Jury of Peers (26 page)

Chapter Forty–Four

Temper

             
Ray’s head snapped up when he heard the latch on the door above the stairs.  He hadn’t been sleeping, but his body, hyped up on stress and buzzing with possibilities, had eventually run out of vim and he’d been left with exactly one choice:  Wait.

             
“Good morning Mr. Ramadeep,” Seth said as he made his way down the stairs.  The other two heads came up as well, though Seth ignored them.  He set a bagel and a cola down on the steps and moved behind Ray.  One of his hands popped free.  "How you feeling?”

             
“I’m alright,” Ray said.  Another week of this might be a different story, but for now the prospects for the future kept his stamina topped off.  “Thank you,” he said as he worked his hand around.  It was numb, but within moments the pinpricks began and feeling returned – just in time to field the soda can.

             
“I hope you’re not the gourmet coffee type.”

             
"No, this is fine.”

             
Seth placed the bagel on Ray’s knee.  "The good thing about bagels is that you can’t tell if they’re a day old.”

             
“What ‘bout us?” Bolo asked.  The red splotches had faded considerably, and his eyes had cleared.

             
“You’re hungry?” Seth asked.

             
“Yeah, and I gotta piss too.”

             
“That's unfortunate.”

             
“Fuck you motherfucker.”

             
“Your selection of vocabulary is humbling.”

             
Bolo glared, then looked to Saul who was taking it all in with wide, watery eyes.  “This is America, you can’t do this shit,” he worked another angle that had occurred to him a couple of hours ago.  He’d tried it out on Ray, who had pretended to be asleep, but ended up listening to the full brunt of Bolo’s opinion on justice anyhow.

             
“Oh good, a lecture on civics,” Seth said.  He popped open another can of soda.  "Let’s hear it.”

             
“You ain’t no cop.”

             
“Astute.”

             
“I ain’t down with no busters.”

             
Seth looked to Ray, "What's that mean?

             
Ray shrugged.

             
Saul spoke up, “He’s sayin’ only cops can arrest people.”

             
“True enough, but here you are.  I’m the best you’ve got.  Listen, in a little over an hour I’m going to fire up the cameras and the lights and the whole fucking Internet, and you’re going to
be
in court.  It’s not a court according to the law, but it’s your one and only shot so it’s as real as it gets.  You want to talk for yourself?  You’ll get your chance.  Prove that you’re innocent… really prove it, and you walk.  Fuck it up…” Seth stood and walked over to Bolo who oddly enough, refused to look up, “And you're done."

             
“You ain’t got the balls to dust me man.”

             
“We’ll see,” Seth said as he walked back and sat on the steps.  “How’s that bagel?”

             
Ray’s mouth was full, but he nodded his appreciation.

             
“I’ll leave that hand free, and swap it with the other one if you remind me.  Things are going to get hectic for a while.  You need anything?”

             
Ray swallowed quickly, “Something to write on?  And a pen maybe?”

             
“Yeah, sure thing.”  Seth disappeared for a moment behind the computers and returned with a pen and a very long sales receipt from the computer store.  “It’s gonna look like a scroll when you’re done, but if you write small it’ll get you through.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
“Hey, I gotta piss,” Bolo said again.

             
“Go ahead.”

             
“I ain’t gonna piss myself.”

             
“I couldn’t care less.”

             
“Fuck you!”
              Seth glanced at Ray, "How are you on that score?”

             
“I’ll hold it,” Ray said, already jotting notes.

Chapter Forty–Five

Tyro

              There were two cameras this time.  One captured the images of the defendants who were still slumped in their chairs against the far wall.  The other would serve to highlight Ray or Seth.  The lights were not yet on, but it wouldn’t be long now.

He sat down next to Ray, “You know what you’re going to say?”

              "Yeah, you want to read it?” Ray was still scribbling.

“Nope.”

“I need to be able to verify that you are who you are,” Ray said.

This brought a tired chuckle.  "Alright.  Want my license?  Credit cards?”

“Actually, that's exactly it.”

Seth looked over at him, bringing his head up out of his hands.  "Really?”

“Look Mr. Meek…”
              “Seth.”

