Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." (37 page)
Read Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." Online
Authors: Bad-Boy Storyteller
But the one they get does not come from him.
Joshua explodes within the sudden stillness. “Ha, ha, ha, top cop. I told you, you were fucking going down—you fucking dirty pig! You liar! You fucking—”
“Subdue him!” Judge Cooper screams. The bailiff hits him with fifty thousand volts. Joshua begins flailing around, out of his chair, onto the floor. Members of the courtroom step backward and position themselves to see Joshua, who is still uttering muffled curses between the shocks. The voltage is increased to the maximum amount allowed; he jerks harder. Everyone loses their breath, and then at last he surrenders.
William seizes the glowing moment. “Detective, now do you remember?”
Judge Cooper raises her gavel, intending to bang the holy hell out of her bench, but instead she turns to Cools for his answer. Everybody turns. His eyes are boiling, his muscles bulge under his shirt, and he looks like he’s about to detonate.
“Answer the question. Answer the question, Detective!” William pushes.
Cools wrenches in his seat. The color in his eyes melts away like man prepared to die for vengeance. And no one is quite sure if he’s going to stay in the witness box or spring from it in a violent rage. He says nothing, just holds a long, scorching, homicidal stare until Judge Cooper demands him to answer.
“I…I am going to plead the Fifth Amendment,” he replies furiously, broken.
Then Joshua points his finger at him and spits out all he can muster. “You tell lies, and when they work no longer, you hide like a coward!”
“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!” Cools shrieks, pouncing out of the witness box.
The bailiffs intercept him. Judge Cooper pushes the red button, calling in reinforcements as they struggle around tables and chairs with Cools cursing, “Fuck you! Fuck you!”
Judge Cooper bangs her gavel. “I’m calling an emergency recess; I want Joshua taken immediately back to his cell!” The jurors are swiftly escorted out, and other security guards rush in to diffuse the situation. Judge Cooper continues shouting over the mayhem. “And I want all council in my fu—in my damned chambers right now!” Everyone starts moving in all different directions. “And you, too, Detective Cools. In my chambers!”
Ninety seconds later William and Milkowski stand in her chambers next to Cools, who’s sitting in a chair with a bailiff above him. “This is a goddamned circus,” she wails, glaring at all of them. Each one of them knows to be utterly silent, even William, despite the fact that he’s reveling in his glory. She paces back and forth, gaining her bearings, trying to figure what course to take. She inhales a breath of air before talking it out. “Milkowski, I’m throwing out Joshua’s statement, leaving you to win with what you have.”
“Sounds good to me,” William cracks. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to leave you all to your problems, so I can prepare for my next witnesses.”
“You don’t have any other witnesses on your list,” Milkowski states, somewhat confused.
“I’m calling Detective Cools again. I never excused him, and I am not done with him yet. And then I’m putting Joshua on the stand.”
Milkowski coughs nervously. “You are seriously going to put Joshua on the stand?”
“You would if you knew what I do,” William beams arrogantly. “Now may I be excused?” Nobody says a word, and from the looks of them, no one is standing in his way to leave their sight. He walks out, engorged with pride.
The door shuts behind him, and Judge Cooper continues chastising them. “Cools, this is probably already on Fox News and CNN, so you’re going on a leave of absence, effective immediately. And if I were you, I wouldn’t say one word to anybody until you talk to your attorney.”
“Judge, I’d like to just say—”
“Stop! I said do not say anything. I like you, Cools, and I am trying to help you. You’re going to get back on the stand, plead the Fifth over and over again, and when you leave, you’re going to say nothing to the press. Then go talk to an attorney, because you are in a lot of trouble, Detective. Now get out of my sight and be ready to be in my courtroom in two hours!”
Devastated and disillusioned he heeds her advice and walks out of her office toward the rear exit, where he can escape the building undetected.
Milkowski drops his face into his hands and listens in as Judge Cooper makes a call. “Captain, your boy just left my office. I want him shepherded for a while. I want to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupider than he has already… Uh-huh…Oh really…Shit…Well, that’s not going to help…Okay…Good-bye.”
