A Courtroom Massacre

by Mark Porto

  Muir’s mousy face smirks, especially seeing his lips more upward. He looks shortly away from him, but explains when he shot those men; he put the public in danger. “Suppose a customer walked in at the time of the gunfire, that person could’ve been hurt or killed.”

  Johnny places his finger on his chin. At first, he could see the prosecutor’s logic, but then scratches his head. The store window being exposed to the street, besides, if a customer came by, they would have seen what was going on. That person either would hurt the dirt or fled in the other direction. He thought more about the pedestrians, but realized the window didn’t make the store soundproof. Johnny also remembers before the police arrived, he noticed who appeared to be a homeless lady carting a shopping cart; he wondered if this is what all the fuss was about. He stands up and points to the desk. “You don’t understand, I’m not confessing to anything!” He turns to Muir. “You don’t have much of a case.”

  Muir dons a scowl and barks. “Look,” Shaking his finger at him. “I want you to know my office has authorized me to request the minimum sentence!”

  Johnny shoots back. “What is the minimum sentence?”

  Muir calms down. “The minimum is five years in a state prison.”

  Johnny heaves a heavy sigh. “Why the hell should I serve a single day in jail, for the umpteenth time, I was defending my parents! Secondly, this is a trumped up charge!”

  “I beg your pardon!” Muir rose from his seat. “Who do you think you are to talk to me that way, young man?”

  A prewritten typed confession is presented to Johnny; he reads it, is tempted to wipe his butt with it and then tears it up, flinging the pieces across the room.

  Captain Lester’s face is red; he slams his hand on the table. “You only have the right to defend you and your family in a matter that is prescribed by law! You’ve gone too far!” His face turns a blazing red. “Sergeant, put Mr. Bellow in jail!”

  The police reintroduce him to the windowless room.

  Although Johnny is not able to make his phone call, Mr. Menden was notified by Sal. The attorney went to the police station to obtain his release, but the captain personally steps in to deny it.

  Mr. Menden threatens to take legal actions against the captain. When he receives the writ of habeas corpus, he is unsuccessful in getting the release, because Judge Hartnett suspends it, before the attorney was able to use it. He plans on appealing the decision to a higher court.

  The next morning, Mr. Menden walks in with a handcuffed Johnny carrying an order from the state Supreme Court reinstating the writ. He argues since his client has been a life resident of Black Meadows and doesn’t pose a flight risk, he should be given bail.

  Muir, however, argued the charge against Mr. Bellow is second degree murder and apprised the judge of the plea bargain the district attorney was willing to grant him.

  Judge Hartnett removes his glasses to address Johnny saying he should consider taking the plea. “I know Judge Lexington both personally and professionally, and a word of warning, if you go to trial, he’s going to allow evidence that he feels is relevant and if something horrifies him and you’re convicted, the penalties, I guarantee will be more severe.”

  Johnny responds by saying he was willing to take that chance.

  The judge mumbles. “I see,” He decided to grant bail, but it was $50,000 cash or $100,000 bond. “Young man, I suggest you take the deal seriously before rejecting it.”

  Johnny is silent while remaining in police custody; he is prepared to be sent to the Tappan County Jail until his father had to put up the store as collateral to pay the $10,000 needed to obtain the bond.

  Upon his release, Johnny wanted to go to the Tappan County Courthouse to research the charges he faced.

  Afterwards, Muir sits in his office; he takes one of his pencils and flung it around the desk for a while. After submitting his paperwork, he notices his boss, District Attorney Ethan Courtney at his desk; with his legs crossed and his chin resting on his thumb and forefinger. Muir apologizes for interrupting his boss’s reverie.

  Courtney points to a chair asking him to sit down; he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers Muir one, he took it and wanted to talk about the Bellow case.

  Amid the smoke, Muir speaks. “Sir, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to have bail denied.”

  The telephone rang; Courtney motions Muir to remain seated. State Senator Ron Croydon was on the line. “Hello, Ron, how’s everything?”