“Alright, Seth… like you said, this isn’t
real
but I’m looking at it from the outside.  You’re busy.  You see it from in here.  The first things that people are going have to understand is that this isn’t being faked.  You're using the Internet to distribute all of this.  Someone will bring it up.  What’s the name of the gal who works at your office,” Ray asked as Seth dug for his wallet.  “The one that sounds like a chipmunk.”

“Brenda?”

“Right.”

“Oh I see,” Seth said.  He fished out his license.  “That’s me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ray glanced over.  “I know who you are, I just need to be able to say it.  There isn’t going to be any doubt that you are who you say you are after a couple of days… but initially people will wonder.  That’s why you brought me here right?”

“That’s one reason, yeah.”

“What’s another?” the scribbling stopped.

“I need you to be honest.  To tell people the truth, not your opinions, but the truth of what’s happening here.  You can editorialize all you want later, but when you’re on the camera, I want you to tell it like you see it.  Period.”

Bolo spoke up, “I’ll say it for reals, what’s really goin’ down.” 

“You’ll get your turn.”

The smell of urine filled the room.

“Oh yeah,” Bolo sighed.  He was smiling at Seth for the first time.  “Just wait until I gotta shit, I’ll fuck this crib up good.”

Seth ignored him but said to Ray, “Like I said, it’s going to be pretty foul down here.”  He opened his laptop and flipped on the lights.  The heat generated was instant and spiked the discomfort meter at ten.  “I’ll talk first, then give you a chance.  Then I’ll ask you some questions and begin the arraignment.  All clear?”
              Ray nodded. 

Chapter Forty–Six

Talisman

“So do you feel better or what?” Tonic asked.  He tried to pull a napkin from the dispenser and got a handful. 

“Yeah, much better.  But my rotator cuffs will have to get back to you on that...”

“I suppose you’ll bitch about me buying you a burger too.  You’re an expensive fuckin’ date man.”

Smokey’s was always open, but the early morning hours were generally somewhat less populated which, at this moment, was a good thing.  They’d taken a seat near the front doors which afforded both a spectacular view of the parking lot and the benefit of an occasional cool breeze–neither of them was anxious to revisit the stuffy back room quite this early in the morning.

“No the burger is a good thing.  A half pound of beef is just the way to start the day.”
             

“Don’t let too many people hear you say that.”

Finn snorted, “Just so long as Yuri doesn’t hear it.  Jesus God.”

Tonic checked his watch again, “I think we’re going to have to spank Ray.”
              “He’s probably out buying up copies of the Post to send to New Delhi.”  The plan was to meet here an hour prior to Meek’s broadcast, set up and be ready to roll.  But it was five minutes until the top of the hour and Ray wasn’t sitting in his chair asking annoying questions.  “You know how to record it all, right?”

“Sure, and so does the whole tech section at the department.  Prolly the FBI has a guy or two for that too, don't you think?  Eat your burger.”  And so they waited, backs to the wall, for the screen to change from black to grey again. 

After the Post broke the new story on Seth Meek, hundreds of managing editors across the country had taken the hint and prayed in desperation as they rummaged through their incoming email.  Sixty–five found the golden ticket.  They too joined the audience, pens poised.  Seth, good to his word, posted the clip on YouTube and its many spinoffs most of whom unceremoniously removed it, but too late. Without any real forewarning, Meek’s first broadcast received only a handful of hits prior to eight on the east coast, but they were important hits.

“Here we go,” Finn said dropping his burger and sponging off his fingers.

“Ray’s gonna be pissed that he missed this.”

             
Meek came into view once again and got started right away.  “Good morning.  As many of you already know, my name is Seth Meek.  I’m here today to set in motion the criminal proceedings for two individuals that were taken into custody in conjunction with the death of my family.”  He looked tired, but in his suit and tie he looked respectable enough.  He looked a bit like a guy fresh from a rough bachelor's party.

             
“Undoubtedly, many will criticize my choice to apprehend and try these two without the assistance of the United States criminal justice system.  It is an argument that I myself have considered at length, but due to extenuating circumstances I think that many of you will agree that my choice, though difficult, was indeed correct.”  To Tonic’s ear, it sounded rehearsed, but then, that made sense in a way too.  No attorney wanted to blow the opening statements when the jury might be listening.  And essentially, Meek was now a lawyer.

