by Mark Porto
Elaine implores him. “Ronnie, please do something!”
Her husband Jerry came by and Senator Croydon recommend he let her vent her anger.
Jerry Lipshutz is an attorney with the senator’s old law firm; he told him about an announcement by State Supreme Court Justice Ronald Roy was going to retire later this year, “I interested in seeking the seat, but Elaine forbids it.”
The senator rubs his chin.
A couple of days later, Senator Croydon and Judge Roy walk into the Butterfield Restaurant in downtown Knickerbocker. Their booth is located in a room which played soft music while florescent lights lit the beige-colored rooms. The judge sat majestically as his salt and pepper hair was shining in the light.
Both men were given menus when the judge spoke of his retirement. He explains if he sought another fourteen year term, he’d only be able to serve another year, before being placed in mandatory retirement. “I’ve served my time and I want to live out the rest of my life.”
The senator said, “You and I go along way back, what’s the real reason.”
When the waiter was not in listening distance, the judge leans over and whispered there was a terrific position at the firm of Fleeceman & Howe.
Ron’s wastrel smile didn’t change while he wiping his mouth with a quilted napkin and comments it was where he and his brother-in-law practiced law.
The judge’s eyes implore him in deference. “Do you know of anybody who you would like to replace me in the judgeship?” He smiles as the wine was being poured.
The senator took another mouthful of keesh and subsequently suggests Judge Rex Lexington. He reminds the judge about Lexington’s seventeen years on the bench and has been passed over a couple of times for the position, because when the Democrats took the governor’s mansion three years ago, they decide to appoint their own in the thirteen Judicial District.
Roy chuckles after consuming more wine. “Rex has a better temperament than me. I remember when I was first elected county judge; he had to stop me from screaming at defendants and some lawyers and prosecutors.”
“What did he do to subdue your fiery nature?”
The judge tries to talk without bursting out laughing. “One day, it was the end of my first year as county judge and they planned to play a practical joke on me by replacing my gavel with a zucchini.” Both men had difficulty containing their laughter.
“Judge, let me pass along your recommendation to the committee and you should hear from me shortly.”
About a week and a half after the shootings, Johnny stops by the grocery store after his shift from the factory to help them out in the store. Upon walking into the place, a black and white police car pulls into the parking lot. A normally jovial Sgt. Martinelli’s frown and stern walk whipped along the fallen leaves, he made it clear to Sal and Anita, and this wasn’t a social call.”
Anita is holding a couple of cups of coffee. “Is there something wrong?”
The Sergeant’s commanding voice soaks through the room; there was an accompanying officer, who put handcuffs on Johnny as Martinelli remarks. “We’re taking you in for those shootings.” He motions for the officer to take Johnny to the car.
Johnny stares intensely into his eyes while both were red. “Wait a minute! I thought the district attorney ruled the deaths were self-defense!”
“I’m sorry; I have to take you in.” Martinelli and the other officer escort him to the police car. Anita watches in horror while Sal holds her close.
Upon arriving at the police station, chills run through Johnny’s spine, but he ostensibly appears calm. He is placed in a small windowless room on the other side of the city jail that didn’t have anything but an overhead lamp over the middle of the table.
A svelte smug faced prosecutor named Odell Muir is standing in a corner. His long hair was barely visible, because of the shadows. He opens his briefcase to take out a file. After placing it on the table, he sits next to Johnny, who stares at him with trepidation and bewilderment, while wondering why he was here.
Captain Lester leans forward with his bulldog face with large arms that encompass the table. The officer stares at Johnny wanting to speak, but is biding his time. The officer’s gravelly voice rose. “We want to know where you got that shotgun!”
“I’m not answering any of your questions!”
The captain roars. “You better listen here, mister! We can get you, young man, on weapons possession in the fourth degree!” Lester warns him that if he didn’t answer the questions, he would look guilty. “If you don’t answer, we won’t have to prove your guilt.”
Johnny stands up to tell the captain pointing his finger at him; he could legally refuse to answer any questions, and then his teeth clench with the bangs get into his eyes. Sweat pours down his cheeks while his arms shake.
Lester warns him that for all those charges, he could go to jail for up to four years. “However, if you cooperate, we will help you.” He went on to say if he was convicted of killing those guys, he’d serve harder time.”
Johnny folds his arms telling him to forget it.
The captain’s lips were pitch black and red and the gums gyrated. “You’d better answer the questions!” His stomach bulge forth across what appear to be half the table.
Muir smirks, clearing his throat stepping in; he turns to Johnny and explains the district attorney’s office authorized him to plea bargain the case to misdemeanor weapons’ possession and reckless endangerment. “All you have to do is sign a confession.”
Another police officer walks over, presents Muir with the paper and he, in turn, shows it to Johnny; it states he was guilty of a crime, but wouldn’t have to spend so much time in jail. In addition, he would be recommended for parole when it first became available.
Johnny reads it through; he crumples and tosses it across the table slapping his hands.
Muir and the officers stare at him with their eyes and mouths wide open figuring out what next to say.
Johnny stands up shouting. “What do you think I am – stupid? If you’re going to charge me with a crime, I suggest you leave me alone and let me speak to an attorney!”
