Strung Out

Josh Keene has a bit of a heroin problem. The first time he had court for his possession of heroin case was about three weeks ago. He showed up in court just as he was supposed to. Then he proceeded to nod off throughout the day in court. I called his name out a couple of times and he did not respond. I assumed he wasn't there. Toward the end of the day, the DA told me that he was there in courtroom and pointed him out to me. He was asleep, and very pasty looking. I woke him up, told him his case had been continued, and sent him on his way.

Josh had court again yesterday. He called the office first thing in the morning to tell me that he could not make it to court because his child was sick. It is simply amazing how often people get sick, have deaths in the family, etc., when it is time for their court dates. Shockingly, I have never received a copy of a death certificate after asking for one. And the only medical proof I ever get is some sort of outpatient bill that shows essentially nothing.

I mean, what would it take to keep you from making it to court for your felony? Wouldn't that be a pretty big deal? Wouldn't you be there unless you were literally physically prevented from being there? Well, that is not the case with real criminal defendants. They have other things to do.

He called the office late yesterday afternoon to ask what had happened in court. My secretary, Apple, told him that an order for his arrest had been issued because he missed court. Just like I told him would happen when he called that morning. He asked what he had to do to get the order for arrest stricken by the judge. I told him to be in court first thing this morning and we could ask the judge to strike it.

Judge Cribble did not strike the order for arrest (and I do not blame him for letting the order stand) and Josh was taken into custody and made to post a 2,000 dollar bond. He will likely not be able to post that bond and will remain in custody until his next court date in two weeks.

Josh was simply beside himself that Judge Cribble would not strike the order for arrest. He couldn't understand it at all. I explained, "You can't just show up for court whenever you want and get a new court date. You have to go when they tell you to." He wasn't happy. He apparently goes to the methadone clinic for his heroin addiction and is terrified of going without it over the next couple of weeks. It will be hell for him, I am sure. I am not sure what the jail does with people in that situation, but I do know that they definitely don't give them methadone.

A Good Number

Well, I had another encounter with Judge Cribble today involving a Hispanic defendant. Jaime Morales was charged with DWI. It was his first offense. Sure, he blew a .20, but it was his first offense. I have only one time seen someone receive any jail time for a first time DWI. In that case, the person had caused a serious accident and was an unbelievable ass to the officer and to the other party of the accident. I think that person got a thirty day sentence.

Jaime Morales was obviously very drunk. But he didn't cause an accident. And he was so polite to the officer that the officer noted that to the judge during his plea. Jaime also was not able to make his bond. He has been sitting in jail awaiting trial for the past 87 days. Since he couldn't make his bond, he couldn't get out. So I pled him guilty in front of Judge Cribble. The sentence? Ninety days in jail. So he would have to stay in there three more. Bear in mind that I have never seen anyone other than the ass mentioned above get a single day for a first time offenses. But Judge Cribble gave Jaime ninety days. Should I be calling the ACLU or something about this guy? It would involve an enormous amount of research, but any investigation would conclusively show two things: 1- Judge Cribble sentences Hispanics much, much more harshly than he does any other race for like offenses; and 2- Judge Cribble sentences Hispanics much, much more harshly than do other judges for like offenses (though I guess that part is really irrelevant. I mean, if other judges did it, too, then it would just mean the problem is even greater).

After steaming over this for some time and bitching about it to an attorney who has been at it about fifteen years longer than I have, I went back to Judge Cribble.

"So why did you give him ninety days?"
"He had 87 already. What's the difference? You want me to change it to 87? I can change it to 87."
"Okay. That would be great."
"That's fine. It was nothing personal. I just thought that ninety sounded like a good number."

The bottom line, I guess, is that Jaime is out of jail by now. But Judge Cribble's actions regarding yet another Hispanic are particularly troubling to me. I am very glad that I talked to and took the advice of that other attorney. He said I had to call out Judge Cribble and he would back down. He was right. But I told that attorney that I was afraid that if my conversation with Judge Cribble got heated, then I might say something about his treatment of Hispanics. That attorney told me he was sure I had more self control than to say something like that.

Meanwhile, I am starting to think that I might be a better person if I had a little less self control.

Feliz Navidad

I had a Hispanic guy today who was charged with disorderly conduct. He was arrested fifteen days ago and given a thousand dollar bond. He could not make bond, so he spent the past fifteen days in jail awaiting trial.

The facts of his case? Well, I am not exactly sure what the officer's version was because the officer was out sick today, but I can tell you that that Rico Cuervo was apparently waving a toy gun in the air. I approached the DA to talk about the case.

"So he's charged with playing with a toy, essentially. What are you supposed to do with a toy gun? Put it in a gun safe?"

He chuckled. We both imagine that Rico was displaying the gun in some way as to maybe make someone believe that it was real. Nonetheless, he was kind enough to dismiss the case. Even with the possible menacing circumstances, the warrant actually said "waving a toy gun."

