The bridge man called another case. The he-she prostitute stood and strutted exaggeratedly to the counsel table.
“Back again, hanh, Ruthie?” Charlie the bridge man said softly, smiling.
“A girl’s got to work,” Ruthie replied effeminately. His-her skin was very dark, smoothed with very carefully applied make-up. He-she glanced over his shoulder at Marc and smiled.
Ruthie had a private lawyer who made an application for an adjournment of two weeks. The Judge granted the adjournment and paroled Ruthie until the return date. Ruthie swayed saucily out of the courtroom, probably straight to put together enough money to pay the fine to be imposed and the lawyer’s fee.
“Docket Number A46753 Joseph Maricyk,” announced Charlie, looking over and winking at Marc. The policeman with the crew cut rose and walked into the bull pen. He returned with his prisoner. Joey Maricyk was short, wide, with blond straight hair. He had an angry bruise under his half-closed right eye. Maricyk walked slowly with discomfort, winked at Marc and mumbled a hello. He stood next to Marc at the counsel table, facing the bench.
“This defendant is arraigned under two hundred point forty-five and two twenty point five of the Penal Code,” continued Charlie. “Do you waive the formal reading of the information, Counselor?”
“Yes,” replied Marc.
Judge Bauer sat slightly back of Judge Rathmore, and he smiled down at Marc.
“Will you give your appearance to the stenographer, Counselor.”
“Marc Conte, two thirty-seven Broadway, New York City.” The stenographer, a thin Black man, was slouched in his chair, looking across the room. Only his fingers moved, and they quickly, on the stenotype machine.
The District Attorney began speaking to the crew-cut cop. He was being informed for the first time about the charges against Maricyk, and based on this information, he would decide how to handle the case and the amount of bail, if any, he would allow. Although bail was exclusively the province of the judge, when the D.A. recommended an amount of bail, very often, particularly with a judge like Rathmore, that recommendation carried a great deal of weight.
“This prick worked me over with an ax handle,” Maricyk whispered to Marc.
“I know. Your wife told me,” replied Marc.
“A real tough punk,” said Maricyk, standing with his head lowered so the Judge couldn’t see him speaking. He held his hands behind his back. “I’d love to see him try something like that out in the street, where he didn’t have all the cops in that station house to back him up. I’d rip the top of his skull off. The bastard.”
“Not so loud,” Marc cautioned softly, as the D.A.’s conference continued. The Judge on the dais sat back silently, waiting. He turned and chatted with Judge Bauer. “One of the sections of the penal code the bridge man just read has to do with narcotics, Joey,” said Marc. “Did you have narcotics with you?”
“What the hell would I do with that,” said Maricyk. “Nah. These punks planted a marijuana cigarette on me, just to be sure I got hung with something so they’d have an excuse for the beating they gave me.”
“Counselor, here’s your copy of the papers,” said Charlie, handing Marc a copy of the complaint sheet.
The District Attorney broke his huddle with the crew cut and turned to the Judge. “The People are going to request an adjournment of two weeks in this matter, Your Honor,” he said.
The Judge glanced at Marc. “Counselor, do you want to be heard on this?”
“I certainly do, sir,” replied Marc. “The defendant is ready for a hearing right now, and moves that a preliminary hearing be held forthwith.”
“Counselor,” said the Judge thinly, “the District Attorney had made an application for an adjournment. I’m sure there’s a good reason for that request. Is there, Mister D.A.?” He glanced at the D.A.
“Certainly, Your Honor. This matter is very likely to be presented to the grand jury this afternoon. All the witnesses, the policemen, are here already.”
The Judge looked back to Marc, a satisfied look on his face.
“Your Honor,” said Marc, “most respectfully, I suggest that this is the first time the D.A. ever heard about this case. It has not been scheduled for grand jury hearing. The D.A. merely says it very likely will be presented today. However, I’m sure the schedule for the grand jury is already filled for the day with other cases. Since all the witnesses in this case are here right now, right in front of you in this courtroom, this court should hold a hearing. Until an indictment is actually handed down by the grand jury, this court has jurisdiction over this case, and the defendant demands an immediate hearing.”
