Misdemeanor Trials

by Milton Schacter

  The Federal Agent in the dark suit, white shirt, short hair and paisley tie, which described both and either of them asked, “Mr. Trader, do you think you could identify this Mr. Rhodes if you saw him?” His voice had no personality. John imagined his name was Ralph and that the other agent’s name was also Ralph.

  “Sure,” said John.

  “Great,” said one of the Ralph twins. “We’d like you to come to the Federal Building this afternoon and go through some photos to see if you can identify him. We have a track record on the name of Darby Rhodes, but no one has seen him. We don’t have a photo. We don’t have a sighting. The senior Madani is uncooperative. Omid Madani is too young and unskilled in the type of operation that we think is necessary. You are the only person available who could possibly identify him, and we have to do that. We think he is dangerous. Your cooperation is very important.”

  John replied, “Thanks, but right now I am very busy. I have a trial that is starting this morning. I have to be there.”

  “Give it to Cody,” said Tom.

  “Tom, this is the biggest trial I have had,” said John.

  Give it to Cody,” said Tom.

  “Meeting over,” said the DA.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  THE LINEUP

  John leafed through photos at the federal building. He had already looked through digital photos on a computer terminal, and spent a brief time with an artist trying to reconstruct the face of Darby Rhodes. Now he leafed through a book, thinking about the trial he was missing, and how he had spent hours with his legal yellow pad, developing direct examination of the police officer, the direct examination of his one witness to the collision, direct examination of the EMT personnel, direct examination of the police mechanic who had inspected the vehicle for any malfunction, and the Medical Examiner. He had developed a framework for cross examination of the defendant if he testified. Cody would be able to do the trial, just by following the organization he had provided. John had written in limine Motions for the many items of evidence he wanted to introduce at trial, and had the outline of a sentencing memo for the guilty verdict he expected. It was this trial that captured his imagination, so his attention wandered as he looked at the faces of Middle Eastern men whose images began to blur. He had no interest in looking anymore. He had seen enough in his former life, but then he had seen them up close and unhappy, and oftentimes just about to die. Looking at the photos made his stomach react. He knew he would not be hungry for dinner that night, and that the memories would return. He did not see anyone who looked like Darby Rhodes or the guy who drove Darby Rhodes around. He told Ralph.

  “Fine, Mr. Trader,” said Ralph. “I can tell you that someone will be contacting you in the next day or two. They will want you to go to Washington for a short meeting. I suggest you pack a bag and keep it at the ready. It will be short notice. Like I said, no one but you can identify him, and he worries us.”

  “I’m not interested in going to Washington,” said John. “I am not interested in getting to know you guys. You have all the information I have. I have a job. I need to go to work. Find yourself someone else.”

  “You apparently are the person Washington wants to talk to for obvious reasons. If you don’t want to help on an issue of National Security, we could reactivate you into the military, probably by late tomorrow. Then you would receive a direct order to report to Washington. You would have to go. You would travel by military transport, not commercial. You would stay in the barracks and not a hotel. Your option.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  VAIL

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Trader. I think I am beginning to see what your issues are. I think you have good instincts that motivate you to seek discussions with me, but I need to know a bit more about you, and some of the things you have learned in the examples and stories you have told me about so far. So go on and tell me more.”

  “Sure,” said John. “When I returned that Summer from active duty I was grappling with my next move, whatever that might be. The complexities of battle and the daily unbelievable pressure to stay alive were so different from the simplistic carefree life back here. The change left me a little untethered. I felt it was important to touch base with old friends and hopefully to get grounded again. I was a fairly competent pilot so I rented a small plane and headed to Vail.