Lester roars making the room shake. “Sit down!”
Johnny demands to know how much bandying was going to go on and reminded them this was police harassment.
Lester snarls with his stiff, overgrown mustache over his lips. His arms are folded over the obese stomach. “So, you still refuse to cooperate, Bellow?”
Sgt. Martinelli came in and inquires if he could talk to Mr. Bellow. Lester is hesitant, but Martinelli said he’s known the family a long time.
Lester twists his neck to stare at Johnny as he walks out the door. “If you think you can get anything out of him, be my guest, I’ll be outside!” He slams the door.
After Lester and Muir walks out, Martinelli sits next to Johnny. “Look, this isn’t fun and games, Captain Lester and Mr. Muir aren’t people you fool with. Please listen to reason!”
Johnny sits back. “I want to know why the police aren’t allowing me to speak to an attorney. Do you realize your colleagues are violating my rights?!”
Lester’s face turns purple looking through the glass on the other side of the door.
Martinelli rubs his hand across his head. “The truth is you’re technically not under arrest. I think you’d make it easier on your parents and yourself, if you simply confess.” During that time, Muir is taking notes before stepping outside to confer with Lester.
“To what, Jim, you told me yourself I wasn’t guilty of a crime!” Johnny folds his arms, but Martinelli warns him in an authoritative voice to refer to him as either ‘Officer’ or ‘Sergeant’. “Are you kidding? Why should I go to jail for defending my family? I have the right to defend them, correct me if I’m wrong?”
Suddenly, a loud slam succeeds the conversation as Lester races in with a gusty burst of anger. “No, if you keep giving us the run around, I’ll throw you in jail!”
Martinelli takes
a deep breath. Johnny, all I can say to you is you’ve succeeded in upsetting the applecart.
Johnny’s eye pupils enlarge. He said he wants to ask one question and when Lester roared about what it was, he remarks. “Let me ask you this: Who’s really upset – you or the powers that be in this area?!”
Muir states diplomatically there was a legitimate case against him. Johnny, in the meanwhile, stared at the officers and prosecutor intensely wondering what to do next.
Johnny decides to remain quiet, because he didn’t want to say anything that will haunt him and secondly, it was an exercise in futility.
Lester kept ordering him to answer his questions and when Johnny remains silent, he orders him placed in the city jail.
Johnny is put in a cell that had neither windows nor a bed. There was a bench which was anchored to the wall. He lies there wondering what to do or how his future was going to pan out. He also passes the time there by pondering the events of the day and asking himself the rationale behind his detention. In an effort to go asleep, since it was late, Johnny tosses and turns, but was never comfortable. Although he was given dinner and breakfast, he barely touches the meal thinking about his mother and how she was doing, he also misses her cooking which was a thousand times better than what he was given.
He continually asks if he would answer any questions or confess; but every time they did, he steadfastly refuses to do so.
While Johnny was there, Sal and Anita call an attorney they’ve known for years; his name was Fredrick Menden, he is located in Londonderry County, north of Black Meadows, agreed to help.
The next morning, Mr. Menden travels to the Black Meadows City Jail, which was located below the modern city hall. The city court and police station were located above the jail.
Upon arriving at the judge’s office, he is told by the court clerk the judge was in his law office. “He’ll be in court, tomorrow morning.”
The lawyer drove to Judge Harold Hartnett’s law office, which is located in an old white Victorian house with ionic columns and a portico.
Mr. Menden walks into the lobby and sits down. When the secretary allows him to see the judge, Judge Hartnett is sitting in an overstuffed chair and rose to acknowledge his visitor. He asks what he could do for him.
Mr. Menden explains his client is in jail and wants the judge to issue a writ of habeas corpus. “My client hasn’t been arrested and I feel that it’s necessary to see my client’s constitutional rights are protected.”
The magistrate looks at him with an astute glance, while his regal presence was embellished by the salt and pepper hair, light skin and expostulating eyes.
When Judge Hartnett asks who his client was, but when Menden tells him it was Johnny Bellow; the judge fiddles with his pen and barely looks at the attorney. He saw out of the corner of his eye. “Come by the office around four o’clock.”
Menden has his hat in his hand. “Why four o’clock, I’m sure, your honor, you can understand my client’s and his family’s predicament. After all, my client has been detained without any legal representation for the last twenty-four hours. I believe his defense should come as soon as possible.”
The judge continues to view his visitor and said with a deep, but concise voice. “The law, as you already know, allows the police to hold your client for forty-eight hours without charging him. If you want to wait until tomorrow morning, it’s up to you.”
Menden explains at four o’clock he had to be present at a deposition. The judge only reiterates his last statement.
The next morning, Menden obtains the writ and delivers it to the police station. One officer grudgingly got the prisoner’s belongings and informs another officer Mr. Bellow must be released.
Johnny came out shortly thereafter and Mr. Menden drives him home.
When Johnny arrives home, his mother rushes out the door to put her around his waist and kisses him. He hugs his father as Mr. Menden looks on smiling. They walk inside the brick house which had a slanted roof and ionic columns.
