Civilly Courting Danger

Carl read over the e-mail from his attorney W---. It was a notification about his depsotion date. This has been the first sign of movement since Ms. Siocco's deposition on April 12, 2006.

Carl,

Don't get yourself worked up about your Misdemeanor Plea. Trust me, Sciocco's attorney wil not vocate your plea based on your civil testimony, it is to their advantage that you pled guilty and they will not challenge it... Perjury for you is not an issue. Your plea was based on options made available to you in Criminal Court. One of the requirements of your plea was to admit guilt. Just tell the truth. Mark this date on your calendar. Your deposition (and Mr. McBard's) will be on Wednesday, July 12, 2006.

Cheers, W---

July 12??? Come on, is Mr. McBard trying to get a tan before the deposition? I'd like to see how that cow-eyed poet looks when he lies. Will he at least admit that he had the worst sex he'd ever had in his life on that odd summer night night of 2004? Chirst! That must have been like screwing a rotten pumpkin. If I could've been be a fly on the wall... I bet he gets all sweaty under his arms. I bet his skin gets all sticky like a catfish.

I'm not allowed to look at him during the depostion but you know I'll be wishing him cancer the whole time. Not the cancer that my father had, slow and determined as it was. Maybe something more agressively that eats away at his face. And Ms. Sciooco? How does one put a curse on a curse?

Oi vey gevault. I Remember Sentencing Day...

I didn't sleep the ngiht before, I had to respond before 9:00 am if I were to take this guilty plea. Conflicted, I must have vomitted about six times if not more. A-----, my attorney, called repeatedly. Then his wife called. Then my first lawyer, D-----called. I called a few freinds for support. Then I called Larry, my brother. He called me a chicken. Then I called Ah Ro Ghant, he is an appeals lawyer and sixth level ranger. "So, do you think this is a good deal? It went from a Felony C with jail time to a Class A misdemeanor, Assault 3." I asked him in a cloud of confusion. "Carl, that's unheard of, going from a felony to a misdemeanor. It's not a bad plea. I think you should take it, rather than risk trial."

I unhooked the phone for a bit to collect my thoughts. Too much to handle at 7:30 am. Too much. I called A---- back, told him I'd take the Misdemeanor Plea. I shaved and showered to get the smell of vomit off me, put on the trial sweater that I had knit in court and caught my train.

I wasn't that good at knitting at first, but I improved over term of Criminal Court. I started knitting to quit smoking after September 11. I knitted through the entire discovery period (6 months and more) until I was told by the judge I should not be doing such. So I learned to crochet at some point as we went to trial.

What a day that was. DA G------ didn't show up, she sent another colleague, who sported the home-streaked hair (darling, that bleach wand is not made of magic). The thought of admitting to something I didn't do felt like a hot knife thrusting into my temple, and exiting through my mouth.

"I intentionally sought to hurt Ms. Sciocco." I said holding on to the chair. "How?" asked the judge. "By biting her finger." Then the judge threw in Anger Management for good measure. A----- and the other DA argued back and forth, then the judge yelled "Enough! There will be no appeal!" I forgot that my freinds were sitting behind me. I kept looking at the spittle that sprayed from the judges mouth and the DA's pointy hoof that intermitently peeked from her kaftan legs as she argued that I should also get jail time. My mind went elsewhere, I thought of places I'd never been, England... France... Montana... I couldn't hear A----- and the DA anymore. They ran back and forth the judge pointing at each other, gesturing in my direction. I knew it was over when a court official handed me papers to sign.

Afterwards, I walked with my friends to another court building to register myself as some kind of offender, then I peed in a cup with some guy watching over me, and then signed more papers.

Epilogue

Does the court ever reflect on how they can collectively destroy people's lives? Maybe they think of it briefly and then subtract. That must be like blocking out a train wreck. The court seems to serve itself. "Am I a dangerous man??" I ask myself every morning when I shave. Ms. Sciocco's finger is fine, maybe she won't flick the bird as often as she'd like. She lost a nail and it grew back. End of story.

Allusion: If you were in fact a dog, and the courts forced you to admit that you were a cat, you would be liable for Perjury if you barked in public. Locked away. Crazy stuff, eh.

