Trueman Bradley - Aspie Detective (21 page)

We were leaving to meet the hearing officer soon. Even though I knew I had good friends to defend me, I was still terrified at the thought of going to a court and being accused of something. I feared the negative attention; I feared the aggressive Stokowski; I feared the unpredictable events that surely would happen. I sat in the comfortable chair and “felt autistic.” I didn’t want to deal with reality or the world around me, so I convinced myself there was no world outside me.

“Trueman?” asked Buckley. “Hey! Anybody home?”

Buckley waved his hand in front of my face.

“Boss!” said Sal. “We got to go now, boss!”

I understood that we would be going to the court house to meet the hearing officer, but I felt too “autistic” to reply. I didn’t want to go. It had been a week since I had first learned about the charges against me, but I still didn’t feel ready to go to court. I wanted to sit in my chair and be “autistic.”

Sal and Buckley looked at each other and seemed to be talking about how to make me move. Sal noticed the thick postal letter that was in my hands and he took it from me.

“What’s this, boss?” asked Sal. “Mail? Ah, yes. I see this letter is addressed to Dr. Rozzozzo. My eccentric friend! Do you want me to put postage stamps on it and send it to her?”

“Yes,” I said.

Remembering the letter to Rozzozzo caused me to come out of my “autistic” state. During this last week, I had designed an invention that could warn me of anything unpredictable. The thought of having such an invention comforted me so much that I felt a new sense of bravery. This invention would stop the world from being unpredictable and shocking. And so, going to court and meeting the hearing officer would be the last truly shocking and unpredictable experience of my career. Knowing this would probably be the last such experience, I felt brave enough to come out of my “autistic” state. I rose from the chair and Nora unwrapped the blankets from my body.

“Ready to go, boss?” asked Sal.

I nodded my head to indicate I was ready and Nora led me to the front door. As she was helping me to put on my coat, a flash of light blinded me. I screamed and fell to the floor.

“Get out of here!” shouted Nora.

“I’ll get him! The damned jerk!” said Buckley.

I was temporarily blinded and confused. I thought Buckley and Nora were talking to me. I was terrified by how quickly the unexpected and shocking events were happening. Did Buckley and Nora just blind me and threaten me?

“Leave me alone!” I shouted.

“Trueman, relax!” said Nora.

My vision returned to normal and I felt Nora’s hands stroking my hair. She was comforting me. Outside the glass of the front door, I could see Buckley. He was swinging his fists at a man and shouting something. I realized what had happened.

“There are a lot of newspaper reporters outside,” I said.

“Yeah!” said Nora. “They took a picture of you.”

“That was a camera flash?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Now, get up, Trueman. Everybody? Let’s all form a circle around Trueman and protect him. We’re going to go out to the Lincoln car, okay Trueman? We’ll stay in a protective circle around you, okay? Just keep calm.”

Nora, Sal and Mrs. Levi formed a triangle of protection around me and we walked out onto the street. I heard a lot of reporters yelling and saw cameras flashing. I closed my eyes and tried to stay in the triangle of protection.

“I’m safe in the triangle of friendship,” I said.

“That’s right, Trueman,” said Nora. “Now, just stay calm. We’re almost at the car.”

I kept my eyes closed, so I wouldn’t be surprised by another blinding flash. I felt the hands of my friends, pushing and pulling on my trench coat. Soon I felt soft leather against my hands and recognized the feel of the Lincoln car’s seats.

I opened my eyes and saw the inside of the car. Sal was in the driver’s seat, Buckley sat next to him. I sat in the back of the car, protected on both sides by Nora and Mrs. Levi. Outside, reporters were looking in at me and pointing their cameras. Nora and Mrs. Levi shielded me from the flashes by using their coats to cover the windows.

Sal started the car and we were soon free of the pushy, unpredictable journalists. We drove down Reade Street and I watched the pedestrians, too disturbed in my mind to observe them and take note of their numbers. I was tense, but tried to take comfort in the knowledge that Rozzozzo would soon make an invention that could shield me from such things, and this was possibly the last time I’d ever be so shocked and disturbed.

“Turn this way, Sal,” said Buckley. “We’re going to the Manhattan criminal court house.”

“Criminal?” I asked. “Why am I going to a criminal court? Am I being charged with a serious crime? I thought I was only charged with applying for my license incorrectly?”