While they were in the living room, Mr. Menden opens his valise and turns to Johnny. “I’ve got to tell you it took a lot of courage to stand up to that kind of interrogation.”
Johnny rubs his temples, pausing to reflect on what the lawyer had said wondering what he meant.
Menden says, “Very few people, I must admit, have the stamina to withstand such heavy pressure.”
Johnny explains when he was in high school; he was waiting for his first class to begin. “One of the monitors passed around a sheet for the Period One people to sign in. The normal schedule was altered due to an assembly. There was a mean looking girl who was passing the paper.” When he got the paper, he unconsciously signed it, but immediately recognized his error and asked to see the monitor. The girl’s face twisted with straightened lips. “Well, where are you supposed to be?”
“Fortunately, the monitor came by and told her not to have me sign anything. It is amazing how someone could be bullied over an oversight.”
Mr. Menden takes out a legal pad to write down thoughts. He explains to the Bellows that the state didn’t have a legitimate case against him.
Johnny interjects. “Excuse me, when I was questioned by the police they told me that there was a charge of excessive force. What were they talking about?”
Menden raises his eyebrows. “The police were saying you used more force than was legally necessary.”
“How did they arrive at this? They knew the assailants were armed.”
The lawyer winces. “I think they were trying to split hairs.”
Anita steps in to ask the attorney to reiterate.
Menden sighs. “The charges are frivolous and the prosecution is saying since each of the gang members had one gun a piece and Johnny had two, he used more force than was legally permissible.” He chuckles thinking about it their reasoning.
Johnny folds his arms tilting his head. “I don’t understand, how can I be charged with using firearms in the city? Is there no end? It’s not like I was using them for target practice.”
Menden sighs. “I’ve been in law practice for nearly thirty years; you have to realize what they are capable of subjecting people to. They’re trying to make your like as miserable as possible, because they want a conviction.”
Sal wants to know what happened next.
Mr. Menden explains there would be a grand jury hearing. “After all the evidence is presented, they will either exonerate or indict Johnny. The grand jury is an investigatory body whose sessions are held in secret.”
“Does Johnny have to be there?”
“No, not unless he’s subpoenaed, but if they return an indictment, then the information is released to the public, and Johnny will be arrested.”
Several days later, the grand jury returned an indictment against Johnny Bellow for five counts of second-degree murder, five counts of excessive force and two counts of reckless endangerment. It wasn’t long afterward before the police arrive at his house to arrest him.
When Sal opens the door, two officers rush inside, with a warrant in hand. Other officers accompany Sgt. Martinelli and his partner, Cpl. Terrence O’Reilly, as he presents the bench warrant, thereby taking Johnny into custody.
As he was being led out, the sergeant read him the litany of the counts and charges. After they read him his Miranda rights, he asks. “Do you waive or give up these rights?”
Johnny comments hearing the handcuffs clicking. “You’ve got to be kidding? You’re putting me on! Why did you ask that question?”
The officer declines to answer as Anita is crying. Sal tries to comfort her by saying he was going to call Mr. Menden. She wipes her tears while looking at her son being put into the police car.
After Sal called him, Anita calls her father and sister to express her sorrow.
At the police station, Johnny is fingerprinted, photographed and booked. During his booking, an officer who was in front of a typewriter asked him his Social Security number.
&n
bsp; Johnny’s face froze, and then he smiles. “I don’t give it out.” It’s none of your damn business, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.
The officer says that at the arraignment, the court was going to ask him.
“I’m as sure as hell not saying a word in open court, case closed.”
“We’ll throw you in jail, if you refuse to answer.”
Johnny utters an obscenity telling him what he could do with the back of a Bunsen burner. “Who the hell are you to ask me these questions?”
Afterwards, he was brought to the same interrogation room near the jail cells. The overhead light shines on Johnny as Captain Lester roars. “I’m through playing games with you! We have a grand jury indictment! The vote was sixteen to seven.”
“Oh, really.”
“I strongly urge you to confess!”
Johnny, at first, asked him why is it so important that he confess to this. “I don’t understand why you want me convicted of this so badly.”
Captain Lester lunges for Johnny, but Sgt. Martinelli held him back as the latter’s normally friendly demeanor becomes dour. The officer’s stocky build came before his face. “I realize this is a shock, but you can’t keep shooting off your mouth! I’ve known the captain for many years and he’s not known for his patience.”
“You realize the captain has a bad habit of not controlling himself, how the hell does he keep his job?”
“That’s not your concern! You’re not in control!” The sergeant says gritting his teeth and loosening his grip on his superior.
Lester bellows. “Lock him up; I’m sick of this crap!” His voice vibrates the walls, which didn’t affect Johnny’s psyche.
Assistant District Attorney Muir speaks up with a smug grimace. “Hold on, Mr. Bellow! The district attorney has authorized me to allow you to plead guilty to five counts of involuntary manslaughter.”
Johnny mentions he studied criminal justice in college. “I intend on graduating this fall and I know what you’re offering.” He said he’d be pleaded guilty to being involved in an action that resulted in the death by an illegal, but not violent act or a legal act executed in a reckless fashion.” He sits back. “How does this apply to me?”