“However, before we begin with the arraignment, I’d like to take a few moments to enter a handful of items into the record.”  Meek moved away from the camera and it swung to the right, blurring into obscurity.  When it refocused on Ravish Ramadeep, the two cops at the opposite end of the Elkhorn plaza dropped their French fries.

“Okay… hello,” Ray said.

Tonic actually laughed, “Did we just get fucked in the ass or is this the best thing that ever happened in the history of shit that ever happened?”

Finn was still staring, slack jawed, at the screen.

“My name is Ray Ramadeep, I’m a journalist and I was invited by Mr. Meek to act as an observer.  I came here of my own free will, I am not under duress.”

“Could have fooled me,” Finn said.  Ray was always a little formal about the tongue, but the fact that he was clearly strapped to a chair seemed a wee bit intimidating to say the least.  “How the fuck did he get from here to there?”

“Give a guy an inch…” Tonic said.

Someone off camera said, “Fuckin’ bullshit!” which made the detectives exchange a glance.

There was a yowl, and then Meek said, “Thank you Mr. Ramadeep.”  The camera stayed on Ray.  “May I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Sure,” Ray said.  He was sweating, but it wasn’t yet clear why.  There were a whole host of possibilities, only a few of which could be considered remotely favorable.

“Good, thank you,” Meek continued.  “Mr. Ramadeep you said that you came here of your own free will and at my invitation?”

“Yes I did.”

“And would you explain what it was that I said to you upon your arrival?”

“You told me that I’d be a hostage.”

“And why was that?”

“So that I couldn’t be held accountable for your actions,” Ray said.

“So you are not being allowed to leave until the proceedings are concluded?”

“I assume so, yes.”

A page turned near the camera.  “Would you please take a moment to comment upon the overall condition of the two individuals in custody please?”  Seconds later the video feed went to split screen and for the first time, the two hunched figures were seen.  Both were shirtless, and viewed from the waist up.  They too were bound, their arms nearly mummified in duct tape to the sides of their chairs.

“That’s how I’d want ‘em if they were in my living room,” Tonic said quietly.

“Yeah no shit," Finn said.  "He’s not really trying to sell himself is he?  I mean, they
look
like hostages.”

“He doesn’t need to though, right?  It’s his show.”

Ray began, “The condition…”  He hesitated with a glance at the two kids, and then went on, “The two people that are here are in poor condition.”

“And why do you say that Mr. Ramadeep?” Meek asked.

“Well… from where I sit, it looks like they’ve been beaten.”

One of the boys, the white one, spoke up, “He’s got somethin’ on my sack that shocks me!”

“Is there anything else?” Meek asked without pause.

“Yes.  They’re tied and don’t have any facilities.”

“Thank you.  Would you like to add anything else?” Meek asked.

“No.”

The screen returned to a single feed, this time a closer shot of the two kids.  Dark flakes of blood were visible on the black kid’s face, probably from a cut on his scalp. Their eyes were red, skin irritated, noses running… all of the side effects of getting hosed with pepper spray.  It served to make them look rather pitiful, weeping little orphans far from home – Finn was right, Meek wasn’t trying to white–wash anything.

             
Minutes passed as the two sat there trying to shift their weight as their bodies cried out for a chance to stretch.  Under the lights they too were sweating, though it wasn’t hard to imagine why.  The split screen suddenly returned, and Seth slid into view.

             
“Now then,” he looked down at some notes, “this will be the arraignment phase of the trial.  As you may know, the arraignment is where charges are heard and the accused are given a chance to enter a plea.  He flipped another page.  “Would the two of you please identify yourselves for the court?”

             
“
Fuck
you,” Bolo said instantly.  His face was contorted, pot marked with acne – a mask of outrage with slightly out–turned eyes.

             
“My name’s Saul,” the other kid said.  "But I think thas’all I’ll be sayin’ for now.”

             
“The accused on the left has chosen to be identified as Saul, the young gentleman on the right has exercised his right to remain partially silent.  However, as he has proven to be somewhat less than helpful thus far, and as we are pressed for time, I don’t think that the court will extend this courtesy.”

