by A. L. DeNova
Carmen said nothing, not knowing what she had done to tick this woman off. She tried to just look pleasant. Jo continued “A hung jury is where all twelve jurors in a criminal case cannot reach a decision, cannot decide all together unanimously for guilt or for innocence, so it is a case that just has not been decided.”
“What does that mean, I mean what then happens?” Carmen asked.
“Well in most cases, then the jurors then write a note to the judge, and say something like-
‘Judge we can’t agree, we can’t decide.’ Jo said.
“Can the judge learn anything more,” Carmen said.
“That depends, which side you are on,” Jo said.
“The Defense loves hung juries, because they think and often they are right that if they can stop the prosecution from getting a conviction in more than one trial this will help them.”
Carmen stared, Jo continued, “Defense will try anything that delays the prosecution, costs money, makes the government jump through hoops.”
“So, for not guilty-what’s that?” Carmen asked. “All jurors say not guilty-all twelve. So far I have not had that in my career.”
Carmen paused, and said with emphasis on the final word “You must be good.”
Jo said softly, “Why don’t you tell me, Miss Cortez. Am I good?” Jo walked to where Carmen was seated and bent down and touched her cheek trailing her right hand to dive deep into Carmen’s cleavage. Jo pulled off Carmen’s bra and blouse. “I want to go back to where we were,” Jo said. She threw off her own clothes. She was careful to hook her suit and blouse on the coat rack in the corner so that they would not wrinkle. Jo was careful too with Carmen. She eased her onto the sturdy old desk and guided her shapely legs wide into “v.” Jo dropped Carmen’s panties and nylons onto the office rug. She knelt down and showered Carmen with gratification with her tongue. Carmen twisted in pleasure and threw her head back. Her long hair brushed the jury instructions onto the floor. “Aah,” Carmen moaned. Jo moved to introduce two fingers upwards into Carmen. Both women sighed in pleasure in unison. Carmen felt a connection and affection for this American. She opened to her touch.
The door knob to the office twisted, and the door was pulled open from the outside. Before a word was emitted from either woman’s lips Jacobo had entered the office, and was inches from where Jo had knelt.
At this point, Jo was seated in a swivel chair, completely naked, and Carmen was sprawled across the large wooden office desk.
“Good Afternoon, ladies,” he said, showing no surprise. He turned, with a military about face, and shut the door. “I thought we could use some privacy,” he added, and walked out and stood in front of the closed door.
After three minutes of hurried dressing, Jo opened the door and motioned for Jacobo to enter. Extending his right hand, “Good to see you again, Carmen,” he said. He noticed that her hands hand displayed no jewelry. Clearly, she was a lady who did not commit. Matching both his sangfroid and good manners, Carmen riposted with impressive composure “Nice to see you again.” She showed no embarrassment.
Carmen prayed that this Sanchez had not bothered to investigate her. This trial should be keeping him busy enough, and she did not want to make this guy overly curious.
Jacobo stepped back, wondering what in the world these two naked women were doing during jury deliberations. It didn’t take a lot of imagination. Easy enough, Jo would spill details after some tequila shots at the trial victory celebration tonight. He was not surprised at all. In the Army, he had seen tension and fear lead men and women to hop from bunk to bunk.
Jacobo understood that a few days ago, Carmen was a stranger with a flat tire, and now she was butt naked in the United States Attorney’s Office. She was Jo’s latest squeeze, not a witness or a suspect, so he didn’t give it a second thought. They had a defendant to convict.
Nonchalantly, Jacobo threw Carmen a pair of stilettos, instinctively understanding they could not belong to Jo.
“So, ladies, I have a great hotel room across the street on Broadway. I have a San Diego per diem for food and fun. They can take their time, those jurors. I feel great, but geez, my nerves are shot. I am ready for the verdict,” Jacobo said.
Carmen now fully dressed, approached the door that Sanchez was blocking. “It was good to see you again, but I have to run,” she waved to Jo and Jacobo opened the door to let Carmen out of the office. Jo rose “I have to escort the guest out,” she said and followed Carmen down the long office hallway.
