The Archangel Drones

by Joe Nobody

  “Have you seen the video?” Gabe asked.

  “Video? This is the first I’ve heard of any video.”

  “Chip filmed the cops beating Jacob in the street. I’ve not seen it yet, but I’m told it’s very disturbing.”

  “Email me a copy of the video as soon as possible, please. In the meantime, I’ll let the district attorney know I’m representing your son. They’ll most likely schedule an arraignment soon. I’ll go in front of the judge, plead Jacob not guilty, and see if I can get him released on his own recognizance.”

  Gabe watched his new ally exit down the hall, his confidence returning. The check they’d written for a retainer was going to hurt, as were the hospital bills. For a moment, he wondered if the county was going to foot the bill for Jacob’s medical costs, but quickly dismissed the notion. So far, the local government hadn’t exactly performed like a well-oiled machine, and he doubted they’d ever see a penny.

  The nurse soon shooed them away, having given the parents an extra 30 minutes after normal visiting hours to remain with their son. The gesture wasn’t lost on a thankful Gabe and Sandy.

  They drove home in silence, both of them processing and reprocessing recent events in hopes of organizing their thoughts and implementing a plan. When the passing landscape began to look familiar, Gabe announced, “After I drop you off, I’m going to head over to Chip’s house and watch that video. I think I can handle it now that we know Jacob is going to be okay.”

  “I want to go,” his wife responded sternly. “He’s my son, too.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, hon. Chip said it was pretty rough, and the last 24 hours haven’t been a picnic. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’ll be okay. I want to go.”

  Gabe knew enough not to attempt further discouragement, his 20 years of marriage having taught him that Sandy was a kind, big hearted person. But, when the woman made up her mind, she was a stone pillar of resolve, and any attempt to change that was wasted energy.

  After calling Chip to make sure it wasn’t too late for a visit, they bypassed their own neighborhood and proceeded to Manny’s house. Seeing the still-parked Honda in the street initiated an unsettling bout of cold chills in both parents. Despite Chip having hosed it down twice, the street still contained dark splotches that both parents believed were their son’s blood.

  Amanda met them at the door, all smiles and warm welcomes. After refusing a cup of anything to drink and a quick update on Jacob’s status, the exhausted parents waited while Chip left to retrieve his laptop.

  Manny and Amanda couldn’t watch. Out of necessity, they’d watched the video once before, and that was enough. Each of them tried to convince Sandy it was a bad idea, but Jacob’s mother wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s a little shaky at first. I was freaking out and not paying much attention to what I was filming exactly,” announced Chip as he flipped open the computer’s screen. “Here we go.”

  The video was only three minutes long, but it was the worst three minutes of Gabe and Sandy’s life. Hearing Jacob scream, plead for mercy, and howl in pain while a circle of big men pounded, kicked, and sat on their son was off the scale horrible. On three separate occasions, Sandy had to turn away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Manny was quick with tissues and a reassuring touch on the shoulder.

  Visions of Jay flashed through Gabe’s mind, the day he first drew breath, his proud son beaming in a little league uniform, the look on the boy’s glowing face when he made the 8th grade basketball team.

  Another groan and screech of agony was emitted from the miniature speakers, recognizable immediately as sound coming from Jacob’s distressed throat. Suddenly Gabe could smell Jacob as a newborn… could envision his engaging Christmas morning toddler smile… flashed back to his junior high trumpet solo… a lifetime of memories made even more bittersweet by the knowledge that his son had been violated, and he had been powerless to help. He had to just sit there and watch his own flesh and blood be sadistically tortured.

  Gabe thought his chest was going to explode, his temple visibly pulsating with every beat of his broken heart… his anger turning into bile. For a bit, he had difficulty breathing. Watching those three minutes of footage constituted the worst experience of his entire life.

  On and on, the video streamed, the parents unable to turn away, yet praying for it to end.

  The room was silent after it finished, Sandy’s sniffles and Gabe’s heavy breathing the only sounds. Finally, the husband reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it tight.

  Gabe’s voice was ice cold when he finally spoke. “Thank you, Chip, for letting us come over. My attorney asked that we email him a copy of the video as soon as possible. Could I trouble you to send us both one?”

  “Sure, be glad to. I don’t know what happened out on that street, but it was wrong. It reminded me of those movies when the Nazi Brown Shirts burned and beat the Jews in Berlin back in the 30s. It was so… so… brutal and unnecessary. I hope you sue the pants off those cops.”

  After the goodbyes were completed, Gabe and Sandy drove off, the car filled with nothing but the hum of the tires. Several minutes passed before Gabe reached for his wife’s hand, the gesture accepted with a warm smile. “For the first time in my life, I want to kill,” Sandy confessed in a low voice. “I’ve never felt anything like this. If those policemen were in front of me right now, I would try to end their lives. What is happening to me, Gabe? What is going to happen to us?”

  “We’ll be fine,” he answered calmly. “It’s Jacob I’m worried about.”

  “District attorney’s office,” the lady answered.

  “Hi, Susanna, this is Adam Barlow. I need to speak to whomever has been assigned the Jacob Chase file.”

