The Judge Who Stole Christmas

by Randy Singer

  By Ajori’s hasty calculations, they could still get in a few hours of shopping if they left immediately. Since Ajori was now on Christmas vacation, it was a no-brainer. The girls guilt-tripped their mom into handing over her credit card, and they were off.

  Jasmine received the call while riffling through the faded jeans in the Old Navy store. “Jasmine, it’s Mr. Greenway. I got your cell number from your mom.”

  Jasmine shot a glance at Ajori, a few feet away looking at sweaters. Jasmine ducked her head and wandered toward the other side of the store. “Hey,” she said. Though it seemed awkward not to say his name, she wasn’t out of earshot of Ajori yet and she was pretty sure she knew why Greenway was calling.

  “Have you thought about my offer?” Greenway asked. “Barker tried to resign again after last Friday’s fiasco.”

  “I really haven’t had time to think about much of anything these last few days,” Jasmine confessed. She was trying to casually walk away from Ajori, but her little sister had picked up the scent and was following her. “And that’s the problem. I’m just so busy as it is. There’s no way I could take on something else.”

  Greenway paused long enough to show his disappointment. “Is that a no, then?”

  Jasmine sighed. For some reason, she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. Ajori was closing in, so Jasmine waved her off. This, of course, made Ajori move closer.

  “I’m not a coach, Mr. Greenway,” Jasmine said softly, turning her back on her little sister. “There’s a big difference between being a player and a coach.”

  “You’d do great, Jazz. You were a natural the other night.”

  Jasmine started to object, but Ajori was hovering too close for her to say anything else that might give away this conversation. The last thing Jasmine needed was her little sister begging her to do this.

  “Tell you what,” Greenway continued. “How about if I have Barker drop some game films off at your mom’s. You can watch the tapes of the first few games that you didn’t see. You look at the game films tomorrow and ask yourself honestly if you could help this team. The Christmas tournament starts next week, so I’ll need your decision by Saturday.”

  Jasmine kept one eye on Ajori. How could she phrase this? “What’s the alternative?” she asked.

  “I talk Barker out of quitting. Or talk Rebecca Arlington into taking over.”

  Jasmine closed her eyes. She could outcoach either of them in her sleep. “I’ll come pick them up,” she said.

  “Pick what up—the tapes?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow. Is there someplace there I could watch them?”

  “At the school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure. There aren’t any students here, so I’ll set you up in a classroom. Is Ajori listening to your end of this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I get it.”

  By now Ajori was giving Jasmine dirty looks. Prime shopping time was slipping away.

  “Gotta run,” Jasmine said.

  “What time you coming by?” Greenway asked.

  “Does nine work?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 22

  A man who identified himself only as Santana Kringle shuffled toward the judge’s bench, head down, hands cuffed behind his back. His long, matted gray bread covered most of his face but couldn’t hide the red and bulbous nose, one of many signs that his body had processed enough alcohol for ten men. His hair receded and he wore it straight back, tucking the greasy gray strands behind his ears. His clothes, including a heavy wool coat, were grimy and tattered, faded to the color of the streets. His body odor arrived at the judge’s dais a few seconds before Santana himself did.

  The prosecutor stood beside him while a marshal loitered a few steps behind.

  Judge Cynthia Baker-Kline looked at her docket sheet and smirked when she saw the name. Last month, the day before Thanksgiving, this same man had identified himself as John Pilgrim. “Is this man dangerous?” the judge asked the prosecutor. She was a new member of the U.S. attorney’s staff, someone Judge Baker-Kline had seen only a few times before.

  “I don’t believe so, Your Honor.”

  “Then uncuff him.”

  As the marshal complied, Santana looked up.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kringle.”

  “Good morning, Judge.”

  “You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one—”

  “I’ll waive it,” Santana said.

  “You know where to sign.”

  The prosecutor shoved some papers in front of the man, and he scribbled his signature. The prosecutor put the paper in her file and then began reading the charges. “Mr. Kringle is being charged with trespass on government property,” she began. “The steps of this courthouse, Judge. We asked him to leave several times, but he refused.”

