A Case of Smoked Justice With apologies to James Halliwell-Phillipps Ricky Ginsburg

The bailiff stood and stroked his goatee as the clock on the wall behind the bench clicked over to nine. Sliding his butt-worn chair back against the carved mahogany rail, he turned to address the courtroom, bellowing, "All rise!" loud enough to awaken anyone who had drifted off in the summer heat.

From the opposite corner of the Greater Norfolk Civil Court, Judge Lena Bacon strode from her chambers, shoving the heavy oak door closed behind her with one hip. The court officer waited for the gray-haired judge to smooth the back of her robe and take the seat of justice, before he announced her to the audience of lawyers, clients, and interested onlookers and instructed them to take their seats.

Flipping her hand in annoyance toward the bailiff, the judge set the tone for this morning's court. "Let's go Harvey. It's Friday and I want to be out of here in time for a round of golf this afternoon. Who's first?"

Harvey, who had been an armed bailiff in this courtroom back when her honor's hair was still flaming red and her temper just as hot, reached down and lifted the first docket from the carefully arranged pile on his desk. "The City of Norfolk versus Peter Wolffe, one count of disorderly conduct, three counts of assault on a city official, one count of failure to maintain a structure within the city limits, and forty-four counts of attempted murder."

Her Honor looked up from her copy of the indictment and lifted the bifocals off the tip of her tanned nose. "Forty-four counts?"

Nearly tipping his chair over, the young prosecutor, just four semesters removed from law school graduation, stood holding his copy of the papers and smiled. "Yes, your honor, each one signed by the former tenants of 10185 Bay Shore Drive."

She pointed at the assembly. "I assume that's your crowd sitting behind you, Mr. Rodriguez?"

The prosecutor nodded his head. "Yes they are, Your Honor. All forty-four are here today." Sighing, Judge Bacon turned to her right and looked down at the thinly mustached lawyer seated at the defense table along with his furry client. "Mr. Testerone, I understand your client has already rejected the prosecutor's offer of a plea agreement. Are you ready to proceed?"

The barrister slicked his black hair back one more time as he rose to his feet and gazed at his adversary. "Yes, your honor, the defense is prepared to refute these spurious, fraudulent, and inflammatory charges brought about to sully the good name of my client."

"Save your breath, counselor. I'm not interested in speeches this morning." She waved him to sit and looked at the prosecutor. "Mr. Rodriguez, please call your first witness."

With a glance over his shoulder, the prosecutor nodded to the three curly-tailed building inspectors. The one closest to the aisle stood, rubbed a wrinkle from the front of his official white shirt, and waddled to the railing. "The city calls Primo Carnera to the stand."

The bailiff opened the creaking gate and let the rose-tinted city employee through, guiding him to the witness stand where he was sworn in. With obvious effort and a grunt, the inspector let the heavy cast that covered his forearm and hoof come to rest on the aged bible. The junior prosecutor walked up to face his star witness and began the questioning. "Good morning, Mr. Carnera. I see your arm is still in a cast. Will you tell the court how this happened, please?"

With great effort and in obvious pain, the porcine gentleman twisted in the seat and wrapped his hooves around the legs of the chair to complete the turn. "Well, your honor, I was instructed to make an inspection of the premises at 10185 Bay Shore Drive in response to a series of complaints from the tenants. They claimed that the landlord, Mr. Wolffe, had been negligent in his maintenance of the property and had been systematically forcing them out of their apartments."

The judge raised an eyebrow and interrupted his testimony. "Forcing them out? Using what means, Mr. Carnera?"

"Disconnecting electrical service, shutting off water supplies, and occasionally knocking their doors down with a motorized floor vacuum that he rode through the hallways at all hours of the day and night."

The defense attorney slammed his briefcase shut and shouted, "Objection your honor-hearsay!"

The judge looked at the lawyer and shook her head. "Overruled, I've read several of the complaints and the details are all there. Go ahead, Mr. Carnera."

