On the Road to Brownsville
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
September 19, 2007

My thoughts were random. I considered that I might be losing weight. Or maybe I picked the wrong hole in my belt? Is that a love bug? Do they come out this early? What the hell were these settlers thinking? Were there settlers out here? This was Mexico, wasn't it? Where is the King Ranch? Are we driving through it? Why here? Cheap land I bet. I bet it's still cheap. I mean, who the hell wants to live here? That?s like the thirtieth Dairy Queen I've seen on this road! How long is Matt going to sleep? He looks like a toad with his head bent that way. My mind was racing and I decided to stop at the very next Dairy Queen. I needed to find out what the big deal was.

Matt and I were driving south in my black 2007 Navigator, the one with the stainless rims and satellite package. I had never driven south of Rosenberg on US 59, so I was surprised to find it was actually more boring than 45 North of Huntsville. Matt leaned sideways in the passenger seat, head back and the slightest amount of drool dripping from his lips. He had been sleeping for three hours. We were less than half way to our destination.

We were scheduled to be in trial the next day in Brownsville. Ordinarily, I take the plane. Our fees reflect the travel costs when our clients are charged out of town, but this trial was going to take four weeks by estimate and I wasn't about to reside in South Texas for that long without having transportation. I worry about my sanity in the most pleasant of surroundings, and I couldn't imagine what would happen to my state of mind if my mobility were constrained by cabs.

Besides, we needed the space for the move. Matt is a clothes whore. By comparison, I brought three suits - all dark with various GrrAnimal accoutrements. Matt wouldn't embarrass himself by wearing the same three suits twice in one week, so he had seven suits, ten shirts, two hats and 15 ties organized in a rainbow pattern in a rack behind his seat. Adding the shoes, library of books, two computers, plus a printer and we were way over the Southwest Airlines baggage limit. Hence, the road trip.

But God, I had no idea this would be such a mind numbing trip! I knew I was in trouble when I began counting Dairy Queens. I turned and caught Matt leaning against the side of the passenger seat. Why won't he wake up? His head was back and I had a straight view of the top of his head. I couldn't tell if his eyes were closed. I nudged him. He didn't move. I leaned over to see if he was breathing. I couldn't tell. I put the Navigator on Auto Pilot and with my left hand on the steering wheel, I lifted up and placed my face above his, hoping to see his nostrils moving. Hell, maybe he was dead? I drew in closer and - with my face six inches above his -I saw his lips move. I smiled in relief. It was at that point that Matt's eyes opened. For a second we looked at each other. Then he asked, "What are you doing?" "Want to go to Dairy Queen?", I responded.

I ordered a Snickers Blizzard, but the girl behind the counter with the cow eyes gave me one with Oreos. She did remember to turn it upside down before serving it to me, which I guess would have made it all worthwhile, except she did it with so little exuberance and flair that I felt like I was imposing. The last thing I was going to do was complain. I?m giving no one the opportunity to spit in my Blizzard. Matt ordered a Hunger Buster with Bacon, tater tots and a chocolate shake. He ate in silence and occasionally looked up at me with suspicion. "Want to drive?", I asked. "No", he responded into his burger, "I'm in no shape. I took a Xanax a couple hours ago and I?m going back to sleep." Fucker!

Two hours, and three more Dairy Queens later, we were driving through Willacy County. Matt had graced me with his consciousness, and we were close enough to our destination so that the trial was on both of our minds. We talked strategy and predicted the mess that awaited us. Knowing that all the other defendants were set to plea and negotiate with the Government, we bemused our Fate. It wasn't funny, but it was pleasant. Then I saw him.

The Willacy County Sheriff sat on the shoulder, one nib of his patrol car aimed towards the flow of traffic. We weren't speeding, but as we passed he jumped into traffic. Still 100 yards away, I knew that the Navigator had become prey. "We are about to be stopped", I said, looking into the rear view mirror. The patrol car came closer, still no lights or siren. "For what?", Matt asked. "I guess we are about to find out", I said.

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The Phone Call
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
September 02, 2007

I would say the odds of a government employee being in his office after 4pm on a Friday is only somewhat greater than a criminal defense attorney being similarly situated, but I decided to roll the dice, and picked up the phone. Besides, the voice message seemed urgent. He even used the word "imperative". Only one thing could be imperative to an Assistant U.S. Attorney the Friday before a Monday trial.

I had seen the call come in, but the caller ID represented as a private call, and more often than not that means someone is trying to sell me something. I was interviewing a potential client at the time, which was infinitely more important than a sales call. When I checked the message an hour later, it was 4:45pm. I cursed the situation. I doubted he would still be in his office, and found it unlikely that we would be able to connect during the weekend. That meant that Matt and I would be on the road to Brownsville Sunday afternoon wondering what the hell was going on. I was wrong.

Two rings into my call, he answered his own phone. Skipping the pleasantries, he got right to the point. "Ed, all six of the other co-defendants have agreed to plead guilty and testify against your client", he said. The cat got my tongue.

As of Wednesday, nobody had hinted that they intended to plea, much less cooperate with the Government in their prosecution. I knew that offers had been made earlier in the process, but that had resulted in nothing. In fact, we had already started one trial after those offers had been made, so what had changed? And how did it change so fast?

After a sufficient silence, the prosecutor began explaining the deals each defendant was getting. Some of the offers seemed generous. Several others struck me as the usual pie in the sky government nonsense. Then he offered us our own slice of the pie. I still had nothing to say. The plea offers didn't seem much different than what had been offered months earlier. I couldn't wrap my mind around what could have happened to influence the pleas.

I've got to hand it to him. His timing was impeccable. Only sixty hours remained before we were scheduled to pick another jury. The first trial had ended in a mistrial, after four jurors dropped out. Two had admitted to reading and being influenced by mid-trial publicity. One had decided that he was too fearful for his family to be fair. The fourth admitted to having dreams about one of the defendants slicing her neck.

I could sympathize. The trial was enormous, with large implications. It was an intimidating experience, for lawyers and jurors alike. The seven defendants sat around two large conference tables, half of them wearing earpieces for the Spanish translation, and each accompanied by at least one lawyer. We barely had room to turn our heads. It reminded me of the grainy films I had seen of the Nuremberg trials.

The evidence was also intimidating. The Government claimed that our client and his brother made up the hub of a huge drug enterprise, connected to an even larger cartel in Mexico. The head of that cartel had been turned over by the Mexican government. All of the jurors lived on the border, and were intimately aware of the name of the cartel and its propensity for violence. Every time the government mentioned the cartel, it was like pushing into a bruise.

So in this phone call, an offer was made to our client that would make a new trial unnecessary. All he had to do was agree to cooperate with the United States Government. Perhaps, by testifying against his brethren and anyone else the Government deemed offensive, he could cut a good percentage of his sentence. This would all be promised to him in a sealed plea agreement. I had heard it before. I politely declined and told the AUSA I would see him on Monday.

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