by A. L. DeNova
Jo waved genuinely. She liked Heidi as a woman, though probably not as a person. Heidi was pretty, shapely, an outrageous flirt, most of the time to men, but practical enough to flirt with Jo, if it helped her client. Heidi would try anything at least once, and seemed not confined to convention nor middle class values.
Before Mack could growl another insult at Jo, Cordero elbowed Heidi. Together, they watched JC and Contreras enter the courtroom, selecting seat a few rows directly behind Carmen. Apparently, JC in a few days’ time had failed to recognize Carmen’s ass. They sat there staring at the back of her head and thought nothing of it.
“This is the last time you will be late to a federal jury trial Miss Gemma, I assure you,” Judge Mack stated with obvious delight. “Call the jury.”
Twelve people plus one alternate, filed in and took their seats in the jury box. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have now heard all the evidence. I am going to provide instructions. I will pre-instruct. You will then hear the arguments of the lawyers. You will not be permitted to leave the courtroom during these instructions.”
Judge Mack then ordered the U.S. Marshall to lock the doors of the courtroom. Everyone inside was literally forced to sit, and listen. Death or loss of consciousness was the only escape from the drone of McJustice.
Judge Mack at last said “You will now listen to the arguments of counsel. Remove these arguments. Arguments are not evidence. What the lawyers say is just their spin on it. Miss Gemma, the Assistant U.S. Attorney will go first and the defense, finished up with the prosecutor’s rebuttal.”
Jo rose, smiled at the jury. She picked up her yellow pad with the outline of her closing argument. She wobbled in the direction of the jury well, and when she was parallel with the podium, she paused. Her swimmer’s heart was pounding. She felt the weight of two strong fists punching her insides. Jo swallowed, remembering. The hardest part of a swim meet, was diving into the cold water. She opened her mouth and plunged deep.
For closing argument, she ignored everything she was taught in the Federal Prosecutors Advocacy Training Course. Instead, she relied on her love of literature, competitor’s ethic, and her survival instinct.
She took a moment, just to look at those twelve people who would decide the next many decades of this man’s life. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began “the evidence is clear: the Defendant is guilty of importing cocaine into the United States.” With that, Mack, poured a tall glass of water for himself from his cut crystal water pitcher. A gift from the San Diego Bar Association, where he had served as President. He was quite the task master when it came to planning official banquets, and that logistical mastery launched him up to his storied career on the Federal Bench. He hummed quietly to himself until he heard his line “Thank you for your time and attention,” uttered by Gemma.
Jo sat down. She knew she would have to bring this case home with her rebuttal argument. She looked over to see Jacobo enjoying the show, confident of the conviction. “After all, the guy was caught in the driver’s seat,” Jacobo had shared with Teeter.
Heidi rose. She had rehearsed for Garuda Cordero, and now she gave the final performance. She walked to the podium. She then slowly walked within three feet of the jury box. She smiled, opened her arms wide and said,
“Agreement. We agree! Mr. Garuda Gordon Cordero drove into the United States from Mexico at the Tecate Port of Entry. The Government had the burden to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Garuda Garrett Cordero had actual knowledge of cocaine.
There is nothing,” and Heidi lowered her voice dramatically.
“There is nothing to show knowledge. Period. Nothing. All the Government and all their many witnesses have is value. Millions of dollars. They gave you a number, a number based upon their best guess.
Is it reasonable that the owner of the cocaine is Garuda? Millions of dollars and driving that truck?” Heidi shook her head emphatically no.
“Is it reasonable to believe that the owner of that cocaine, would put himself in the driver’s seat in the riskiest part of the whole business, as you heard the government’s own witnesses, the point where the drugs cross that border, and double, and triple and value, to go up ten times as that cocaine gets cut into a street use amount. Is it reasonable that they would go through the effort to build a special compartment if the driver knew there was drugs? And then leave the cocaine there to be delivered? Let’s go back to the burden of proof ladies and gentlemen. We are talking about our Constitution. The hallmark of our American Freedom. The hallmark is a level playing field. That is why Mr. Garuda Garrett Cordero walked in here presumed to be innocent. The Prosecution has all of your tax dollars to investigate this case. They came here, today, one card short.
