by A. L. DeNova
Jo said nothing about the attack in the parking garage, since it was not related to the Garuda case. She told everyone she fell down the steep stairs in the parking garage. Jo had been a federal prosecutor for 3 years. She had been told the bad guys south of the border would not have the nerve to smuggle their violence north from Tijuana to San Diego. If they did, the border could be shut down. Jacobo had said, if they ever dared, “We would shut the border down. They need dollars more than we need Kahlua.”
“Is that the purr of an engine I hear,” Jo asked. “Teeter’s behind the wheel, so I better get back before we have any more damage to the evidence,” Jacobo said “I have to turn down the blaring Country Western station he’s set on the AM radio.”
“Sanchez, I hate to tell you at this point, there really are worse things, but what security did you get for our evidence?” “Teeter and myself are going to park the rig near the old tax building on E street and maintain security through to midnight, then two agents from my group will take over till morning, so I can look so suave for the trial,” Sanchez said.
“Thanks, Sanchez,” Jo said with genuine gratitude
“And no matter how much he begs, do not let that judge behind the wheel of the big rig,” Sanchez added.
Jo laughed, until she cried.
“Bye,” Jo said and replaced the black rotary phone to its cradle.
Jo wandered back to the bathroom and against the stark white tile of the bungalow bathroom, splashed her face with cold water from the faucet. She reached into her dark hair, and felt for the sizable but unseen bump on the side of her skull. “Good,” Jo said aloud, it was a doozy but completely hidden by her thick hair. Carefully, she felt the bump right above and behind her right ear, measuring both its outlines and its tenderness. She gritted her teeth, quieting her instinctive “ouch” which she emitted as a whisper. Jo stared into the bathroom mirror at her own deep blue eyes, looking for the answer on whether she should report the attack to her boss. She had to just finish the interminable trial.
She was going to beat them, them, meaning those unnamed co-conspirators who payed Heidi’s paycheck. She had no idea who there were, that’s why they remained unnamed. She had a hunch they were connected to her assault. She blinked, the decision was made. She splashed more water on her tired face and turned off the tulip lights.
Jo walked back to her bedroom, and rummaged about until she located the backpack she had managed to haul back home despite the violent interruption. She unzipped the backpack and dumped the white envelope stuffed with photos on the round crochet rug. She kneeled down next to the jumbled pile of unmarked evidence. Jo sat down beside the pile and began to squint at each photo, determining if any of this would help the jury “pull the trigger” and vote guilty as charged.
A knock on the door was followed by Carmen’s quick entry into the bedroom. The slim woman stood over her. Jo looked away from the photographs and into her face. The simple adjectives were true, Carmen was young and beautiful. She was dressed for the summer evening, in a shear gauze sleeveless top, and cutoff jeans, ending an inch below her crotch. Carmen’s hair fell across her bare shoulders.
“I just wanted to check in on you Jo,” Carmen said flatly. Carmen stepped closer and then kneeled next to Jo, staring at the pile of photographs on the rug.
Jo turned, touched Carmen’s exposed shoulder, and then pulled her close, dropping the photograph in her hand, for an open-mouthed kiss. “Business and pleasure,” Carmen teased. They disrupted the photographic evidence. The chain of custody was not on Jo’s mind. The earlier violence in the parking garage was soothed by Carmen.
Zing! The electric alarm sounded. Jo woke up startled. She remembered what she had spent the night forgetting, that this was hopefully the last day of trial. Coating her nerves was the sticky memory of the night with Carmen, first on the floor, then on the double bed.
In her hurry to undress, Carmen had thrown her clothes all over the photographs.
Jo smiled, as she picked up the discarded panties and bra from photographs of pallets of cocaine. Still naked, Jo got down on her hands and knees, collecting the photographs of the loaded tractor trailer rig. Jo stacked the two dozen photos together, and carefully returned them back in the envelope.