After Dark

Carl packed his leather satchel quickly, he knocked a few dice off the table with his scimitar. "Hey watch it!" Said Klem Matoh. "You nearly hit Smoog." The dog sized dragon yelped and lept up into the trees. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" screeched Ms. Vickers. "I have to meet Oola" Carl said as he looked aroudn for his sheild. "And why..." she asked. "I'm trying to insure that I don't die alone." replied Carl as he packed his wares. An odd silence loomed over the camp site. "Excellent. he he he..." snickered Ah Ro Ghant waving his sword at Vickers. "See you folks at the Dark Tower later?" Carl threw a bag of pork rinds at Ver Klepmt, on his way out he grabbed some to the victuals that Gobarth prepared for the adventure. Natzzo waved a forboding finger at Carl pointing at the charred stick on the ground. The DM looked blankly at Carl. Something was in the air and it wasn't Smoog.

I meandered through dark streets, past the precinct, heading towards the forbidden zone. I enterred DarkForest and looked around for Oola. I know she can handle herself well but I dodn't like to keep her waiting. I even wore a bit of that Axe body spray that she likes, its scent intensifies with body heat. I guess blind people need to find each other in a crowded room too.

The DM's wife, Katia, was seated at the end of the bar. I waved and joined her for a drink. Katia told me about her night out with workmates, a girl bullying office event. "People can be cruel, but women are worse." She laughed. Soon Oola showed up, she was back from the Ridge. I gave her a hello kiss and got us soemthing to drink. She's been helping a freind's band put some music together. Not long after the DM walked in and slammed the brunt stick in front of Carl. Oola grabbed his hand. He stared passed Carl and took a seat by his wife.

"Stupid Cleric! You burnt the Staff of Healing into a s'more stick! Look at it! It had 72 charges left!" DM was pissed. "Sorry, but Ah Ro Ghant said he was low on hit points. I tried to get him out of the fire pit..." "With the staff of healing?! That's not just a fire pit! It was 9 feet deep and around, it was large enough to roast a cow!" DM interrupted. "Well it might be good, its magic. Right?"

DM slammed the staff aginst the bar again and it crumbled into charcoal bits and black dust. Oola covered our drinks and picked some bits from her hair. "Does that look like it still works?" he asked. "Oh crap, I'm so sorry. I tried to pull Ah Ro Ghant out of the pit and restore hits points at the same time."

Soon the rest walked in to the tavern. "Nice stick, Carl. You gonna sketch me with it?" said Gobarth, motioning as if he were drawing my likeness. Ver Klempt shushed him and tried to smooth things out a bit. In a hushed tone he said "Let me see what I can do, you did have the Cloak of Protection... " "Hey Theif I can hear you from here! That cloak would have been bruned too if he got any closer!" yelled DM taking a sip from his beer. "Hey Vickers, you gonna join us?" Carl asked. "No... if I'm going to die alone, I'll just sit at the end of the bar and drink! I'll kill you while you're sleeping Cleric... and make you come back as a first level Druid so I can kill you again!" she marched off with a horsey gate.

I turned to Oola and said, "Leeeet's... go soon. I didn't do to well tonight." She nodded and grabbed my sheild and leather sack. As we walked out Ah Ro Ghant, Klem Matoh, and Natzzo were still outside smoking. They snickered. Oola and I weaved through the streets under the cover of a night. She dusted some of the charcoal dust from my helmet and hugged me.

Passing a (Mile)stone

Tuesday, May 23
The spring morning was brisk and full of pollen. Carl put out his cigarette as he approached the Probation Office on Adams street. Rubbing his eyes he noticed that the side street was now blocked off and lined with small blue cafe tables and large cement planters. Martha Stewart must have had her Community Service transfered to Kings County. Karl wondered if this is what they mean by improving the court system.

The waiting room seemed the same. I noticed the female gaurd found a better way to apply her eyebrows. They didn't look like a broken mustache this morning. Last week I ran into N-----, that young woman with the scar over her eye. She was dressed in a complete pink outfit, from her leather coat down to her nails and shoes. She turned off her Ipod and waved at me. She told me that she had been mandated to attend a job fair, even though she's employed (at a pharmacy). "Can you believe this s---? I showed her my taxes and pay stubs... and she still talks down to me, like this is for my own good." She waved her pink talons around in teh air. I can't see N----- putting up drywall as a career.