They brought in a trailer full of suspicion. But ladies and gentlemen, they have proved nothing.” Heidi walked over to Garuda, and stood behind his chair. She gripped his left shoulder and he turned towards her, also turning to face the jury as well. “We are talking about our Constitution. Mr. Cordero, who you met two days ago on Monday, walked in here innocent.
The explanation is never for Mr. Cordero.”
Heidi walked across the cavernous courtroom. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Heidi said, standing right behind Jo, “The explanation must come from the Assistant United States Attorney, Josephine Gemma.” And Heidi pointed at the back of Jo’s head, as the prosecutor’s face bloomed pink. But, Heidi was not done, and McJustice was delighting in every tasty morsel of patriotism.
“It is the duty, the sober, weighty and difficult duty of the Assistant United States Attorney to prove beyond A reasonable doubt. We have 2000 kilos of cocaine, but not a single gram of evidence that my client Mr. Garuda Gordon Cordero ever had knowledge. You have one choice consistent with the laws and the evidence. The only just and only fair and the only right verdict and that is not proven and therefore not guilty.”
Heidi sat down, and whispered in Spanish into Garuda’s hairy waxy ear, smiling “Sweetie, we are going to take the Constitution for a long ride, your tribulations ends here. El Chiño will come through, right?” Heidi smiled ice, to let him know this was business.”
26
2000 Kilos of Guilt
McJustice looked at the courtroom clock. “You have fifteen minutes counsel.”
Jo knew the courtroom world was form over substance with consequences that could last for decades. She rose again, this time focused on negating every punctuation mark and thought delivered by Heidi with passion and skilled artifice. Jo had learned “that anything dogmatically asserted could be taken as true” in the eyes of a juror, that was her watchword for closing argument, and she found it to be a valuable adage in living her life, and particularly for her love life.
And she was going to do everything in her power to make sure the guilty guy got convicted, and she knew there was a beautiful woman who was watching every move she made. She wanted Carmen to want her.
Jo stood and cleared her throat. She contorted her face into a pleasant bland, half smile. The clock in Courtroom Ten said 9:30 a.m. The true time was a matter of conjecture.
Jo continued walking towards the jury. She turned to squarely face them. This was her parting shot:
“The Defendant was in the Driver’s Seat. With a tractor trailer full of cocaine, 2000 kilograms. The evidence has shown he was not duped. He was in the driver’s seat. This was a crime that has been proven. It was a crime that was carefully, skillfully, and professionally planned. As a professional truck driver, this Defendant was an integral part of this plan. The Government in the course of this trial has met its burden beyond a reasonable doubt.” Jo walked to the evidence table. There were ten bricks on the counsel Table from. The description of the Inspector Connor of how the bricks were packaged in the trailer portion of the tractor trailer rig.
There was a diagram depicting the special compartment, with dark rectangles represented behind the sketch of the false wall in the trailer. Jo picked up a brick, looked at it, showed it to the jury. She said
nothing. She picked up a second brick, looked at it showed it to the jury.
McJustice didn’t bother to look at the prosecutor. He was staring at his watch, waiting for the interminable fifteen minutes to elapse. And such was the life of a judge. Counting time, like a highly elevated competition time keeper. He noted the time, and stopped the game when the time had elapsed. “One, two, three,” Jo finally said. She walked over, and picked up the third brick and put it down. She picked up another and said, clearly, slowly, and methodically: “Four, five, six.” She held up each brick and then “seven, eight, nine and ten.”
She paused. The jury looked confused.
Jo shook her head up and down in a “Yes,” gesture. “These are ten reasons to vote Guilty. Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. But there are more bricks then ten. There are 200 bricks.
That’s a lot of work. Does the same boss who put all that effort to bring all this in, to package it and then give it to somebody that has no idea?
This, ladies and gentlemen is an unreasonable explanation. Let’s do some basic math. Don’t worry, it won’t be any more advances than what we all learned in fourth grade. She walked to a large blackboard she had placed in the center of the courtroom.
