how the criminal justice system works

I had to go to court today, not because I shoplifted, but because I got sent there by my editor after finding out last-minute that one of our illuminous local councilmen was involved in a scummy scandal that was on trial.

So down I go to Downey courthouse. I go to department 6 on the 4th floor, where I was told the case was being heard. There's a sign on the door, written in the large, purple scrawl of a left-handed 3-year-old, it seemed, that said something like "Go to Dept. 3" which is on the 2nd floor.

Every courtroom typically has a list outside that says what cases will be heard by the judge that day. Department 3 was not hearing the case I was looking for. I wander into the court room and sit down. The D.A. I was looking for wasn't there either, prompting me further to guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I try to ask the bailiff what happened to the case, but he tells me to shut my pie hole, he doesn't answer questions when the judge is on the bench. Annoyed, I go to the clerk and ask her what happened to the case. She said, "I don't know. The computer hasn't been updated." I wonder why they bother giving them computers. They should hire people that have ESP instead. They wouldn't have to wait for the Computer Gods to come.

I go outside and call Ruby, the senior crime reporter, and ask her what the fuck am I supposed to do. She says, leave. So I get in my car but have an idea. I noticed that although the bailiff had refused to talk to me, a living, breathing person, he picked up the phone and yapped into it without reserve. So I call Ruby back and ask for the phone number for the court room. I call it and sure enough, he answers and transfers my call to the right department. The case was being held where it was supposed to be in the first place: Deaprtment 6.

Sweating and hungry, I get out of my car, go back inside and ride up the elevators to the fourth floor for what felt like the 6th time. I walk into the court room. The defense attorney was having a pissing match with the judge. I wait an hour for them to settle on some piddling detail before the jury comes in.

The case being tried is one in which a certain city's certain councilman was accused of making a fake police report to cover up the fact that his wallet and city badge had been lost or stolen in a crack whore hotel, where he was holed up with a hooker. Instead of telling the truth, he is accused of telling the police "Oh, yeah, some black guy pulled a knife on me and stole it." Congradulations, you are a certified racist.

Anyway. The D.A. lays out her case fact by fact. Then the defense attorney, apparently never spanked by his parents, starts his litany. First he starts talking about Nazis. I guessed he was trying to say that if his client were convicted, all the jurors could be convicted too. By the Nazis...? I don't know, the D.A. objected and the judge said "hell yeah, what the fuck's he talking about?" and she was like "I don't know, he crazy." Then the defense lawyer starts bouncing all over the court room. The jurors are getting whiplash. Suddenly he starts talking about his sick doggy and I'm starting to wonder if he's hoping the jury will find his client innocent because they feel bad for his doggy. At some point, he gets to his argument, which sounded a lot like, "it's not his fault he lied to the cops, cause he was drunk."

That's right kiddies, if you want to commit a crime and get away with it, just get toasted. Then get your GTA on.

Finally, when the day is over and the jurors are leaving, he stands there and stares at them with a pathetic, pleading look, a look that says, "I am the one that cares about all of humanity, and I care about ALL of YOU. And I love DOGGIES"

I knew he was expensive at that point.

He's got theatrical talent and emotional tactics. The D.A., well, she just seems to rely on logic and we know where that gets people. All I can say is, my bullshit radar was screaming.

I guess the jury's was too, cause the scumball was convicted.