  “‘How far away,’ I asked myself, ‘is Vail?’ I calculated 2 hours and 35 minutes. I could stop there and have a quick lunch with an old friend. Jasmine and I first met a long time ago on the ski slopes. We met on a weekend while riding up the chairlift. It was brutally cold and she was bundled up. I didn't know if she was fifteen or fifty, but she certainly looked good in her ski outfit. On the ride we talked and I could not get over how funny she was and how feminine she seemed. I was new to the mountain, and she lived there and knew the entire mountain. She said, ‘Follow me. I'll show you the mountain.’ I knew that if I couldn't keep up with her, she would ski off. That would be okay. Good skiers don't like to be held up. Not until that day had I ever in my life skied that fast, or that focused, but I kept up. We talked on the chairlift and I found out she was single, and never been married. I asked her why she had never married. She said. 'Love is a game.'

  “I asked, ‘If it’s a game, what are the rules?’

  “She said, 'Do what I want, whenever I want, make no demands of me whatsoever, and love me forever.'

  “I asked, 'If that is the case, how do you decide who wins?'

  “She said, 'You don't understand. I'm the only one who wins.' And then she laughed. ‘It’s a great game.'

  “I still can't get over how good she looked and how funny she was, and how truly affectionate she was. That winter I was there, in Vail, every chance I got. I stayed with her in her home that could only be described as Sunset Magazine quality. She was beautiful enough to be the daughter of Jesus.

  “She asked me one day 'If I love you with all my heart, what would you give me?' Then she stopped and said I didn't have to answer that because she was going to do it anyway. She told me that in other ways than words. Whenever she made love, she gave herself over, and I could tell, and it was wonderful. She was funny when we were standing in front of her mirror and she pushed me over with her hip and said we looked pretty good for a couple that had no clothes on. I knew her better as time went by. She was unfolding, and showing herself. More incredibly she was making me believe that I had a heart that does more than pump blood. I think about these things, and I smile a lot.

  “And so it goes.

  “That Summer after I got back from the Middle East, she agreed to meet at a small cafe near the airport. I landed, walked over to the cafe, sat and waited at a table outside, with the umbrella protecting me from the warm sun. It was a deep blue sky with cotton ball clouds slowly floating by, and the air was so clear that I felt I could reach out and touch them. And then she arrived. She looked really good. And we sat down and had some lunch and chatted.

  "How have you been?" She asked.

  “I said 'Fine'. And then I said 'How have you been?'

  “She chuckled a bit and said she had lost several million dollars in the stock market.

  “And we chatted. And it became time for me to go, and she told me that she was getting married. He was a bit older than she was, and they could not decide whose house to move into. He also had a place in New York. I told her I was happy for her. She reached across the table and put her hand over mine. She looked at me and I could see she was beginning to cry. 'I loved you, John. In my fantasy I thought something could happen, that maybe we could be together.' And her lips lied when she said, 'But I don't anymore', because her tears were telling the truth. My heart ached.

  “After lunch I took off and flew west, over Grand Junction, Farmington, Milford, Cedar City, Tonopah, and they were mere spots on the map, droned out by the sound of the engine and the flush of the beautiful day. And I landed, and I didn't want to be there.

  “You ask me what she taught me. Ja
smine taught me intimacy. She taught me that her heart could speak, and how I could listen. When I first met her I knew I would have to spend the next few days rearranging my mind so there would be room for her. I didn't notice much when I was with her. I was always looking at the way the light shined in her hair or the way her dress opened to the wind, and the favorite places in my mind were places filled with her.”

  The Doctor looked at him and asked “Why did you end what you have described was a very good relationship?”

  “I guess it was because ski season was over,” replied John.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  SARAH

  John got the call a few days later. He waited on the curb at Reagan National Airport in Washington. He was told someone would pick him up at the arrival level outside the baggage area for United, and that his ride knew what he looked like. He held his duffel bag and stood on the edge of the curb. He was dressed in his recently purchased pinstriped navy blue suit, white shirt and his favorite red tie. It was a pleasant late Spring evening with wispy horsetail clouds in the sky. John was hesitant to go to Washington and talk with the government. He had spent too many years dealing with government political correctness. That P.C. made it difficult for persons with principals, and focus, to make changes. In that environment he could not act naturally, and act in pursuit of solid government objectives that were for the benefit of the nation, not merely the benefit of the preservation of power and position of bureaucratic fat cats. Whatever gloom may await him as he talked with persons in the government, at least it was a nice day.

