for a good reason. What could it be?’ I invited the arrogant bastard back into
my office, and the first words out of his mouth were, ‘You must be busier
than a one-arm paperhanger, with the number of appeals you have filed. Are
you finally ready to talk, Steve?’ ‘What do you want,’ I asked him. He
explained to me how things could go much better, and that I could win more
cases if I would only recognize, some people are just career criminals. ‘These
particular individuals need to be put away for any length of time. I think
even you recognize the need, Steve. This is how the system works nowadays,
Steve, not with your superman mentality. Why don’t you take your cape off,
and let’s work together putting away the bad guys? You can have the
non-career criminals without the fights or the expenses, and end your
exhausting costly appeals.’ Looking at him, I said nothing. He knew the
appeals were costing a small fortune in money and time.
“Again, I asked him, ‘What is it you want?’ His reply was, ‘we want Marion
Barker.’ Marion was real scum; I had defended him no less than seven times
over the previous five years. Three of those cases were about Marion forcing
women to suck his dick in a public park. Two women eventually refused to
testify; the third had such a sleazy reputation that the jury bought the claim
she had consensual sex. Even with the bogus police evidence, false reports,
and a corrupt judge overruling my objections, I beat them, and they did not
like it.
“Like a trained rat, I began to understand how to outfox their courtroom
poison. I figured out they were intentionally baiting me to object. They were
using me against myself. In my valor to keep them honest, I would object to
their antics, and the judge would ‘overrule,’ making me look stupid to the
jury. Often, the judge would correct me with personal comments when I was
overruled.
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By doing this, they took the focus off the facts, causing the jury to focus
more on me being an inept idiot than the facts about the case. Once I woke
up and stopped allowing them to make me a distraction, I think they realized
I was becoming a serious opponent.
“Frankly, Marion was too smart for them; remarkably, he left little evidence.
Evidently, he worked alone, and most importantly, he never talked about
what he did with anyone. This time it was the same bunch of crap. Marion
had supposedly forced a 12-year-old girl suck his cock in a public park.
Marion’s DNA matched the semen, but my investigator had established a
strong alibi that would have been hard to dispute. Even with a crooked judge,
false evidence, and the little girl’s testimony, Marion’s alibi was one any jury
would not be able to easily dismiss.
“The prosecutor’s investigator told me point blank, ‘lose the alibi, Steve.’
‘You know this guy committed the other crimes, and it appears he is getting
worse. For God’s sake, Steve, he is after 12-year-old little girls. Do you
believe, for one second, a 12-year-old would make this stuff up?’ I had
interviewed the little girl, and she was extremely convincing as a witness,
and quite honestly, my biggest concern if we were going to trial. A jury does
not like to see a child heavily questioned and crying on the witness stand.
When I spoke to Marion, he kept swearing he did not do it, not a little girl.
He had no history with children. I suspected they fabricated the DNA from
a condom he used with his ex-girlfriend. She was a real doper, and I think
the cops pressured her to deliver a used condom. She was on my witness
list, and I think they were concerned she might give up the whole cover-up
under my questioning.
“I remember my own words after he asked me to lose the alibi: ‘I told him
I can’t do that.’ He looked at me smiling and said, ‘I understand, superman,
and I also understand congratulations are in order. Isn’t your Lois Lane
expecting soon?’ He got up, tossed the envelope on my desk, and began
walking out of my office. Opening the envelope, I saw a picture of the
babysitter and me, in my car. ‘You cheap fuck; do you think this matters?
She’s legal.’ ‘Yes, we know, Steve. Does your wife know her age, as well?
Have you considered your public image if this were to end up as news
headlines? Local attorney caught having sex in his car with a ‘barely legal’
teen. You know, my friends in blue may have a few other documents and
photos you might like to see, as well. It all depends on how you want the
story to unfold on the news.’ He looked at me, cold as ice, and said, ‘See
you in court, Counselor. You will learn to work with me, or I assure you, I
will destroy you, and make you a public spectacle.’