Judge Bauer sat silently now, watching Judge Rathmore.
“Counselor, I know the law, thank you,” the Judge said coldly. “I just want to know what you want to do about an adjournment. Is two weeks acceptable?”
“Can we have a representation from the D.A. that this case is, in fact, going to be presented to the grand jury today?” asked Marc.
“I don’t know of any statute or rule which allows me to require the D.A. to make such a representation. Unless he wants to …” The Judge looked to the D.A.
“I do not want to make such a representation,” said the D.A., picking up the Judge’s cue.
The Judge looked back to Marc with a shrug, a thin smile on his lips. “Two weeks, Counselor?”
“Your Honor,” said Marc, “most respectfully, section one eighty point sixty of the Criminal Procedure Law requires that if a hearing is postponed, it can only be postponed for twenty-four hours. I’ll consent to an adjournment only until tomorrow.”
“I guess counsel hasn’t read the law correctly,” the young District Attorney said haughtily. In the District Attorney’s office, the younger men had to work their way through each of the bureaus or departments, and the youngest of the court men handled the Parts in the Criminal Court. The more experienced men handled the pre-trial proceedings in the Supreme Court, and then, finally, trials in the Supreme Court. “The statute speaks of a seventy-two-hour limit only if the defendant hasn’t made bail,” continued the D.A. “The People have no objection to reasonable bail being set in this case, Your Honor. I’d recommend five thousand dollars. And I press for a two-week adjournment. Counsel can’t have objection now.”
The Judge looked to Marc patiently.
“While I appreciate my learned colleague’s dissertation on the law,” Marc said softly, “his reference, if Your Honor pleases, is to a section requiring parole for a defendant in jail if his hearing is not held within seventy-two hours. I refer to a completely different section, Your Honor, section one eighty point sixty, which indicates that any hearing, whether there be bail, parole, or not, can only be adjourned for twenty-four hours at a time. I realize the District Attorney prefers to curtail the defendant’s right to a preliminary hearing …”
“The People can present a case to the grand jury at any time they wish,” interrupted the District Attorney. “If counsel doesn’t like the law …”
“May I finish, Your Honor, without interruption.” Marc addressed the Court firmly. “I gave the District Attorney a chance to speak without interruption, and I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”
The Judge nodded patiently, looking at the D.A., assuring him in a glance that all was not lost.
The stenographer, still slouched, still glancing at a side wall, said: “Don’t speak both at the same time. I can’t get it.”
“The District Attorney is right, you know, Counselor,” said the Judge indulgently. “But go ahead and make the record if you wish.”
“While it is true,” said Marc, “that the People can present a case to the grand jury at any time it wishes, this case isn’t even scheduled for a grand jury yet—as we stand here now. The law doesn’t eliminate this court’s jurisdiction based on what the D.A. is likely to do in the future. Nor can this court eschew its jurisdiction by adjourning cases for inordinate lengths of time so as to give the District Attorney the opportunity of
obtaining an indictment.”
“Are you saying that I’m eschewing jurisdiction to accommodate the D.A.?” asked the Judge indignantly.
“I am merely repeating the words of the Court of Appeals in the case of People versus Markovitch,” said Marc. “That Court used the very words I just quoted to Your Honor.”
The Judge looked down to the bridge man. “Give me a copy of the Criminal Procedure Law,” he said. “What section did you say, Counselor?”
“Section one eighty point sixty,” repeated Marc. “And, Your Honor, while I am on the subject, and before it slips my mind, I wish to indicate to this Court, that the defendant was physically manhandled in the precinct house by the police. I wish Your Honor to note the defendant’s physical appearance for the record.”