  “Fine,” Croydon mentions there could be trouble with the Lexington nomination. “Are you sitting down?” He clears his throat first.

  Courtney lies back away from Muir. “What is the trouble?”

  “Oh, it involves the nonpayment of estimated state income tax; one of my colleagues is making a stink about it.”

  “Why don’t you go to the attorney general?”

  The senator laughs hysterically. “You’re not serious? You mean you want me to talk to Jacobson? Let me remind you he has been after me for several years – ever since I was the Black Meadows city treasurer.”

  “Ron, that was years ago. If he hasn’t found anything by now, he never will.” His voice is descended with scorn.

  “You don’t understand he’s not only after me but also everyone I helped to elect. Do you know what he may have on you?” Croydon sweats and pulls out a cigarette. He begins smoking at a feverish rate.

  “I can only guess.” He fidgets looking at a cigar. “Is this about income taxes?”

  Croydon breathes deeply, explaining it could get worse; it involved his plea bargain of Troy Grayson. “Jacobson has decided to appeal his sentence by going to the Court of Appeals. If he does this, everything could unravel!”

  A surge of outrage emanates from his voice. “He has to be kidding? What the hell is wrong with this man?”

  In the original condition for his lenient sentence, Troy Grayson must stay away from anyone under eighteen years of age; Grayson was convicted of sexually molesting children while caring for a neighbor’s child and her friends. Jacobson claimed Courtney violated the order. He used the 1975 case in People v. White.

  A thought occurs to Courtney. “Ron, was this from the appellate division of the New York Supreme Court?”

  Croydon agrees. “It is how he managed to reinstate the conviction. He accused you of trying to placate some political operatives in the last election!”

  Courtney snickers. “How does Jacobson think I would lose the election with your support? Besides, he doesn’t have anything.”

  Croydon is calm. “You wouldn’t, but, I’ve got even more bad news.”

  The prosecutor groans. “My, you’re full of good news today. I don’t know, Ron, what could be worse?”

  The senator mentions Ms. Stella Montcalm, who was Judge Lexington’s former law clerk for several years. “Rumor has it; she’s taking a leave of absence from her job as an attorney for a public interest group to either run for public office or work for Jacobson.” He states she may have evidence that could help Jacobson’s investigation and try to put them all behind bars for a long time.

  Courtney tells him he wasn’t worried about it and would handle it.

  After Johnny Bellow’s release, he dresses in bellbottoms and a leisure jacket when he met his friends at a diner located just on the edges of town. The sounds of disco and pop tunes permeate the atmosphere of the establishment. Before he came inside, the owner of the diner came over to shake Johnny’s hand for ridding the city of those hooligans. He thanks him while the owner says the meal was on him and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Elijah Daniels is one of a few of Johnny’s friends since they were little children. He’s a young, black theological student whose father was pastor of an old Baptist church on the city’s north side. Elijah became head of his class at the seminary; he already holds the position of deacon. He, on occasion, would give sermons in his father’s absence. Elijah had been standing in the foyer of the diner and saw Johnny sitting at a table.
“Hi, man, how have you been?” They “slapped” each other “fives.”

  “Outside of the last few weeks, I’m fine.”

  “Hey, Johnny, my man,” Somebody yells. How ‘a doin’” Then Billy comes out of the bathroom. The friends decide to sit at a table in the middle of the place, since it was somewhat crowded.

  Billy Miller is a member of one of the few Jewish families in Black Meadows. His father operates a jewelry store, while his mother operates a boutique.

  Elijah begins by telling them he is going to graduate from the seminary in June. Johnny tells him he would be able to graduate from college this December, which was coming up shortly. While, Billy said his father wants him to join in his jewelry business.

  As he sips a glass of soda, Johnny asks him what he would like to do, when Billy remarked he wanted to be a songwriter. Johnny gives him a tap on the arm with a newly purchased newspaper telling him he was better off going into his father’s business, because it is lucrative. “Face it; you don’t have to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.”