  After about fifteen minutes a black Chevy SUV with tinted windows pulled up quickly to the curb. The passenger window was lowered about half way. John could see the outline of a woman in the driver’s seat and he heard her say, “Mr. Trader, I’m your ride. Please get in.”

  John opened the passenger door, and threw his duffel onto the back seat. “Hi,” said John. “What’s the plan?”

  First of all, my name is Sarah. I’ll take you over to the Hilton at Dupont Circle. We’re scheduled for tomorrow morning, so if you would like, after you check in I can take you over to Ebbets for dinner. I’ll pay. The office said I could put it on my expense account.”

  Sarah was about his age, or a bit younger, and blandly feminine, thought John. She was dressed in a typical bureaucratic uniform, dark skirt, white blouse with her light brown hair tied on the top of her head. She wore glasses with heavy dark rims and no wedding ring. They shared the basic navy blue uniform of the typical government employee, but that was all, thought John in his first impressions. It was a relatively brief fifteen minute ride from the airport. John learned little about who Sarah was. She said she had been in the government for about ten years, was a low level intelligence officer, and was handed the assignment to pick up John. She said she wasn’t too happy about it, but when her boss said she could expense dinner at Ebbets, she willingly complied.

  When they arrived at the Hilton, Sarah said, “Okay, Mr. Trader, I will pick you up in 90 minutes right here. Don’t think just because you see a black Chevy SUV that it is me. It is the fed’s vehicle of choice in this town. A lot of residents buy them because they think the cops will leave them alone if they break traffic laws. It doesn’t work. I can show you my driving record. 'Til then.” She left a little rubber on the pavement when she squealed the tires leaving the curb.

  Ninety minutes later John stood at the curb, same suit, but now pressed, clean shirt and a blue tie. John traveled light. Dusk had turned into night, and the lights from the hotel illuminated three black Chevy SUVs, and a couple of black Lincoln Continentals, all with tinted windows. John waited. A few minutes later another SUV arrived, pulled up to him, and Sarah said, “Let’s go.” John got into the SUV, and again Sarah squealed the tires as they left the curb. In the dim light inside the SUV John could see that she looked different. Her hair was down on her shoulders, her glasses were gone, and she wore a bright red lipstick, and a dress that revealed her shoulders. This was a different woman that the one who picked him up at the airport. He was pleased.

  At Ebbets Sarah handed the keys to valet parking, and admitted to him that there were no parking places in Georgetown, ever.

  The Maître d' greeted them into the packed restaurant, and guided them to a leather-covered booth. They slid into the booth, and a few people passed by the table, waved and said, “Hi, Sarah.” She waved back. John asked her what she did for the government. She said she sat at a desk all day and sifted through communications and tries to put them in some order so they can be reviewed by higher ups. She said she was nowhere near any intelligence, and thought the only reason the agency kept her was because she had an audio eidetic memory.

  “What’s that?” asked John.

  “Oh, it’s like a photographic memory, but it is for things I hear. I can recall every word I hear, even if I don’t understand. I can even remember foreign words, even if I don’t understand the language. I took a lot of language courses in college because they were so easy. I get asked to attend some nervy inter-agency meetings because I can recall and relate everything that is said in the meeting. I guess it gives our guys a leg up when there are different views of what was said at the meeting. I haven’t met any spies yet. I really like what I do, except I do get tagged to pick up people at the airport. Today they said they would give me a dinner at Ebbets. I jumped at the chance, basically because I don't go out a lot. Remembering everything your date or significant other says does not lead to very successful romantic relationships.” John could tell she was hedging a little on her job. He understood, and let it go. He thought anyone in the intelligence business in government had to keep secrets. “What do you do, John?”

  John liked the fact that he had gone from “Mr. Trader” to “John.”

  “I’m a Deputy District Attorney, a prosecutor. I have only been doing it for a few months, but I try cases. I get to try to persuade people about the righteousness of my case, using some of my own ideas, and I get to do it in front of a jury, the judge, the court clerk, the bailiff, and the defendant, and I don’t have to sell tickets. I like what I do, just like you.”