  “Guilty,” Santana said.

  The prosecutor looked stunned. Judge Baker-Kline smiled. “You want two days or three, Mr. Kringle?”

  “What’s the weather supposed to be like?” the defendant asked.

  “Chance of rain or maybe even a little snow tomorrow,” the judge said. “Supposed to warm up some on Christmas. Tuesday should be all the way up to the fifties.”

  “I’ll stay through Christmas, Judge.”

  “Suit yourself.” She banged her gavel. “I find the defendant guilty of trespass on government property and hereby sentence him to three days in the federal holding tank.” She glanced back at the federal marshal. “Make sure he gets a turkey dinner on Monday.”

  She had issued the same order on Thanksgiving and on the same two holidays last year. For some reason, making sure that the Norfolk bum had a warm place to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas made her feel as good as any order she entered all year.

  Santana smiled, showing rows of yellow teeth. “God bless you, Judge. The homeless shelter is pretty crowded this time of year.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Judge Baker-Kline said.

  By 11:00 a.m. Jasmine had watched two full games and taken nearly five pages of notes. She sat back in the chair and rubbed her tired eyes. She was getting caught up in this—she couldn’t help it. Her sister’s team wasn’t that bad; certainly much better than their 1–7 record. They had the talent to beat most of these teams. All they needed was a change in philosophy and a little . . .

  Stop! she told herself. You’re a law student, not a basketball coach. What are you even doing here?

  She looked at the videotapes on the desk, all labeled with the names of familiar schools. Each brought back memories of a certain gym with its own unique smell and feel, the different chants of the student bodies, the dead spots on the gym floors, silencing the other team’s crowd, celebrating with teammates afterward. She wanted Ajori to have those same memories. But even if Jasmine was willing to sacrifice her last semester of law school, could she coach well enough to turn this team around?

  One thing was sure, nothing could be worse than Barker.

  Her mind wandered to the Hammond case. Everyone expected the appellate court to rule today, and Arginot had promised to call as soon as the opinion came down. If they won, Arginot would blanket the talk shows between now and Christmas morning while Thomas would probably be back out on the square on Christmas Eve. Jasmine allowed herself to linger there for a moment. How sweet would that be? A candlelight Christmas Eve service on the town square.

  But if they lost? She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that.

  She looked back at the pile of tapes, trying to decide which one to watch next, then smiled as her eyes landed on the tape of Hoosiers. It had been included with the other tapes left in this classroom for Jasmine to watch. There was a note attached to it: I showed this one to the team for inspiration.

  That, in a nutshell, was Barker’s problem—believing a movie like this would motivate girls today. The movie was about a dysfunctional Indiana high school basketball team from the fifties that nobody believed could win. A new charism
atic coach, played by Gene Hackman, moved into town and rallied the team behind him. They ended up winning the state championship, beating teams from schools ten times their size in the process.

  Jasmine had seen the movie—what basketball player hadn’t?—but she knew it wouldn’t motivate high school girls in the twenty-first century. She popped it in for fun, just to laugh at the short shorts with the little belts and the old-school set shots the players used. Jasmine was pretty sure that any half-decent girls’ team from Possum’s league could beat the team featured in Hoosiers. Times had changed . . . for everybody but Coach Barker.

  The tape hadn’t been rewound, but that was all right. Sure enough, the players all wore their skintight short shorts with long (and very white) legs sticking out the bottom. Tank tops were in, short hair was in, and the girls all wore bobby socks. What nonsense, trying to motivate Ajori’s team with this.

  Jasmine was now viewing a scene where the head coach in Hoosiers tried to get himself tossed out of the game so the assistant coach, a recovering alcoholic, would realize that he could coach all by himself and earn the respect of his son in the process. After a bad call, Hackman’s character went toe-to-toe with the ref.

  “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Hackman yelled.

  The ref tried to calm him down, but to no avail. “You’re a disgrace to the profession!” Hackman screamed.