I mean, in just under a month you might have to charge some jolly old guy with a million or so counts of that if waving a toy around constitutes a crime.

I also just found out that a colleague of mine is no longer practicing law. His client had posted bond on some serious cases. Ultimately, the client wound up going to prison for a long time. Well, when you post bond and your case is disposed of, you get your bond money back. Apparently Ricky Mernins signed over his client's bond money to himself. It was tens of thousands of dollars. Oh, and did I mention that Ricky Mernins had been appointed by the court to represent the guy? So, essentially, Ricky Mernins -- attorney at law -- stole tens of thousands of dollars from a guy who the court decided was too poor to be able to hire his own lawyer.

Well, at least there is one more lawyer that Eddie Schlipple officially ranks ahead of.

I'll Have Another

I represented a lovely woman today. Her name was Flora Downing. Flora was charged with being intoxicated and disruptive. She is approximately fifty years old. She wore heavy makeup and was dressed fairly nice in a conservative way. Her hair looked rather nice, too. She looked like a fifty year old woman who is trying to look like she is thirty. It would be very difficult to guess her age if you didn't know it.

She also smells completely of alcohol. And she is stinking drunk. What exactly would be the thinking involved of showing up for your court date completely drunk? And wouldn't it be even worse if the offense you were charged with was an alcohol related offense? She apparently was asking random attorneys if they could represent her prior to my arrival. Once I got there and told her that I was representing her, she began to focus her attention on me.

She approached me the way drunk older women tend to: quickly, and way up close. I think I may have caught a contact buzz off of her. Her words were largely coherent, but she was slurring an incredible amount. I suggested that she might want to continue the case because the judge on the bench might not appreciate that she came to court drunk. She assured me she was not drunk and told me she wanted to dispose of her case today.

So what was this drunk but otherwise mildly elegant-appearing woman doing to get charged with being drunk and disorderly? Well, she was hanging out in the parking lot of a mini-mart and shouting "Fuck you!" to all passersby. Fun stuff.

I was able to convince the DA that she was an alcoholic and that alcoholism was a defense to being drunk and disorderly. He dismissed the case. I went to inform her that her case was dismissed, but she was nowhere to be found. A half hour or so she was asking deputies on another floor of the courthouse how to get to her courtroom. They were all getting a good chuckle over how drunk she was. She made it back to the courtroom, but before I could tell her that her case was dismissed she was already being arrested by the deputies who realized that she had an outstanding warrant for being drunk and disorderly. It was a totally different case. Perhaps I will be representing her for that one, too.

No Jacket Required

So I traversed to a neighboring county to handle a couple of cases today. Somehow I forgot my jacket. I have never done this before. One time I forgot a tie, but I left my office knowing I needed a tie. This time I was in the parking lot of the courthouse and I realized that I didn't have my jacket. I thought to myself, "Maybe no one will even notice that I am not wearing a jacket. Surely, plenty of other people in the courthouse don't wear jackets."

As soon as I entered the courtroom other lawyers looked at me and started pointing and laughing. So much for the "not even notice" nonsense. Another lawyer who was just about finished with his business told me I could wear his jacket when he was through. So I waited. And I wore his jacket. A little blue on black action never hurt anyone, did it?

Ethel Diddi is around 68 or so years old. She has a son who is a piece of crap. He thinks he is some big shot, but he really just runs a small restaurant and sells coke out of it. Well, crack, really. He has a couple of poker machines in the back, too. He also actually has people who work in his restaurant in exchange for being allowed to sleep in the storage shed behind the restaurant. I wish I were making that part up. So, in short, the son is a total winner.

I met the son years ago when his daughter -- Ethel's granddaughter -- was in some minor trouble with the law. I represented her, and ever since then he has made me Tommy Hagen to his Don Corleone. As if. The daughter is really a piece of work. She herself had a daughter (Corleone's granddaughter and Ethel's great-granddaughter). She went around living in crack houses and doing her thing. One time she got busted in one of them with her daughter. Understandably, the State took her child from her. The State kept it all in the family, though, and awarded custody to Ethel.

So Ethel is the only great-grandmother I know of who has custody of a baby. She is poor. She also is in poor health. Her condition calls for her to have to buy diapers not only for the baby, but for herself, too. One day Ethel found herself without adult diapers and without money. She can't afford to pay anyone to watch the baby, so she has to bring the baby wherever she goes. She brought the baby to the grocery store to shoplift some adult diapers. She got caught. Not only did she get charged with shoplifting, but they also charged her with child abuse as she was committing a crime while having the child with her.

Would the real Don Corleone allow his mother to find herself in a position where she needs to steal diapers for herself? I am guessing "no."

The State failed to get the subpoena served on the employee of the grocery store. It is looking likely that the case will be dismissed. If it is not, then the State will likely take the child from Ethel. On the plus side, it is nice to find myself in a position where I feel that I really am helping someone in need.