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“Marion got 25-years-to-life. They offered him fifteen years in a deal, but
Marion swore his innocence and turned the deal down. The alibi became a
wash because of the way I presented it, allowing prosecutors to easily poke
holes in it. I believe he was innocent, Allen; the little girl picked out the
wrong man.” Sighing deeply, Steve said, “That was my first time. I sold
Marion for my own hide. I became a part of the American ‘self-righteous
corrupt system’ of justice. There have been over a thousand deals since then.
“I went to the prosecutor’s office when they were ready to execute
Raymond Martin last year, explaining that I could not let it happen. The
prosecutor knew I had enough information to get a new trial, and maybe
exonerate him. You know what they did, Allen? They never got out of their
chairs. They sat laughing at me as if I were a standup comedian. ‘Why, Steve,
we are surprised at you; somehow we don’t think ‘Society Sharon’ would
agree that an orange prison jumpsuit matches with your chickenshit yellow
skin. Now, get out of this office before we have a breaking news conference
showing how you falsified documents against your own cases. Go home to
your family, Steve.’”
Getting up from the corner, he took the bottle of bourbon from the desk
and drank from it like a drunken cowboy in a bar. Reaching into the drawer,
he took out a shiny cylinder, unscrewed the tip, and stuck it up his nose as
he took a hit of cocaine. “This is how I survive, Allen, booze and drugs.
They executed Raymond Martin, as you know, and I have three others on
death row. Billy Williams is an evil, immoral man, but he is completely
innocent of the crime they charged him with. How can I look the other way
and let another innocent man die?” Shaking and crying again, he continued,
“I started out so full of pure hopes and dreams. These corrupt bastards sucked
the life out of me. I not only became a part of the same system I despised in
the 60s, but I actually helped them infect the nation with their poison. I feel
as if my life is a total waste, and has been so destructive to others.”
“Steve, I want you to listen to me. First, tell me, how many guns do you
have?” asked Allen.
“Only the one.”
“Give it to me, and I am going to give you this. It will make you sleep for
a few hours, very peacefully. I will meet with you tomorrow morning, and
we will talk at length about a few solutions for you to consider. Will you
show up tomorrow?”
“Yes I will, Allen,” Steve said handing him the gun case. They embraced
one another as friends. Still weeping, Steve said, “Thanks, Allen.”
“You bet. Now get in bed; the pill works pretty quickly.”
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“Steve, wake up dear, or we will be late. What are you doing in bed? It’s
so unlike you. How was your day? Mine was fabulous; we had a gathering
at the museum and then …”
Sitting on the side of the bed, as Sharon kept speaking, Steve realized he
would not stop the execution. ‘Tomorrow is a new day. I am walking away
from my wasted life as a crooked self-preserving lawyer.’ Sharon continued
talking about her day, as always. Observing her but not hearing her, Steve
thought, ‘You know, maybe this ditz of a social butterfly is one up on
everyone else. To her, the world is all hearts and flowers out your ass.’
Stepping from the shower, and seeing him watching her she immediately
said, “There will be none of that tonight Steve-O; I have a very busy day
tomorrow.”
Smiling, he replied, “So do I, sweetie.” Looking at her body, he thought,
‘Wow. That was the best blowjob of my life today. My energies are going in
another direction, after I close the office. I will find out where ‘we the
people’ lost power and add Molly to my speed dial. God, I hate these
dinners.’
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8
“How Many Pints of Blood In One Barrel of Oil?”
Walking from behind her desk Scott’s receptionist Paula stepped out to
greet Sam saying, “Professor Walker, how nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure, Paula.” Flirting with her, Sam said, “You make that
dress look terrific,” as he shook her hand and sniffed the air. “Wait a minute,”
taking another sniff, he pulled her closer. “If I am correct, the dress is Dior,
and the perfume, Notorious.”
“Professor, the rumors I heard about you, why, they are not rumors at all,
are they?” Paula said, smiling.
“That depends on which rumor you’ve heard,” Sam replied looking her in
the eyes.