  Jasmine sat up in her chair and leaned forward. Pathetic. A disgrace to the profession. Almost the exact words!

  She watched as Hackman edged closer to the referee. “Throw me out,” he said, nearly whispering.

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “Kick me out of the game or I’ll start screaming like a mad fool.”

  The ref shrugged, said, “I guess you have your reasons,” and tossed the coach out.

  “What?” Hackman yelled. “That’s ridiculous!” He sulked out of the gym, leaving his assistant to handle the team on his own, discovering in the process that he could actually coach.

  Jasmine ejected Hoosiers and scrambled for the Franklin High tape. She ran it on fast-forward until she found the place where Barker was ejected. Given the sparse attendance, it was not surprising that the camera picked up most of what Barker had said. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. It was a carbon copy of Hoosiers, just with longer shorts worn by girls instead of guys. There was even a segment where Barker leaned in and said something to the ref, just before he got thrown out. Though she couldn’t hear it, Jasmine was pretty certain what was said.

  She shook her head at the discovery. She couldn’t tell from the tape whether Barker had gotten himself thrown out so Rebecca Arlington could coach, or whether he somehow knew that Jasmine would step in. But one thing was clear—Barker intentionally instigated his own ejection as some warped attempt to groom a replacement.

  Jasmine wasn’t sure what to think as she called Greenway. “Who put these tapes together for me?” she asked.

  “Coach Barker, as far as I know. I asked him to pull together the game tapes for your review and place them in that classroom. He didn’t sound happy about it, but I think he came in early this morning.”

  “Is he still here?”

  Greenway scoffed. “Jazz, it’s the day before the Christmas weekend. There’s nobody here but you, me, and one member of the janitorial crew.”

  “Dumb question.” Jasmine thought for a moment. “What does Barker teach?”

  “Psychology and sociology,” Greenway replied. She could hear the curiosity in his voice. “Does that matter? We’re not asking you to teach.”

  “Just checking.” Jasmine heard the telltale beep that indicated another call on her cell. She checked the number. “Can I call you right back?” she asked the principal. “I’ve got another call I need to take.”

  Arginot’s name appeared on the screen, and she punched the button to answer. It was hard to even breathe, knowing that he might be calling with the Fourth Circuit’s decision. “Hello.”

  “The clerk just announced that the Fourth Circuit will issue their opinion at 5:00 p.m. today,” Arginot said. “They’re going to post it on their Web site.”

  Jasmine relaxed, but only for a second. “That doesn’t give us much time to appeal if we lose.”

  “Or for the other side if we win,” Arginot responded. “Either way, I’ll be ready. I’ve already investigated the best way to get a petition to the appropriate Supreme Court justice on Saturday if we have to.”

  “Good. But let’s hope we don’t have to.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, charting out plans for the worst-case scenario—an emergency appeal to the Supreme Court. It occurred to Jasmine how fortunate she was to still have Arginot involved in the case. At least he was admitted to the Supreme Court bar.

  She hung up the phone and began worrying in earnest. The tapes no longer held any appeal.

  After lunch, Judge Baker-Kline called her law clerk into her office. She handed the clerk a medium-sized box wrapped in brightly colored paper decorated with pictures of the Grinch, his heart bursting from his chest. The judge had written the name of Santana Kringle on the outside but no indication of whom the present was from. It was the same paper she had used for the gift she gave the clerk earlier that morning.

  “I’ve got one more thing I’d like for you to do today, and then you can get an early start on the weekend,” Judge Baker-Kline said. She had plans to stay until the Fourth Circuit opinion came down, but she would rather face it alone.

  “Okay.”

  The judge handed the box to the clerk. “Could you take this to the jail? Make sure Mr. Kringle gets it when he leaves.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the clerk said. The judge could see the curiosity in the young girl’s eyes, but politeness won out. “Anything else?” the clerk asked.

  “No. That’s it.”

  The clerk hesitated for a moment, apparently unsure of whether she should say anything about the upcoming Fourth Circuit’s decision. “Merry Christmas, Judge. Have a great weekend.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Judge Baker-Kline bent over her papers and went back to work, thinking about how warm Santana would be in his new wool jacket.

