A Naked Singularity: A Novel

by Sergio De La Pava

  The prosecutor then told the jurors the contents of the radio run that resulted in the arresting officer in this case going to the scene. The law is clear that this is hearsay and obviously the DA cannot do himself, in an opening statement, what he would not be permitted to do through a witness at trial. For his next trick, Mr. McSlappahan informed the jury that Officer Leary would testify that the screwdriver recovered in this case was of a kind commonly used to commit theft related offenses. Unless basic evidence law is going to be disregarded in this trial, Officer Leary will not be permitted to offer opinion evidence unless he is first qualified as an expert. He has not been qualified as one and based on the police reports I have received I would be strongly objecting to any such qualification, so the DA’s comment was at best objectionable as premature.

  Lastly, I objected three times when the DA, after informing the jury that he could not instruct them on the law, proceeded to repeatedly do just that and do so inaccurately in my view.

  All of my objections were firmly rooted in unequivocal New York law. The fact that the DA repeatedly resorted to these types of improper comments evinces either a profound ignorance of the law or a malevolent disregard for it. More troubling is the fact that each of these meritorious objections was overruled and the improper comment permitted to stand without any kind of limiting instruction. Moreover, I was then denied the opportunity to approach the court to fully explain these objections at a time when an appropriate remedy could conceivably still be fashioned. Accordingly, the only proper remedy after such an inflammatory and prejudicial opening statement is an immediate mistrial, which is what I am moving for now.

  THE COURT: Denied. Anything further?

  MR. McSLAPPAHAN: Your Honor, if I may respond.

  THE COURT: No need. Defense counsel’s application is denied. Anything else counsel?

  DEFENSE COUNSEL: No.

  THE COURT: Then I’ll see you both at 9:30 tomorrow.

  (DIANE S. SALON)

  “Wow,” said Toomberg. “It’s getting pretty contentious in there isn’t it?”

  “That obvious?” I said. “Even from just the transcript?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re right, it’s a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a screwup on my part Toomie. Pay attention, you might learn something. I need the DA to be sleepy and overconfident, which would certainly be justified in this case. I don’t need him feeling all challenged and vigilant where he might figure out what I’m trying to do and address it before it’s too late.”

  “Think he’s figured it out?”

  “No, he seems pretty dumb, but even he has to realize that I can’t really raise much of a factual dispute when my guy is caught red-bodied in the fucking van. When he thinks about it I think he’ll focus on showing that the van was used for commercial purposes.”

  “A reasonable deduction.”

  “Which brings me to my other problem and misstep. So far only you, me, and the mysterious judge in that commentary agree that the defendant has to know the van is used for commercial purposes before he can be found guilty of Burg Three. The problem arises when I have to convince Arronaugh to give me the jury instruction I’m drafting. Aside from her general antagonism towards anyone accused of a crime, I now have to overcome the obvious hatred she feels towards me.”

  “But isn’t that true of most judges? They’re almost all predisposed against us, yet their fear of reversal will still occasionally force them to rule in our favor.”

  “True but this is different. From what I see, Arronaugh doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about being reversed and this is consistent with the scouting report I got on her. Think of the ridiculous way she overruled all those objections. Every single one of them was legitimate.”

  “Arguably.”

  “Trust me. Forget your fancy law books, the only thing that matters here is how much she likes or dislikes me. I should have been kissing her ass from the outset.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know, genetics? Anyway I’m not saying it’s impossible to get the instruction from her, just saying it’s going to be an uphill battle.”

  “Why not start feeling her out now to see if she’s inclined to give you the instruction before you predicate your entire case on it?”

  “And tip the DA off to my defense so he can blow me out of the water by eliciting testimony establishing how apparently commercial the van was? Negative. This is the proper course because, fact is, regardless of how the judge ultimately rules this is the only chance I have. Your way I have nothing except I’ve covered my ass. No, this is the way to go, just need to make sure I get that damn instruction. Sure would help if I could find that fucking judge!”

  “What fucking judge you looking for?” said Conley the next day during lunch after Bolo and Leary had testified and just before I had to sum up.

  “Toomberg says there’s a judge, respected and all, who agrees with me that there is a scienter requirement in my Burg Three with respect to the fact that the van is used for commercial purposes. Do you know where that might be? I’ve been hunting this damn book obsessively and it’s led me here, to this bookshelf. So let’s have at it.”

  “I have no idea but I heard that was your defense. Do you think it’s accurate?”

  “Who cares what I think? Have you seen the book?”

  “You think Arronaugh will instruct the jury that your client had to know the van he broke into was used for commercial purposes?”

  “No Conley. I don’t think she will. In fact I know she won’t because she already said she won’t! But if I can find this damn green book maybe I can change her mind before I have to sum up in twenty minutes.”

  “Oh the green book. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “What have I been saying?”

  “It’s green?”

  “Yes!”

  “By that judge?”

  “Yes!”

