A Gambler's Jury

by Victor Methos

“You ready to tell them what happened, buddy?”

  He looked up and around the courtroom and then whispered to me, “I don’t want to, Danielle.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I’ll be with you. Right next to you. I promise.”

  He swallowed and looked around a little more before nodding his head. I helped him to the stand and then stood in front of him.

  “Spell your name, Teddy.”

  49

  Teddy looked like he might pass out. I stepped closer to him and wished I could reach out and hold his hand, but I had to look dispassionate. Jurors didn’t like to see lawyers who cared too much about their clients; they had to care just the right amount. I had always thought that was a good policy—why would you want to listen to someone who had their feelings wrapped up in a case?—but now I saw how ridiculous that was. Why would you want to listen to someone who could be a robot and detach like that?

  “Um, Teddy Thorne,” he said. “I’m Teddy Thorne.”

  I nodded and he smiled. “Teddy, do you understand what’s going on here today?”

  “Um . . . yeah. Yeah I’m friends with Kevin, see. I’m friends with Kevin and Kevin’s in trouble.”

  “Is Kevin the only one in trouble?”

  He glanced away from me, as though embarrassed. “No. No I’m in trouble, too.”

  “What are you in trouble for?”

  “For the bag.”

  “What bag?”

  He lifted his arm and pointed to the gym bag on the prosecution table.

  “What was in that bag?” I asked.

  “Bad things.”

  I leaned forward on the banister in front of him. I wanted to be as close to him as possible. “What bad things?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know what was in there?”

  “No. Just bad things, see.”

  “Who gave you the bag with bad things?”

  He didn’t answer me, just began rocking back and forth.

  “Teddy, please, who gave you the bag?”

  He kept shaking his head and the rocking motion was getting worse. I might’ve made a mistake putting him up here, but the jury had to hear it from him. They had to see that he wasn’t capable of this.

  “Teddy,” I said, swallowing. It felt like hot lead going down my throat. This was definitely not something I wanted to say, and I debated not saying it, but then I remembered what was on the line. I had hoped against hope that he would tell me who gave him the bag. Without that, I had only one tactic left: show the jury Teddy didn’t have the mental capacity to do this.

  “Teddy, you’re not like other boys, are you?”

  “What do you mean, Danielle?”

  He wasn’t going to make this any easier for me. “You have a certain condition, don’t you?”

  He looked down, probably at his shoes, as he continued to rock. “I’m just like everyone else. Everyone is different, Danielle.”

  “I know, Teddy. I know everyone is different. But can you talk about why you’re different?”

  “I . . . I talk slow. And I can’t do things some people can do, but my mama said there’s things I can do that other people can’t do, see. There’s things I can do.”

  I folded my arms, fighting back the emotion that choked me like a lump of clay. “Teddy, you’re not very smart are you?”

  The pain of having to say that stung like a hot needle going into my heart. I didn’t have a choice, and I knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  “I’m smart,” he said. “I’m smart, Danielle.”

  “Not smart like other people are smart, though, right? What’s the capital of our state, Teddy?”

  “I’m smart,” he said, staring right at me. His eyes glimmered off the tears forming, and I wanted to turn away from him, but I didn’t let myself do it. I had to stand there and look him in the eyes. I deserved this pain for what I was about to do. “I’m smart, Danielle.”

  “Teddy, what’s your favorite movie?”

  He paused a second, and the pain was replaced with a slow smile. “I like George of the Jungle. I like George of the Jungle because he can swing into trees and he swings on the trees and hits them and it’s so funny.”

  “George of the Jungle’s a kid’s movie. But you’re not a kid, are you?”

  His lips moved as though an answer was coming out, but nothing came. He didn’t understand what I was doing. I couldn’t have prepared him for this; if I had, the jury would’ve seen through it. The pain he felt had to be genuine . . . and I’d never felt like more of a piece of shit.

  “Who’s the president of the United States, Teddy?”

  He didn’t answer at first, and then he looked at me, almost pleadingly, and said, “I don’t know, Danielle.”

  “If you drank one third of a glass of water, how much would be left in the glass?”

  “I don’t like water from a glass.”

  “What size shoes do you wear, Teddy?”

  “Um . . . Thirty.”

  “That’s not a real shoe size. You don’t know anything about numbers, do you, Teddy?”

  “I can count, Danielle. I’m smart like everyone else.”

  “What city are we in right now?”

  Sandy stood up. “Your Honor, I don’t understand how any of this is relevant.”

  “She’s accusing my client of being a drug mastermind. My client doesn’t even know his shoe size or that people can’t really swing into trees without getting hurt. I have a right to explore his mental capacity.”

  Roscombe shrugged and said, “I’ll allow it, but I won’t allow exploration into actual mental health disorders as no foundation has been laid.”

  I turned back to Teddy, who was still staring at me with his large brown eyes. “What’s two hundred plus ten, Teddy?”

  “It’s . . . It’s three hundred, see. Because three hundred is bigger than two hundred. It’s three hundred.”