"My two brothers and I arrived at the building on the Thursday morning before Labor Day and knocked on the landlord's door. Mr. Wolffe opened the door and looked at the inspection notice and told us we would have to wait for his attorney." The inspector adjusted his seat and moved the damaged arm to a more relaxed position.

Mr. Rodriguez held up a sheaf of bloodstained papers encased in a see-through evidence pouch. "Are these the documents your team showed Mr. Wolffe?"

Grunting, Primo reached into his coat pocket and dug out a pair of reading glasses that he placed carefully on his snout. "Yes sir, those are the ones. You can still see the blood spots from where he punched Trio in the face."

Testerone leaned over to his snarling client and whispered in his ear. The accused's tail swished angrily over the floor behind his chair and he slapped his paws on the table as he hissed a reply in his lawyer's ear.

The lawyer jumped from his seat and waved his pen in the air over his head. "Objection your honor! Mr. Carnera was not a witness to any such assault."

"Is that true, Mr. Carnera?" asked the judge.

"I was in the electrical distribution closet when he hit my brother, your honor. So, no, I didn't see it happen."

Testerone picked up the ball, "So he could have hit himself in the face by walking into a wall."

"You're out of order, Mr. Testerone. Sit down. You'll have your chance to question the witness."

"Thank you, your honor," offered the prosecutor, as he returned to his questions. "Once the lawyer arrived and you were allowed to begin your inspection, what was the condition of the building as you found it, Mr. Carnera?"

"All of the apartments were vacant, no tenants, but all their furniture and belongings were still there. Most of the units looked like a hurricane had blown through them. Chairs were lying on their sides, pictures hung at weird angles on the walls, clothing was strewn about the floor, and a layer of dust and sand had settled over everything."

"What about the actual structure?" he asked.

The witness removed the spectacles from his snout and chewed on one of the earpieces for a moment before he answered. "Well, the building was solid brick construction from the early sixties that had weathered any number of severe hurricanes over forty years. The windows were cracked in most of the apartments and none of them had functioning storm shutters. I didn't go up to the roof, but Segundo did, and I've read his report. The tarpaper had cracked open wide enough to swallow a hoof in many places and the air conditioning exhaust vents were covered in mold."

"In your opinion, as a licensed building inspector, do you believe this building was habitable?"

"No sir. I've been in sties that weren't as filthy as this place." He turned to look directly at Wolffe. "It's my opinion that the city should take control of these premises and have the building demolished."

The prosecutor returned to his table and selected several clear poly envelopes with blue and yellow forms inside. He carried these back to the witness stand, reading as he walked. "I see from these medical reports that your right forearm has been fractured in two places. Please tell the court how and where these injuries occurred."

"I was opening an electrical panel on the third floor landing as Mr. Wolffe came running up the stairs. He was shouting and puffing as he banged his paws on the handrail. He saw me opening the panel door and rushed over to try to stop me. My arm got wedged between the door and the wall when he kicked it with his leg."

The prosecutor turned toward the crowd and tapped the documents on his hip several times. He looked hard in the face of the accused and asked the damning question, "What was in the panel box that he didn't want you to see?"

Testerone jumped from his seat and bellowed, "Objection! Calls for supposition from the witness. There's no proof my client was hiding anything in that box. There was no intent of concealment!"

The judge looked at the prosecutor and declared, "I'm going to give you some latitude here, Mr. Rodriguez. Overruled!"

Returning to his witness, the city's attorney asked the question again, "What did you find in that panel box, Mr. Carnera?"

With a quick shake of his head and a snort, the witness turned to the judge and declared, "All of the electrical devices, circuit breakers, wire harnesses, and connectors had been covered with barbecue sauce causing them to short out."