With Carmen ahead of her, Jo leaned into Carmen’s back, and said softly “I’ll see you tonight at home,” and she squeezed her shoulder as Carmen exited out of the main office reception area into the federal office building hallway.
“Thank you for lunch, it was delicious,” Carmen said and she licked her lips, with what appeared to Jo to be genuine satisfaction.
Carmen pushed the down button of the elevator. She glided out of the federal building and into the afternoon sun.
30
Collision
Carmen walked up Front Street towards Broadway on her way to Jo’s house. As she looked straight ahead, she saw a group of men in shirtsleeves, and ties walking toward the U.S. Courthouse. The men walked fast, and the couple of yards, soon became a matter of feet. Face by face, she recognized each of the men. This recognition transformed Carmen’s increasing discomfort into animal fear. Before she could even think of what her next step might be, JC dashed to her, and pulled her to him, kissing her powerfully and fully on the lips. Carmen remembered, it was just minutes earlier that she had been with Jo, and this calmed her momentarily.
This kiss was an act of both possession and aggression performed for the other men, and also a warning to Carmen. He had her. No more evasion. He would get the car within the hour, and all would be right again carne asadas, Cadillacs and fucking.
The other men in the group, stared at JC in admiration and approval. Yes, ardor with a promise of ruthless violence, was a way to keep a girl in line.
As a group they pulled the doors open and strutted into the Federal courthouse. They did not bother to remove their designer sunglasses. The cartel had purchased the best justice that money could buy. When the group of men, and Carmen arrived outside the courtroom of McKinley L. Mack, El Chiño motioned to JC and said, “Go in and talk to the clear,” he instructed. “I will watch the girl,” El Chiño added and grabbed Carmen’s upper arm with a venomous smile.
Carmen could feel the bruise forming as his large, ringed fingers grabbed onto her upper arm. It was no loving touch.
Carmen remained passive and calm. She felt pressure and pain, but she showed no emotion, because she did not want to give that fat sadist a hard-on. She understood if she could survive this, she could win, and win big. She knew that she had mind over muscle. She submitted for the present, but of all places, this cartel, El Chiño, was powerless in this precise building.
JC emerged from the courtroom’s double doors and motioned to the assembled men. They walked into the courtroom and filled the back row of seats. The deputy marshal standing near the rear door, touched his fore finger to the corner of his eye. JC followed by the rest of his comrades with almost military precision, removed and pocketed their sunglasses, in compliance with the non-verbal cue. JC had observed that decorum trumped decency in the U.S. court of law.
Mrs. Littleton, stood to start the court proceedings. “All Rise,” bellowed the court clerk as Judge Mack entered.
JC, Carmen, and the entire narco group rose respectfully, without their sunglasses. Never one to miss a correction, taunt or disciplinary action, Mack noted there was one recalcitrant sunglass wearer in his courtroom.
The judge motioned to his clerk, who in turned summoned a U.S. marshal. The deputy marshal confronted the largest, fattest, and clearly most fatigued member of the El Chiño group. The marshal shook the violator from his slumber, and through pantomime, insured that these sunglasses were also removed and pocketed, however slowly.
&
nbsp; After all, rules were rules. Mrs. Littleton, her important work done, sat quietly on the alert, at the feet of the austere and vigilant purveyor of Justice.
McJustice smiled slightly. His expression broadened as Heidi Vandeweghe entered the courtroom, as it was opened by the deputy marshal guarding the door. Jacobo Sanchez, turned at the sound of the courtroom door, and caught Heidi entering. Mack scoured the courtroom for the prosecutor-he did not see her. His stare turned stony, the lines around his deep eyes tightened.
Breathing heavily, for in fact she had been running, Jo rushed in, almost colliding with Heidi and pivoted to the right and stood behind the prosecutor’s table closet to the jury box.
Jacobo put his head down to hide the fact he was laughing uncontrollably to himself.
Carmen sitting in the middle of the hulking group of men, now with JC’s tight grip on her left forearm was not seen by Jo as she dashed into the courtroom to face the very apparent displeasure of the perennially irritable McJustice.