  “One moment, Mr. Barlow, I’ll see if it’s been logged yet.”

  Adam could hear the indistinct click of keyboard buttons, the background noise generating a vision of the administrator checking her computer screen. “That would be Assistant DA Grossman. I’ll connect you, sir.”

  The ADA actually picked up, the sound of his voice surprising the defense lawyer. “Grossman.”

  “Hey, Tony, this is Adam Barlow. I’m representing Jacob Chase, file number…”

  “No need, Adam. I’ve got the folder right here in front of me. Looks like a pretty clear-cut case of evading, resisting, and obstructing to me. Do you want to plead it out?”

  “The video we have tells a different story, Tony. I think we’ll take this one all the way,” Barlow replied, his voice growing icy cold.

  There was a long pause, the word “video” causing the prosecutor to flip pages, giving him time to think. “I see here that the squad car’s dash camera was inoperable the morning of the arrest. You have a third party video?”

  Barlow’s next statement sounded almost cheery. “Oh, yes, we do. And there isn’t a judge in the county that’s going to like what’s on it. The reason for my call is to give your office a heads up. I’m filing for dismissal today, and I want charges pressed against these officers.”

  Again, the people’s lawyer scanned the file, his mind racing with the ramifications of Barlow’s words. Not another one of those damn videos, he was thinking. Here we go again.

  Not spotting any proverbial smoking guns within the meager police report, Tony replied, “I’d like to see this video, Counselor. Perhaps we could meet a few minutes before the arraignment outside Judge Pearson’s chambers.”

  “Fine by me, Tony. I’ll show you the signed witness statements at the same time. I have a stack of them, and I intend to use them both to clear my client’s name and as evidence against the officers. I’ll bring you a set of copies.”

  As soon as the defense attorney disconnected, Tony dialed his boss’s extension. “We’ve got a problem, and it’s Officer Marwick again,” he reported.

  “What the hell has that gorilla done this time?” the perturbed District Attorney responded.

  “Same as before, only t
his time the idiot did it in front of multiple witnesses… and a camera. Adam Barlow is on this like a pig on shit. He’s filing for dismissal today at the arraignment, and he means to show the judge the video.”

  “Well, at least it isn’t on the internet… yet. Let me know how bad it is, and I’ll warn the chief what’s coming. Oh, and break out some of that new level four body armor. One of these days, that man’s going to shoot the messenger.”

  The two attorneys met in the county courthouse, outside of District Court 11, in an area reserved for just such assemblies.

  Barlow started with the video, noting the other lawyer grimace several times during its three-minute length. After it was over, Tony regained his composure quickly. “That doesn’t prove anything, Adam. Everybody knows that it never looks good when the cops have to use force to subdue a rowdy suspect.”

  “He didn’t try to evade, Counselor. Just a few days prior to this incident, my client monopolized a basketball game in which the officer’s son was the on-court opponent. That’s the true reason why Marwick pulled Jacob Chase over. He saw the kid drive by and decided to get a little payback.”

  “Bullshit,” Tony pushed back. “According to the officer, the kid didn’t pull over for a significant distance. He was clearly trying to evade, buy time to dump his stash of dope, or something. Everybody knows the cops hate a runner more than anything.”

  “There was no evasion, sir. There was no high-speed chase. The kid pulled over in less than two blocks after the lights came on, and he kept the speedometer below the limit.”

  The prosecutor shook his head, “Again, Adam, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s the kid’s word against a cop, and we both know that the judge is going to believe an officer of the law over any teenager, no matter how good his jump shot is.”

  Adam shook his head, pointing at the computer where a new video started playing.

  The second recording was in black and white, depicting an image of a small parking lot, with a street beyond. Digital numbers displayed the time and date in the lower, right hand corner.

  A car appeared in the scene, a police cruiser riding its bumper, but the roof-mounted lights were not flashing. “This is a video from the storage unit business at the corner, less than three blocks from where Jacob’s car was stopped. You can clearly see the officer did not have his emergency lights engaged. He’s lying… again.”

  Tony’s head snapped up at that last word, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So, is the district attorney’s office willing to drop the charges against my client, or are you going to tarnish that fine establishment’s reputation even further by going in front of the judge?”

  The less-experienced attorney didn’t respond at first, his eyes darting back to the computer screen. Adam gave the man more than ample time to respond before frowning with disappointment and closing the laptop. “You’re making a mistake, Tony. Instead of going after an innocent kid, your office should be out in front of this, dropping the charges against my client and filing a list of felony charges against those cops. That’s about the only way this county is going to avoid a massive public outcry. Who knows, Houston might become a Ferguson on steroids.”

  The ADA shook his head. “Come on, Adam, be reasonable. You know there’s an election coming up, and there hasn’t been a district attorney elected in this city without the endorsement of the Police Officer’s Union for over 40 years. If we go after Marwick, the union will come after us. My boss isn’t going to go for that.”