The crowd, mostly silent to this point, erupted in a cacophony of squeals and grunts. One former tenant began to sob. The judge tapped her gavel twice and called the courtroom back to order. Testerone shuffled a handful of papers and pulled a yellow legal pad close to jot down several words. Spinning the pad toward the defendant, he pointed to his notes. His client shook his head vigorously and took the pen from Testerone's hand. He scribbled the word 'NEVER' in kindergarten-sized letters, tearing the paper in several places, before he tossed the pen back onto the table. Shaking his head, the lawyer flipped the pad face down onto the table as he stood and pleaded, "Sidebar, your honor?"

In lockstep, the two lawyers approached the jurist, who put her hand over the microphone in front of her to muffle the private conversation. Testerone leaned forward and spoke in a soft, yet confident voice, "According to the police reports, there was no actual forensic testing of the liquid found in the electrical panel. Therefore, we have no positive evidence that it was barbecue sauce, other than opinion of the arresting officer, and I must insist that you disregard that portion of Mr. Carnera's testimony."

She looked at the greasy lawyer and frowned. "You don't think that this witness is qualified to identify barbecue sauce? Mr. Testerone you are pushing your luck in this courtroom, take your seat." The judge leaned back in her chair and gathered her thoughts. "Mr. Carnera have you personally ever had any contact with barbecue sauce?"

The witness blinked his eyes several times and scratched an imaginary itch on the top of his smooth scalp. "Personally? No your honor, and hope never to be in that position. However, I'm familiar with the odor and consistency of barbecue sauce. But regardless of whether it was sauce or not, the liquid fried the entire electrical panel and our subsequent investigation of the other panel boxes in the building revealed identical damage."

"One final question, Mr. Carnera," the prosecutor grinned. "What did you find in the storage shed behind the building?"

"Objection! The inspection certificate specified only the structure at 10185 Bay Shore Drive. The city inspectors had no right to search any other building on the lot."

"Mr. Testerone, perhaps the next time you slide into my courtroom, you'll take the time to research the city building codes first. An inspection certificate is issued for the entire property, not just one building." The judge turned to the witness and ordered, "Answer the question please, Mr. Carnera."

With his skin color fading from a healthy rose to the blanched tinge of day-old lipstick, the inspector looked at the accused and watched him slide slowly under the empty table as he answered. "Forty-four bags of charcoal and a competition-size barbecue smoker."

Two of the females in the audience fainted. One of the teenagers covered his mouth with a hoof as he stumbled from the courtroom. Testerone grabbed his client by the shoulders and yanked him back into the chair. He pulled the long gray hairs on Wolffe's right ear to bring it close to his lips. "You told me you were Kosher!" he spat into the cowering building manager's ear. The prosecutor spun on his heel and walked back to the table where he took his seat, but not before winking at the two smiling brothers.

Judge Bacon called to the defense table, "Mr. Testerone, your witness." There was a pause long enough to annoy the judge who brought her voice up several notches in volume as she repeated the summons. "Mr. Testerone, do you have any questions for this witness?"

The shaken lawyer stood, pen in hand, and looked at the ceiling as he composed a question in his mind. Apparently satisfied, he dropped the pen into his pocket and walked up to the witness stand. "Mr. Carnera, can you say with one hundred percent certainty that Mr. Wolffe was the owner of the contents of the shed?"

His color was still working its way back to normal, but he was no longer shaking. The witness looked into the face of the attorney and grumbled, "We found an American Express receipt for the items still taped to one of the bags with the name Peter Wolffe on it and the correct address. Mr. Wolffe had the key to the shed on the same key ring as his car keys. And no other possessions of any tenant who had previously lived in the building were stored there. Unless you've got the brains of an ox, you wouldn't come to any other conclusion."

Testerone shook his head and turned to the bench, "No further questions your honor."

The judge made several notes on the case folder before she asked, "Mr. Rodriguez, can I assume that the other two brothers will provide the court with a similar recollection of these events?"