“Okay, Andrew, here’s the deal. Word just came from the coroner’s office stating that Jane Doe from Everett is twenty-seven-year-old Julie Something-or-other, known prostitute, died from a heroin overdose. Now, I’ll grant you two hours,”—she checks her watch—“so you’ll need to be ready to go at one. And when William puts Joshua on the stand, I want to see you break him. Use every trick you have; destroy this asshole! And bring this fucked up trial to an end!”
.
C
ools—now a complete madman—squeals out of the courthouse parking lot in a police cruiser. One of Captain Jackson’s men follows. Cools is so infuriated he doesn’t notice his shadow, as he recklessly drives to the Shelter. He needs a drink, many drinks. He parks in the back alley behind the bar; Captain Jackson’s man parks a half block away and watches him storm into the seedy establishment, and yet another man, who is also following, takes detailed pictures of both of them.
.
I
nside his office Captain Jackson yells into the speakerphone, “Cools is a man with nothing much to lose; under no circumstances will you let him out of your sight. I want you inside that mobster bar, sitting in the booth right next to him. And if he tries to run, you’re gonna arrest him and bring his ass to me!”
Milkowski storms in and stands impatiently in front of his desk. Next the captain says, “All right, I’m gonna put you on hold for a second.” He pushes the hold button. “What do you want?”
“Between the deputy’s, Hubbard or Martinez, which one can I trust most?”
“What’s this all about, Milkowski?”
“You’re better off not knowing; now tell me—which one?”
There’s a pause of consideration before he replies assertively, “Martinez.”
With that Milkowski leaves as fast as he came. And once back inside his office, he makes a call. “Hello, is this Martinez?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is prosecutor Milkowski, and I need you to do something for me, and then I will owe you one.”
Martinez, knowing the value of prosecutor Milkowski owing him one, and the potential consequences of not complying, replies, “I’m listening.”
.
A
fter viewing a television report claiming a loss of control over her courtroom, Judge Cooper has extended the recess until two thirty and has ordered some local contractors to build a temporary, soundproof, Plexiglass box for Joshua to sit in. Plus the builders are paid double if they disclose to the media that construction was scheduled for yesterday, giving Judge Cooper some retroactive clemency. They work expediently, but it’s after three o’clock before she can organize everyone and get things rolling again. So now, with the gang all back in positions, Joshua fidgeting in his new surroundings and a half-drunk detective waiting in the hall, the trial resumes. She lends the court to the defense, expecting that William will be calling Cools, but he has a slight change of plans.
“Your Honor, I would like to petition the court, with prosecutor Milkowski’s consent of course, to add one more thing into evidence.”
Milkowski is thrown a bit and stammers, “Uh…”
William continues, “I’d like to add into evidence a taped client-attorney conversation that explains how my client is responsible for the blood being on the boat.”
The jury’s attention shifts back to Milkowski, who holds up a finger asking for a moment. It has to be some kind of a trick. He expects me to object. But why would I? The more Joshua says, the more ammunition I have when he takes the stand. Besides I really don’t have a lot to lose at this point. He drops his finger and replies. “I have no objection, Your Honor.”
Judge Cooper looks surprised at his unexpected accommodation and affirms, “Well, if the prosecution doesn’t contest it, then I will allow it.”
William glances at Milkowski with almost pity and moves to insert an audio CD into the sound system. Milkowski now reasons that he’s made a grave error.
While holding the remote control, William sets it up. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. This is a private conversation between not just client and attorney, but that of father and son. Some of the dialogue might strike you as bizarre, and I apologize in advance for any of my personal shortcomings, as this recording was never expected to be public record.” He presses the remote, and Joshua’s voice comes across unusually soft and genuine. All cameras zoom in on him sitting inside his strange-looking and confining glass cubicle.
“Yeah, I called the radio show and pretended to kill my wife…I was drunk, and I thought it was funny.”
“But, Josh, you don’t have a wife, and even if you did, it’s not funny.”
“Well, each to his own. But if you need to know, I don’t think it’s funny anymore, okay? I don’t think any of this is funny, especially them trying to charge me with murder.”
“Listen to me, Josh. They
are
charging you with murder, and in the first degree, and you have to answer some questions. Now, I need you to tell me why there’s some woman’s blood on a boat you rented.”
“If I tell you, you’re just going to diminish my religion, like you always do.”