  “Why did you become a lawyer?” Sarah asked.

  “When I got out of the military, I still had my English major from college, but the demand was quite low in an economy where most people already speak the language. The pressing reality was that I needed a job. I had some discharge money, so I went to Law School.”

  “Why did you join up with the government?” John asked.

  “That’s kind of a long story, but one I like to tell.”

  “We have time,” said John, “and the wine hasn’t come yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  MIKEE

  “Okay. I was in Paris. I don’t know why, but Roger, the guy who I was with, had been just an asshole the night before. The sun was coming up over Paris and I wanted to get out and see things because I had never been there before. I tried to wake him up, but he grunted and rolled over. He had the odor of too much French Bordeaux. I decided I wasn’t going to wait around. I rolled over and dialed the concierge and asked if there were any tours going on that morning. He said there weren’t too many that morning, but he did have one that was a day tour to the Normandy Beaches and the U.S. Cemetery at Omaha Beach. He said it was a fairly long bus ride. I told him to book me on it and asked when it left. He said the bus would be by the hotel in about twenty minutes. I literally threw on my clothes, ran a brush through my hair, put on a bandana, and headed down.

  “The weather was warm but overcast. The bus was waiting when I got downstairs and I boarded with several other people. The bus was big and looked comfortable and fairly full. I walked down the aisle looking for a seat. There was an older gentleman sitting alone towards the middle of the bus. I sat down beside him and he looked in my direction, nodded a greeting, and then continued to look out the window. The bus started and the steward brought me a cup of coffee. The old man declined any coffee. I put the cof
fee on the lap table and began to look through the several brochures of the trip I had grabbed as I got onto the bus. The old man looked in my direction.

  “I said, 'I've never been there, have you?'

  "'Yes.' He said, 'Once.'

  “The bus droned on over the French freeways and open countryside. Most of the riders were napping, trying to recover from jet lag so they could at least be awake for their three days in France. It was quiet.

  "'Were you there during the war?' I asked.

  "'Yes.' He said, 'I was there on the first assault at Omaha Beach.'”

  "'It must have been awful.'

  "'It was.' He paused for a moment. 'My mind is a bit fuzzy these days. I don't remember a lot of things about last week, or last year, or what I was doing twenty years ago, but I remember every minute of that day. And it is like it was only yesterday.'

  “He was speaking to me, but it seemed like he was talking to himself. ‘How did it happen?’ I asked.

  "‘How did it happen? I don't know.’

  “He paused and I waited. I didn't know what else to ask. He continued, 'I only know I was caught up in it. I joined ROTC in college, and when D-Day rolled around I was a Captain. I hadn't seen one day of action. My brother, Michael, joined the Coast Guard. He was the smart one. He wanted no part of the infantry and no part of the ocean except the part closest to the shore.

  "'Michael, or Mikee, as my mother called him, was born two years after me and a year before my sister. He figured that he would spend the war on a boat that would go up and down the coast and be back in some stateside port for dinner every night.'

  “He paused for a moment. ‘Smart boy, that Mikee.’ He said.

  “He paused for a while and looked out the window, like he had to catch his breath because there was so much to say.