No Child Molester Left Behind

This is my Wednesday post.

It was a good financial day today. In fact, it has been a fairly strong week. That always helps right before a long weekend, of course. I really wish that I did not have to worry so much about how much income I generate, but the truth is that I do have to. Debt from student loans, mortgage, etc. just seems so insurmountable at times. The money I make is fine, but the debt is out of control. I am actually hopeful that the sale of some real estate may alleviate this problem in the near future.

It looks like I am going to be hired for a sex offense case against a child next week. That will certainly improve my financial situation. I don't know too much about the allegations yet, but based on what degree the person has been charged with I believe that it will involve improper touching of a ten or twelve year old. It is not going to be a vaginal intercourse case.

Sex offense cases are difficult. Society is revolted by such actions. But the cases are almost impossible to prove. If there is semen or something, then it is a slam dunk for the state. But in the absence of semen or an adult witness, it is a difficult thing to prove. Often, it is simply the child's word that comprises the entirety of the state's evidence. We think to ourselves, "Well, why would a child make something like that up?" Indeed, why would they? But they might. They have exposure to those concepts and ideas now. The idea can get put in their head. They can be directed to make allegations at the request of someone who wants to get at the defendant. You just never know. But I think it is much more likely that the kids are telling the truth.

So I find myself having to defend cases by suggesting that someone -- maybe a kid -- is not telling the truth. And I feel strongly that my client is guilty. These are the kinds of situations that earn lawyers the ire of society. People think that lawyers are pond scum for defending child molesters, etc.

But what are we to do? Our job is to make sure that the state can prove that someone is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt before entering a guilty plea. What happens if lawyers stop doing that in sex offense cases? People would start being convicted just for being accused. It would provide even more power to those who would accuse. By defending cases like sex offense cases, I believe that I am directly helping to avoid having people persecuted by the state. We don't want a world where someone is convicted of a crime simply because of the color of his skin. Nor should we want someone to be convicted of a crime simply because of the nature of the allegations. Our system of government demands proof, and I am simply trying to make sure it happens.

In law school I had a really great professor who equated the Salem Witch Trials to the present-day environment for sex offense cases. In our society, being accused with committing a sex offense ruins an accused's life. The accused is never looked at the same again by his family, friends, co-workers, etc. Even in the rare case that it can be proven that the person in not guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, the accused will have that label attached to him. It is a label that sticks more than it would from any other type of allegation. In Salem, people were convicted and hung based merely on allegations of others without the need for supporting evidence. We all know where that got us as a society. Accused child molesters face a similar situation today. The need help. If I turn my back on them, then it is just Salem all over again.

Apple Turnover

I have one attorney who works for me and two staff. The first one, Babette, has worked for me for only a month or so. Babette is 40 and she has worked mostly as a social worker. The other one, Apple, has been with me only for about two months. Apple is 18 years old and has worked mostly as a...well, I guess she has probably worked mostly for me at this point.

Babette is a rather super-energy, friendly woman. Today she brought in a bunch of pumpkin cookies. I am using the word "cookies" very loosely here, as the are really more like flat muffins. Or flat cake. Or flat bread. I think that if people were given an option of bread, muffin, cake, and cookie to describe these items, then "cookie" would finish a distant fourth. Anyway, it was nice of her to do. It went splendidly with the leftover pizza that I had on my way to work.

Apple moved here with her boyfriend five or so months ago. Early on, I asked her what she would do if she broke up with her boyfriend. Would she move back home with her family? Would she try to stick it out here?

I got the answer today. Apple and her boyfriend have parted ways. Apple gave me her two week notice today. Back to the drawing board for me. Now I have to find someone. And I need to find someone good. My office has been in unprecedented disarray these past few weeks. It is a combination of me not being in the office much because I am in court, and the fact that everyone working for me is new. It is nice to have at least one person who has been around for at least a year working in the office. But that is not the case. No one has been here that long. Even the attorney who works for me has only been with me for about three months. It is rough going. Losing Apple just sets me back that much further.

Any of my millions of readers looking for work?

It's Hard Out Here for a Wimp

On my way to the office, I received notification that one of my two secretaries would not be coming in because she was sick. Everyone in the office is fairly new right now, and she is my secretary with the most experience. If I am able to be in the office, then her absence would not be too big a deal as I would be able to answer most questions. However, if I were really held up in court for a while, then things could get a bit messy in the office.

So did I get held up in court today? Of course I did.

I was in the office for all of about thirty minutes before getting back from court at five o'clock. Upon arriving back at my office, I was greeted by four people who had been waiting for me in my lobby. Straight from the frying pan and into the fire, so to speak. I was not able to actually take a breath until about six.