  “The practice commentaries right?”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! Where the hell is it?”

  “I lent that thing out to Grinn. I don’t think he ever gave it back.”

  “Grinn?”

  “Yes, Solomon Grinn. Find Solomon Grinn and you’ll find your green book. Come to think of it, you probably don’t even have to find Mr. Grinn. Just go to Solomon’s office and the book should be in there somewhere, regardless of whether or not Grinn himself is in there.”

  “Casi, what box did you have in the Tula pool?” said Liszt.

  “What the fuck you talking about?” I said.

  “I’m serious,” Dane responded the day before when we spoke near the soda machine after I had opened on Hurtado but before I brought the transcripts to Toomberg for his take. He was picking up on a theme he first sounded shortly after revealing he had met with DeLeon. And this all happened before the DA called to tell me DeLeon was missing. “It’s not farfetched at all,” he said. “It’s just a question of expanding what you think of as conceivable.”

  “Well I regret to inform you that it is the very definition of farfetched to think that we, you and I, are going to rip off a bunch of drug dealers. Sorry.”

  “Just hear me out, don’t be so close-minded.”

  “Normally I would for the entertainment value. But I’m on trial as you know so I have work to do.”

  “This will only take a minute. Why do you think it’s so improbable? What do you view as this great barrier? You heard DeLeon tell the DA firsthand that security for this deal is going to be shit. What’s so farfetched about the idea that you and I, after proper planning, can just walk in on that day and swipe about fifteen million tax-free dollars? The kind of dollars that would never be reported stolen by anyone. Do you honestly think we are incapable of devising a sufficiently clever plan to go in on that day and extricate that dough?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure I’m going to end up kicking myself for humoring you even this far but the answer is yes.”

  “Why?
A lack of intelligence?”

  “Intelligence has nothing to do with it. Well, yes, okay, intelligence of the other kind. Plans require information. This plan would require information we don’t have. If you’ll recall, Mr. DeLeon gave the cops false information about where this is going to occur and plans to give them the real location later. Consequently, I do not know the real location nor am I likely to ever learn it. Are you suggesting I call the DA and ask him? Or should I have my client come in for a meeting so I can ask him? How would either look in the aftermath?”

  “Hold it right there. You insult me Casi. Do you still not know who you’re dealing with? I met with DeLeon yesterday for over two hours. I know the exact date, time, and place where this is going to go down.”

  “If he told you the truth.”

  “He did. I have painstakingly detailed information. Still think we can’t devise a successful plan?”

  “If the information you’re referring to was properly acquired and chronicled and most importantly was verifiably true that would be one thing.”

  “Everything was done perfectly by me and can be relied on unreservedly.”

  “Then in that case I suppose you and I could devise a successful plan but that is completely irrelevant. I’m capable of doing all sorts of things that I don’t do for an overwhelming variety of reasons. What you are jokingly suggesting is so far afield of anything I would ever actually do that my ability to do it successfully is irrelevant.”

  “Are you worried about the execution? Because if it’s not the planning you’re worried about anymore then it must be the execution because there’s nothing else to it.”

  “Exactly then, it’s the execution that’s the problem.”

  “So you agree with me that if you and I sat down, during the next ten days or so, and fully put our hearts and minds into devising a plan good enough to enable us to steal that money while avoiding detection and harm, we could accomplish this. What worries you is that we will then somehow fail in trying to execute that plan? Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Because I happen to think we could not only devise a perfect plan but that we could, and would, execute it perfectly.”

  “Not that again.”

  “A perfect crime Casi.”

  “Listen, let me save you some time okay? I’ll start with the conclusion while being as clear as possible. I will, under no circumstances, participate in an attempt to steal the millions of dollars that Ramon DeLeon has talked about. I acknowledge that you and I, if properly armed with the pertinent facts, could devise a plan that would enable us, in theory, to steal this money without detection or harm. However, listen closely here, we absolutely could not, regardless of the amount of effort expended, make a plan that was perfect. Nor would there be any need to do so, other than your bizarre need to pursue perfection. Moreover, we most definitely could not execute any plan, no matter how meritorious, in a perfect manner. In fact, I have my doubts that we could even execute the plan well enough to be successful but that’s a side issue. Lastly, there is no need for debate on the various levels of competence we could possibly achieve in executing a hypothetical plan because fear of failure is not the reason I will not be trying to steal that money.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.”

  “So let me review. You agree that we could figure out how to steal this money. You also agree that we could steal this money.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t say the opposite and one, the good plan, strongly presumes the other. Yet despite this you’re not even going to try and steal the money?”

  “Correct. Because I don’t want to try and steal it.”

  “You don’t want fifteen million dollars?”

  “I do, but I don’t want to get shot or go to jail.”

  “So it is fear of failure that’s stopping you.”

  “Among other things.”

  “What other things? Because the fear of failure can be stifled through proper planning, the kind of planning that reduces the variables that can go wrong and ensures success.”

