Brownsville, Part 4
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
May 16, 2008

The cop had asked the most unusual question that I had ever received from someone in that position, but in my anger, I didn't hear him the first time. So he asked again. "Is it a big drug trial?" he repeated, his face genuinely earnest. My first thought was that he was kidding. Wasn't that what he did for a living, harassing motorists like me for the gamble of a drug find? Why the hell would he be interested in our trial? Aren't drugs what he does? But this cop looked at me as if he was watching his own reality show, and Matt and I were the actors. He really, really wanted to know.

It took me a while to get it. Some trial involving drug big wigs would all be foreign to him. He wouldn't actually know a "big" drug case. His busts would generally be uneventful. With the exception of the large load, which would have been identified by a CI early and worked from the border up, he wouldn't really be involved in anything momentous. Even in that situation, the local cops would only be called out to make the traffic stop, and then brushed aside as the agents who worked the case rushed in to do the search and close the investigation. His normal stops would largely be at the expense of the poor courier, or the mere mortal making a cash run into Mexico, whose load could be seized and registered, but never resulting in much of a case.

Because he really wanted to know, and because I felt vaguely famous, I really wanted to tell him. "Yeah", I offered, lowering my voice to accentuate the importance of what I was about to say, "It's a big deal. A really big deal." I half expected him to high-five me. He turned to his street partner and nodded, I assumed to share in appreciation for this important moment. I egged them on. "I really can't tell you any more, but I'm sure you will read about it in the papers." I almost winked. They both nodded solemnly.

My anger was gone, and clearly the officers no longer had any interest in searching my vehicle. Assuming our meeting had ended on a high note, I reached out to the officer for my driver's license. He mistook my reach, and instead of giving me my license, he took my hand firmly and shook it. "Good Luck", he said looking me in the eyes, "we are sort of all in this together, you know." "Yeah", I said haltingly, "I really guess we are."

******

Through the window of the courtroom door, I could see the seven dwarfs huddled together. They sat at one table, hunched inward as if they were throwing dice. Grumpy was doing most of the talking, but Greedy also had a thing or two to say. The rest stared into the center with a quiet resolution. Matt and I already knew the fix was in, but exactly how fixed was a mystery. That question was answered when we shuffled through the door with our wheeled boxes. Grumpy and Greedy turned their heads to offer a patronizing smile. The rest looked guiltily into their briefcases or at each other.

"Good Morning", I said to no one in particular. Being Matt, he would have no part in contrivances. He rolled his box around mine until he had a full frontal of the dwarfs. "So", he asked, throwing his hands out to the side and thrusting his groin forward, "Which one of you is going to fuck us today?" I had to laugh. The dwarfs offered up their denials. At the end of the cacophony, Grumpy spoke up. "You are the one's fucking us!", he said, "We didn't want to cooperate but you won't plead!"

As I began unloading and organizing, pulling my trial materials around to a table parallel to the dwarfs, I gestated Grumpy's comment. I have to admit, I was baffled. How in heavens name could our refusal to cooperate with the United States Government serve to fuck anybody? Was I entering a parallel universe, where the laws of gravity and governmental back dealing didn't apply? If we didn't plea, then their clients could testify their time away, clearly earning the federal guideline departures they were so anxious to achieve. If there was no trial, the departure request was not at all assured.

All would soon be clear. As our Assistant U.S. Attorney marched in through the out door, followed by his smiling cabinet of FBI, ICE and IRS agents, he waived recognition to the dwarfs but walked directly over to Matt and I. "Can we talk?", he asked. And so, my dear reader, this begins the part of our adventure where Matt and I get to eat the magic mushroom. I certainly hope you all enjoy the next installment.

Permalink