You heard the testimony of Special Agent Jacobo Sanchez, with his one dozen years as Federal Law Enforcement Agent, a designated narcotics expert, according to the Honorable McKinley L. Mack. “So, let’s review this profit:
When cocaine comes into our country, it is about $20 a gram, 100 grams would represent $2,000 dollars. One gram is equal to 1,000 milligrams.”
Jo paused “Are you still with me? We are near the finish line, I promise.”
Jo continued: “But you heard from Special Agent Sanchez, of these 1,000 grams of cocaine sold on the streets of San Diego or LA is filled with about 250 milligrams of filler stuff, only about 750 grams are actually the real deal, the real dope. That changes the price then, the price of cocaine if you factor out the filler. Is actually $133 dollars a gram. 2000 kilos of cocaine then equal $133 times 200,000 grams, that equals over twenty-six million dollars. But this cocaine came from Mexico.
That’s 26 million dollars for 100 kilos. Then multiply that times four.
You came in here to do a job. You raised your hand and swore to follow the law. Both the law and the evidence complex you to make the Defendant accountable and lead you to the only verdict compatible with both. Both the law and the evidence compel you to vote Guilty. Thank you.”
Jo sat down, and poured herself a full Dixie cup full of foul tasting water from the plastic pitcher on her prosecutors’ table. Urban legend held that this very pitcher had been filled with the backed-up water system from the federal jail holding facility for inmates. This story ran that when the jail sewer system backed up, it fed into the drinking fountains located in the courthouse, which is why all the federal judges, very noticeably, had bottled water delivered weekly to their chambers.
* * *
Heidi squeezed Cordero’s left arm with that happy memory. Cordero knew the deal. He whispered, “I hope you get that extra $100,000.” He believed. His carotid artery pumping, Cordero stared down at his sweaty palms. Oh, he was so guilty. Not just this once, he could not even count the times he had crossed. But this was not reality. It was theater, and comedy, and a sex show. Heidi had been told by the voice in accented English, “Do not cooperate Cordero to the AUSA, and that is $100,000. You acquit, and I head back and you get an extra $100,000 in cash. In the trunk of the blue El dorado the day after the trial, parked in the valet parking lot of the Hotel Del, in Louie Vuitton Bags. “He stared at his hands. The booming voice of McJustice, caused Cordero to raise his head as the court interpreter translated the judge’s words.
“My law clerks will now escort you to the jury room. He will deliver the exhibits. You will not receive a copy of these jury instructions. If you wonder what was said you can request that we reconvene. And the court reporter will re-read this transcript. This may take hours. And further delay the process of deliberation.” Agent Jacobo elbowed Jo, with his eyes he directed to look up at the bench.
Jo had been daydreaming. She held nothing but contempt for that black-robed tyrant. Who were the puppeteers anyway, who passed these laws, who really controlled that border that kept out nothing, and only raised the price of drugs.
She thought of the beach, of the surf, of the girls, of the sandpipers searching for sand crabs. Jo smiled slightly at those thoughts. Jacobo elbowed her again. “Jo,” he whispered with an edge to his voice. She turned, nudged out of her daydream of surfing. Jo glanced to her left, to the defense, and saw the coiffed and composed Heidi Vandeweghe, erect and smiling a millimeter from the Defendant. She was so close physically to the corpulent man, that the two were almost cuddling. Jo nodded at the duo, and just as duplicitously commented to Jacobo under her breath, “Oh, brother.” The self-serving treachery that occurred in the courtroom however, was nothing compared to that which was committed daily by her bosses in the Criminal Division of the United States Attorney’s Office. Lowering his voice to the deepest and most magisterial register, Mack decreed “The jury is now excused to deliberate.”
Jo, Jacobo and Heidi jumped to their feet while the Defendant remained seated after a wary stare from the menacing U.S. Marshall. Deputy Slaughter did not want Cordero going anywhere, he told him before the trial. “When the jury files out, you keep that butt in the chair, got it?” Cordero had waited so long, and he had a feeling, Jesus Christ, he had a feeling. Jesus Malverde came to him in a vision, while he was laying on his jail cot, or maybe it was just the fine cocaine he had snorted, smuggled into the MCC. It was an ethereal and brief high just like success. So, he sat obediently, for now, and watched the rest of the courtroom stand. Cordero watched the jury grab their purses, and crumpled Union Tribune Newspapers and file out of the courtroom.