I was in court so long because I had a trial for assault. My client and a group of her friends were at the park. There was another group of four or five people there. The two groups knew each other. One of the girls from each group started fighting each other. People -- including my client -- jumped in and pulled people apart. One of the girls said that my client kicked her in the head two times. Of all the people there, only my client was charged with a criminal offense.

It was a fairly quick trial with little excitement. I didn't even get to ask if anyone was a vampire. I was able to get a Not Guilty verdict returned. I capitalize "Not Guilty" because I want it to stand out more.

That was about the excitement for the day. It was really a grind-it-out blur of a day. Well, I did approach the assistant DA in one of the courtrooms and -- looking at the thousand or so icons on his laptop that he keeps on the table of the courtroom -- told him, "You're monitor contains more icons than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame." That was about all I had to offer. It got a laugh out of him, and I slipped in a plea or dismissal or continuance while he was laughing. Often, that is all I really have. I try to make the prosecutor laugh and then get him/her to do something favorable while he/she is laughing.

On an unrelated note, I cut my finger this weekend while cutting an onion. It was bleeding rather quickly. I overbandaged it and went to a movie with my wife. Upon returning home, I unbandaged it blood was pouring out as if it had just happened. I have never had a cut bleed like that four hours later, so I decided to go to one of those non-hospital emergency medical care facilities. It turned out to be too late and none of them were open. Again, I overbandaged the wound and wrapped it too tightly.

Sunday around noon I removed the bandages again. I had to fight to get all of the super-tight bandages off. Once exposed, the wound was bleeding quickly again. I figured that was a bad sign, so I went to one of the medical facilities. By the time I arrived there and was treated, the wound had stopped bleeding. They wound up giving me a band-aid. Seriously. I went to get medical treatment for a band-aid.

I am officially the biggest wimp I know.

Naptime

I am in court virtually every non-holiday weekday of the year. Today was no exception. However, Fridays often involve only traffic court. Today was such a Friday. Needless to say, there is not exactly much stress involved in traffic court. I needed that.

I rolled into work, dealt with whatever emergency measures there were (today this involved having two people locked out because one doesn't have a key yet and the other forgot hers). I took care of traffic court and mostly spent my day answering questions from people in the office (I was barely in the office this week because I was in court almost all day everyday).

We also had our Friday office meeting. Today we had it at my favorite sandwich/coffee shop, Barrister's Brew. The food and atmosphere are fantastic. The place is a bit on the small side and can be slightly uncomfortable, but overall I love it. The place has its name because the owner is, in fact, a lawyer. I don't think he ever practiced law, however. He practices food, and the world is a better place for it. My wife would probably strangle a kitten to get to one of their brownies. Okay -- maybe not a kitten. A puppy. I will go with a puppy.

After lunch, I think I felt the stress of the week washing over me. My house happened to be situated between my house and my office. In my house is my bed. I knew what I had to do. An hour and a half later, I returned rather refreshed to my office. It was well worth it. Being able to do things like that sure makes it worthwhile to be working for myself.

I own my office building. It is for sale. We have a decent amount of equity in it, so my wife and I thought it would be a good idea to cash in. Unfortunately, I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted to rip out the drop ceiling in my office. Above that was an even less attractive popcorn ceiling. So I tore that out, too. Now there is no ceiling. I am not sure that the realtor and prospective buyer who looked at it today thought, but I am thinking that they weren't enjoying that exposed electrical wires and heating ducts as I do. Maybe I ought to get around to having a new ceiling put in at some point.

But it was a good day. At least no one went to jail on my watch.

Shortcuts Like a Knife

Piney Stone was walking down the road at about ten thirty in the morning. Because of the hour, Piney was drunk as usual. He decided to cut across the airport on his walk. He encountered a maintenance worker and started arguing with him. He made some threats, and then continued on his way. Airport security was alerted, and they approached Piney as he made his way back to the main road.

Piney was not particularly cooperative with the Airport security. He wound up being charged with being intoxicated in public, resisting arrest, and disorderly conduct. He has a very, very long record which contains numerous offenses which involve alcohol.

So we entered a plea. I told Piney that I was able to negotiate a plea that would keep him from having to do any jail time. He would get a suspended sentence of four months in prison, and be allowed to go on supervised probation. That means that if he violates probation, then he has to serve the four months. Otherwise, he never serves a day. He asked me if that meant he would have to attend alcohol education classes as a condition of his probation. I told him that it would.

Then I negotiated a second plea. Piney had the choice of the first plea with the probation, or an active sentence of thirty days in jail which would not involve any probation or alcohol classes. He chose to do thirty days.

Yes, you read that right. Instead of taking some alcohol classes, Piney wanted to spend thirty days in jail. Exactly what is your life like when you choose to go to jail so that you don't have to do something like take some alcohol classes? Sadly, he is not the first person I have seen make such a choice.

