William Lashner - Past Due

“Go ahead,” said the judge.

“If you remember, Mr. Porter pled guilty to a drug misdemeanor, simple possession. Because of his prior record you asked for a presentencing report. Mr. Porter has taken three blood tests since the plea and all have turned up negative. He has cooperated fully with the presentencing officer and in that time has continued his fine attendance at his place of employment. If I may, I’d like to pass up to Your Honor a letter from Janice Hull, his supervisor at work, calling Mr. Porter an exemplary employee.”

“Have you seen this letter, Miss Carter?”

“Yes, Judge. No objection.”

I gave the letter to Clerk Templeton and continued.

“I also have another letter for Your Honor. I am pleased to announce that Rashard Porter has been accepted into the upcoming class at the Philadelphia College of Art. Mr. Porter is a fine artist who is hoping to make a career in the world of art and design. This is his acceptance letter from Dean Sandhurst, along with the terms of his financial aid.”

“Have you seen this letter too, Miss Carter?”

“Yes, Judge. Again no objection.”

“And you’ve checked that it’s legitimate?”

“I spoke with Dean Sandhurst just yesterday. She was very impressed with the defendant’s portfolio and his potential.”

“Go on.”

“Mr. Porter has pled guilty and admitted his mistake,” I said. “He has lived up to all the expectations of this court since his plea. He understands the rare nature of the opportunity that has opened up for him at PCA and intends to make the most of it. He has pledged to continue to work diligently, Your Honor, and his mother is here to say that she will be sure to make him live up to that pledge. In short, Mr. Porter is a perfect candidate for probation, Your Honor, and that is what we are asking for here. We have no objection to having his continued enrollment at PCA be an element of that probation. This is a young man who has turned his life around and earned this opportunity. We ask the Court to allow him to pursue it.”

“Miss Carter?”

“We have no objection to probation under the terms outlined by Mr. Carl.”

“That’s all you have to say, Miss Carter?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Porter. What about you? You are entitled to speak for yourself.”

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he said softly.

“Speak up,” barked Clerk Templeton.

“I know I made a mistake,” said Rashard, “and I won’t do it again, I promise. My mum’s here and I promised her too. I’m sorry I let her down. All she’s done for me, I can’t let her down again. I’m going to do my best at that art school, Judge. I never expected there was a college for drawing, but I’m excited at the chance. That’s all.”

I took hold of Rashard’s arm, gave a squeeze to let him know he had done well.

“Yes, okay, I guess I have what I need,” said the judge, and I was certain he did. It was why my pleading was muted, no reason to go overboard on the verbiage here. For Judge Wellman, this was not a difficult decision, not, in fact, a decision at all. The ADA and the defense had agreed on a course of action, the presentencing report had concurred, Rashard’s acceptance by PCA had sealed the deal. This was a kid with a chance and no judge in the courthouse would take that away from him. I could have maybe even gotten the sentence suspended, without probation, but I thought it might be profitable for Rashard to have a probation officer reviewing his performance at school, just to be sure, and ADA Carter had been insistent.

The judge looked down at the letters in his hand, looked up at the ceiling, then at me with a troubling expression. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smiling, judges don’t smile at sentencings, but there was something else there. Was I just imagining it, or was he looking at me as if I were the man in the dock?

For a moment he conferred with Clerk Templeton, who was giving me the eye as she spoke, and the judge nodded. And then he began.

“I’m not as impressed as you, Mr. Carl, by Mr. Porter’s good behavior between his plea and his sentencing. He is not a fool, he knew what he had to do to have a chance here today. He goes to work on time and has you wile his acceptance into PCA, but all that does not obviate the facts in this case. Mr. Porter was in a stolen car. He had a significant amount of marihuana on the front seat of that car.”

“He pled to a single misdemeanor,” I said.

“I am allowed to look at the totality of circumstances.”

“The only crime relevant here is simple possession.”

“And he has a number of serious priors which trouble me greatly.”

“That is why we asked for-”

“I’ve heard enough from you, Mr. Carl. It is my turn. Is there no one in this courtroom thinking of the law-abiding citizens of this city. Driving around in a stolen car, high on a schedule-one substance. Miss Carter, you should be ashamed, going along with Mr. Carl’s recommendation. Mr. Porter was in jail once, he obviously didn’t learn his lesson. I believe he needs a longer time to think it over.”

“Your Honor, this-”

“Quiet, Counselor. You have done your client no favors during these proceedings. Your whole strategy was to attack the police here, to smear as racist an officer simply doing his job, an officer, I might add, of the same race as the defendant. I do not wish to paint your client with the foul brush you have used before this court but your actions leave me little choice. Mr. Porter, you have some lessons to learn. One, stay away from stolen cars. Two, stay away from illegal drugs. Three, stay away from lawyers like Mr. Carl.”

“This is uncalled for-”

“Shut up, Mr. Carl. Mr. Porter is hereby sentenced to one year incarceration, no part of that to be suspended.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard right.”

“Judge.”

“Quiet, Mr. Carl.”

“That is an entirely inappropriate sentence for-”

“He was found with an ounce and a quarter, Mr. Carl. That takes him out of the personal-use category.”

“By five grams, Your Honor? An extra eleven months for five grams? That’s outrageous.”

“No, sir,” he bellowed, his face swollen near to bursting, “it is you who are outrageous. One more word from you and I’ll find you in contempt.”

I stared in disbelief at Judge Wellman, his face dark with an inexplicable anger, his hands shaking on the bench. Rashard was standing next to me, looking at me, wondering what had just happened to him. From behind I heard a “Dear Lord,” coming from Mrs. Porter. Clerk Templeton was staring me with victory in her eyes. I looked around and tried to understand. A year? Rashard was going to jail for a year? What the hell was going on? This was wrong, dead wrong. Judges get it wrong, that is another of the three immutable laws of the legal profession, but this judge wasn’t getting it wrong for the usual reasons, out of ignorance or sloth or plain prejudice. No, this judge was getting it wrong simply because I was on the side of the right. Here was my final proof that the law had turned against me, but not only me. The law had also turned against anyone in any way connected to me, and it was moving with an unimaginable fury.

“You want to find me in contempt, Judge,” I said. “Don’t bother looking too hard, I’m there already.”

“Five hundred dollars, Mr. Carl. Anything else to say?”

“He got to you too, didn’t he?”

“A thousand dollars.”

“You’re just a tool for that bastard.”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Go to hell.”

“Two thousand. Another word from you and you go to jail.”

I was about to loose a stream of invective but I stopped. It would feel grand, but it wouldn’t do any good, it wouldn’t help my client. There was only one place I could go to help my client now, and jail wasn’t it.