to move. It craved some sort of action. It was waiting to be directed against something … … someone. It wanted to leap out and away from the hollow feeling deep inside that seemed to come from the burning and aching eyes, the weighted and drooping lids. His head lowered itself to the pillow, and his legs rolled out on the bunk. His eyes fell closed and an arm covered his eyes.

He tried thinking about the day but everything was confused. He knew he should have grabbed the guard when he opened the door this morning and smashed his head against the wall and opened all the cells and let everyone run mad and kill every uniformed prick they saw, but the pressure on his eyes would not allow him. He tried to grab the guard around the neck and snap his spine, but when he moved his arms they seemed to float with imperceptible slowness and years and years later they were still miles away from his neck. He could see himself watching his floating arms and he screamed at them to hurry, hurry, get him, and he twisted and knotted his body trying to urge the arms to move faster, but they continued to float, seeming to be suspended in a weightless space. Then after a passage of endless time, he felt a tingle in his hand, and his arm slid from his face, and the darkness lightened slightly and he squeezed his eyes open and became aware that his hand had fallen asleep and he was trying to shake it awake. He blinked rapidly as his vision was filled with the overhead light. His legs swung over the side of the bunk and his body raised itself to a sitting position. He sat for several moments, rubbing his face with his hand, then rose and went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He dried it then looked in the mirror, examining the blemish on his cheek. It seemed a little larger, more tender, a little redder. He examined it closely, touching it tentatively at first, then more firmly until he felt the needle-like pain. He removed his finger, continued to stare at the inflamed blotch, then went back to his bunk.

He sat on the edge of the bunk wondering, at first, if he had slept, then when he realized that he must have, he
wondered how long. O well, it didnt make any difference. Time was all the same. 3 meals a day and an occasional shower. The time of day was meaningless. And night. Lights always on so you never know. Except that its noisier during the day. All the same. No difference.