“Relax, Trueman!” said Buckley. “The State Department decides where the hearing happens. They decided to have the hearing in a courtroom at the Manhattan criminal court building. I guess one of the courtrooms was free, so that’s why they chose it for the hearing. It doesn’t mean you’re being charged with any kind of criminal offense. So, relax.”

“Oh, good,” I said.

“In fact, it just might be a good thing,” said Buckley. “Because there aren’t any cameras or anything allowed in the Manhattan criminal court building, so all those reporters can’t follow us in there. Those jerks are still following us, huh?”

I looked out the window and saw a car pass us. In the window was a reporter pointing a camera at me. I hid my face, so as to avoid being blinded again. I tried to comfort myself by imagining my new invention.

“I think I’ll call it the ‘surprise revealer,’” I said.

“What?” asked Nora.

“I was just talking to myself,” I said. “Sal? Did you send that postal letter to Dr. Rozzozzo yet?”

“Oh, no I didn’t,” said Sal. “Look, there’s a mailbox. We’ll just stop here for a second and I’ll send this letter.”

Sal stopped the car and stepped out onto the street. After we stopped, reporters parked beside us and started crowding around our Lincoln car like a swarm of bees around a flower. I saw flashes of light and closed my eyes. I hid my face behind my hands. I comforted myself by thinking of my new invention.

“Sal sent the letter,” I said. “I’ll have the new surprise revealer. This is the last unpredictable day I need to endure.”

The Manhattan criminal court building is built in a similar architectural style to the Marine Air Terminal. Entering the building, we had continued to be harassed by reporters. But I could ignore the noise and commotion by concentrating on the beautiful “art deco” design of the criminal court building.

Now inside the courtroom, Sal, Buckley, Nora, Mrs. Levi and I sat at a table in front of the judge’s bench. Chief Stokowski sat at another table to our right. He stared at me in a way that made me nervous and I hid my face behind my hands. But no matter how completely I covered my eyes and ears, I could still hear the voices of the dozens of reporters in the room.

Detective Buckley had been wrong when he said the reporters would leave us alone after we entered the court house. It was true that cameras and recording devices were not allowed in the court house, but most of the reporters decided to leave their cameras outside and followed us into the courtroom anyway. Dozens of them sat in the back and talked loudly to each other. Each of them carried a notebook and pen, ready to write down anything that was said or anything that happened.

The noise of the journalists, who threatened to write down everything I did and tell the world; the frightening stare of Stokowski; the possibility that I might be declared “mentally incompetent” and be discriminated against: all of this made me feel tense and my hands were shaking. In my confusion, I had forgotten my portable music player at the agency office and so I could not escape the noise. I covered my ears, but could still hear. Every time I heard a loud, unexpected noise, I would wince, believing it was a sign that something bad was happening.

“Alright, everyone settle down!”

A tall, gray-haired man had entered the courtroom. He wore a neatly pressed suit with pinstripes and a matching tie. He carried a big, black briefcase and the intensity of his eyes intimidated me. He climbed up to the judge’s bench and sat there. With horror, I realized that he was the hearing officer. This intimidating man who spoke in a merciless, commanding voice was the man who would decide if I was capable of being a detective or if my Asperger’s meant that I was mentally incompetent. I was sure this hard man would condemn me.

“My name is Sidney Saul Tritch,” he said. “I’m the hearing officer and I’m in charge of these proceedings. Now, can someone tell me why there are so many people in here? Who are all these people?”

“The media!” said Stokowski. He looked back at the crowd of reporters in a way I interpreted as threatening. The reporters responded by writing busily in their notebooks.

“And, frankly,” said Stokowski, “I think you’d be doing your duty if you asked all these journalists to bug off!”

Tritch stared silently at Stokowski.

“You think so, do you?” asked Tritch. “And who are you?”

“I’m with the NYPD,” said Stokowski. “I’m the chief of police. Now, can you get rid of these reporters, please?”

“Tell me, Chief,” said Tritch, “do you think because you’re chief of the NYPD that you’re also chief of the State Department, chief of this hearing and chief of me?”

“No,” said Stokowski.

