IBO - Brian R. Lundin (100 books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

rest of you feel the same way?” Eli asked the others.
Gates and Fairchild nodded in agreement.
“What is this Rico shit?” Conway asked.
“Rico is a relatively new law that the feds use. The government enacted it to be used against the Mafia but now they use it against any organization that they consider is an on-going criminal enterprise. The bad thing about is if convicted the time is a lot longer.
As the court date approached, Eli reviewed the government’s evidence; it was overwhelming. They had video and audiotapes showing his clients distributing drugs to John Brown and Billy Edwards, who were at the time drug dealers and government informers. Eli thought about his little brother, Johnny. How many lives had these little assholes, his clients, destroyed through drugs and gangbanging, he wasn't sure he wanted to get them off, they should be locked up.


The State Street Boys had expanded their drug operation to Indiana, next year maybe Wisconsin or Michigan, where does it all end. Drugs were ruining thousands maybe millions of young people lives, subjecting them to the hell of drugs, drive-by shootings and gang wars. Maybe he should resign from the case, he was required by law and ethics to provide the best defense possible for his clients, and he didn't know if he could. Eli knew that he needed some help, not only because of his inexperience but also because of his feelings; he decided to call one of professors at Harvard.
Michael Jordan was his Federal Criminal Law professor at Harvard, one of the few black professor in the law school, and was a former federal prosecutor and a federal court judge, and he was recognized as an expert on federal laws.
Eli called the professor ‘How you doing sir, this is Eli.”
“ Fine Eli, how you doing?”
“ I’m doing fine your honor, I need your help.”
“ What can I do for you Eli?”
“I need some help with a federal narcotic case.”
“ What kind of help?”
“ I’ve been retained to represent some gang bangers and drug dealers in Fort Wayne, Indiana on a federal conspiracy and drugs distribution case.”
“ What’s the problem?”
“Well there are two problems, one is experience, I’ve never tried a case in federal court before and secondly, I grew up in a public housing development in Chicago and my youngest brother was killed by a gang members and died in my arms, also my mother committed suicide after his death and I hate gangs and drugs. I don’t know if I can give them a good defense.
“ Do you think they are guilty?”
“Yes.”
“ Then you must give them the best defense you can, it is easy to defend an innocent person, the test for a lawyer is defending someone he thinks or knows is guilty, that’s what make our system so great.
It doesn’t matter how heinous the crime or how evil the person, everyone is entitled to a fair trial, to be judges by their peers and to be represented in court by a qualified and capable attorney, no matter what they are charged with, rape, murder, child molesting, whatever, what can I do to help you?”
“I was wondering if you could recommend an experienced attorney to act as my co-counsel.”
“When does the trial start?”
“In about three weeks.”
“Let me think about it, I will call you in a couple of days.”
The next day Professor Jordan called Eli and asked him to meet him at his office at Harvard, and bring everything concerning the case. The next morning Eli took a plane to the university.
“Good morning your honor,” Eli said and extending his hand to the professor.
Shaking Eli’s hand, Professor Jordan, replied, “Good morning Eli.”
“I brought everything as you requested.”
“Ok, let’s see.”
The judge reviewed all the evidence the government had forwarded to Eli in his discovery motion.
“They have a pretty tight case against your clients, did they offer you a deal.”
“No, not yet, but my clients has already told me, no deals. By the way, have you thought of anyone for my co-counsel?”
“Yes, me,” the judge said.
Eli excitedly asked, “You?”
“Yes, for a long time I have been concerned about the government abuse of power, especially the FBI, they have become agent provocateurs. From court cases I have reviewed, in a lot of these cases the agent themselves has set up the crime, either throughout bribes or outright entrapment. Every since the dissolution of the Russians, the bureau has turned its attention towards domestic crimes. I guess those agents have to do something to earn their pay. A few years ago they concentrated their attention to minority public, officials in Chicago; in a sting they dubbed “Operation Silver Shovel,” they used overzealous undercover FBI agents and an admitted thief and con man to bribe Chicago aldermen mainly black. A few of the council members beat the case because of entrapment, but most of them were convicted and sent to prison. Now it seems they have turned their attention towards drugs, which is good, but I want them to do it the right way, the legal way, not by setting someone up and nearly forcing them to commit a crime.
American juries are becoming increasingly reflective of society’s intolerance of violent crimes, drug dealers and gangs. They want them locked-up and the keys thrown away, that’s fine with me too, but I just want them to do it the right way.”