Stepping back behind her desk Paula quickly placed a call on hold, asking
Sam, “Is there any way at all, that I, can assist you today, Professor.”
“I am afraid if you did the caller would be on hold all day, and the
congressman would be in need of a new receptionist,” Sam replied smiling.
“I realize unannounced drop-ins are not the norm for the congressman, so
perhaps I can make an appointment with you. I met the congressman
personally for the first time last week in my bar, and hoped to discuss a few
matters before he returns to Washington. Would it be possible to set an
appointment to speak with the congressman before he returns?”
“Professor, you knew your charm and flattery would serve you well when
you walked in the door. Honestly, the campus rumors alone did it for me
when you walked in the door,” she said with a smile. “Please have a seat; let
me check with Scott.” Excusing herself, she went through the doorway and
into the hallway.
“Professor Walker, how are you? What a great honor it is to have you stop
by,” Scott said, extending his hand as Sam entered his office. “We had a
great time at your bar the other night. Please feel free to stop by most anytime
when I am in town. Paula, hold my calls and please bring us some snacks
and beverages when you have the time.”
“Thanks for seeing me on a drive-by basis, Congressman; I know time must
be your biggest commodity.”
“Please call me Scott, Professor.”
“I will, if you call me Sam, Congressman.”
“Tell me what I ‘can do’ for you today?”
“First, let me say I hope my humor concerning your voting record was not
offensive.”
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“Not at all, Sam; if you haven’t noticed, in my profession, we cannot please
everyone. I learned a long time ago how to turn off the response button to
negative comments concerning my voting record.”
Smiling at Scott, Sam said, “Let me rephrase my statement. I find your
voting record horrendous and no joking matter.” Scott stared across his desk
with a puzzled expression as Sam smiled, saying, “Just testing the response
button, Congressman.”
“Good, very good, Sam,” Scott said.
Laughing loudly, Sam commented, “From this side of the desk, your button
also seems to be wired to that puzzled, dumbass look on your face.”
In a monotone voice, without smiling, Scott said, “Tell me Sam, what can
I do for you today?”
“Scott, from what I understand, your group was very active in the 60s in
various protest movements, as well as, helping to bring the Vietnam War to
an end. Were you personally against the Vietnam War?”
“Sam, as a group of young boys we were very active. However, I hope you
can appreciate that I cannot discuss any of our activities. In my position as
a United States Congressman, I am certain you understand; that for me to
engage in such a discussion with anyone would not be the wisest thing to
do.”
“The reason I ask the question, Scott: it was my understanding that you
were instrumental in introducing a radical challenge to the group last week.
Please, correct me if I am wrong, but I understood you encouraged everyone
to stop complaining about the government and actually do something. Were
you instrumental in sending the group on a history search to discover where
‘we the people’ lost power, or was that another member?”
“No, it was me, Sam, and as you had warned me I was under the influence
of way too many Chimay Blue labels; that is one strong beer. Sam, I think it
will be an interesting search to occupy their time. However, I personally do
not follow the same premise the group holds. I believe the people of this
country may have lost some powers, but feel they still own control of the
government. This whole ‘we the people’ losing power thing seems a bit
overblown by my friends, don’t you think?”
“Actually, I do not, Scott. I think the government does what it wants to do
without consulting the people.”
“For argument’s sake, let’s say everyone is correct and I am wrong. I would
recommend that you take some time, get to know the men at the table, and
take a long, hard look at their lives.”
“What do you mean?”
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Leaning over his desk, Scott said, “Tell me, Sam, do you really believe a
protesting preacher without morals, a broke builder, a burned-out lawyer,
and a war hero with an imaginary friend are really capable of developing
any sort of plan of action, against the United States government?” Laughing
loudly, he continued, “Get serious, Sam; their own lives are extremely
dysfunctional, and you think they can actually find out what’s wrong with
the United States government? Wake up, Sam. You want a plan of action,
here’s one: help them straighten out their own lives first. My friends can’t
even fix themselves; much less fix anything in the government. They bitch
at me about Washington politics every time we meet. All of them are clueless
about how Washington really operates.”