Bart Cresky is a client of mine who has been charged with slitting a guy's throat. The guy lived, but he definitely had a slit throat. The victim's story is that he and Bart were up drinking until five-thirty or so, and they were arguing about the fact that the victim was sleeping with Bart's girlfriend. Bart says something like, "I should kill you." To which the victim responds, "You don't have the balls." Bart -- apparently having the balls -- picks up a knife in the kitchen and cuts the victim's throat from behind. Then Bart leaves.

Bart's version is that he and the victim are at a bar until three. Then they decide to go four wheeling in the victim's Jeep. At three am (Do people really live like that? Do you think either of them would choose to do jail time over probation?). The Jeep gets stuck, and Bart heroically walks off to find help. In the meantime, the victim must have succeeded in freeing the Jeep and driving it home. During or after the drive, either someone slits the victim's throat or the victim slits his own throat. I can't wait until I get to try to sell the jury on theory number two.

Count One: Dracula

I had a trial today that involved a sort of strange domestic situation. I represented a father and son team who were charged with assaulting the same woman. Her name is Beltana, and she was the girlfriend of the father, Delbert. The two of them lived together with his son, Dobby.

Mostly, the case centered around a fight that broke out one night in the house after Delbert and Dobby had returned from the bar. Beltana and Dobby's girlfriend, Annie, got into a fight. Beltana actually ripped Annie's earring right through her ear. Ouch. Delbert and Dobby jumped in to break things up. As a result, Beltana had Dobby and Delbert charged with assaulting her and making threats.

The trial was not particularly exciting, but it did have its highlights.

Me: Now, when you say that you "pulled out" Annie's earring, you really mean that you ripped it right through her ear lobe, don't you?
Beltana: Yes.
Me: So that caused her to bleed quite a bit, didn't it.
Beltana: No. She wasn't bleeding.
Me: Your ripped a hole through her ear and she wasn't bleeding?
Beltana: Nope.
Me. Is she a vampire?
DA: Objection!

Ah, yes. I was able to ask a witness on the stand today if someone was a vampire. That is definitely a good day. Life is full of small victories. Of course, there was a larger victory, too, as Delbert and Dobby were both found not guilty on all counts.

The best part? My wife was in court today to watch. It is probably only the second time she has done that. I was fortunate enough to have her watch me be victorious. So now she might even think that I am a good lawyer. Ah...small victories.

Relapse

Remember the heroin addict who used to be the car saleswoman that I mentioned a couple weeks back? Last time we left her, she had completed a fifteen day program, had been clean for a few weeks, and had put on ten or fifteen pounds. She looked a lot better. Well, I saw her today. She did not look so good. She didn't lose the weight, but she was shaking and not making any sense. She is using again. We may enter a plea on her multiple felonies on Thursday. She will get probation, and they will order whatever drug treatment is available. It will not work. She will get violated over and over for testing positive. Eventually, some judge will just activate her sentence and she will wind up doing about eight or so months in prison. And that is just how it goes.

People say that it is bad that we don't have enough treatment for drug addicts. I agree with that, certainly. But with someone like her? Well, she is just fucked. At least in prison, she won't die. Out on the street, I expect she will be dead within a year or two. I have had multiple clients like her die. I am not sure what I can do. I will do my best to keep her on probation and getting active drug treatment. But I don't know if that is really any better than prison in her case. As I said, at least in prison she will be alive.

Driving While High

There was no court today as it was Veteran's Day. As such, it allowed me to get through a bunch of crap that was sitting on my desk. Of course, there still is more crap, and going through some of the crap just led to the creation of more crap, but overall I have to say that a fair amount of progress was made.

An eighteen year old came in with his parents to discuss his DWI. It was actually a very rare situation. There was no alcohol involved. The impairment is based on marijuana. Someday soon I expect that a test to measure present levels of marijuana will be made available to law enforcement. When that happens, business is going to pick up for me considerably. As it is now, the only test that law enforcement uses is for alcohol. If you are using any other drug, you would have to practically be passed out or have a needle sticking out of your arm while talking to the officer to be arrested for driving while impaired.

I have had one and only one case where I actually entered a guilty plea for a DWI where no alcohol was involved. My client drove through a number of front yards, knocked over some mailboxes, and ultimately was stopped by a pole supporting a basketball hoop. When the police arrived, my client was still in the car. He was foaming at the mouth and some needles and heroin were found on the passenger's seat. Other than that, a case is being tried if there is no alcohol involved. It is simply a difficult task for the prosecutor to prove that a person is impaired from a substance other than alcohol.

In this case, my client admitted to smoking some marijuana an hour or so earlier. Marijuana and a couple of pipes were found in the center console. My client said that he was asked to touch his nose, and to follow the officer's finger as he moved it in a horizontal line. Of course, I have yet to talk to the officer. I would not be surprised to learn that several other tests were given. I would not be surprised to learn my client made a statement like, "I am too high to drive." I just never know what happened based on hearing only my client's version of events. He does have court tomorrow, so I should be able to find out from the officer what really happened.

