Reversing A Death Sentence

Chapter 8

I licked my finger and flipped pages in Oldtimer's court papers, trying to put a self-defense case together. But Dizzy would turn it around as me assaulting the character of Mr. Franklin. I talked in circles about what I should do. I settled on going full cut-throat anything goes. My goal is to get Oldtimer off and work for the nonprofit we'd started together. Most importantly, to retire from law practice. I reviewed the surveillance footage frame by frame while drinking wine. Oldtimer hit Mr. Franklin first. It was clear as day. Refuting the obvious is going to take some spinning, but it came to me, and I'm ready. members 

"MEMBERS JURY," I started my opening statement. "You swore to look at all the facts, not the pretty picture the prosecution painted of Mr. Franklin. No, you see what the prosecution left out is that Mr. Franklin had molested Mr. Jackson for five years." I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, directly behind Oldtimer. "Why?" I said, placing my arms on Oldtimer's shoulders. "Why didn't the prosecution want you to know about how Mr. Franklin went into Mr. Jackson's room at night and—"

"Objection, your honor!" Dizzy said.

The judge opened and closed his hands. "What is it?"

"Facts not in evidence."

"He's giving his opening, and you'll have a chance to prove your case, Dizzy."

"As I was saying, we will prove that Mr. Franklin is a sexual deviant who placed emotional bricks on Mr. Jackson's back." As a demonstration, I piled twenty bricks one after the next to display the building pain and pressure Oldtimer was under. "Think of these twenty bricks times 65 years." I shed tears and shoved the bricks over, each falling over the other until they crashed. "Now," I said. "Think of these bricks falling, caving when you see the man who assaulted you for five years. You'd let out those bricks, too. You'd explode, too. And I wouldn't blame you. And you know what?" I said. "Society wouldn't blame you."

I played the surveillance video for the jury frame by frame. "A picture doesn't tell a thousand words; it lies. What you see on this footage is men fighting, but let me ask you this: Does this video show what the fight is about? Does this video show you," I said, tapping the monitor, " the pain and hurt Mr. Franklin caused? Does this video that the prosecution brought you to tears over, does it show the scares on Mr. Jackson's wrists when he tried to kill himself?" I noticed a juror turn to look at Dizzy. His face spoke a thousand words that didn't lie. The juror's face screamed, why did you leave this part out?

"If the prosecution is willing to leave pertinent information out, what else are they hiding?" I said.

Dizzy slammed his fists on the desk and stood to his feet. "Objection!"

"Dizzy, this is Mr. Mason's opening statement."

I turn to the judge. "This is the conclusion of my opening statement, your honor," I said and returned to my chair. 

"Very well," the judge said. "Be back here at 8 AM. This court is adjourned." The gavel slapped the table and the judge returned to his chamber. I loosened my necktie. 

"You did good," Oldtimer said, patting my back.

"Don't thank me yet. This is far from over."

"Go get some rest, dude," Oldtimer said.

I grabbed my briefcase and made my way through the lobby as my shadows bounced on the walls; I felt someone's footsteps behind me. I folded my hands to fists and continued to my car when I heard the steps quickened their approach. "Who's there?" I said.

"Relax," Dizzy said. "It's me."

"What the fuck do you want."

"Why are you defending this black guy."

"Don't ever talk about Mr. Jackson like that again."

"What's in it for you? I mean, he murdered a beloved state senator."

"No, he used justifiable force to kill a child rapist."

"You've seen the court papers," I said.

"And you believe that shit?"

I stopped. "I believe the court papers and Oldtimer's account."

"Oldtimer?"

"We go way back..."

"You're emotionally invested in this case," Dizzy said. "In law school, we promised to stay away from cases that we had an emotional tie."

"No," I said. "I'm not leaving this case."

"I'm seeking the death penalty."

"And why?--because you're running for judge."

"He murdered a prominent pillar of the community."

I stop again, pointing in Dizzy's face. "He killed his rapist."

"Get your finger out of my face!"

"Or else what?" I dropped my briefcase, ready to beat the fuck out of Dizzy. I shook off my coat and clenched my fists. "Raise your voice at me one more time...just one more time."

"You won't win this case," Dizzy said.

I belted Dizzy square in his nose. He swung back, catching my cheek with a right-hook and a security guard jogged over with his beer belly hanging over his pants.

"Break it up!" the security guard said, pushing us apart with his arms. 

"We'll see about that tomorrow, won't we?" I said and continued to my car. 

I past stoplights and street signs and the sound of the brand-new tires treading the rugged road played louder than the radio and louder than Dizzy screaming at him with his bowtie and self-righteous tone. The more I worked the case, the more it had become about beating Dizzy.