This morning there were only four of us in the lobby. "Carl?" Mr. L--- waved me in. His eyes were shot from pollen too. I followed him from the lobby, down the path of cubicles, past the copy machine to his office. "So did Community Service ever contact you about my last day?" I aksed. He squinted at his compuer screen and read it to me. "Yeeees. It says here completed on May 6, 2006... 70 hours... Satisfactory... Officer B-----. Looks like you're done."

CS: Saturday, May 6
The last day of CS was actually very uneventful. With weekend changes to all trains Carl ended up heading towards Queens on the G train. He got out and ran around looking for the A train somewhere in Fort Greene. By the time he reached East New York it was 8:15 am.The crew stood around the old grey van as if they were looking at a beached whale. It made a humming noise like Yoko Ono as it leaked a stream of green fluid. A toxic pool had formed at the bottom of the hill near a flock of pigeons with lime green feet. Mr. B----- was on his cell trying to get another van as everyone yelled out advice for 30 minutes or so. "Keep the engine running..." "No, just keep the fan going and shut off the engine..." "That's not break fluid, moron!"

"Can I go now?" Carl got Mr. B-----'s attention by tapping on the windsheild. "This is supposed to be my last day, right?" "Uh, yeah... just sign here and write LD (last day or low down?)." Carl pulled something from his jacket and handed it to Mr. B-----. "I made you a hat." (men's fedora, deep blue mercerized cotton/linen) Carl said handing him back the clip board. "Oh man, thanks Carl" Mr. B----- tried it on "Looks niiiice." Walking towards the train station, Karl waved at the crew and said "Good luck, gentlemen." They all nodded back. Mr. B----- primped his new hat in the side mirror.

I signed Mr. L---'s log sheet. "I've now completed Anger Mangement and Community Service. Will I have one monthly visit at this point?" "Yes, and one home visit and random drug testing. Very good, Carl." As he logged me in and assigned me my next report day I asked him about the tables out front. He laughed. "Last week, a truck delivered a pile of dirt for the planters in the morning, by noon it had a ticket on it."

The pile of dirt was probably booked, arrested, and then released on its own recognizance... pending grand jury of course. If the pile of dirt makes less than 16K a year it can get assistance from legal aid for all court matters. I hope the pile of dirt gets a good lawyer. I imagine DA G------ would accuse the dirt of being menacing and trying to evade arrest.

Eplilogue
I guess this is a milestone. I've completed court mandated tasks. My probation days are down to one per month. Eventually I'll be on the scanner instead of attending probation report days. Lucky me, this should feel special. But as with most birthdays as we get older, things just aren't all that special anymore. I actually don't remember what I did for my birthday last year. I think I was in court looking at a DA with home-dyed hair and judge that could stand to lose 40 pounds.

Regarding Civil Court, I've heard from the trickle upward that Ms. Sciocco and her witness are in a state of panic after her story collapsed under questioning (perjury = jail time). People tell all sorts of crazy stories, but time shows us something else. So far no movement in Civil Court, its now been over a month (since April 12). I'll call W--- again to see if anything has moved in any direction.

The court plays games. I play this game called Senet, a game of movement and consequences. It's the grandfather of backgammon. Every move has a consequence on a board with 30 spaces. You can block the opponent, but you can also block yourself by doing so. Your first move may not be your best. One has to wonder if the plaintiff ever thought about consequnces in court.

My criminal lawyer A---- called me to say that he's ready to move to apeal in Criminal Court after Civil Court. But that last nail has not been pounded into this civil coffin yet. I still have to be deposed along with the plaintiff's missing witness. I've been advised that Criminal Court will resist my appeal every step of the way. It may take up to a year, or when ever the DA "retires" from the case (what ever that means). No DA wants to look THAT bad on record. I was told that she is aware of what has happenned in Civil Court. So, I'll badger it, what do I have to lose.

Last week I called home for Mother's day. Mom is coping well. She's finally considered eventually selling the house and moving into a condo. She informed me that my father's headstone was installed and that my sister ordered solar lights. I explained to her why they only come on at night. We went over her will. I'm glad she's finally making one. Dad's matters are still a mess.