“Then shut up!” said Tritch. “I’m in charge here and I’ll decide what’s my duty and what isn’t! I was just asking who they were. I didn’t say I wouldn’t allow the media to witness this hearing. As long as they’re quiet, they can stay here.”

Stokowski’s eyes were wide open and his face reminded me of a little boy I’d once seen, who had just realized his bicycle had been stolen. I guessed he was shocked and didn’t know what to say. Some of the media started to laugh and Stokowski’s face became red. I couldn’t be sure if he was angry or embarrassed.

Buckley leaned towards me and whispered into my ear.

“That’s lucky!” said Buckley. “It seems like the hearing officer doesn’t like Stokowski much. That should help us!”

I looked at Tritch and noticed he was frowning at Stokowski. Even with my poor ability to interpret emotion I knew that he hated the Chief. Tritch was writing something on a piece of paper, and I guessed he was writing something bad about Stokowski. My mood improved as I started to hope that maybe if Tritch hated Stokowski, he might like us and let me keep my license. I began to hope that we might win this case.

“Stokowski,” said Tritch, “you’re the one who is charging Mr. Trueman Bradley of making a ‘material misstatement’ on his application for a detective agency license, is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Stokowski. “And so, Mr. Trueman Bradley should have his license revoked and shouldn’t be allowed to do any kind of detective work because he’s mentally incompetent!”

“Shut up, you idiot!” shouted Nora.

The courtroom was filled with shocked gasps and some of the reporters began to laugh.

“Asperger’s isn’t a mental problem!” said Nora. “It’s not like he’s stupid! You’re just a prejudiced son of a…”

“Order!” said Tritch. “Be quiet!”

Buckley grabbed Nora’s shoulders and she stopped shouting. But I could recognize that she was still angry.

“Now,” said Tritch, “one more disturbance like that and I’ll have you kicked out of this hearing, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Nora.

“I hope everyone understands that,” said Tritch. “I don’t tolerate interruptions. Now, Chief Stokowski, I understand you are claiming Mr. Bradley lied on his application because he didn’t mention he has Asperger’s Syndrome, right?”

“Yeah,” said Stokowski. “He’s got a serious mental problem! So, he’s mentally incompetent and shouldn’t be a detective!”

“That’s for me to decide!” said Tritch. “I asked you a ‘yes or no’ question. I didn’t ask for your opinion. Now, that is the second time you tried to tell me what I should do. If you don’t behave, Chief Stokowski, I’ll dismiss your case and Mr. Trueman Bradley gets to keep his license, understood?”

Stokowski’s eyes widened again. This time, I couldn’t interpret his emotions. But I was amazed at how he had changed. His usual bossy, pushy way of speaking was replaced with a meek and gentle voice. He lowered his head and spoke softly.

“Yes, sir,” said Stokowski.

The reporters in the back began laughing.

“Quiet, now,” said Tritch.

Tritch took some papers out of his briefcase and examined them. He seemed to be getting ready for the hearing and organizing his thoughts. The courtroom was silent, except for the hushed conversations of the reporters in the back. Although they spoke quietly, I could hear parts of their conversation.

“Stokowski…” said a reporter, in a whisper.

Stokowski must have also been able to hear because he turned around and stared at the reporters.

“Stokowski’s prejudiced against Asperger’s…” said a reporter. “If we print that, the public will feel sorry for Trueman. Stokowski’s a bully and a jerk… everyone will hate him. This will make a good story.”

“What did you say?” asked Stokowski. “I’m a what?”

Stokowski stood up and seemed like he was about to go to the reporters and start beating them. Tritch also stood up. He crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at the Chief.

“Sit down!” shouted Tritch. “Honestly! You’re a chief? You act like a child! Now sit down or I’ll dismiss your case!”

Stokowski hastened to obey Tritch and I could interpret the fear on his face. I imagined he was afraid of Tritch’s threat that he would dismiss his charges against me and I would be allowed to keep my license. I started hoping that Stokowski would get angry again and do something else that Tritch didn’t like. Tritch would dismiss the charges and I could go home.

The reporters in the back were laughing.

“Ha-ha!” said a reporter. “Let’s make that a headline in the paper! ‘Hearing officer called Chief Stokowski a child!’”

I looked at Stokowski, hoping he would hear the reporters and get angry again, but he seemed to be ignoring them.