In the dark, Jo put on her trial uniform: a blue skirt suit, panty hose and high heels. She tiptoed next to the bed, where Carmen remained deep in sleep. Jo leaned over, and paused to admire her bed-mate’s curves. Was this her lover? Or just a one-night, two nights, three-night stand? On impulse, she kissed Carmen’s soft cheek. She uttered the words, unheard “I love you.” She tightened and was relieved to see Carmen’s eyes were still shut. She was intimate with Carmen’s body, but had no idea about her values. Once in awhile, Jo reasoned, it was permissible to dive in head first as long as the water was not too shallow. She hoped with time, Carmen would appreciate her own depth.
Jo stepped into the narrow hallway leading into the rectangular dining room. The sun was already up, and she glanced over to the large picture window that overlooked the rear of the house. Sprinklers had transformed the backyard into a green well-groomed garden, complete with kitchen herbs. A frantic humming bird insistently probed a honey suckle. Its wings a blur with movement, as it was drawing sustenance from what was imperceptible. She watched as this same bird succumbed to the easy pickings of the hummingbird feeder. The bird, enticed by the ruby-colored liquid, chose a belly full of sugar water, instead of a thimbleful of concentrated to goodness drawn from the flower. “Just like me and Carmen,” Jo said under her breath to no one in particular.
Jo dropped the envelope filled with the selected photographs for the trial on the dining room table. She glanced at her watch, it was 6:00 a.m. She made a quick cup of coffee, and sipped her hot brew, as she carefully opened up the white business envelope and scrutinized each photo. She pointed with her finger at a photo showing the “space discrepancy.” She slipped on her flip flops, grabbed her high heels and keys, and drove the five minutes downtown federal building.
29
Office Obfuscation
July 21, 1988
Thursday
Federal Courthouse
For this day of trial, Jo parked on the street, and did not enter the bowels of the parking garage, to be certain should could be done with the trial. She went straight to Courtroom Ten, to meet with Agent Sanchez on the bench outside Mack’s courtroom, Jacobo held two Styrofoam cups of coffee. “Thanks, Jacobo,” Jo said. “You know, in the 20th Century, nobody believes in the Tooth Fairy, or Santa Claus, but still the fable of the infallibility and wisdom of judges persists.” Jacobo ignored Jo. They emptied their cups and entered the courtroom.
Jo glanced over at Garuda, who was chained to his chair, dapper in his pressed suit and snowy white shirt. Jo focused on stacking metal paper clips to new heights, and arranged yellow sticky notes on the counsel table by size and color. She was waiting for the show to start. Silently, Mack had glided in.
Startled by his appearance, Ms. Littleton rose to her feet and announced his presence. Reluctantly, Jo stood. Heidi was not in the courtroom.
“Miss Gemma!” Mack’s bellow was further amplified by a microphone. This is totally unnecessary, noted Jo. Saliva fell from the corners of his mouth as he carefully chose his next words, as clearly the absence of the defense lawyer was yet another prosecution deficiency.
They were so close to finishing this trial. Come on, she could make this. “Yes, judge,” she answered.
“Miss Gemma, I am directing you to find Miss Vandeweghe and bring her to my courtroom so that we may conclude this trial in a timely fashion.”
Jo nodded “Yes.” Jo slumped down next to Jacobo and through a clenched smile, whispered “Are you kidding? I have absolutely no idea where she is. They call Reagan the Teflon President, but she’s gotta be the Teflon Attorney.” In compliance with the judge’s order, Jo and Jacobo left the courtroom.
They stood outside the courtroom in the hallway, when Jacob
o heard the click-clack of high heels approaching in their direction. Around the corner came Heidi, grinning. Never one to tip her hand, Heidi scurried down the hallway ahead of both of them, carrying nothing but a narrow, maroon briefcase.
She spoke first “Hi, Josephine, were you waiting for me?” Jo was unable to parry this passive challenge. She could not imagine her fate if the tables were turned.
McJustice, who was staring at door to his courtroom, watched as Heidi, Jo and Jacobo entered. The judge turned directly to Mrs. Littleton and ordered, “Call in the jury.”
Eight men and four women, and the alternate were shepherded to their jury box. “The jury is now present, madam clerk may the court be handed the note received from the foreperson at 4:50 p.m. yesterday evening,” Judge Mack said.
The clerk rose slowly and handed the note up to the judge.
With a wide gesture, and a guttural cough, Mack tilted back and read:
“We the jury believe we must view the tractor-trailer rig, complete with special compartment, itself without deliberating further. Thank you, Foreman Forrester.”