Top That

Remember how I was explaining how I get excited when people I know are charged with crimes? Imagine my delight to learn that the chef/owner of my favorite seafood restaurant in town needed my help with some driving-related offenses. Can you say trade?

I have traded my legal services for lawn maintenance, the building of a closet, massage (from licensed massage therapist, thank you very much), and pizza, among other things. I am only too happy to make the exchange for some seafood. Ah....lunch will be good for awhile.

The assistant DA I was working with today, Jennifer, is very new. She has been at it for about two months. I told her that before I entered a plea to a DWI, I wanted to make a quick Double Jeopardy argument to the judge.

Panic set in. She quickly called upstairs to the DA's office, and two other assistant DA's came trotting down. Denise was sure that the State would prevail and that I didn't have a leg to stand on. Saul thought that I had something up my sleeve and was concerned. And Jennifer just had no idea. It was the last case of the day, and it was three assistant DA's huddled together versus me. I kind of liked it. It made me feel important.

Ultimately, they decided that they were not ready to deal with this ingenious motion of mine (which I will no doubt lose) so they continued it on to January 10th. Alas, I will have to wait until then to unleash my Double Jeopardy argument on the court.

Speaking of representing people in exchange for pizza, a client of mine showed up with a pizza and some bread sticks for me this afternoon as a surprise. At 2:30. Is that really the best time to bring surprise pizza? Do you think that maybe we have already just had lunch? Would it kill him to bring it before noon or closer to five?

Would it kill me to be a little more grateful?

Como se llama?

This would be Thursday's post...

I had a young man today who was in jail. He is Mexican, and he has been here for four months. He was homeless and arrested for trespassing at a park he was previously told to stay away from. He was also arrested for being publicly intoxicated and for begging for money. Upon being arrested, he gave a fake name and was charged with that, too.

He had been in jail for 44 days. He was listed in the jail under a different name than the one he was arrested under. And he was arrested under a different name than he originally told the officer. So what the hell is his name? I have no idea.

Illegal Hispanic immigrants often will give a fake name upon being arrested. The State tries to do a record check before accepting their plea, but it is difficult to know whether the check you are running is really for the same person. So a guy whose real name is Jose Lima gets arrested. He tells the police his name is Jose Diaz. He is held in jail until his court date. He enters a guilty plea and his record is run. Nothing. He gets credit for time served and is released.

A month after getting out Jose Lima is arrested again. This time he gives his name as Miguel Diaz. He may or may not give the same date of birth. There is no record for a Miguel Diaz, so he goes free. Had the court known of his prior convictions, they might not let him go. But they don't know.

There are really only two ways that the right record will come up for an illegal Hispanic defendant. One is that the guy is honest and gives his real name. This certainly does happen often. Another is that the officer recognizes the guy and knows his name. This happens rarely.

With all the political talk about what to do with illegal immigrants, I am surprised that someone doesn't make an effort to have the ones who are committing crimes deported. I mean, the drunk and begging for money in the park is not really a big deal. But it happens with felonies, too. Illegal immigrants commit felonies, get probation, and are released. How is that even possible? How are we not at least deporting illegal immigrants who are committing felonies? I have no idea.

But Hispanics really get screwed by the law. As bad as black males have it, Hispanic males probably have it worse. I do my best to help them, but it is such a difficult battle. They have no idea what is going on. It's not like the most educated and wealthy Hispanics are sneaking over the border. We are dealing with a group that is largely uneducated and illiterate. When they get let out of jail and placed on probation, they have no idea what to do. They don't know who to report to. If they do know who to report to, the chances are that there is no one at that office who knows how to speak Spanish.

It's a mess. I don't know what the answers are, but we could start by not placing them on probation. Or, if we are going to do that, we need to have personnel in place who know how to speak Spanish.

Mind Your Manners

This would be Wednesday's post...

It was somewhat of a track meet for me today. My office is a mere one block from the courthouse where I primarily practice law, but sometimes there are other places to be. This was one such day.

I had to be in three buildings at once, and two different rooms in two of the buildings and three different rooms in one of the buildings. All in all, I needed to be in seven different courtrooms at the exact same time. I never saw the Michael Keaton flop, "Multiplicity," but I am quite certain that it was days like this that made him feel like he could use a few clones. I could have used some for sure.

The worst part of the whole thing would be that I felt like I accomplished very little. I did get to watch a defendant ask to have the court appoint him a lawyer for his breaking and entering case.

"Where do you live?"
"Rustic Creek."
"Do you know why I asked you that?"
"No, ma'am."
"Because the house that you ALLEGEDLY broke into? It is across the street from me."

Not a lucky day for that sixteen year old young man. Judge Broome conducts herself on the bench like she is auditioning for some sort of court-related program. She is full of exaggerated sighs, changes of tone, and personal remarks. If nothing else, she is entertaining to watch.