             
The white kid jumped, squawked in pain or in rage, it was difficult to tell which, and then screamed at the camera, “See? 
See
?  Fuckin’ shockin’ me!”

             
Meek wore no expression at all as he drew his finger away from the transmitter button.

             
“It would be easier if you’d provide your name for the record.”

             
“You cocksucker this is all
bull
shit.”

             
Another yelp followed by a string of profanity.

             
“His name’s Derek, we calls ‘em Bolo,” Saul said before another shock could be delivered.

             
“Is this correct?” Meek asked from his chair.

             
“Yeah sure man, whatever,” Bolo groaned.

             
“Fair enough.  Let the record show that the accused have identified themselves as Derek and Saul, left to right.”  Seth sighed, "The charges then are as follows.  The accused identified as Derek is charged with three counts of first degree, that is, premeditated murder, namely Emily Meek, 33, Jennifer Meek, 8, and Justine Meek, unborn, and the sexual assault, meaning rape, of Emily and Jennifer Meek.  The court will dispense with the further charges of breaking and entering, assault, etcetera, etcetera, against the accused, Derek, because frankly I don’t care.”  Meek jotted a note, took a sip of cola and said, “After hearing the charges against you, would you like to enter a plea?”

             
“I didn’t do shit motherfucker.”

             
“Let the record show that the plea of
not guilty
was entered, evidently for all of the charges.”  Another note.  “The accused identified as Saul is charged with one count of attempted first degree murder, namely Seth Meek, and one count each of conspiracy to commit murder and accessory to sexual assault.  After hearing the charges against you Saul, would you like to enter a plea?”

             
Saul looked at Meek, and then at the camera.  His eyes searched over Ray’s face as well, though he didn’t appear to be really looking at anything.  Thinking.  He blinked, and then said, “Guilty… and not.”

             
Seth looked up, "What?”

             
“Both of ‘em,” Saul said.

             
“Explain what you mean,” Seth said.

             
“Well, you know I tried to kill ya.  Gun didn’t work s’all or you’d be dead right?”

             
“Yeah,” Seth said.

             
“Aight, well that be the truth, but I did'n never want
anyone to get raped.  Did'n want those ladies to get kilt.”

             
Meek’s eyes narrowed, remembering, comparing this kid’s words to what he could still see clearly.  He stared at Saul who returned it without a word, “Alright.  It seems sensible that you could enter multiple pleas since you’re being charged with more than one crime.  I don't see why not.  Let the record show that the accused identified as Saul has entered a plea of guilty for the count of attempted murder, and not guilty for the counts of conspiracy to commit murder, and accessory to sexual assault.”

             
The two detectives sat in stunned silence.  Life at Smokey’s bar continued on, but the two of them heard none of it; their minds raced.  Finn spoke without looking away, “From twenty three to twenty three million people on the Grand Jury.”

             
“Yeah, or more."

             
Finn picked up a fry, and then tossed it back down when Seth again spoke.

             
“The concludes the arraignment, we’ll adjourn for half an hour and return here at ten for the preliminary hearing, selection of the grand jury, and an explanation of how the indictment will be handled.”

             
On the screen, Meek tapped a button on his laptop, and the feed was dead.

*              *              *

              Across the country, phones lit up and standby stories that had been slated for an otherwise slow news week were tossed aside without another thought.  The email that Seth had sent was forwarded by nearly each person who had initially received it–and no less than five times.

The technicians at the J. Edgar Hoover building, however, had already run into more than one snag.  The second trace route sent from the secure server at the FBI tech shop was met with no less than a dozen reroutes, each of which ended in a convoluted maze of encryption the likes of which they had never encountered.  Before the broadcast ended, the two techs that had been assigned to watch, record, and trace the broadcast, had enlisted the help of a half dozen others, and were on the telephone for reinforcements.  The Special Agent in Charge, who had been stuck helplessly in the background while he watched this technical voodoo transpire, was now also on the telephone relaying such nasty words as,
encrypted
,
reroute
,
untraceable
, and the ever dreaded,
‘It’ll take some time’
to his boss who sent equally nasty words right back.  Her phone was ringing too.