  “It’s not three hundred. It’s two hundred and ten. You can’t add or subtract large numbers, can you?”

  “I’m good,” he said, furiously rocking back and forth now, nearly stuttering, “I’m good at a lot of things, see. There’s a lot of things I’m good at, Danielle.”

  “You don’t know what city we’re in, do you?”

  “Stop it,” he said.

  “Teddy, what city are we in?”

  “I know where we are, see. We’re in court. We’re in court because you said we’re going to court and I have to wear a tie. I have to wear a tie.”

  I stepped closer to him. “What city are we in right now?”

  “Stop it, Danielle.”

  “Teddy, what city are we in?”

  “Stop it!”

  “What city, Teddy?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know, Danielle. I don’t know. I’m not smart. I’m not a smart person. I don’t know things and I get confused and I forget things. I’m not smart, Danielle,” he said, crying now. “I’m not smart.”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he continued to rock. I turned away from him as I wiped the tears away from my own eyes, and sat down. “Nothing further for now, Judge.”

  Sandy stood up. She waited a moment. “Did you give this bag full of bad things to Mr. Zamora?”

  He was silent a long while. “Yeah. Yeah I had to give the bag to him so I did.”

  “And he gave you a bag full of money?”

  “Yeah, I had to get the money, see. I had to give him the bag and get the money.”

  “Did Kevin give you this bag?”

  “Kevin’s my friend, see.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  I stood up again for redirect and said, “Teddy, answer me honestly. It’s very important: Who told you to give that bag to Mr. Zamora?”

  He shook his head. “I gave him the bag.”

  “Who told you to do it? Where’d you get the bag?”

  Please answer me.


  He shook his head again and said, “That was not nice, Danielle. You’re not being nice to me.”

  I had to put my hands on the table to keep myself up. “Teddy, please, please tell these people who told you to give that bag to Mr. Zamora.”

  He stuttered out a few words and then said, “I gave him the bag, see. I gave him the bag and I had to get the money.”

  It hadn’t worked. I was hoping he would say everything I needed him to say, but, even after all this, he still wouldn’t betray someone he thought was his friend. I turned to the audience. Kevin was still there. I stared him in the eye and he looked away.

  I sat back down. “No further questions.”

  50

  I had no more witnesses. I had no evidence. I had nothing to present to the jury that would scream in their face: “This kid is innocent! There’s no way he could’ve done this. He’s clearly covering for his shit-bag friend.”

  After Teddy got off the stand, Roscombe said, “I’d like to take an hour dinner break before we come back for closing arguments. At that point, we’ll be turning over the case for your deliberation, ladies and gentlemen. So please be back in an hour, and do not talk to anyone about this case while outside of this courtroom. All rise for the jury.”

  We rose as the jury filed out. I kept my eyes down on the table. I couldn’t look at them, or at Teddy, or at anyone. I felt like guzzling a bottle of whiskey and crawling into my bed and never coming out again.

  I watched as the bailiff took Teddy away. He didn’t look back at me.

  I turned to Sandy and said, “Have dinner with me.”

  “You want to have dinner together?”

  “Yes. And I promise I’ll be civil.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  This was the last chance I would have to convince Sandy to give me a palatable deal. Once the case went to deliberation, she wouldn’t budge.

  We chose an Italian restaurant up the block and I met her there. We sat at a table in the center of the restaurant, away from the windows, and we both ordered water. When the waiter left, she said, “You went after him pretty hard.”

  “I wasn’t left with much of a choice. Roscombe didn’t allow me to defend him.”

  She shrugged. “I guess that’ll be decided when this case is appealed.”

  “Guess so.”

  She looked around the restaurant. “I’m surprised you’d want to sit with me. I assume it’s to try to get me to make a better offer. It’s not happening, you know.”

  “You saw him up there. He doesn’t know anything. He’s clearly covering for Kevin.”

  “If it’s that clear then the jury should see it.”

  “Juries see what they want to see. I have no idea what they’re going to do. But neither do you. Give us a misdemeanor with no more jail.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Why? Because you have some master plan, and you need this case appealed? I know you have connections on the appellate court and the supreme, but I don’t give a shit about that. I just want this kid to have a life.”

  “The parole board will see his condition and let him out the first chance they get.”

  “His ‘condition’? You agree with me that he’s too disabled to do this?”

  “I never said that. The mentally disabled are capable of a lot more than we give them credit for, good or bad.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this. I’ve had cases far worse than Teddy’s get settled by your office without you guys putting up any fight. Is it really like you said—having control over juveniles? What do you think that’s going to get you? You’ll just be creating new felons, so unless you want that sort of thing there really isn’t a point.”

  She stared at me. “Why would I want new felons?”

  The way she said it made it clear that she did. She wanted me to know it without actually saying it. I didn’t understand at first. She wanted new felons? Hoover County was gun country and felons wouldn’t be able to own guns, which meant a loss of revenue to the NRA and voting and . . .