Jacobo had other thoughts. “Ready for something delicious to eat?” He asked Jo as soon as the last juror had left the court room. The courtroom clock said 12:25 p.m., who knew what time it really was, but it was roughly lunchtime in San Diego.
“Let’s grab some sushi at that cheap place up the street, Sushi Uno,” Jacobo said to Jo. “Yeah, I think it’s some kind of dog, but absolutely not chicken,” Jo replied. Jacobo looked at her stunned.
“I’m kidding, but I can’t eat anything, my stomach is knots.” They looked at each other, like weary soldiers, happy to have the experience over with for now, having lived through a short, intense, memorable, well, trial.
Jacobo said, “I am done with that evidence. I hope the jury gets high really high, but not so high that they would not render a verdict.” The evidence was being guarded by the U.S. Marshalls now. He could relax and enjoy lunch.
Jacobo looked to the front of the courtroom, and saw Mack tapping his gold pen on the solid mahogany of his judge’s bench. It looked like he was thinking. What a concept.
“Stay close counsel,” Judge Mack growled. “I want you within twenty minutes of my court room.”
“Of course, your honor,” Heidi agreed.
Jo tried to unclench her teeth to answer the bully in the black robe. She almost said “asshole” but managed to say “Yes, judge.”
Saturated by his own brilliance, he had experienced enough, and the judge trotted out of the courtroom. The trial was over. Another notch.
With this job for life, Judge Mack enjoyed his high station and the authority to over-rule even the President of the United States while his own indiscretions remained unchecked by a deferential legal system.
27
Tin Foil Answers
A matching pair of immaculately groomed and burly U.S. Marshalls walked forward to menace and manage Heidi’s client. “Let’s move,” they told Cordero. He complied and walked forward towards the holding cell that smelled strongly of ammonia and despair. He shuffled forward, knowing in his gut, that this time, his freedom had been won through Heidi’s sweet smiles. Cordero sat chained in a small turquoise roo
m, smaller than his bathroom in Ensanada. He blinked at the fluorescent lights, visualizing the clean blue waters of his seaside home, and the tasty corbena he would be catching so very soon, off the white sandy beaches of Baja, California.
Stupid San Diegans, they had no idea how clean and empty the beaches of his country were, and filled with fish. He knew either way, he won. He had been the good worker, the responsible follower, he kept his mouth shut, and took the case to trial, like a real man. He took the risk and trusted the lawyer they provided would work hard for his innocence and not his conviction.
He enjoyed the trial. He had seen firsthand the American justice system. This education was on the job training. He liked it when the old gringo judge yelled at the dyke prosecutor.
He enjoyed glancing at the jury. Heidi told him not to stare at them, because he was a scary looking man, so he glanced out of the corner of his eye. He would sit transfixed at the Cathedral de Nuestra Senora Guadalupe, right off of the boulevard.
He closed his eyes, and remembered his padre’s face, and he molded his face to that expression. Cordero was no saint, but most of the time he was a damn good actor which is how he came to cross so many loads of drugs over for so many years without getting caught or even sent to secondary inspection at the port of entry.
What Cordero liked best about the trial was the grandeur and ceremony, so much like the Church. As he was reminiscing over the events of the trial, the steel door unceremoniously opened, and a guard handed him a plain, slightly wrinkled brown paper sack. Cordero grabbed the bag wordlessly.
Cordero opened up the bag. The cartel had advanced his bonus. He carefully removed a bologna sandwich on white bread, fruit punch, and his favorite and new acquaintance, a foil wrapped ding-dong.
Cordero was raised by a strict mother and an indulgent father. His mother never let him eat his cake first as a boy. Cordero was no boy. He leisurely unwrapped the smooth foil surrounding the ding dong pastry treat. He daintily bit in, and pulled from his mouth a bit of chocolate cupcake, and inside the cake was a tiny plastic bag. He wiped the small plastic bag on the brown paper bag and revealed a white powdery substance.