“Nice of you to join us Miss Gemma.” Jo glanced at her wrist watch that showed 12:53 p.m. To the side, she saw the courtroom clock hit 1:03 p.m. “We have been waiting. Marshalls you can now produce the defendant,” the judge pronounced.
Garuda Gordon Cordero was brought into the courtroom, as he jingled and jangled his manacled legs and arms to the center of the courtroom, he lifted his head and smiled at Heidi Vandeweghe. A deputy marshal with a red-crew cut, and freckles, quickly unlocked his shackles, and handed them to a third man in a blue uniform to stow for the remainder of the trial. The red-haired marshal then took a seat directly behind Garuda. Heidi touched Garuda’s shoulder and whispered very softly into his ear. As she talked, she continued to rub his back in soft circular motions. Mack stared at this process of Defendant and Defense Counsel for some moments. Abruptly, he bellowed “Madam Clerk, please call the case.”
The court clerk complied with equal pomp “United States versus Garuda Gordon Cordero, day three of trial. The judge unfolded a note, and ostentatiously followed the lines on the paper with his right index finger, while mouthing words to himself. He refolded the note with some care and precision, and folded his hands together. He then cleared his throat, and with a noticeably light air, addressed a courtroom, crowded with attentive narcos, U.S. Marshalls, court staff, and of course, the attorneys and defendant.
“It seems, lady lawyers, we have a verdict. Madame clerk, please show counsel the note that the court has just received from the jury.”
Heidi and Jo approached and were shown the note. Heidi nodded and smiled. Jo nodded solemnly. She had been an observant Catholic for most of her life, and she knew how to mindlessly follow the ritual, independent of her beliefs, and emotions.
“I will read the note for record: “Judge, the jury has a verdict,” signed Vincent G. Foster, Foreman.”
“The law clerk will now advise the jury they may enter the courtroom to proclaim the verdict, “said Judge Mack.
From a side mahogany door, twelve jurors and one alternate filed in and took their seats in two rows of six. They had been strangers on Monday, and now they had more than enough of each other, and the criminal justice system. The foreman, stared at Heidi, and then at Garuda, and he smiled.
El Chiño, who focused on small details, observed this exchange, and noted with his developed expertise, that this was indeed a good omen. He elbowed JC and whispered in soft Spanish: “This is an NG.” JC nodded.
“You grab the chica and I’ll take Garuda. We’ll meet in Ocean Beach by 4:00 p.m.” JC shook his head in agreement. Carmen heard only the murmur of El Chiño’s deep voice.
Judge Mack coughed, once all jurors were seated, motionless, and silent. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, do you have a verdict?” he asked. The foreman stood, and said “Yes your honor, we do.” The note was in turn handed the note to Judge Mack. He quickly unfolded it, and impassively read it, and then handed the form back to his clerk.
“Counsel and defendant, please stand. madam clerk, you may now read the verdict,” Mack said in his deepest voice. Jo looked down at her breast, she thought her heart was about to blast out. With disappointment, she saw her body was still intact.
Heidi reached over toward the grizzled, Garuda Gordon Cordero and took his rough left hand in her right hand. She him a gentle, loving squeeze, as the court clerk inhaled, loudly.
Mrs. Littleton pulled up her rhinestone silver reading glasses, and read in a loud clear voice:
“To count one, Importation of 2,000 kilograms of cocaine, we the jury find the Defendant: not guilty.”
Jo looked up at the court clock. Time stopped. Now. She was dead.
But the court clerk kept on reading, and the red hand on the courtroom electric clock was running its circuit around the numbers on the clock face.
The clerk read: “To the Indictment Importation of 2,000 of kilograms of cocaine, we the jury find the Defendant “not guilty.”
Jo could not move, stunned. She stood frozen. All her hard work, for weeks, the culmination was humiliation. She flushed red, and then despite digging her nails into the palms of her clenched fists, she frowned. In her raw anger, and racing pulse, she could not see the faces of the jury. She just hated them for their stupidity, for their focus on trivialities. This was more than about Garuda, about a stat. This trial was about, the violence, and destroyed lives. This was about turning their faces on all that made life, society, civilization good and beneficial: order, peace, respect for the law.