After a long pause, Sam leaned forward over the desk and said, “I think
you may have a valid point about your friends, Scott. The only problem I
find with your analysis is that you left out a crooked politician with a poor
voting record, who has a low opinion of his lifelong friends.”
“Ouch, you shoot hard and fast. Listen. Even if you include your low
opinion of me in the scenario, we are all on the sunset side of life. None of
us has enough fight left to undergo such a daunting, impossible challenge.”
Laughing at Sam, Scott continued, “I am amazed at you Sam. You are such
a gifted, smart man, and you came to see me on a rabbit hunt to find out if
my dysfunctional, alcoholic friends are serious. Stop and think how really
ridiculous the concept is of developing a plan of action against the United
States government, Sam. In today’s world, I cannot conceive of anyone
trying a collective action against the government. They will squash them
like bugs. Give it up; we are no longer in the 60s, we all had our day in the
sun. I assure you, at the end of the day, the only thing my friends will do is
sit, talk, drink, and complain, about what they think should be done. Develop
a plan of action, my ass. Sam, I am thinking about dropping out of the whole
group meeting thing because frankly, I am tired of the endless bitching about
the government every time we meet.”
“I have no doubt you know your friends better than I would, Scott, which
is why I came to meet you. When I heard about your brilliant lead in the
group, I thought perhaps there might be some hidden fire in your belly. I
assumed that if you were a protester of the Vietnam War you might be an
active radical of the 60s hiding in Washington, waiting to come out of the
closet with real purpose. I now understand my assumptions concerning you
were wrong. You are exactly as I perceived you to be when I met you. You
are as repulsive as your voting record. I had hoped Molly was wrong when
she told me your disesteemed friends joked that you only drove the car and
sucked up to the cameras.
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I noticed you dodged my question on your stance during the Vietnam War
protests in the 60s, Scott. Your voting record is clear on both the Afghanistan
and Iraq wars.”
Scott showed little emotion and no intimidation from Sam’s comments.
“Sam, I voted for both wars and would vote for them again. They are in the
best interest of the country and a matter of national security for this nation.
I attended the classified meetings and reviewed the documents. I feel they
provided solid reasoning for the invasions.”
“You cannot be serious, Scott; you know the intelligence was bad. Are you
saying you would vote to invade Iraq again?”
“Yes, Sam. I found it was in the best interest of this nation and still is in the
best interest of the nation that we attack terrorism everywhere.”
“My god, you sound like a political advertisement. Have you ever stopped
to listen to yourself, Scott? For the first time in the history of this nation, we
attacked another nation without provocation. You voted to do that and admit
you would do it again. Have you lost all perspective Scott? If I took a rifle
and shot my neighbor’s family because a man down the street told me they
were going to attack my home, I would never get out of jail. There will never
be a single benefit derived from either of those wars. To this day, not a
soldier, politician, or the United States government is able to produce one
benefit from the Vietnam War. Can you give me one, Scott?” Pausing briefly
Sam continued, “I didn’t think so, and you will never be able to offer one
benefit from Afghanistan or Iraq. This country is no more secure because of
those wars, and you know it. Mark my words, Congressman, the dead or
wounded soldiers in those illegitimate causes or their families will never
receive a damn thing. Those tribal Arabs will never accept democracy as a
form of government. The minute that last soldier leaves, the next Sadam
Hussein will take over again. You and men like you in Washington are
responsible for another tragedy of wasted American lives and destroyed
families.”
Scott sat silently listening to Sam’s comments, as his eyes glared across
the desk with intense disapproval.
Watching Scott’s expression, Sam forcefully said, “Before I leave, let me
impregnate your mind with an image of your shame and guilt. I hope this
one keeps you up at night. One barrel of oil contains 42 gallons. The adult
human body contains 10 pints of blood. If we total all the deaths, to this
present day, of everyone killed in your asshole war for the security of this
nation, you have filled over 36,000 barrels with human blood. If you factor
in the maimed amputees that you hide from, Scott; you know the ones that
you have never visited in the hospital.