  “There are other reasons.”

  “Are you sure? Let me pose this hypo. Imagine I was in a position to guarantee you success, meaning no apprehension or physical harm and the successful acquisition of about twenty million dollars. Are you saying you still wouldn’t do it?”

  “So I have a ring I can twist to become invisible, that it?”

  “Very good, you’re familiar. What then?”

  “I still wouldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would be wrong.”

  “Really? Really? Wow, in this age and day. Anything else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well we’ve discussed two possible impediments to this caper I’ve proposed. One is fear of failure. Since you’ve already agreed that we can devise a plan that would succeed if properly carried out, then this fear of failure can properly be categorized as the fear that we will fail to correctly execute this plan. The other impediment you’ve just identified seems to be a moral objection. Is there anything else stopping you besides those two things?”

  “Guess not,” I said after a long pause during which I actually considered the question.

  Neither of us said anything else after that and I didn’t see Dane again until after I’d summed up on Hurtado and was awaiting a verdict. When I talked to Dane that next day he spoke about his hypothetical perfect crime again and I listened. I had given up hope I would ever again sleep. Three sleepless nights and counting and I knew what it was doing to me. In college I would calculate my sleep cycles prior to going to sleep, then have my roommates wake me during the dreamy portions thus ensuring I would remember, in vivid detail, those bizarre narratives that played in my skull. And even though I fully expected to never sleep again, I did. After I finally got a verdict on Hurtado and almost punched Liszt I raced home and dropped straight into bed. My machine was blinking furiously, doubtlessly with questions about my hot dog-selling cousin Armando’s arrest, but I couldn’t deal right then. I closed my eyes for just a second.

  “Go out there!”

  “Are you nuts?

  “People paid good money to see this! You owe it to them to get your ass out there and give it your best!”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m his trainer.”

  “Whose?”

  “Benitez.”

  “Benitez who?”

  “Not Benitez who, Who Benitez. Wilfred Benitez. Your opponent. I’m his trainer, now get your ass out there. Good money has been paid.”

  “Wilfred Benitez? Are you crazy? First of all, if you’re his trainer, what are you talking to me for? Where the fuck is MY trainer? Are you even allowed to talk to me without my trainer here?”

  “There she is now.”

  “No way, no damn way. I remember her. With the eyelid? No, I’m leaving.”

  “The audience paid, Casi.”

  “To see what? To see me get killed?”

  “To see someone get killed. A fight to the death, that’s how it was billed. For a limited time only. Money back guaranteed. They paid to see someone die.”

  “Yeah, me.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know which Benitez you’re going to be fighting. It could be a seven-year-old Benitez. Or better yet, Benitez today. Why do you assume you’ll be fighting the Benitez who fought Sugar Ray Leonard or Hitman Hearns? What an assumption! That Wilfred only lived for about eight years at most. In fact, I have it on fair authority that you will be fighting present-day Benitez.”

  “Now? The way he is now? That’s even worse! Who do you think you’re talking to anyway? What do you think I am? I love Benitez. You think I would kick someone while they’re down? Do you know what I do for a living? For a dying? And you! You especially stay away from me. You of all people know I wouldn’t do this. That’s right. I remember you. You sliced open my head to look inside a
nd now you’re supposed to be my trainer?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s all been arranged. We have the caskets and everything.”

  “Caskets?”

  “Yes. Well casket actually. You see luckily you and Mr. Benitez are almost exactly the same size so we only had to buy one casket to deal with either contingency. You didn’t know they came in different sizes did you?”

  “Not until . . .”

  “Until you saw Tula in her little box right?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “She went from one little box to another. You thought about that didn’t you? What’d you watch the funeral for anyway?”

  “I mean it, fuck you. Just leave me the fuck alone. I don’t even know who you are. I know this is a dream too so cut the shit. You can’t hurt me. When I say I don’t know who you are I mean exactly that too. You’re not an amalgam of people who torture me during waking life or anything. And you’re nobody from my past either before you say that. In other words, you’re no one to me.”

  “I’m not here to take an adversarial stance against you Casi. Look I even brought you Skittles in case you lose. You hear that? You know it’s a dream huh? Then wake up and pick up the phone. It’s about the hot dog salesman. It’s your sister she needs money. So does your mother. Your mother! I’ve arranged some entertainment for you. See that? It’s an artificial womb. We can check its progress right through this glass. What do you think of that? Not entertaining enough? Look I don’t want to sound like a name-dropper but I can introduce you to people if you’d like. Interesting people. Do you want to meet the two seven-year-olds who took Tula? Do you want to look in their heads like I looked in yours? I hear Rane didn’t show for his counsel visit. I can take you to him now if you want. You can find out what he was thinking and feeling when he shot Superdad in his super neck. How does that sound? What about Swathmore’s gal? You know, the one who torched her kid. Want to see how it happened? Are you surprised I know about them?”