Inhaling the sweet scent of victory, the novice prosecutor stood and faced the judge. "Yes your honor. I have their sworn statements to be entered into evidence, as you require. In addition, I have the statements of all forty-four former tenants that will attest to the fear of abject evil and desolate helplessness they lived with while occupying an apartment in Mr. Wolffe's building. I am prepared to call each one of them to outline the atrocities they suffered at the paws of the accused."

The judge looked at the rusted Timex she kept next to her gavel and sighed. Teenagers with a law degree and a suit. She shook her head. "No, Mr. Rodriguez, I believe I've heard enough. Mr. Carnera, you are excused, please take your seat." She shifted her attention to her right. "Mr. Testerone, do you wish to call any witnesses?"

Peter Wolffe started to rise up from his seat, but his lawyer grabbed the fur on the back of his neck and pulled him back down. "A moment please, your honor, while I confer with my client."

"Just a moment, and keep it brief, Mr. Testerone."

"Thank you, your honor." He turned to his left and whispered, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Sit there and keep your trap shut or you'll be lucky to leave here in a body bag."

Wolffe snarled back at him, "I could eat those three for lunch and still have room for a calf for dinner!"

"My point exactly. Now just shut up and hope for the best." Testerone pushed him away and swiveled toward the bench. "No witnesses, your honor. We throw ourselves at the mercy of the court in this case of simple misunderstanding."

The judge pounded her fist on the desktop. "Misunderstanding? Mr. Testerone, the only misunderstanding I can see is your client's blatant disregard for the lives of the tenants in his building, the simple concepts of running a safe and healthy environment for them, and the implied threat of bodily harm. In addition, his assault on the three city building inspectors tells this court that he has no regard for the laws of this county. The only fortunate occurrence for your client is that none of the bags of charcoal were used, therefore the more serious charges of attempted murder are dismissed."

Peter Wolffe wiped the sweat from his forehead and stifled a sneer. Testerone took his first breath in almost three minutes, but held the next one as the judge continued.

"I am sentencing Mr. Wolffe to ninety days confinement on the Sheriff's work farm for each of the assaults on a city employee, those terms to run consecutively. On the charge of disorderly conduct, I am sentencing him to an additional sixty days of confinement. And as to the building at 10185 Bay Shore Drive, due to its deteriorated condition and inhabitability, I am ordering its immediate demolition once the tenants' possessions have been safely removed."

A chorus of groans rumbled across the audience, but the judge cut them short with several rapid thumps of her gavel. "In order to compensate the forty-four tenants of 10185 Bay Shore Drive, I am ordering all assets of Mr. Peter Wolffe to be converted to cash and distributed equally among those who suffered from his abuse." She slammed the gavel once and closed the manila folder on her desk.

The convicted criminal howled as he leapt from his seat with a stream of drool gushing from both sides of his bared fangs. His hind claws shredded the polished wood veneer of the defendant's table as they shoved it behind him. Judge Bacon stared, frozen in her seat, at the mass of furry anger closing in on her throat. Wolffe, howled as he leapt, reaching for the Judge, spit and bile trailing from his open mouth. His right front paw came down hard on the gavel, yanking it from the Judge's hand.

His left paw never made it that far.

In rapid succession, three bullets blasted through the assailant's chest, twisting him in midair and throwing his lifeless body across the courtroom where it fell motionless into a bloody gray pelt. Judge Bacon gripped the edge of her bench, her mouth unable to form words for a moment.

Harvey holstered the weapon he hadn't fired in anger in over twenty years and threw up into a small wastebasket. The sound of gunfire brought Sheriff's deputies crashing through the double doors into the courtroom as everyone ducked for cover. The judge, her breath coming easier now, stood and held her arms up to halt the armed incursion into her courtroom.

"It's over. Holster your weapons. He's dead." She looked down at the body and the expanding pool of crimson on the marble floor and shuddered. Turning to the bailiff, Judge Bacon nodded twice and closed her eyes for a second before thanking him, "Harvey, you saved my life. I thought he was going to get me."

The bailiff flopped down in his seat and shook his head. "Not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin."

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