Overkill. Joseph Teller

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      To Jason

      CONTENTS

      1: GUILTY WITH AN EXPLANATION

      2: WHAT WE HAVE HERE IS AN EXECUTION

      3: DUMB-ASSED QUESTIONS

      4: A REAL NICE KID

      5: JUST GETTING STARTED

      6: WELCOME TO TOMBSTONE

      7: BRICKS AND BOOKS

      8: DUTCH TREAT

      9: FRANKIE THE BARBER

      10: MIRANDA

      11: GETTING ANGRY

      12: JURORS ENTERING

      13: I HAD A SON

      14: STUBBORN AND SELF-DESTRUCTIVE

      15: A TWO-BIT PUNK

      16: SLIM AND NONE

      17: THE PROBLEM AND THE ACCIDENT

      18: THE WITNESS IN THE HALLWAY

      19: JEREMY’S STORY

      20: THE LOST WEEKEND

      21: BUTTERFLIES

      22: THE LAST WORD

      23: WATCHING THE CLOCK

      24: NICE SHOES, YOUR HONOR

      25: YES IT IS

      26: PERFECT SCHMERFECT

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      1

      GUILTY WITH AN EXPLANATION

      Jaywalker’s sitting in Part 30 when it happens. Part 30 is one of the Supreme Court arraignment courtrooms they have down at 100 Centre Street. It’s where you go before a judge for the first time after you’ve been formally charged with a felony. A felony being anything they can give you more than a year for. Like murder, say.

      Jaywalker’s there for a sentencing. A client of his, a wiseguy-wannabe named Johnny Cantalupo, pleaded guilty to possession six weeks ago, in order to avoid going to prison for sale. It was cocaine, and not that awfully much of it, and Johnny’s white and had no record to speak of, so the assistant D.A. and the judge had agreed to probation and time served, specifically the two days Johnny had spent while he was in the system.

      In the system.

      Whenever he hears the expression, Jaywalker can’t help picturing a huge beast, gobbling up the newly arrested, digesting them for a day or two, and then, well, the rest is a bit vague. Spitting them out? Undigesting them into a courtroom? Or even worse, perhaps.

      Although he was the first lawyer to show up this morning, and Johnny (under penalty of death by Jaywalker) the first defendant, they have to wait to get their case called. A written probation report first has to complete an arduous journey spanning three entire floors of the building, a feat that can take hours, sometimes days or even weeks. Never mind that the report will have no impact whatsoever on the sentence; its presence is mandated by law. In fact, the appearance before the judge this day promises to be a perfunctory one, the precise details of the sentence having been long ago worked out, recited on the record, and promised to the defendant on the sole condition that he show up today, which Johnny dutifully has. Consequently, Jaywalker will barely speak, having no need to convince the judge to do anything or refrain from doing anything. He’s therefore allowed his attention to wander from the half-finished crossword puzzle in his lap to the defendants who one by one are brought out to face the judge, stand beside their lawyers and hear the charges they’ve been indicted on by a grand jury.

      The first thing that strikes Jaywalker as out of the ordinary is when the clerk calls a particular case and a lawyer, instead of simply rising from his seat in the audience and quietly making his way up to the defense table, shouts out, “Defendant!” This immediately brands him as a civil lawyer, unfamiliar with how they do things over here on the criminal side.

      The guy even looks like a civil lawyer, Jaywalker decides. Not just that he’s short and bald; those descriptors apply to plenty of criminal lawyers. No, it’s more than that. There’s something decidedly shifty about him, something just a touch too practiced. Something that suggests ambulance chaser, or fixer. The old term shyster even comes to mind, but Jaywalker immediately banishes it, half forgiving himself only because he himself is half Jewish. Sort of like how African Americans are free to call each other nigger, but others need not apply.

      They bring the guy’s client out from the door to the pen, and Jaywalker’s attention shifts to him. He’s a kid, a kid who looks no more than sixteen or seventeen. Tall, though, with good posture for a teen, pale skin and closely cropped blond hair. A couple of years older and he could be a marine recruit, thinks Jaywalker, or in his first year at West Point. But the thing that really stands out is how good-looking the kid is. Beautiful, almost. Though having grown up in the homophobic ’70s, Jaywalker still has a bit of trouble applying the term to a young man. Handsome, yes. Striking-looking, sure. But beautiful? No need to get carried away. But that’s how good-looking the kid is, even after a day or two in the system.

      He misses the kid’s name, but leans forward and is able to catch the word murder as the clerk reads off the charges and asks the young man how he pleads, guilty or not guilty.

      Now the thing is, the answer to that question is “Not guilty.” Always. Even if immediately after the phrase is spoken, the lawyers were to approach the bench, huddle with the judge, work out a plea, and sixty seconds later the not guilty plea were to be withdrawn and replaced by a guilty plea to some lesser charge with a reduced sentence. Precisely as had been the case with Johnny Cantalupo, six weeks ago.

      Only that’s not what happens now.

      Instead, as soon as the clerk asks the question, the civil lawyer answers for the kid. “Guilty with an explanation,” he says.

      Now that may work in traffic court, or in the summons part. But here, what happens is the entire courtroom—and it’s a big courtroom, pretty much filled to capacity—goes stone-cold quiet.

      “Excuse me?” says the judge, a white-haired old-timer named McGillicuddy.

      “Guilty,” the lawyer repeats, “but with an explanation. It’s my feeling that probation