  Jasmine worried herself sick all afternoon. She skipped lunch, drove to her apartment in Virginia Beach, and weighed the scenarios—what to do if they won, what to do if they lost. She ignored phone calls and waited alone in her apartment, surfing the Internet and listening to Fox News. She wanted to digest the opinion alone, giving herself time to collect her thoughts before she sprang into action. Theresa was at the jail with Bernice’s cell phone—waiting along with Thomas for a phone call from Jasmine.

  Jasmine went to the Fourth Circuit site a few minutes before five, just in case, and then double-clicked on the icon for Today’s Opinions. It loaded slowly, unusual for Jasmine’s DSL line. She double-clicked again and got an error message. Frustrated, she tried a third time. Another error message!

  Argh! It was now 4:59. The opinion was either out or coming out, she had a client relying on her, and for some reason she couldn’t access the site. She tried again. No luck. The heavy traffic from those who wanted to download the opinion must have crashed the site.

  She picked up her cell and dialed Arginot. A recording. She cursed at her laptop. Then a Fox News reporter announced a breaking story.

  She turned up the television and considered the irony. Here she was, counsel of record, learning the result just like every other American.

  “Fox News has just learned that a sharply divided three-judge panel for the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals has affirmed the order of District Judge Cynthia Baker-Kline. It appears that the man who has become known as the ‘Crèche Crusader’ will spend Christmas Day in jail.”

  Jasmine’s heart dropped to her knees. She thought she was prepared for this, but her emotions started running away with her. She tried the Web site again. When it wouldn’t load, she slammed her fist on the desk. Is this justice? she demanded of no one
. They flashed some segments of the Fourth Circuit opinion on the screen, and Jasmine found herself seething at Judge Baker-Kline. How could the Fourth Circuit let her get away with this?

  She flicked channels to see if she could learn more about the opinion. A CNN reporter was interviewing an attorney who babbled on about the precedent of the ruling. CBS was still running its regularly scheduled programming. But the ABC channel had interrupted for a special report—the reporter was actually interviewing Arginot on the steps of the courthouse. Arginot must have been waiting there so he’d look like a real lawyer for the television cameras.

  “We’ll appeal,” Arginot promised. “We all knew that the Supreme Court would ultimately have to make this call. This is one battle, not the war.”

  “How quickly do you think the Supreme Court will rule?” a reporter asked.

  “We can’t say for sure.” Arginot looked directly into the camera, the composure oozing from his tailored suit and overcoat. “But we’re hoping for a Christmas miracle.”

  Jasmine scoffed and dialed her mom’s cell phone number. She hated this part.

  “Hello,” Theresa Hammond said.

  “We lost,” Jasmine said. Dead silence filled the line. “I’m on my way over. We’ll talk when I get there.”

  “Okay.” Theresa’s voice was thin, fragile. “I’ll tell Thomas.”

  Thomas and Theresa listened intently as Jasmine explained the nuances of the opinion she had finally retrieved from the Fox News Web site. Theresa seemed close to tears, but Thomas showed no emotion. “I really wish the town had filed an expedited appeal along with us,” Jasmine said. “The court took great pains to say, in a footnote, that this opinion did not mean the Fourth Circuit was affirming Baker-Kline’s rulings against the town’s manger scene display. In fact, let me read you their exact language.” Jasmine thumbed through a few pages.

  “Today’s opinion is limited to the issue of whether Mr. Hammond had a constitutionally protected right to erect his own manger scene, with no other symbols of the Christmas holiday, on the town square. This opinion does not address whether the town’s prior displays were constitutional or not. It would appear to this court on first blush that the secular nature of the town’s Operation Xmas Spirit display is equivalent to the display upheld by the Supreme Court in Lynch v. Donnelly. But the town did not request an expedited appeal, and this court does not give advisory opinions. Resolution of the constitutionality of the town’s displays will be decided on another day, after full briefing and argument before the court.”