Mack then placed the note carefully in front of him on the judge’s broad desktop. He stared directly at the jury box: “Mr. Foreman, is this your note,” he asked.
“Yes, your honor, it is,” said a 55-year-old barrel chested man with salt and pepper hair, cut closely to head.
Mack then motioned with his right index finger and said, “Counsel, approach. “Heidi and Jo sprung up and complied “Ladies?” Mack greeted them, “Any objection to this viewing.”
“None,” Jo said. Heidi could feel the heat of Mack’s scrutiny on each curve of her taut body, undesirable as it was, it was definitely beneficial to her client. She walked closer to the bench, so he could stare right down, and get a more revealing view. She smiled “We’re good with that, the defense fully agrees with this jury request, as we indicated via telephonic communication last night.” The court reporter Amber stood by holding her stenography machine, taking this all down.
Mack shook his head and said “Fine.”
Mack turned to speak to the jury once again. “My two law clerks will escort you across the street to view the special compartment, and the tractor trailer rig. You are instructed to remember all of the other admonishments, rules, warnings and guidelines I have already conveyed, I will also be providing further instructions at the end of the trial.” Led by the two law clerks, the twelve jurors were escorted out of the courtroom, and into the hall, and then down on to the street, to be guided to the tractor trailer rig.
After pushing the elevator buttons, the jurors descended to the street and then quickly crossed the street where the truck was illegally parked in the red zone in front of the old courthouse. Heidi, Jacobo, and two U.S. Marshall’s firmly escorting the Defendant, Jo and then the judge followed.
The jurors, one by one, took a turn in the driver’s seat. The most irreverent one honked the horn, and bounced on the seat. They flipped on and off the lights, slammed the doors, kicked the tires. Jurors were helped up to the cargo portion to see the dismantled false wall. Within the hour, the trial was re-assembled and back on the fast-paced schedule set by Judge Mack.
After the viewing of the rig, the jury was escorted back to the deliberation room. With the jury in the deliberation room, Jacobo and Jo returned to her office. “Coffee?’ Jacobo asked. “Oh, I’m good” came the response. “Now they need to do the right thing, and convict,” Jo said.
“Jo, you did your best,” Jacobo said. Her large rotary tele rang loudly.
Jo stared as Jacobo, “I’ve got to get this,” she said. Jo picked up the telephone and said, “This is AUSA Gemma.”
A soft women’s voice responded, with an accented tease: “Well,’ and after a pause “hello-Jo.” Blankly, searching to place the voice, Jo was at a loss, “Hello?” She questioned not sure of who this could be.
“It’s Carmen, I miss you Cariño.” Jo felt light-headed, “How’s your head, your bruise?” Carmen asked with concern.
“Oh, hi Carmen,”
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Carmen whispered, careful to have the inflection rise at the end of the sentence, inviting a desired tryst.
“I am chained to my office phone or pager-I’m waiting for the jury,” Jo said.
“What are your plans, though?” Carmen repeated, not understanding.
“I have to be here.” Carmen drummed her fingers at the pay phone while the legal lecture continued. When there was a pause, she inserted “Cariño, I think we have just enough seconds to sneak home,” she giggled, and placed the heavy receiver of the black pay phone back in its metal holder.
Jo knew the jury would have to take some time. She wanted to see Carmen. It was only fifteen minutes door to door from her Hillcrest house to the courtroom. She could do that. She had never met anyone like Carmen. If not, there would be sanctions, but then again, she always had hell to pay from her boss.
She stopped thinking, and acted. As a prosecutor, she had learned the power of words. From Giacomo her Dad, she had learned the potency of action. She left a note across her desk in thick permanent marker “verdict pending” in case anyone from the office came looking for her. She shut her office door. She ran down the side stairway, avoiding the usual office crowd, to her car.
Her heart pounding, she jumped out of her car, leaving it unlocked in the driveway. She knew her garage was filled with Carmen’s Chevelle. Jo did wonder why Carmen never drove that car, even after spending all that money to fix the flat. Carmen was such a pretty girl, Jo focused on ways to spend more time with her.
