Stupid Things Clients Do to Fuck Up the Rest of Their Lives
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
March 19, 2007

It’s March 14 and I'm in the airport bar in Harlingen Texas. Like all airports, it's cigar free, but unlike most airports, it’s also Crown Royal free. I sit alone, choking down Jack Daniels and wondering when the torrential rain will subside in Houston. My flight is already two hours late and I have long since given up any hope of making it to bed at a reasonable hour. I came out to The Valley to visit a potential client. He is, like everyone else in The Valley, alleged to be involved in a drug conspiracy. His family hired a "famous" lawyer, but grew disenchanted with him when he failed to return phone calls or visit his client. They asked me to consider taking his case.

I'm no drug lawyer as that term is understood. I don't get visits from shady vaguely connected cartel mules carrying cash. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) If somebody did drop a bag of cash on my desk, I'd probably tell so many people the story, the IRS would move into my guesthouse. Frankly, the people I represent don't have cartels paying their way. My clients hold their hat out to family and sell all their belongings to pay for me.

This potential client resides in the Cameron County Detention Center. It is a surreal facility consisting of two buildings, surrounded by razor wire. The State inmates are in the North building. Federal, to the South. To enter the attorney visitation portion of the Federal section, you have to punch an unmarked button attached to a speaker at the front of a loading dock. A gate rolled up when I announced my presence. (It’s was very "Get Smart" like actually.) After I walked through a portico, the only thing that separated me from the hell of the detention center was a monitored cell door, controlled by a burly Mexican correction officer.

They let me in without having to show any identification at all. I know I have the innocuous look of a lawyer, but still, it seemed too easy. Out of obligation I handed the burly one my bar card and TDL. He gave it a cursory look and filed it away in a drawer. They got on the phone and called up my inmate and then directed me to the attorney visitation room. It was completely open. It struck me that a crooked attorney could deliver drugs to someone he represented. Of course, I haven’t any idea what search procedure occurs after the visit or what surveillance we were under, but considering the unique ways my clients have hidden drugs in the past, I haven’t a doubt it could be done.

I didn't have to wait long before they brought in my potential client, and he possessed something I hadn't seen in hours - a smile. He wasn't expecting me, he said, but I explained who had sent me and he made the instant connection. I have to admit, I was disarmed by this fellow! I had been in the facility many times and had always felt a little disturbed, but the way he approached me and the conversation that followed left me with an odd feeling of hospitality.

I learned that he came to the U.S. from Mexico at seven months of age. His Mom and Dad were migrant workers, and ultimately the entire family moved to California and became involved in the harvesting of our nations melons. For 15 years he attended various schools, and he lamented the fact that every time he became familiar with a certain textbook, it changed on him. He ultimately decided that he would never catch up, and quit altogether. He moved to The Valley, met the love of his life and had a couple of kids. He was particularly proud reporting that his 15 year old daughter was on a trip to Washington DC, which she had won based on educational merit. I told him about my own trip to Washington DC at that age. With a big grin on his face, he told me that his daughter wanted to be a lawyer, but added somewhat sheepishly that she didn't want to be a criminal lawyer. I replied, "Who the hell does?" We both laughed. We talked about the Dallas Cowboys and the Mavericks. We talked about the coaching problems of the Miami Dolphins. We laughed about the ineptitude of the Texans. He said that it was OK in the detention center – that nobody messed with him – but that everybody was into the Novellas, and with March Madness approaching he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to see any of the games on television. I earnestly commiserated.

I can't say I left the detention center happy, but I was content. And although I am tired in this airport, I'm still content. I hope he hires me. He got caught up in this business in the most natural way. Everybody has a price, and if you throw enough money at someone who is trying to support his family on a migrant's income, the threat of incarceration will not deter him. That is the foundation of the cartel’s business. The billionaires in Mexico City have nothing to fear from our war on drugs....Oops, got to go… they've announced boarding and I'm in the first group. I was about to start preaching anyway.  I’ll keep you posted...

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Prisoner of Love
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
March 08, 2007

One of my website developers lives in a loft across from the Federal Detention Center. I received an email from her at around 2am one night, wherein she asked me what the prisoners across the street were thinking and doing. She could see the lights were on and every now and then could make out the shadow of a face pressed against the small sliver of a window each cell possessed. She said that she felt guilty closing her shades, because she imagined that they looked forward to looking at her loft and dreaming about life on the outside. I wrote her that I couldn't honestly report what specific thoughts they were thinking, but her description of the scene reminded me of a porn movie I watched once, and advised her to close her blinds.

It is an interesting question, and one I have frankly never thought about. Most of our clients here don't go to prison, though I must admit that a good portion who do go are housed in the Federal Detention Center. We have a saying here, "Dead bodies and kilos are going to put you behind bars." So what do inmates think? Empirical evidence would suggest that they only think about the legal aspects of their cases, since we don't usually get phone calls from imprisoned clients unless they want to know how their case is going. There are exceptions, of course. I had one client who used to call every day "just to rap". At $4.85 a call, our gossiping got expensive!

I have a theory about some prisoners. There are a rare few, who feel most comfortable being incarcerated. I've developed this opinion by observing the great lengths some of our repeat clients have gone to place themselves back in custody. They will come into my office, strung out on life and intoxicants, detailing all the reasons why The Man is unjustly coming down on them again and all I hear is the number of mistakes they are intentionally making to cause their own downfall. I preach to them, but it does no good. Soon they wind up in an orange jumpsuit.

Later, when I visit them in jail, I observe the calming influence incarceration has had on them. Enclosed by stifling walls, they seem to be oblivous, like a small dog that prefers to sleep in his cage. In jail they are told where to go, what to do and what and when to eat and sleep. Their day is spent making zero decisions. For some people, who perceive their lives as out of control, such an environment is soothing.

Naturally, such individuals are rare. The vast majority of our clients are terrified with the prospect of incarceration, and so we spend most of our energy preventing that from happening. Despite the musings of my website developer, there is nothing quixotic happening in the detention center across the street. I can't be sure, but its highly likely they are hoping to get a peek of something that can't be provided to them in jail, and its probably not the good life.

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