The D.A. began by introducing a videotape into evidence. It had been taken at the time of the alleged robbery by a security camera poised over the cash register. The lights in the courtroom were dimmed, and the videotape began to play on a monitor next to the judge’s bench.
The picture was grainy and there was no sound. Sheldon moved around in the background of the shot as if he was trying to decide between a candy bar and a bag of potato chips. “I wish we had some popcorn,” Steve whispered to Harold.
“I’m gonna smack you, Steven,” Harold said. Rita raised her hand to shush them and gave them a mean look.
On the screen, Sheldon walked up to the register, but he was carrying a handgun instead of a bag of Doritos or a Three Musketeers. “What is it?” Mrs. Blatnick asked. “What?”
“It’s a gun, Ma,” Dusty said. “He’s got a gun.”
Mrs. Blatnick whacked Sheldon with her cane. “Guns you play with!” she said.
The judge, a tall, heavy-set black man with curly gray hair, said, “Order in the court!” and banged his gavel.
“It’s just like Perry Mason,” Rita said. “I’m impressed.”
Since the movie had no sound, no one could tell what Sheldon said to the clerk. But she opened the register and started slowly taking out money. Sheldon looked like he was whistling, his lips pursed together like a fish. It was either whistling or thinking; Steve had seen him do that when someone asked him a difficult question, like how are you today, Sheldon.
It took the girl a long time to get the money out, but Sheldon didn’t rush her. As she handed it to him, in a white 7-Eleven bag like it was a cup of coffee, Sheldon looked suddenly to his left. A police officer entered the frame, with his gun drawn. The monitor went black.
The D.A. called the arresting officer to the stand. He identified Sheldon and described the circumstances of his arrest.
Then Morty stood and walked to the witness stand. “Officer, you’ve identified my client as the man you witnessed holding up the 7-Eleven, is that correct?”
The officer nodded. “Yes.”
“When was the last time you had your vision checked?”
“I don’t have to,” the officer said. “I have 20-20.”
“So you’re saying your vision has never been checked?”
“When I entered the police academy.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Eighteen years.”
Morty turned to the jury. “And the prosecution expects us to accept an identification of my client by a man who hasn’t had his vision checked in eighteen years.” He turned back to the officer. “No further questions.”
Steve looked at Rita and nodded. “Not bad. Not terrific, but not bad.”
There was a brief recess before the next witness, and Steve used the time to call Uncle Max at the home office in Washington, where he was monitoring the progress of the appeal before the EPA. “Talk to me about drainage,” Uncle Max said. “Somebody on the board is asking a lot of questions.”
Standing out in the hallway, with a swirl of defendants, attorneys and police around him, Steve tried to recall all he knew about drainage.
“Pray this comes through and call me later,” Uncle Max said.
The next witness was the clerk at the 7-Eleven, a Pakistani woman named Gopal, wearing a white sari. She could almost have been a member of Wilma’s cult.
“I couldn’t help but notice, Miss Gopal, that you have an accent,” Morty said at the beginning of his cross-examination. “Are you a native of the United States?
Miss Gopal shook her head. “No, I am from Pakistan. I have a green card.”
“I do too, Miss Gopal, but we’re not concerned with your credit rating at American Express,” Morty said. “I’m concerned with your ability to speak and understand English.”
“I speak very good English.”
“And do you understand it too?” Morty said, speaking fast. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Did you understand that?”
Miss Gopal looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you can’t understand me, Miss Gopal, how can we be sure you understood Sheldon Blatnick the night he visited your store? No further questions.” He walked back to his table and Sheldon clapped him on the back.
The D.A. introduced the gun and a record of Sheldon’s fingerprints into evidence, and then said, “Nothing further, your honor.”
Morty called Mrs. Blatnick to the stand as his first witness. If anyone was willing to commit perjury for Sheldon, it had to be her. After all, even if he was a nitwit, he was her oldest son, and that had to count for something. “Where were you on the night of the twenty-seventh of January?” Morty asked her.