Eli spent a week with the judge, they agreed that he would help Eli, but behind the scene. When the trial started the judge would come to Fort Wayne, but he wouldn’t come to court. He would help Eli prepare the case, but Eli would have to handle the proceedings in court.
Originally, from Vicksburg, Mississippi, United States District Court Judge Ann Miller a black female, sixty years old and married with two grown children still spoke with a distinctive southern accent. President Clinton had appointed her in 1992. Her colleagues and defense attorneys considered her as a no-nonsense judge, her rulings were swift and final, and she allowed very few sidebars, where the judge and the lawyers discussed legal issues outside the presence of the jury.
She was fair and by the book and none of her decisions had ever been overturned. She rules her court with an iron fist and believed that convicted criminals especially drug dealers should serve long sentences, preferably at hard labor, though the sentencing guide lines prevented this. There was a strong push for her to be appointed the first black female Supreme Court Justice.
Judge Miller’s courtroom contained light brown carpeting and dark mahogany wood walls, tables, and chairs. Behind the bench was a large gray United States District Court plague and directly in front of the bench was another large mahogany table, which was used by the judge's clerk, the court reporter sat next to the desk. To the right of the bench was the witness stand and the jury box was directly across from there. A gate separated the visitor’s gallery from the litigants. There were two large mahogany tables with high back leather chairs; one table was for the prosecutor the other for the defense. The judge started on time and expected the defendant, his lawyers, the prosecutors, and the jury to be on time also. During one of her trials, the defense attorney was always late arriving to court and returning from breaks and lunch. Because of his tardiness, the court was disrupted and started late. After numerous admonitions she had the attorney arrested for contempt of court and ordered him held in the federal lockup and brought to the court everyday on time, by United State Marshals, he was never late again.
Dan Boni the lead counsel and Rona Beard was the assistant counsel represented the government, also represented at the government’s table were FBI Special Agent Donald Sparks and DEA Special Agent Ronald Owens.
Dan Boni was a tall, muscular man, in his late forties and was balding prematurely. His face was more rugged than handsome; fine lines radiated from his deep blue eyes and he had a quick smile and perfect teeth.
Raised in southern California, he had once been a champion surfer and had a permanent tan. No matter had expensive or well tailored his dark suits were, he always looked uncomfortable in them, constantly pulling at his starched shirt collar. Considered ruthless on cross-examinations, Boni could be abrasive, fearless and downright mean. There was little doubt that Dan Boni had political ambitions. He had the looks, the rich deep voice and the smooth words that attracted the media; he was highly regarded as a top-notch United States Assistant Attorney and an expert in gangs and drugs prosecutions.
The jury selection process known as the voir daire selected fourteen jurors. There were five black women, three black men, four Hispanics women and two white men who were alternates; the trial was ready to begin.
Three beefy looking United States Marshals escorted Eli clients into the courtroom. Eli’s clients wore conservative dark suits, white shirts and dark ties as instructed by Eli. They took their seats at the defense table next to Eli.
At exactly 9:30 am, Judge Miller stood outside her courtroom. She nodded to Jack Johnson, her aging Court Security Officer and he opened the door.
“All rise,” Johnson, announced as the judge entered the courtroom followed by Johnson. The room became silent, and everyone was on their feet. Judge Miller eased into her seat that sat high on the bench and adjusted her crisp black robe.
Smiling she tapped her gravel lightly and said to Jack, “Please bring in the jury.”
In a few minutes, Jack led in the twelve jurors whom he directed to their pre-assigned seats in the jury box. The juror settled in, placing newspapers, purses and paperbacks on the floor in front of their seats, finally they grew still.
The whispers and hushed conversation ceased and everyone in the courtroom took their seats. In the visitor’s gallery, family members of the accused sat with a black mister with young black men, wearing green pants and blue sweaters and observed the proceedings. Other men wearing the gang colors filled the other seats. The government’s neatly dressed clones with scowling faces sat behind the prosecution table. They all were fresh-faced young Assistance United States Attorneys that looked to Eli like circling vultures surveying a road kill. Jack directed the two alternate jurors to two folding chairs outside the jury box.
During the voir daire three of the black women had revealed that a friend or a family member had been the victim of gang violence. One elder black told of her nephew, fourteen years old who had been shot and paralysis in a drive-by shooting. One of the Hispanic juror disclosed how her son, eighteen years