  “You’re probably right, but you don’t understand, this is my father’s dream, not mine. I’ve wanted to do this since I was a kid. I love writing songs.”

  Johnny feels he should do something like this in his spare time. He asks Elijah if he had seen Jim Corrini.

  Elijah didn’t know, but Billy tells them he couldn’t come, because he was working.

  Johnny wants Billy to tell Jim he said hello. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  After three hours, Johnny comes home and tells his parents about seeing Billy and Elijah claiming what good friends they are. Sal and Anita told him Mr. Menden called a few minutes ago to say he wants to see them in his office tomorrow. Suddenly, Johnny lost his appetite, walked into his room and shut the door.

  For several minutes, Johnny had been staring out the window while rocking in his chair. His father knocks on the door and asks to come in; Johnny said it would be fine in a faint, but appropriate voice.

  Sal approaches his son and put his hand on his shoulder, “Son, I understand how you feel.”

  Johnny had been looking at the strong breeze knocking down more leaves like they were the foundations of his life. He sets out his hand. “No excuse, Pa, I’m sorry, you don’t.”

  Sal sits down beside him injecting, but his voice rose higher than normal. He explains this was a formality and he shouldn’t take it so hard. “Ever since this occurred you’ve been obsessing about your case, why don’t you just leave it to Mr. Menden?”

  Johnny retorts he felt that by knowing what was going on, he could deal with the situation, much better than not knowing. “I need to do this, I wish you and Ma could support me on this matter.”

  Sal assures him he did, but he didn’t want him to make himself sick over it either. “Would you please come down and eat?”

  “Sure, just give me a few minutes. I need to stretch a minute.”

  The following day, Mr. Menden calls to say he had to cancel, because he was mired in paperwork. He set another time for trial preparation. Johnny, in that event, decided to go to the courthouse and visit the law library.

  During the time there, he looks up numerous books about trial procedure and New York State law regarding plea bargaining, the charges that have been filed against him, the grand jury proceeding, and a defendants’ rights under the law. He studies them to the best of his ability and was seriously considering a career in law.

  When the library closes at 5:00, he comes home with the notes he took and sees his mother in the kitchen. She had been peeling a few potatoes and he offers to help, which his mother appreciated. She remarks after putting the potatoes in a pot of water. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

  Johnny tells her what he was doing and she looks at him with her hands out imploring him to allow Mr. Menden to handle it. “I don’t understand why you think this is wrong?”

  She frowns while holding a potato. “I haven’t wanting to say this, but you’re at the mercy of the judicial system.”

  “Ma, did you ever stop and think when I graduate from college that maybe I want to go to law school sometime down the road. Besides, did anyone call?” He finishes peeling the potatoes while standing behind her.

  She put down the vegetable. “Oh, yes, Billy called a little while ago.”

  He thanks her scratching his chin, “Did he say anything?”

  She was rinsing the potatoes and places them in a strainer. “He only left a message saying it was very important you call him back.”

  After washing his hands, Johnny calls him wondering how things are.

  Billy was wheezing, because he had been breathing fast and heavy while trying to answer the phone. He remarks about someone from the district attorney’s office coming by.

  The glee in his voice turns sour. “He probably wanted to know about my character.”

  Billy didn’t know what to think. “No, he wanted to know about your temperament.”

  Johnny frowns inquiring what he said. “Don’t worry; I’m not trying to get on your case.”

  Billy is amazed someone would ask questions about him and assures him he didn’t tell him anything. “I made an excuse I had to go somewhere, which was true. However, he said if I didn’t cooperate, I’d be implicated along with you!”

  When Johnny wanted to know the name, Billy said he left a card. “His name is James Young. Johnny, this guy is one scary person.”

  “All those people are scary, Billy. Did he threaten you with anything else?”

  He mumbled his words. “I asked him how he was going to implicate me. Mr. Young would say anyone who had any association with Johnny Bellow would be subject to suspicion.”