“You asked me that twice already in your office,” Mrs. Blatnick said. “What, you forgot?”
“I think the judge and the jury would like to know.”
“I was at my hotel,” Mrs. Blatnick said. “I’m an old lady. What do you think I should do at night, go to a disco?”
“And where was your son Sheldon that night?”
“He was there in the hotel with me.”
“Did you notice him leave?”
“No,” she said. “Sheldon is a good boy. He does everything I tell him. I tell him stay home, he stays home.”
Morty held up the gun, which was tagged Exhibit B. “Mrs. Blatnick, do you recognize this?”
“I should recognize a gun? What am I going to say, it looks like its father?”
“Answer the question,” the judge said.
“No, I don’t recognize the gun.” She turned to look at the judge. “And what business is it of yours to butt in here?”
The judge banged his gavel on his bench. “Mr. Fleischmann, control your witness,” he said.
“No further questions, your honor,” Morty said. Mrs. Blatnick got up.
The district attorney stood and walked towards her. “I have some questions for you, Mrs. Blatnick,” he said.
“You? Who are you?”
“I’m the district attorney.”
Mrs. Blatnick leveraged herself up, her hand on the witness box. “You’re the one who wants to put my Sheldon in jail. I got nothing to say to you.”
“Sit down, Mrs. Blatnick, and answer the questions,” the judge said. She glared at him, but she sat back down.
“Mrs. Blatnick, you said your son didn’t leave the hotel on the night of January twenty-seventh, is that correct?”
“What, you weren’t listening?”
The D. A. frowned and continued. “But at ten-thirty that night you received a call from the fourth precinct. Hotel records verify that such a call was received.” He held up a piece of paper, which he handed to the clerk. “That call was from your son Sheldon, who was in custody at the police station. You went down there and put up bail for him. Now, Mrs. Blatnick, if he didn’t leave the hotel, how did he get to the police station?”
“I should know? Ask the police. What, am I supposed to keep an eye on him twenty-four hours a day?”
“No further questions, your honor,” the D.A. said.
The judge called a break for lunch. Steve spent the entire two hours on the phone in the hallway, talking to Uncle Max and to George Eisenstein at the Lizardarium, and waiting to be called back with the answers to questions.
“Oh, Steven, you didn’t even have time to eat,” Rita said, as they walked back into the courtroom.
“I’ll be all right,” Steve said. “This whole thing is about to break. I can feel it. I think we’ll be back to work soon.”
Harold said nothing. He had called the Florida Club, but his news was always a few hours older than Steve’s, with his direct line, through Uncle Max, to the hearings.
Morty called Dusty Blatnick to the stand. Dusty spoke like an extra in a bad George Raft movie, and his weaselly eyes kept scanning the jury uneasily, as if he was on trial rather than his brother. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “He’s my brother. He’s a good guy. I couldn’t say nothing bad about Sheldo
n.”
Unfortunately, Dusty couldn’t say anything good about Sheldon either, since they hadn’t spent much time together since high school. It was unclear why Dusty had been called to the stand, even as a character witness.
The D.A. took over. “Mr. Blatnick, how many times have you been arrested in the state of New Jersey?”
“Objection, your honor,” Morty said. “Mr. Dusty Blatnick is not on trial here.”
“I’m trying to establish a pattern of criminal activity within the family, your honor,” the district attorney said.
“Overruled,” the judge said. “Answer the question.”
Dusty looked at the judge, then looked at Morty, and then glared at Sheldon. Steve could tell he was going to get Sheldon for that one. “Six times,” he said.
“Six times!” Mrs. Blatnick said. “You only told me five.”
The judge said, “Mrs. Blatnick!” and banged his gavel again.
Steve elbowed his mother. “You only told me four.”
“Once you were taking exams in college and I didn’t want to bother you,” she whispered. “Now pay attention.”
“And was your brother aware of your record?” the D.A. asked.
Dusty shrugged. “How do I know? You think Sheldon’s aware of where he is right now? I think it’s debatable.”