“No, I won’t Josh. Now, I need to know, and I need to hear from you: why is there blood?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but first you have to understand that my religion is real, Dad—not like Kimmy, but really real.”
At the prosecution table, Milkowski closes his eyes and shakes his head, now understanding what he’s gotten himself into. The jurors don’t even notice because they’re glued to Joshua inside his transparent partition, envisioning the meeting between father and son.
“I know it’s hard for you to accept the fact that I have a differing belief than most. But it is
you
that does not understand. I pray to Ra, the true God. And I give sacrifice to Ra on the winter solstice, since it is required of me.”
The word
sacrifice
buzzes in everyone’s ears. And there’s a sense that they may very well be listening to a confession with some sort of religious argument.
“Wait a goddamned minute, Josh. You’re lying! Now, I’ve heard your talk of this winter solstice bullshit before, and I looked it up. The winter solstice is on the fucking twenty-second, not the twenty-sixth of December, when you took the boat out!”
“That’s because
you
do not comprehend that the universe changes and that millennia have passed. Also that your religion was spawned from mine. I am remembering the true solstice, or
Sheiva ta
, from the Tablet of Origins, or its more familiar English translation, the Sabbath! It is
you
that denies your obedience to remembering the Sabbath!”
“Uh-huh, okay, well…So it was the solstice then. Still, what were you doing?”
“I was giving a sacrifice of many items, including letters of poetry, herbs, wheat, maize, pottery that I had labored hours over, and our blood. I took them out to sea at the appointed time, and I placed all the sacraments in a vessel; this time I used a crab pot to lower them to the sea floor. And in doing so, one of the urns holding our blood spilled onto the boat railing—this one obviously Kimmy’s.”
Milkowski, failing to remember what had happened the last time, tosses his pen in the air. He attempts to apologize but is at a loss for words since he has just listened to Team Siconolfi explain away everything.
“But, Josh, listen to me. Kimberly isn’t real! Whose blood did you have?”
There’s an extended silence. Everyone in the courtroom can hear the other breathe.
“Answer me, Josh! Whose blood did you have?”
“I got it from Amberly! But Amberly is Kimberly. She is
one
who lives within the dependent and the damaged—she lives within Amberly!”
“And this Amberly—she’s the same woman who told the police that Kimberly was missing?”
“Yes.”
Then, with a click of the remote, the room falls still. William stands with his head down somberly. Joshua appears to be innocently confused.
Clap
…
clap, clap
-
clap
…Milkowski alone starts a slow, building, sarcastic applause. The smirk he wears is a medley of admiration for the performance and repugnance for the altered realities of truth. And he no longer cares about the media watching or even what may happen to his career. All he knows is that Joshua is up next and that the gloves are coming fucking off. But then William announces that the defense rests, and all the blood drains out of him. He now realizes he won’t get his chance to cross-examine him and that he let them tell their story for free.
He’s been played.
Judge Cooper recognizes this as well and calls for a recess.
Milkowski’s exhausted eyes move to a report lying on his table—the one written and hand-delivered to him by a colleague, who didn’t warrant either his trust or his confidence. He’ll probably never know which.
At the top of the report, her name is written in delicate calligraphy: Janice Dryer. “My professional, psychological analysis of Joshua Siconolfi is that he will definitely take the stand.”
Thirty-eight minutes later, Judge Cooper says to the jurors, “We are ready to proceed with the closing arguments. And because the state has the burden of proof, you will hear first from prosecutor Milkowski. After which counsel for the defendant will have an opportunity to argue, and then the state will have another chance for rebuttal. Prosecutor Milkowski, are you ready?”
“Yes, I am, Your Honor.” He stands, holding a yellow legal tablet, and approaches the jurors, seemingly amused by the whole ordeal. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I would like to extend to you how I feel right now. I am somewhat set aback. I have some kind weird of appreciation for their defense strategy. I do not believe I could conjure up such fantastical stories in my wildest dreams. That was a well-thought-out and well-delivered performance. But it was just that—a performance. So now let us come back to reality because we have important labors ahead.” He looks to his notes and begins. “The defendant did
his part
by murdering his girlfriend; I am doing
my part
by proving that to you, and then you will do
your part
by returning a verdict of guilty! So let’s get started.”