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The ones with missing legs, arms, eyes, and their families ripped apart by
your national security wars. Congratulations Scott, you have filled another
128,000 barrels with blood! Do not make me calculate the blood loss of their
families. You are the butcher responsible for maiming their sons, and
daughters! In all of your national security bullshit, Congressman, the
American people will not receive one barrel of oil in exchange for the blood
and maimed bodies of our young men and women. If any idiot in Washington
had more sense than George Bush, they would have put 5000 commandos
on the ground, with Arabic speaking wives. Imagine commandos, dressed
as Muslims, infiltrating terrorist cells in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Pakistan,
becoming a terror to the terrorists themselves. That would have been to
simple, smart, and cheap wouldn’t it?”
Cutting Sam off, Scott said, “Professor Walker, I am sorry, but I just
remembered, I have an appointment in 10 minutes,” Scott said as he pressed
the speaker. “Paula, would you be so kind as to show the professor out?
Perhaps we can continue your views on war at another time, Professor.”
“I see it’s time to sweep the barrels of human blood under the rug and hide
them from your conscience. You were wrong about disconnecting your
button, Congressman. The button in our mind connects to the conscience,
and yours has never been connected, Congressman. I hope my words rob
you of sleep.”
“Ouch again, Sam. Let’s see, that’s two ouches for you, and none for me.
So how about one little ouch for the professor, before you go? I understand
you videotaped Senator Wilkins’s daughter, Christina, while you fucked her.
Professor, I am sure you must realize that filming her having sex with you
without her permission, would be against the law. We also understand you
used the tape … to fuck the university. Technically, we call blackmailing the
university into buying your new little bar a crime, as well. Again, Professor,
we wouldn’t recommend blackmail as a new profession.”
“Who in the HELL is we?” Sam shouted.
Smiling like the cat that ate the canary, Scott calmly taunted, “Just one more
small item, Sam, we wondered how you would explain in a court of law the
full retention of your full salary as part of your retirement?” Sam sat silently,
staring across the desk as Scott continued. “You know what I think,
Professor? I think you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror before
you speak to me concerning my voting record.” Pausing, Scott said, “What’s
the matter, Sam, cat got your tongue?”
Standing to his feet, Sam wished he had his slapping stick with him for the
side of Scott’s head.
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“Not at all, Congressman; all I did was dip my dick in the right spot and
won a crucial game of chess played out every day on the chessboard of life.
While you, Congressman, stand in front of me as a murderer. Look at your
hands, covered with the blood and tragedy of innocent lives. You exchanged
164,000 barrels of human blood for nothing. You justify your murders as if
you have a political right to murder under the false premise of national
security. I find it amazing that you can stand upright without a spine.
Obviously, you have never stood for anything because you fell for everything
Bush and Cheney could dream up. From where I stand, you have one
attribute. As a war criminal, you perfected the art of murder by fumbling the
ball politically. By the way, say hello to your wife. Oh, I forgot, you don’t
stay at home when you are in town do you. Is she still the hottest attraction
at the country club? If anyone needs a long hard look in the mirror, it is you.
The next time you shave; ask yourself why you ran for office. What’s the
matter, cat got your tongue?” Sam smiled as he turned and walked out.
Scott started to respond, but Sam kept walking. Paula, hearing the
conversation’s volatility, had waited in the hall. As Sam came through the
door he quipped, “The man gives me the political creeps; his mindset is the
exact reason that I took a bullet on campus.”
To Sam’s surprise, Paula said, “I agree with you, Professor. He has been on
the phone all morning talking with John Boehner, another Washington power
loon, on how to outplay Obama on the budget.”
“Where does it end, Paula?”
“Call me sometime, and we can talk about it over dinner,” she said, smiling.
“I will do that, Paula; I like your style and smell,” Sam said sniffing the
air. On his way to Woodstock69, Sam phoned Molly for the number of her
private investigator.
Scott sat at his desk fuming over Sam’s remarks: the barrels of blood, his
wife Samantha, and Sam’s question, “Why did you run for office?”
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