  Barlow’s eyes bored into the man across from him, a cloud of frost filling the room. He raised an accusing finger at the ADA and hissed, “That kid’s world has been shattered, Tony. He had a full boat scholarship to play ball at a good school, and our abusive police department has killed that dream. Everything he’s worked for… poof! Gone! That could have been my son… or yours… or anybody’s. He doesn’t come from a wealthy family. He’s definitely not some privileged brat. The medical bills alone are probably going to send his folks into bankruptcy. This excessive force has to stop, and we both know it.”

  Tony didn’t like be lectured. “Now aren’t we just the high and mighty crusader for justice and morality?” the heated rebuttal began. “So we had a cop who stuck his toe over the line? It happens. These guys stick their asses up in the air like targets every single night. They see more shit in a week than most people see in a lifetime. They take risks to catch the bad guys, and then assholes like you and me let them go back on the streets to hurt more people. So yeah, they take a little retribution now and then, but overall, the system works. If we start hanging every cop who makes a mistake, that same system won’t work. We need those men and women in blue. Without them, society would fall apart, and if that happens, it won’t be a police officer roughing up your precious, fair-haired client – it will be a criminal who won’t let him off with a few bumps and bruises.”

  Adam shook his head, having heard it all before. Reaching into a file folder, he produced a picture of Jacob’s knee, and shoved it across the table. “This is a few bruises and bumps? This is a toe over the line? Marwick is going to kill somebody, Tony, and we both know it. Will that constitute sticking a toe over the line as well?’”

  A complete dismissal of the charges against Jacob was beyond Tony’s level of authority. “I’ll have to take this back to my superiors and mull it over. How about we ask the judge to reschedule the arraignment for a few days out?”

  “Fine by me, but no more than 48 hours. My client is scheduled to leave the hospital day after tomorrow, and I want him going home with his parents, not back to the county jail.”

  District Attorney Sanders grimaced as she scrutinized the video of Jacob Chase’s arrest. Her reaction, however, wasn’t due to the howling, misery-laced cries of the suspect, nor was she concerned about the officers’ behavior.

  No, what bothered the county’s most powerful elected official was the potential public relations nightmare the video was sure to bring.

  Barely 5’3” tall, thin framed, and often referred to as being “mousey” behind her back, the slender woman’s outward appearance gave few clues to the furnace of aspiration that burned within.

  She’d joined the Harris County office as an associate after serving one post-graduation year clerking for a federal judge. Her degree from the University of Texas School of Law, complete with the designation of “summa cum laude” on her sheepskin, meant the legal world was the young graduate’s oyster. But she wasn’t interested in contract law, teaching, or hanging her shingle in the corporate world.

  Bypassing numerous offers from prestigious firms throughout the Lone Star State, she held fast to a seemingly insatiable desire to put criminals behind bars. She was passionate about defending the people.

  Ferocious, unyielding, and deftly skilled in front of a jury, the young Ms. Sanders quickly made a name for herself throughout the legal community of the nation’s fourth largest city. When she had been elected for the first time 12 years ago, Karen Sanders had campaigned as an aggressive, “no holds barred” crime fighter.

  She’d seen so much during those years. One of the most striking developments affecting her profession being the advancement of technology. Everything from forensics to investigation tools had been touched by the developments.

  So much of the digital age was a positive for law enforcement. Social media, for example, provided insight into many a criminal’s mindset and was now commonly introduced at trials to prove a frame of reference or intent… sometimes even as evidence of a confession.

  Innovations in communications interception made privacy a myth. Computer system forensics that could even retrieve the browsing history of the accused now played a role in the day-to-day prosecutions by her office. The police could track and retrace a suspect’s travels via cell phone towers. Cameras could read license plate numbers, placing a specific automobile at the scene of the crime. The availability of this information created a swirling, ever-expanding toolbox to be us
ed for the people’s cause.

  But, like most revolutions, there were negatives as well. Criminals had become skilled at manipulating technology at unprecedented levels, committing felonies ranging from identity theft to blocking critical police communications with portable radio jammers.

  Of all the changes she’d seen impact her prosecutorial duties, the public distribution of citizens’ recordings from smartphone cameras was one of the most significant developments of the last five years.

  Most video was helpful. Police dash cameras had been used countless times to convict criminals or exonerate officers of bogus charges. These days, it seemed like every business, ATM, city bus, and citizen was now equipped to capture historical events. Heck, just about every 10-year-old kid in America owned the kind of phone that fueled documentary filmmaker fantasies. The law enforcement agenda had profited tremendously from the availability of the feed. In the vast majority of cases such evidence was beneficial in putting criminals behind bars.

  But not always.

  A wave of online video had invaded what was once a private, seldom witnessed aspect of society - the policing of America.

  The spectacle of cops interacting with citizens was exciting stuff, often worthy of cell phone recording. For many, the act was merely a “one upping” of rubbernecking a freeway accident during rush hour. True opportunists realized that news outlets would pay for video of major crime scenes. So would defense lawyers and their experts.

  Karen could remember watching the Rodney King video in law school, her professor predicting that the event would shift law enforcement tactics and procedures across the country… and within a matter of just a few years at most. In the end, the prophecy had been incorrect… or at least ambitious in its fulfillment. Despite millions of cell phones being on the street and each generation able to record significantly better quality images, the threat of being taped had done little to modify the average street cop’s daily routine.