Death Wish

Not sure why, but I am more tired today than I normally am. Yet I didn't do too much at work today. That makes no sense. It may have to do with my wife's delicious chocolate chip cookies.

A client was in today talking about doing an adoption. As we were talking, they began to tell me about a close relative who was struck by a vehicle recently and killed. They have not yet retained an attorney for the case.

Exactly how bad is it that I became excited over this news? It is really awful. Someone is severely injured or killed, and I get excited that they might hire me. Sure, you could say that I am excited by the prospect of the helping these people in their time of need and getting them what they need. You could also say that I have dollar signs lighting up in my eyes like a cartoon character.

What if drugs were legalized? The impact it would have on defense attorneys, police, probation, prosecutor's offices, etc. would be enormous. Too many people are making too much money off of how things are being run right now for a change like that to ever take place.

I support the legalization of drugs. Yes, I know it would hurt my pocket book, but I support it nonetheless. You might think that makes me noble in some way. Before reaching that conclusion, you should know that about a month ago I saw a client of mine on the news charged with first degree statutory rape of a child. And dollar signs flashed in my eyes.

In a perfect world, I suppose that people would not make money off the misfortune of others (are you listening to me, mortgage and credit card companies?). I really would be much happier if I was a full-time public defender. The problem is, the job would not pay enough. So until then, I have to root for crime to drop overall, but for my clients to commit serious crimes. And I have to root for accidental deaths to decrease, but accidental deaths of the friends and families of clients to increase.

Can I put that on my Christmas card this year: "The Law Offices of Eddie Schlipple wish you and your loved ones a happy holiday season. We also are there for you if any of you accidentally die or molest a child this season."

Shake It Up

Today was Shaky's day in court. The charges? Three counts of Assault on a Police Officer, one count each of Possession of Drug Paraphernalia, Trespass, and Begging. Two of the Assaults were actually assaults on horses. However, as the horses are police officers, he gets charged with Assault on a Police Officer.

I said to Brent Borgon, the Assistant DA for the case, "You do realize that it is a more serious crime for me to punch a horse than to punch you in the face?" He nodded understanding. "But this is no ordinary horse," he replied.

So we pled to a few of the counts and had the remainder of the charges dismissed. I was able to strategically get all of the cases set for today and in front of Judge Cribble. Judge Cribble actually confused Shaky with Crisco, who is another homeless guy who is always in and out of court.

One time I was out for a walk and I ran into Crisco on the street. He, predictably, asked me for money. I told him I had none. Then he tried a little harder. He told me he had just been stabbed. "You have?" I asked. He raised his shirt. He had been stabbed. Well, that was certainly worth the dollar or two I had. I am quite sure that he purchased some effective sedative with the money.

I have run into Shaky several times on the street. He always asks me for money. One time when I told him I only had plastic, he pointed me to an ATM and told me I could get some money for him there. Another time I was out with my wife and he told us he was hungry and wanted some money for food. So I went into a nearby coffee shop and bought him a muffin. I handed it to him. He studied it in his hand. "What's this?" "It's food, Shaky." He considered the muffin, then looked up at me. "You got any money?"

But the best Shaky story is the time he was charged with robbing a prostitute. She had given the agreed-upon blowjob, but Shaky would not give her the five dollars that he had promised her. This transaction and event took place entirely inside a port-o-potty. Ah....class.

So Judge Cribble had fun joking with Shaky in front of the crowd.
"Still begging?"
"No, I stopped that."
"Shaky, you've asked me for money."
"But I was just kidding."
"No, you weren't."

When all was said and done, Judge Cribble gave him credit for time served. If I wandered just a few blocks from here right now, I would undoubtedly encounter him working his magic on some corner.

What a Dog

Have you ever seen one of those websites that has before and after pictures of people who were taking drugs? I have actually read some online discussions where people argue that those photos are exaggerations or sensationalized. It has been my experience that those photos are spot-on. In fact, sometimes they go easy on the person. They usually are a comparison of two arrest photos. The first one is usually taken at the time of the person's first arrest, and the second one at the time of the person's most recent arrest. The thing is, the person had likely been doing drugs for a while before that first arrest. That person's appearance may have already changed significantly before that person was arrested for the first time. So rather than the photos being an exaggeration, I would argue that sometimes the photos are really only showing part of the change.

About ten years ago I was working at a laundromat/dry cleaners. We were open until ten, so a lot of the car salesmen would come to drop off their dry cleaning because we were the only place open after they got off the lot at night.

One such person was Olivia DeLonte. Olivia sold cars for one of the local dealerships. She was probably about thirty-five at the time. She was a very attractive woman. And she was very attractive in a rather classy way. I remember her being very pleasant and having a very pretty smile. She was way out of my league. I didn't even bother trying to flirt with her. I was studying for the Bar Exam and working in a laundromat. She was beautiful, classy, charming, and successful. She would have laughed at me.