Jo jogged to the front door, and Carmen was on the landing, she was warm and welcoming. Jo embraced her, and in her right fist was the damned court pager. She did not love the law, but she had an animal fear of McJustice.
The bell of the noon mass from St. Michael’s around the corner punctuated their afternoon of sticky connection. Jo smiled, safe in her carnal crime. This treat had been worth the risk.
Jo stroked Carmen’s hair, and whispered “Carmen, I have to get back.”
Carmen lifted herself up, and patted the bed, “Oh come back, whatever it is, it can wait.”
Jo looked at the gorgeous woman in front of her, and paused, enjoying this one second of indecision. With genuine regret, Jo shook her head. Silently, she blew a kiss, aware that one step backwards would unravel her promising future.
As she approached the front door to her house, she turned around, and walked back to the bedroom.
“Do you want to come to court, Carmen?”
Carmen had a bad feeling about this, but it sounded fun, and interesting, and she responded with a quick “Yes, just give me a second.”
True to her word, Carmen was swift in moving from complete nakedness to fully dressed. Never again in her life, would she ignore her very feminine intuition.
* * *
They drove back to Jo’s office to wait for the verdict. As the two women passed into the federal building, a group of impeccably dressed men exited onto the street through an adjacent door. Reeking of expensive cologne and machismo, they too were awaiting the verdict, with different hopes for the outcome. They had bank rolled the defense, and they came to see, if their financial contributions yielded the same results that it did in the south.
Secure in the knowledge that they had the best defense in this case that money could buy, for this judge, the men strolled down the hall. This very same operational plan they carried out for all of the “organization’s” “investments.” It was the same for race horses, apartment buildings, maquiladoras, as that of an integral employee like Garuda. These same men so enjoyed opening day at Del Mar in the Winner’s Circle. Today, they came again to see a win.
After such days, there would be poolside top shelf tequila, a hand-rolled Cuban cigar, and a shapely 19-year-old co-ed. All such expensive commodities included as pay offs for their high-risk enterprise.
* * *
Together,
Jo and Carmen walked across the shiny floor to two gleaming glass doors with a large gold-embossed seal of the United States Department of Justice. The large seal of the Bald Eagle, in color, with his fierce peak outstretched and his sharp talons clenching arrows. This vigilant icon always impressed Jo. When Jo first met Heidi at this entrance, Heidi had pointed to the DOJ Seal and said, “I like your Paper Tiger.”
Jo led the way back to her desk, and shut the door closed. She taped a sign to the door, “Office Meeting, privacy Please.”
“Jo, I want to see the view,” Carmen said as she entered and firmly shut the door behind her.
She walked up to the floor to ceiling window, and stood facing the street view with Jo standing next to her. Carmen, in her heels, stood eye to eye with Jo. She closed the distance between them with a full mouth kiss. It lasted the length of Jo’s passion. Carmen pulled away slowly, looking directly at the open button on Jo’s blouse and said, “Nice view.” Carmen unbuttoned remaining buttons on Jo’s pressed blouse. She softly touched Jo’s firm breast. Jo shuddered with delight. Suddenly, Carmen sat down in the office chair, breathing hard. She said, “What do we now?”
“You can have fun, relax, go surfing with Rosie,” Jo said in a sad tone.
“I have to stay here, and wait, and wait. Prison is not just for the defendant, but also for the lawyer, and I guess,” Jo paused and laughed, as she said the words “even the judge.
Standing, Carmen said “It’s not a crime if no one knows.” “Come again?” Jo said.
Jo stepped very close and said softly “I do know what I want. But I am not a mind reader.” Jo stared directly into Carmen’s eyes, and squeezed her hand. Jo pulled Carmen to her, and Carmen stepped into her arms. “It’s OK, Jo, I will stay with you.”
“What if the jury can’t decide?” Carmen asked. Jo pivoted. Hearing no apology, Jo said, “I do not like talking about this, maybe it’s superstition, but a hung jury is the worst thing for a prosecutor, I never want to case again, like throwing away the trash, or breaking up with a girl. Once I get the balls to do it, I don’t want it coming back. Like a burial. Or last night’s tequila. Some things just need to be final.”