Sheldon jumped up. “Yeah, well, I think you’re the one who stole Wilma’s diary and showed it to the boys in the sixth grade,” Sheldon said. “I covered for you, Dusty, but no more. You’re no kind of brother.”
“It was you who did that, Dusty?” Wilma said. “I’ll kill you!” She turned and said, “I’m sorry I beat you up, Shelly. You should have told me it was Dusty.”
“Order in the court!” the judge said. He banged his gavel several times. “If you people can’t be quiet I’ll clear the courtroom!”
Morty called Sheldon as his last witness. “Did you intend to hold up the 7-Eleven?” Morty asked him.
Sheldon shook his head. “It was an accident,” he said. “See, Steve, he’s my nephew-in-law, he told me to stop complaining, to go out and do something if I wanted to see some action. I had the gun in my pocket, just for protection, and I wasn’t thinking when I pulled it out.” He looked at the audience. “It wasn’t Steve’s fault,” he said. “I was the one who made the mistake. And I’m sorry about it.”
Morty conceded defeat shortly afterwards. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said in his concluding speech, “I won’t lie to you. You’ve seen the evidence the prosecution has amassed. Sheldon Blatnick held up the 7-Eleven. He walked in, held a gun on the clerk, and asked her for the money in the register. He was arrested, and the judicial process has brought us here. But I ask you, please, just look at my client.” He pointed to Sheldon, who was staring at Morty with as much interest as Steve had ever seen him display. But even then, he looked like he was psyching himself up for the part of Lenny in Of Mice and Men.
“Tell me again about the rabbits, George,” Steve whispered to Harold, who didn’t get the joke. Dolores elbowed him, but he saw her smiling.
The jury looked obediently at Sheldon. “Does he look like a criminal mastermind?” Morty asked. “Miami is one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, and this schlemiel can’t even hold up a 7-Eleven. Is this man a danger to society? No. Should he be sent to jail? No. Save the space in our jails for the criminals, for the people you’d be afraid to meet walking down the street. Ladies and gentlemen, the only reason you have to fear meeting Sheldon Blatnick on the street is that he might step on your foot. Is that a reason to put a man in jail? No! So the only verdict you can find in this case is not guilty.”
Steve looked at Morty with admiration, and he could see that the Blatnicks, from Sheryl to Wilma, were all impressed. The D.A.’s conclusion was not half so moving, and seemed dry and factual compared to Morty’s inspired rhetoric.
“That was impressive,” Steve said. “I’ve never heard somebody trying to make a point stray so far from the facts.”
“That’s because you never listen to yourself,” Harold said.
“Although I can’t say I’d blame the jury for coming up with a guilty verdict,” Steve continued. “Unless, of course, they’ve truly put together a jury of Sheldon’s peers and every one of them has the intelligence of an eggplant.”
Steve’s extended family went out to the hallway to wait for the jury to reach a verdict, and Steve went back to the phone. “They’ve finished the hearing,” Uncle Max said. “The board’s debating the issues now. We should know something soon.”
“What happens then? Will we be able to start work right away?”
“Unless they throw the ball back in our court and ask us for more documentation,” Uncle Max said. “Have you ever noticed how many sports metaphors we use? Pass the baton, clear the hurdles, go the whole nine yards?”
The bailiff opened the door of the courtroom and announced, “The jury is coming back in.”
“Whoops, gotta go, Uncle Max.” Steve hung up fast before Uncle Max could stray any further.
Back in the courtroom, the jury was filing in. Another bailiff led Sheldon out from the holding cells while the Blatnicks, the Fenstersheibs, the Bermans and Dolores took seats.
The judge asked, “Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, your honor,” the foreman responded.
“In the matter of the State of Florida versus Sheldon Blatnick, what say you?”
The foreman read, “On the count of armed robbery with intent, we find the defendant not guilty. On the count of attempted robbery, we find the defendant guilty as charged.”
Morty turned to Sheldon and slapped him on the back.
“That’s great, Shel! The most you can get for attempted robbery is ten years.”