The Judge looked down at Marc, then to Maricyk. “I’m not going to get into medical descriptions for the record, Counselor. I’m the Judge, not the doctor. If you want to note anything for the record, you do so. I’ll mark the defendant’s papers for medical attention if you wish, but I certainly am not going to be used by defendants to further any schemes or purposes they may have to escape justice.”
“Your Honor refuses to note the defendant’s condition for the record?” asked Marc.
“I do.” The Judge began to thumb through a book the bridge man handed him.
Judge Bauer looked at Marc, then looked over to Judge Rathmore.
“May I note the defendant’s condition for the record, Your Honor?” asked Marc.
“You may do as you wish,” said the Judge, without looking up.
“Is your back really bruised?” Marc whispered to Maricyk.
“It’s all cut up like a son of a bitch,” Maricyk replied.
“Take off your shirt,” said Marc.
Maricyk looked at Marc, shrugged, then opened the cuff buttons on his shirt. He slid the shirt over his head without unbuttoning the front. His back bore several large, long welts that were very red and sore-looking.
A murmur and stir went through the courtroom.
“What are you doing, Counselor?” the Judge demanded with surprise. Judge Bauer watched Marc with fascination.
“Turn around,” Marc said to Maricyk. “Look at this man’s back, Your Honor. I want to note for the record, in compliance with Your Honor’s direction, several large, parallel bruises or welts starting at the defendant’s left shoulder and sloping downward to the right about eighteen inches.”
The courtroom was silent. Judge Rathmore looked annoyed.
“The highest one,” Marc continued, “starts about three inches down from the top of the defendant’s left shoulder, and the second is approximately three inches below that. The third three inches farther down, and the fourth near the waist. They seem to run in parallel lines at about thirty-degree angles from the horizontal. Am I correct in that, Your Honor, so that this record is exactly accurate?”
Judge Rathmore looked at Marc, then looked back to Maricyk resignedly. “There do appear to be some marks on the defendant’s back. I don’t know if they’re bruises or what they are …”
“Or how they got there,” added the District Attorney.
“Or how they got there,” repeated the Judge. “However, you have indicated them accurately for the record, Counselor. Put your shirt back on, young man.” Judge Rathmore went back to the book, looking up over the edge of the book at Marc as Maricyk put his shirt back on.
“I wish further to note that the defendant’s face bears a bruise beneath the left eye, on the cheekbone. It appears to be black and blue.”
“Your comments are on the record, Counselor,” Judge Rathmore said impatiently. “Now here is the section you referred to. It states that the hearing shall not be adjourned more than twenty-four hours without good cause shown by the District Attorney. Repeat the reason for this delay for the record, Mister District Attorney?”
“This is a serious case where the defendant is accused of attempted bribery of the policeman who is the arresting officer, Your Honor. And the defendant additionally faces a narcotics charge, miscellaneous traffic violations, and resisting arrest. This is a matter that rightly should be presented to a grand jury for indictment and the People are going to present this matter, if time permits, to the grand jury this afternoon,” said the District Attorney. He looked to the cop to be sure he knew enough to go directly upstairs to the indictment bureau. The cop nodded.
“I think that’s sufficient cause for an adjournment,” announced Judge Rathmore. “I’m setting this down for August 16. That should give the People enough time to present this case to the grand jury. You know, Counselor, the People still have rights in courts these days. I think that too often the bleeding hearts and the newspapers forget that. It would be a total waste of time to conduct a hearing here when this matter may be presented to the grand jury today, at which time the defendant will have a hearing before that body.”
“The defendant will not be there nor will he be afforded the right to cross-examination or be faced with the witnesses against him,” Marc said.
“That’s the law, Counselor. You’re well versed in the law. You know that,” said Judge Rathmore. “I don’t make them. I just enforce them. What’s that?” the Judge said, turning toward the loud sound of sirens outside the courtroom.
During the last several minutes Marc had heard sirens. But these did not seem unusual in the court area. Now, the sirens seemed to surround the building, growing louder and more demanding.