  “‘On the day of the invasion my infantry unit spent a whole day filing onto the ships. We were on a LST filled with troops and loaded with Higgins boats. The weather was awful. It was raining and cold and the ship was so crowded there was no place to stay dry. Thousands of ships were everywhere you looked. We waited on that ship for almost a day before getting the word that the invasion was on. When the ships turned south toward France in the darkness before dawn I could see boats all over to our right and to our left, but none in front. We were the front. I was part of the 29th Infantry division, 116th Regiment, E Company. We were supposed to be the first to land at the easy red sector of Omaha beach. We would rush the beach and then climb the 50-foot bluff that led to the high ground. We were told there had been bombing of the beach, and the bluffs, and the German guns would be destroyed, so we thought it would be a cakewalk. A few miles off the coast of Normandy we began to climb down into the Higgins landing craft. I guess it was about four in the morning. The rather faint sound of the planes dropping bombs on the beachhead buoyed our spirits. The water was rough and the waves made it difficult to climb down the rope ladders to the boats. A few guys broke their legs jumping into the boats. They would miss D-Day. They were immediately replaced so we could fill the Higgins to its 18-troop capacity. The ocean was unsettled and the waves made everyone seasick. All I wanted to do was get off that boat. The Higgins circled and circled and circled. Finally the order was given to head into shore. The sound of the bombs suddenly stopped and there was a silence as we headed toward the shore. I learned later that the planes headed back towards England. Now it was our turn. The waves crashed over the sides of the boat. We were so wet and cold already, it didn't matter. The flat bottom boats bounced hard on every wave. Then the ship's big guns began to fire. Those 14 inch shells our battleships fired were so big I could see 'em as they passed over our small landing craft. Then the sound of the big guns stopped and it was replaced by the ping of enemy rifle fire against our Higgins boat. Then they threw bigger stuff at us. Enemy shells landed in front and on the side of our landing craft. The splash came over the side and added to the wet. Sergeant Beamer looked at me and said, “They're bracketing us. The next one's gonna make us duck soup.” Sure enough, a moment later there was the loudest noise I ever heard. The explosion ripped off the landing ramp and instantly killed the guys up front. I could see the beach was 200 yards away. Enemy fire came into the boat and guys starting getting killed. Beamer said the next shell would be right on top. I yelled for everyone to go over the side. I climbed over and everyone who was still alive started to climb over the sides. When I jumped, the eerie silence of being submerged was almost a relief, but I began to sink. I uncoupled my pack, dropped my rifle and fought to get to the surface. When I got to the surface, the Higgins was mostly in the water and everywhere around me were floating troops, and they were dead. I blew up my floatation device and tried to move towards shore. I could hear the sound of bullets passing around me and hitting the water. There were troops on the beach, lying all around. I thought they were pinned downed. Now I know most of them were dead. There were more Landing Craft coming in, some unloading their tanks and troops, and some sinking. It was a catastrophe. It was not a cakewalk. It was murder. I was alone. I finally reached the shore. I stopped and small waves were breaking over my head. 1 didn't know where to go or what to do. About 50 yards down the beach was a tank. It wasn't moving, but it was out of the water. I saw a couple of troops sitting behind it. I got up and ran to it as fast as my water soaked boots could take me. I was stepping over and on dead bodies. I couldn't help it. The bodies were like a carpet on the beach. I could hear the sound of bullets passing my face and I could hear the thud as some hit the sand, or a trooper lying dead on the beach. When I got to the tank there were three other troops there. The tank track was separated and the tank wasn't going anywhere. None of the troops had weapons and one was lying on the ground, bleeding and it was clear he was going to die. I looked closely and it was Sgt. Beamer. A shell exploded in front of the tank and stunned me with the shock. Sand and debris fell on us. When I looked up and shook the stuff out of my eyes I could see the other two troops. One was Mikee. It was impossible. I yelled at him. He turned around and a big smile crossed his face. I said to him 'I thought you were in the Coast Guard'. He told me he was, and this was the Normandy Coast. He pointed to a Higgins boat about 300 yards offshore that was half submerged. He said that was his boat when he was in the Coast Guard, but now he was instantaneously infantry, and so far he did not like the experience. Here he was, in the middle of a war, being shot at and he could still crack a joke. Mikee was a funny guy. We heard another shell incoming and we hit the sand. It landed 20 yards past us down the beach and once again we were showered with sand and debris mixed with blood. Beamer grabbed my arm and in a weak voice said, 'They're bracketing us. You won't hear the next one. You better get outta here.' I think those were Beamer's last words cause I am sure he died just then. I yelled at Mikee that we gotta go, the next one will be on top of us. We looked back and there was no retreat. The only way we could go and escape the shellfire was to go forward to the bottom of the cliff. We looked at each other and ran. After about 20 yards a shell hit the tank and caused an explosion that shot us forward. We got up and ran to the bottom of the cliff.