Jo under her breath, pronounced the first word that came to mind: “Imbeciles.” She turned to Jacobo, who tried to shake his head “No” But Jo said it anyway “Maybe they or somebody in their family, their son or daughter would be crime victims because of this stupid verdict.” Jacobo shot back his most threatening stare.
“Don’t talk,” he ordered her.
“They would understand, when their child O.D.s.” Jacobo stroked his lips with his left hand, a gesture for Jo, to knock off the talk.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the court would like note for the record what an unusually pleasant and attentive jury you have been through these long days of trial.
Jo’s eyes filled with tears, and she tried to cough them back and force a stony look. Heidi beamed. Standing erect, her shoulders back, she tossed her head, as each of the sanctified dozen from the jury filed past the defense table to the freedom of the hallway, Heidi whispered a throaty “thank you” to each juror.
Jo rigidly pushed by the cluster of buzzing jurors, with Jacobo by her side. Jo shared her thoughts with Jacobo as they were out of earshot: “There is no point in talking with a losing jury. “Do you want me to go back and talk with the jury- to see, to hear how they let that dirt bag off?” Jacobo asked.
“No, let’s just get out of here. If I talk to them, I will even get angrier. I don’t want to see their faces, I just want to get out on the street.”
“We’ll see Garuda again-don’t worry Jo- driving another load, maybe tomorrow,” Jacobo said. “Great thing about this business, it’s a revolving door,” Jacobo said trying to lighten the mood. And the more darkly, “Don’t worry, the odds are in his favor, you know, he’ll do it again.”
As Jo was processing Jacobo’s incantations, she saw a young Mexican woman quickly escorted through a side exit door in the courthouse. In a flash, she thought it might be Carmen, but she was not so sure. The stairwells were steep, and narrow, and rarely travelled. When she wasn’t burdened by trial materials, the exhibits, the heavy laws books, and anxiety, she would sometimes choose the stairs, and she would never see “a civilian” that is just a member of the public, somebody not part of the downtown legal and law enforcement crowd.
Jo and Jacobo, walked together down the steep courthouse steps.
They were passed on the stairway, by an impeccably dressed and groomed, man, reeking of aftershave. Jo ignored the man, still smarting from the defeat. “Well, Heidi just made this week at least twice what I make in a year,” Jo said. Jaco
bo twisted the knife further, adding:
“And no doubt the cartel adds a Not Guilty Bonus.” “Jacobo, will you walk me back to the office?” Jo asked, “I need some back up when I tell my boss John Lucerne, the bad news.”
Jacobo shook his head slowly, “You bet Jo,” he said.
31
Business First
It had become so routine for Jo to open the doors of power every day, and then throw the book at some poor jerk. Now the jury just threw that proverbial book out the window, and in record time.
Past the security guard, past the rows of typing workers, the ever-present crowd at the water cooler, Jo and Jacobo lumbered to the doorway marked “John Lucerne, Chief Border Crimes.”
Lucerne was shouting on the phone and dropping a large chunk of ash from his unfiltered cigarette into a large red ashtray emblazoned in gold with “Tijuana, city of enchantment.”
Without removing his scowl or lowering his voice, he turned his head and said seemingly to no one, “Sit down.” Jacobo and Jo, did not move for a few moments. Jo entered first, and sat in chipped wooden office chair. Jacobo remained standing.
Lucerne continued to shout on the telephone. As he did so, he swiveled back and forth in a large office chair. Lucerne hung up at last and turned to present the full effect of a large jowly face topped with thick white hair, and a pompous sneer. He had spent close to 37 years as a San Diego prosecutor. He enjoyed it. It was him. He liked to see the squirming and pleading. He could bring the charges. As a supervisor, he could shit-can months and months of a subordinate’s break-ass work, simply with a thumb down like a Roman Emperor. A staunch believer in past lives, he thought he resembled one of the great ones. He also relished using his width and height to make others uncomfortable. For this reason, he was a close talker. He knew how to throw his weight around.
