“I take it that’s a no.” I wrote,NO. “So it’s you and Eileen. Are you two married?”
“We don’t need no authority-”
“Another no,” I said, making a note.NO 2. “So it’s you and Eileen against the world. Romantic.” I had felt that way with Mark, when I was younger and entirely delusional.
“I guess,” he said lazily, the “I” sounding like “Ah.” I couldn’t place his accent even though I know every Philly accent there is.
“Where you from, Bill? Not from here.”
“Out western PA, out past Altoona. The boonies. I was raised on a farm, that’s how I come to know animals. It was the 4-H ruined me.” He laughed, emitting a residual puff of smoke.
“Did you graduate high school?”
“Yup. Then I booked it to York and worked at the Harley Davidson factory for a while. That’s where I met Eileen. She was workin’ in the lab, Furstmann Dunn’s lab. That’s where they were testing the vaccine. She took pictures of them torturin’ the monkeys. She saw the way they treated ’em. Theyabused ’em.”
It didn’t sound like a word that came naturally to him. “Eileen tell you this?”
“They use electrodes, you know.”
“On the monkeys?”
“On minks. For mink coats. Stoles and whatnot.”
“Minks? Why are we talking about minks?”
“I don’t know. It was you brought it up.”
I wrote downNOT MINKS. Was he just dumb, or was a conversation with an anarchist necessarily confusing?
“It’s all part of the same thing,” he added. “It’s all wrong.”
“Bill, can I give you some advice?” I try to run the lives of all of my clients, to redeem the job I’m doing with my own. “If I were going to protest animal experimentation, I wouldn’t pick on Furstmann Dunn, because they’re working on an AIDS vaccine. People want to cure AIDS, even if it takes a few chimps to do it. Why don’t you go after the fur companies instead? Then people can get behind you, agree with you.”
He shook his head. “Eileen, she don’t care if people agree with us or not. She wants to put a stop to it. It was her idea to call the TV stations and the radio.”
“You did make quite a commotion, didn’t you?” I said, feeling an unaccountable tingle of pride. They’d had everybody there, even the national TV news. Part of the fussing was a spontaneous counterdemonstration by a group of gay men. A tough issue, but I was undefeated in not judging my clients’ politics. I didn’t defend what they said, just their right to say it without a nightstick to the noggin.
“Got a whole lotta press, too. Eileen liked that.” Bill took another drag on his cigarette.
“You shouldn’t have resisted arrest. They had a whole squad there, and it was just two of you. You don’t strike me as fighter.” I glanced at Bill’s arms; white, thin, flabby.
“Nuh, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He smiled crookedly.
I bet he wasn’t much of either, but I found myself liking him. I flipped through the file in front of me, which was almost empty. Bill had no priors, even in the counties, which was why the D.A. had offered me such a sweet deal. The poor kid had thrown one punch his whole life, and it had landed him here. “I don’t get it,” I said, closing the file folder. “Why did you hit the cop?”
“Because he was beatin’ on Eileen. I was tryin’ to get him off her. He twisted her arm, so she’d go down, like.” His eyes flared. “All she did was holler on him.”
“Except for the taser, remember? She threatened the cop with it, and the CEO of the company. She trapped the man in his Mercedes.”
“Okay, so she was trying to give him a dose of his own medicine. It coulda been worse. She wanted to blow him up in that fancy car of his.”
“Blow who up? The CEO of Furstmann?” My chest tightened. I’d never gotten used to murder cases, even when my legal argument was sound, so I gave that work up a long time ago. “Bill, did Eileen say she wanted to kill the CEO of Furstmann? Did she mean it?”
“She’s tough, Eileen is.” He looked down at his cigarette. “That’s why she don’t want to plead guilty to the charges. Make ’em prove we done wrong. Go to jail, like a protest. Maybe do a hunger strike.”
I set down my ballpoint. “Bill, answer me. Did you talk about killing the CEO with Eileen?”
He looked away, avoiding my eye. “She said she wanted to, and I told her not to. She said she wouldn’t do nuthin’ ’less we talked about it first.”
“Would she tell her lawyer she wanted to kill the CEO?”
“Dunno.”
I leaned across the table. “Not good enough, Bill. The murder of a CEO, with you as an accomplice, you could get the death penalty. The D.A. here asks for death in every murder case, she wants to prove her manhood. You understand what I’m saying?”
He stabbed his cigarette into the logjam in the tin ashtray.
“Killing that CEO wouldn’t solve anything, no matter what your girlfriend says. There are twenty other suits waiting to take his place. They got the same cars, they got the same degrees. They line ’em up, they call ’em vice presidents. You’re smart enough to know that, right, Bill?”
He nodded, stubbing out the smoldering butt.
“I want you to promise you won’t do anything that stupid, not on my watch. Look at me, Bill. Tell me you’re not that stupid.”
His good eye met mine. “I’m not.”
“No. Say it after me, ‘I’m not that stupid.’”
“I’m not that stupid.” He half smiled and a yellow eyetooth peeked out.
“Excellent. Now you’re going into that courtroom this morning and you’re going to plead guilty, you with me? I got you the best deal going, and you’re gonna take it.”
“I can’t. Eileen-”
“Forget about Eileen. You’d be a fool to do what she wants. She’ll take you both down, not just her, and you’re my lookout. You’re the one I’m worried about.”
He shook his head and sighed. “You got kids, lady?”
“Yeah, I got kids, Bill. You.”
3
Inside, Philadelphia’s new Criminal Justice Center looks nothing like a courthouse. Playful bronze stars, curlicues, and squiggles are inlaid into the lobby floor, and it saysSANDY BEACH -SEA GULLS-SALT AIR-COOL BREEZE-DANDELIONS-MOSSY BANKSin a continuous loop in the hallways outside the courtrooms.ARSON -PROSTITUTION-COLD-BLOODED MURDERwould be more appropriate to a criminal court, but reality can be no fun at all.
In the swank arraignment courtroom, on the black designer pews, the pushers sit with the crackheads, the pimps sit with the hookers, and the lawyers sit with the clients. Nobody but me sees any parallels here, I’m pretty sure. I sat at the counsel table next to a nervous Bill Kleeb, watching Judge John Muranno climb the few steps to the gleaming walnut dais and settle into his leather chair between flags of the United States and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Muranno, a short, stout judge with a bulbous nose, wore his permanently martyred expression, which earned him the nickname Pope John.
“Mr. William Seifert Kleeb, are you present in this courtroom?” Pope John intoned, though Bill was plainly sitting before him. It was the opening call-and-response of the colloquy, a mass written by lawyers and judges to safeguard the defendant’s constitutional rights, so we could either plead him out or try him, where he would be convicted if he was poor or black and especially if he was both.
“I’m here,” Bill said, half rising. I shoved him up the rest of the way.
“Mr. Kleeb, is this your signature?” Pope John waved the written form.
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Did you review this form with your counsel?”
“Yes.”
“Are you presently under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”
“Nu-uh.”
“Are you presently under the influence of any type of medication?”
“Uh, no.”
“Have any threats or promises been made to you to induce you to sign this paper?”