  My stomach suddenly churned and something was pushing its way up into my throat. I had to swallow to make sure I wouldn’t throw up.

  “Voting,” I said, the word escaping my lips like poison. “It’s voting. If they’re tried as adults and get convicted of felonies, they can’t vote when they turn eighteen.”

  She looked completely impassive, neither moving nor speaking, just calmly staring at me.

  “You don’t want blacks voting. Their numbers are starting to grow, and that has you and your buddies scared.”

  “Don’t act so shocked. Our entire justice system is set up as a tool to be used to maintain order. This is how you maintain order. Why do you think possession of narcotics wasn’t a felony until the Civil Rights Movement? Why does it continue to be a felony when no one but the user is harmed by its use?”

  “I thought this was about cleaning up the county, but this is about voting,” I said, my mind reeling. “You don’t want a large black population to have political power because they’ll vote you and people like you out of office.”

  She leaned back and glanced around the restaurant before resting her eyes on me again. “They can’t be trusted. They think only in the short term, only for the immediate future. It’s much better this way for everyone.”

  “This isn’t for their good, it’s for yours.”

  “You’re blaming me for something that I inherited. Do you know we’re the only advanced society on the planet that doesn’t allow their inmates to vote? Why do you think that is? It’s because we’re the only society that has an entire community descended from slaves. It’s those rotten genes, community zeitgeist, whatever you want to call it, but they can’t be trusted to vote for their own good.”

  She seemed so normal when you looked at her, like a soccer mom driving her kids to school, volunteering for the PTA, recycling . . . Innocent. And there she sat, saying some of the most evil things I’d ever heard anyone say—a Nazi with a Chanel purse and a Fitbit on her wrist.

  “They’re people, Sandy. They’re fucking people. You’re purposely making it so you take their right to vote away when they’re children.”

  “It’s how it’s always been. Possession of crack is punished ten times as severely as possession of cocaine, even though the only difference between them is baking soda. Crack is a black drug, cocaine is a white drug. Our system is predicated on certain people not being able to assert power based on choices they’ve made. Like I said, drugs weren’t felonies until the Civil Rights Movement. They weren’t even illegal until after Prohibition. Then we had hundreds of unemployed federal agents and didn’t know what to do with all of them. So the government pushed for more illegalization. That’s our system, Danielle. The powerful pull the strings, and the weak dance. I didn’t invent it. I wouldn’t have wanted to invent it. But it is what it is, and I have to do the best I can for my community.”

  “This has nothing to do with choices they’ve made. You’re judging them on the basis of their skin color.”

  “Call it what you want. The problem with you bleeding-heart types is you just don’t have the spine to do what’s necessary to make this country great again.”

  “We don’t need to make it great again—it’s always been great. Not because of people like you, but in spite of people like you. And when that jury acquits my client, we’re gonna file a lawsuit so big against the county and against you personally that you’ll be working a century to pay it off.”

  “Do your best,” she said with a little shrug.

  I rose to leave.

  “What about dinner?” she said.

  “I lost my appetite.”

  51

  I sat outside the courtroom doors, eating a granola bar from a vending machine and staring at the tiled floor. There was no one around, and the courthouse had an eerie, haunted-house type of feel to it when it was quiet. I pictured how many people had been sentenced to death here. How
many people took their last steps as free men before being shackled for the rest of their lives? How much pain had these walls absorbed, and was the taint still in them?

  I had stopped at a copy shop to print a photo, and I took it out of my pocket and stared at it for a second before slipping it back in.

  The elevator opened and Will stepped out. I hadn’t told him to come; he just showed up on his own.

  He smiled at me as he came and sat down. I could smell his cologne—the same one he had worn the entire time I knew him. I put my head on his shoulder.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “I thought maybe you could use someone in your corner. Besides, my other clients don’t count when it comes to you.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than sit here with a washed-up defense lawyer.”

  He looked at me, really looked at me. “There’s no place I’d rather be than next to you.”

  “Will . . .”

  “I know,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I know. We’re best friends and maybe something else, too, but we’re not sure what. I get it. But I need you to know . . . I love you.”

  “Will—”

  “No, let me say it. I have to say it just once. I love you, Danielle. I have loved you from the second I met you and it’s never stopped. If Stefan doesn’t realize what he’s missing then forget him. I will worship the ground you walk on for the rest of your life, if you let me. Relationships, the ones that last, don’t start with good looks and sex. They start with friendships. And you are the best friend I’ve ever had. I’m your soul mate, not him.”

  A long silence passed between us, and he finally said, “Glad that wasn’t awkward.”

  I lightly punched him in the arm. “Why did you have to say that, you big dummy?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  Did I feel the same? I didn’t know. I couldn’t think about that now. Instead I stared down at the floor. “I can’t even think right now, Will.”

  “How’s it going in there, anyway?”

  “Good as can be. Their star witness might look like he was lying. That Perry Mason shit never happens, but this might’ve been one of those moments if the jury buys into it.”