12 not-so-angry men

working the room like a veteran stand-up comic, the jury clerk quickly began turning our civic duty into some kind of bizarro club act.

the first case of the day came to the clerk, and many were called to see if they were in. or out. i was one of those many.

the judge went around the room. and she wasn't messing around. she was judge judy. only more attractive. quickly and honestly we answered her inquiries. where were we from? what do we do? do we already think the defendent is guilty?

the best answer to the last question came from a woman whom responded with, "she looks guilty to me. her blue eye shadow certainly doesn't help." that person was dismissed from serving on this case. i can only hope that was her intent in expressing such an opinion.

before long, the jury was selected. i was named juror #3.

from a social worker for a non-profit. to the art director for Forbes magazine. to the producer of an off-broadway play. to a castmember of, none other than, Law & Order...

i dare say we were an interesting lot.

hell, even our court officer was a member of the Screen Actors Guild, as he passed his headshot to the Law & Order guy. and they continued discussing the idea of having the SAG officer submit headshots wearing his uniform.

i guess they figured you have to work whatever angle you've got.

we were quickly thrown into a case of sex and money. two things sure to hold each juror's attention.

and it did.

2 counts of promoting prostitution. 1 count of money laundering.

mounting evidence from the prosecution:
notebook after notebook filled with "business" entries by the defendant and her girls. a handwriting expert whom not only verified that these entries were in the defendant's handwriting but also explained the difference between Zoner Bloser and Denelian handwriting to a perplexed courtroom. a database of johns with detailed descriptions of each of their genitalia, sexual proclivities, and sexual desires. endless pictures of women barely dressed in lingerie and touching themselves in ways that told me these women were not trying to cater your next party or become your massage therapist. both of which were the defendant's claims.

police detectives who couldn't keep their stories straight. one whom seemed to be crumbling with anxiety, mixing up the melanie griffith/harrison ford film "working girl" with the very different erotic film "working girls." and claiming to have lost crucial photos of his raid on the defendant's first brothel. another detective whom had gone undercover as a john named "Ben Stein" at the defendant's second brothel explained that, as he drank a coke, two girls were wrangled for his presumed pleasure by the brothel's manager. (not Madame - that would be the defendant.) he went on to detail that he pretended to take a shower while the two "masseuses" waited on the bed in their lingerie. he then used his common code word "elvis" to cue the backup squad. he claims the brothel was "really nice. classy. a classy place."

thankfully, each of these detectives are off the vice squad and on patrol-car parking detail.

and the jury later agreed that the only thing we gained from the police testimony was learning that if we're ever in a sketchy situation and hear the word "elvis," we should run. and fast.

i didn't think it was possible to work as a court reporter when you're hard of hearing. i'd think strong hearing and accurate recall would be some sort of job requirement. yet, if our court reporter is any indication, that is not the case. as witnessed by an amused jury and annoyed judge, whom repeatedly repeated statements for the puzzled recorder.

undoubtedly, my personal favorite was hearing her honor curtly clarify a witness' last statement: "'old WHOREHOUSE adage, the PENIS is mightier than the sword.' ok?! can we move on now?"

in deliberation, we all discussed how pathetic and insufficient each of the witnesses were.

each of the three detectives seemed sleazy, inconsistent, and to lack basic credibility.

the defendant's testimony seemed evasive and unbelievable, as she repeated every word that was said to her with a tone of confusion in attempts to portray complete cluelessness. "condom??? hmm i don't knoooww..."

we all agreed that the most believable witness was, oddly, the defendant's drug-addicted convict of an accountant who blatantly stated that he had smoked up the morning of his testimony. when asked if he ever smoked with the defendant, he promptly replied, "nah. i'm pretty stingy with my stuff. i don't give it away. i like to smoke alone." which, again, was what made him oddly credible. fuck, if he wasn't gonna lie about that, why should he lie about cooking the books for a whorehouse?

however, we also agreed that we just weren't sure enough of the defendant's involvement in the brothels.

so we requested the notebooks. and the handwriting samples. and the database of johns.

we dug in.

and we laughed. a lot.

when the prosecutor completed her summation, she had told the jury the evidence would speak for itself. and she wasn't kidding.

these books and database descriptions were absolutely filled with incriminating evidence. the defendant was not only involved with the brothels, she was downright micro-managing the business!

we went around the room and each juror weighed in. guilty, guilty, guilty, . . . not guilty? we had one fonda voice of dissent. he simply wasn't convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. we all expressed respect for his uncertainty and began combing the books for more specific and concrete evidence of the defendent's activities.

and we found it. an entry in the database stating that particular john "will fuck the hell out of you but makes it worth your while. big tipper. permitted to write personal checks to..." the defendant's checking account.

our fonda admitted that was enough for him. and suddenly we were no longer a hung jury (so to speak).

i never imagined the butterflies that would fill my stomach when we re-entered the courtroom.

i had become part of the justice system. and, more significantly, this woman's life. i, and each of my fellow jurors, have now played a part in the consequences of this woman's actions. we found her guilty. each of us looked at the evidence. listened to all sides. weighed the possibilities. and we each found her guilty. on all 3 counts.

as the jury was polled to state agreeance with the verdict presented by our foreperson, i could hear the weight of the words in each "yes." and as we filed out of the courtroom - with the understanding that we would likely never know what happened to the defendant - we each looked dazed. completely deflated by the intensity of those last words. in fact, the intensity of the last 6 days.