I now represent Olivia for a number of felonies. It seems at some point over the last ten years she got involved in heroin. To say that she no longer looks beautiful would be an understatement. She has gone from someone who would never notice me to someone I would never notice. Her weight was probably about ninety pounds. Her hair lacked luster. Her skin looks discolored and splotchy. Her teeth look like crap. She is so thin that bones are just popping out of her. Her fingernails are bitten off and dirty. Her breath is atrocious. She shakes and cannot hold herself together. The smile is gone. There is literally nothing left that is attractive about her. There is no charm, class, or confidence. It is incredibly sad. It is sort of like the woman I knew is now dead. Whatever happens to Olivia and whatever she is able to make of her life, she is not going to be able to re-claim who she was. Hopefully she can find some kind of life that is productive and satisfying, but she is never going to be that person she used to be.

I saw her today for the first time in a month or so. She went to a 14 day program. She put on fifteen pounds. A lot of the shaking has stopped. She looks a lot better than she did a month ago, but many of the physical and personality changes are here to stay. I do hope that she is able to maintain her sobriety.

Who schedules a meeting at four o'clock on a Friday afternoon? The Town of Speckville, apparently. The town of Speckville is so small that the "town hall" is not even locate in Speckville. I had a hearing there today to discuss a woman's barking dogs.

My client had thirteen hunting dogs that she kept in her back yard. They barked a lot. Neighbors weren't pleased. They complained. So she started finding place for the dogs to board. She is now down to two dogs. They are still barking. They are barking so much, in fact, that a neighbor apparently called some county official eight times in the middle of the night last night to report the barking.

Eight times in the middle of the night? Are you kidding me? A dog would have to literally be in my bed barking at me to cause me to call eight times in the middle of the night to complain. Can't this guy get a fan or something to drown out the noise? That is how I sleep. There could be a gunfight going on in my front yard and I wouldn't even hear it.

We formulated a plan to try to get rid of one of the remaining dogs and do something to get the other one to show up. I am not exactly optimistic that it is going to work. She will probably have to wind up boarding up the remaining dogs, too.

Among the strange things about this situation are that the dogs are hunting dogs. Apparently (I obviously know nothing of the subject) these dogs are not potty-trained and do not go inside at all. Ever. As such, she cannot put them in the house. She also is not a hunter. Her son is. And he doesn't live there. My solution would be, "Hey, son. Take the dogs and find a place for them." As I sat at this meeting for this civil matter, it did give me a newfound realization of the relative importance of the criminal cases I work on.

In the Slammer

I will be sleeping in my own bed tonight. I can't quite say the same thing for George Coney. I gave an impassioned closing argument, but it seemed to only convince myself. It would seem that no matter the quality of the confidential informant, the jury just couldn't get around the fact that my client had the marked bills on his person that the police had given to the confidential informant a mere ten minutes earlier. I can't say that I blame them.

It is interesting how I wind up believing in my own case once a trial starts, no matter how crappy the case is. And make no mistake: this was a crappy case. It went probably as well as it could have gone, too. But in the midst of it, I started thinking that maybe George had a chance. Well, now he will be in prison for the next 13-16 months. But this cloud is not without its silver lining: I will not have to deal with drop-ins and rambling phone calls from him for over a year. That will be a good thing.

Meanwhile, I had a classic assnose client today. I am on a list that allows me to be appointed by the court to represent people sometimes. Today I represented Pud Grogan. I was appointed by the court to do so. When someone gets an attorney appointed for them, they are given the name and number of the attorney. When my office receives the appointment sheet, we also send the person a letter encouraging them to come meet with me before their court date.

So Pud is charged with a felony. He does not make an appointment to come meet with me prior to his court date. He also does not call for any reason at all. Today is his court date for a felony. The first contact I receive from him is this morning. He calls at nine-fifteen. He is rude to my secretary and demands to know where I am and why I am not in his courtroom. He tells her that he can't have his case continued today because he is here from out of town. I am very busy with my jury trial wrapping up and other matters in other courtrooms. Pud tracks me down in one of the courtrooms (not the one his case is in) and starts frantically trying to get my attention. I have no idea who he is. He starts launching into me for not being in his courtroom. Meanwhile, I am trying to take care of the matters in that courtroom at the time.

It was incredible. I mean, here is a guy who couldn't be bothered to contact his attorney for a felony bitching at said attorney for not being ready to jump for him. Wow. Just bugged the crap out of me. I finally got to his case in the afternoon. I spoke to the DA and worked out a deal to have the case dismissed (that would be a felony dismissal for those of you keeping track at home) if Pud will pay 300 dollars in restitution. Reluctantly, Pud agrees to the deal. I can assure you that neither the words "thank" nor "you" escaped his lips at any point, much less consecutive to one another.