  Johnny’s already red face is luminous when the conversation ends and quickly calls Mr. Menden’s office, but he had just stepped out. Johnny calls his house telling him of his conservation he had with Billy. Mr. Menden scratches his head and told him not to read too much into it.

  “Mr. Young’s job is to investigate the case for the district attorney, he’s going to find information he feels will help the prosecutor’s case.”

  “I don’t know, why would they be asking about my temperament, it doesn’t matter what temper someone has, especially in this case.” The phone rests on Johnny’s shoulder listening to the lawyer’s response.

  “In this case, it does, because I think they’re to find out if you’re capable of committing the crime. Look, let me handle this.”

  About a few weeks later, just after Thanksgiving. Taney’s bar, which is located on Spencer Street in the center of downtown Black Meadows, had Christmas decorations with songs piping in from the jukebox. It was very crowded, because of the holiday season.

  Bob Taney was serving Carl Byron, a popular high school teacher and coach when James Young and Odell Muir enter the place. Taney asks the men what he could get for them. Carl said the “screwdriver” was pretty good.

  Muir fiddles with a stick that was used to stir a drink and parks his butt on a stool. “Oh, you can start by telling me what happened to you and your wife earlier this year?”

  Taney became startled, holding a beer glass as Muir and Young stare at him, he shudders with his head shaking. He describes what he told Sgt. Martinelli. “My wife and I were about to close for the night, when four hoodlums came into the bar and demanded money. They were also accompanied by this big, fat, blonde haired kid.”

  “What did you do?” Muir asks him, while knowing the answer.

  “Naturally, we gave it to them, but they weren’t satisfied. So, I offered to give them the money from my wallet and it wasn’t enough for them.”

  “What happened then?” Young asks with a smirk.

  As Taney explains how they roughed both he and his wife up; he hyperventilates. Carl gets him a paper bag as sweat poured down Bob’s face. The unpleasant thoughts of that night rush back like a raging river. “I’ll never forget those faces.”

  “Are you sure it was
the same gang?” Young asks holding an empty glass.

  Taney’s mouth is wide open. “Yes, they were the ones killed by Johnny Bellow. I thank God everyday he got rid of those thugs. It has been safer ever since the shooting.” Taney put the conversation on a hiatus to pour a drink for a customer in an effort to try to clear his head.

  Muir’s miscreant and devious smile permeates the ambience. “Well, if anyone asks you about it, you are to put a happy face on it.”

  Taney marches forward. “What the hell are going talking about?” Muir motions him to lower his voice. “You want me to lie about it?” He didn’t know what to say.

  Muir only requests he omit a few details and make it look like it was not as graphic as he described. “We don’t need to rehash these details.”

  Taney grimaces while ordering that he and his associate leave the bar. “You don’t know what it’s like to go through such a horrendous experience!” As he wipes a glass clean with a paper towel, Muir and Young vacate the stools, they stand next to the counter while Young presses his elbows.

  Young turns to smirk. “Look, Taney, we know that you’ve been giving drinks to underage customers.” He continues talking and holding a piece of blank paper.

  Taney slams his fist on the counter emphatically stating that he had checked every person who ever entered the bar.

  Young speaks like butter was melting in his mouth. “Well, that’s probably true.” He quickly scans the bar. “You must understand this is a small business, and in order for you to fight this charge in court, it will cost you a lot of money.” Taney frowns. “I’d hate to see anyone lose their business, especially if it turns out the charges are without foundation.”

  Taney was about to lunge for Young, but Carl’s large frame stopped him; his face was red, but he is reticent as the two gentlemen left the bar. He turns to Carl as Taney’s wife walks by to thank him.

  The next day turned cold and snowy. A woman who was pushing a shopping cart had to make an extra effort to move it through the slush. She manages to make it to the district attorney’s office. The receptionist told her that her carriage wasn’t allowed in the building. Her old coat is tattered with the scarf dangling from her neck. The woman begs the receptionist, “Please, ma’am, it’s snowing real hard and all my belongings are in here.”