“Officer,” said Judge Rathmore to one of his court officers. “Go out and see what that’s all about.” The Judge turned back to Marc. “Now do you wish to be heard on bail, Counselor? The District Attorney has indicated that he has no objection to five thousand dollars bail being set.”
“Your Honor,” Marc said, undeterred by the stone wall this Judge had set up. “The defendant is a man who has never had any conflict with the law in the past. He has roots in the community. He resides with his wife in Manhattan, and has so resided for five years at the same address. There’s no reason to believe that the defendant will not show up for the next court appearance. As a matter of fact the defendant is an ex-policeman …”
“He surely is an ex-policeman,” said the District Attorney acidly, “dismissed from the force.”
“Your Honor, whatever his difficulties with the Police Department, they were not criminal in nature, and since bail is only required to insure the defendant’s appearance, rather than punish or cause preventive detention, I suggest that a more reasonable bail would be five hundred dollars bond or a hundred dollars cash bail.”
“These are serious charges,” said the Judge, “and the defendant has had disciplinary problems in the past. The fact that he was a policeman speaks poorly for the defendant. He should know better. However, I think that thirty-five hundred dollars bail will be sufficient to protect the people.” He smiled at Maricyk.
“Your Honor, may I respectfully suggest that the bail you just set is out of the financial reach of this defendant, he being merely á laborer—temporarily unemployed—without sufficient collateral to post with a bondsman. Even thirty-five hundred dollars is tantamount to no bail at all for this defendant.”
“Counselor, you’re an eminent counsel in this court. You’re high-priced. He’s got enough to afford you. And to allegedly bribe policemen. Defendants who go around passing out money so liberally ought to be able to post bond. Remand him. Call the next case.” He turned away from Marc, shuffling some papers on his desk.
The crew cut led Maricyk back to the bull pen.
The court officer who had gone out to find out about the sirens came back into court. He had heard that a full-scale riot in The Tombs was in progress. He whispered the news to Charlie the bridge man. Charlie informed the Judges.
“There’ll be a five-minute recess,” announced Judge Rathmore abruptly. He walked quickly off the bench. Judge Bauer followed. The audience moaned and started to shuffle out of the courtroom.
Marc saw
Charlie giving him a covert sign, motioning Marc to the side of the counsel table. Everyone else had already left the well of the courtroom. As Marc walked toward Charlie, he reached into his pocket and put his hand over the two single dollar bills he had folded into a small square. Charlie feigned looking for something. He searched the top of the counsel table, then pulled out one of the drawers. He left the drawer open as he turned and began to look on the judge’s dais. Marc, now standing next to the counsel table, dropped the bills into the drawer. Charlie turned, saw the bills, and nudged the drawer shut with his leg. He smiled.
“Thanks, Counselor,” said Charlie. “You sure broke old Rathy’s balls.”
“Didn’t do much good,” replied Marc.
Charlie shrugged. “Hey, you hear, there’s a riot in The Tombs. The place is on fire and everything.”
“Is that what all the sirens are for?” asked Marc.
“Yeah, do you believe it? These guys complaining about the room service in The Tombs. What did they think they were going to get, the Waldorf?”
Marc turned and walked out of the courtroom. The noise and the hustle and all the varied people were still filling the corridor outside. A girl with long blond hair and wearing jeans came out of the courtroom. She stood in the corridor close to Marc, talking to several other young people. They had all been in the courtroom. The blonde looked at Marc and smiled. Her smile was wide and bright. She lit a cigarette, then walked toward him.
“You really laid it on that old man,” she said, reaching out to shake Marc’s hand. Her hand was firm and vigorous.
“Thanks,” Marc said absently.
“I’m Andy Roberts,” the girl said. “You’re one of the few lawyers who really gives it to those decadent judges.”
“You know a lot about lawyers?” Marc asked.
“My father’s a lawyer. And with all the demonstrating we do and with the hassle that the pigs give us constantly, we get to court quite a lot. You’re really tough.”
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