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You are dismissed.” The judge banged his gavel. “Sentencing will be postponed pending a psychiatric evaluation of the defendant. Court is adjourned.”
Mrs. Blatnick stood up and hit Sheldon with her pocketbook. “He’s not crazy, he’s just stupid.” She kept hitting Sheldon, who tried to shrink away from her, until the bailiff stopped her.
“Please, ma,” Sheldon said, and then the bailiffs took him away to wherever they take guilty people.
Everyone stood up and started talking. Sheryl walked over to Morty. “This nut house test on Uncle Sheldon. How long do you figure it’ll take?”
Morty shrugged. “Hard to say. At least a week or two, by the time they give him tests and evaluate the results.”
“Great,” Sheryl said. “Then we’ve got plenty of time for a honeymoon. If we leave now we can catch the four forty-five plane to Barbados.” She consulted a schedule in her purse. “Unless you’d rather go to Jamaica. There’s a five fifteen flight to Montego Bay.”
“You’re crazy,” Morty said. “I don’t have any clothes.”
“Who needs clothes on a honeymoon? Come on, we’ve got to get rolling. Hey, Steve, you’re gonna drive us. Dolores, you come, too.”
Sheryl took Morty’s arm on one side and Steve’s on the other. Dolores took Steve’s other arm and the four of them ran out of the court room.
Steve drove like a maniac all the way to the airport, careening in and out of traffic. Sheryl and Morty sat in the back seat, egging him on. “Come on, Steve, you drive like an old lady,” Morty said.
“Yeah, my grandma drives faster than you do,” Sheryl said. She popped a bottle of champagne and poured drinks for everyone in plastic glasses. Dolores tried to give Steve one while he was driving and it spilled on his shirt. They laughed and talked all the way to the airport.
Steve and Dolores waved and called out good-byes as Sheryl and Morty ran inside. “So, that’s the romantic story of the week,” Steve said as he pulled out into traffic again. “Happy ending. Sheryl and Morty get to go on their honeymoon, and Sheldon gets a psychiatric evaluation instead of a jail term.”
“You don’t know what the doctor�
��s going to say.”
“Honey, I’ve known the Blatnicks all my life,” Steve said. “Sheldon Blatnick is too stupid to go to jail.”
“Well, it’s all behind us now,” Dolores said. “We’ll have plenty of time for you and me.” She snuggled close to Steve and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Jesus!” Steve said. “I forgot to check with Uncle Max again. I wonder if the EPA ruled on us yet.”
“You’ll call when we get back to the hotel,” Dolores said. “But nothing says we have to go right back.”
The sun was straight ahead of them in a haze of orange clouds and reflected light. They stopped at a beach a few miles south of the hotel, walked on the sand for a while, then sat and held hands until the sun went down, forgetting about the EPA, the Everglades Galleria, about everything except each other.
34 – He Doesn’t Look Familiar
It was late by the time Steve and Dolores got back to the Neuschwanstein Palace. A necklace of lights glowed above the half-round driveway and the air was cool and sweet. “I’m starved,” Steve said. “You want to get something to eat?”
“OK. But let’s go up and say hi to your folks first.”
Harold was in the living room on the phone when they walked in. “He just got in,” he said. He handed the phone to Steve. “Here. It’s for you.”
It was Uncle Max in Washington. “Great news, Steve,” he boomed. “I just walked out of the hearings. The EPA agreed to the plan -- we’re back in business.”
“That’s great, Uncle Max.” Steve put his hand over the receiver as Rita came out of the bedroom. “The EPA said OK.”
Uncle Max said, “We’re going to start up again full blast next Monday morning. I’ll call you tomorrow morning with more details.”
“Congratulations,” Harold said when Steve hung up. “You did a good job with this.”
Steve didn’t quite know what to say. “Thanks, Dad. Sorry you guys lost.”
Harold shook his head. “Nobody lost. Everybody won, including the lizards.”
“Now that this is resolved, we can go out to dinner,” Rita said. “Mimi wants us to eat with her and Jerry. She said she has something very important to say.”
Invasion of the Blatnicks Page 29
