6 FEBRUARY 1896 BLACKWATER, WEST ELIZABETH
I saw an opening, and I took it. It was far from anything my attorney would have ever recommended, but then, I’m not really much of a rule follower, am I? All I needed was one word of confirmation from Hank and I’d have my strategy, and by some miracle… I got it.
While sitting through the appeal trial was agonizing in its own right, I managed to find myself amused by the proceedings. Before I knew it, the trial was over and my window opened. As the Honorable Judge Hank Wilson began to close court session, he asked the audience if there were any other matters to attend to, to which I shot to my feet and loudly proclaimed in the affirmative.
Deputy Dattoli was clever and quickly surmised this might have something to do with the investigation. I, naturally, could not let on that I had been preparing for a week for this moment – though it had not been until hours prior that I had divined my true strategy. I quickly denied him, for in all sincerity, my aim had no intent to bring up the investigation itself. Therein lay my ultimate goal however, that I would not broach the topic directly but rather lay a trap so deliciously tempting that the Sheriff himself – whom I had correctly anticipated would be present to act as prosecutor in the recently-departed Novak’s stead – would not be able to resist.
“No,” I proclaimed clearly, “This is merely a matter of clarification.” I waited for Dattoli to leave the room before I continued, leaving only myself and my opponent, Sheriff Barnes. He sat quietly in the chair to my right, undoubtedly suspicious of my behavior. “You see, it has come to my attention that there is a statute of some sort as part of my special import license for Coca Leaves that I was unaware of. My first question is, where would I locate ‘court dockets?’”
This was my first plan of attack. I knew I only had minutes, perhaps moments, before Barnes would intervene, but it was of utmost importance that I be permitted a few critical moments to lay the foundation for my innocence. The judge responded as I suspected – that the docket was filed in the court and that I would have to go looking for them should I wish to view them, and that he hoped the court would inform whoever the docket applied to if it were relevant.
“You see, I was supplied a copy of a court docket file regarding my import license that I have never seen before today.” A truth, oddly enough. “And it appears that it is not only different from the instructions I received from the judge herself, but a bit vague and, in fact, out of date. I am left to wonder how I may proceed with my business in such a state, for I would not wish to be found in violation of this agreement due to a failure to communicate amongst the branches of the government!”
“Well hold on a second,” the resonant tones of the Sheriff echoed out behind me. I stifled a grin. The trap had been sprung and right on cue, for Dattoli returned to the courtroom precisely at this moment! I had not mentioned the investigation nor had I misrepresented myself; nonetheless, if I had predicted correctly, the Sheriff’s department was soon to bring to light the case themselves, thus opening the door to discussion in front of the judge. The judge would be left with only one reasonable path forward; in order to correct the paperwork, he would now have to be made privy to a criminal investigation, the veracity of which the Sheriff would now have to defend.
It was a gambit in the truest of sense. In order to make my argument, I had to admit to some small degree, that I had been in unknowing violation of the license for the past fourteen months. If the authorities had wished, they could have arrested me on the spot for smuggling. My reputation would have been ruined and I would have been charged with a Major Federal Felony. But sometimes sacrifices must be made and risks must be taken.
But Hank, oh Hank, I knew exactly what he would do. He admonished me, for he must have known I had used him and the court to my advantage and not for the benign reason I had made it out to be, but he knew as well as I did that this was precisely how the game of law and politics was played. He allowed the conversation to continue and made himself comfortable for what debate was surely to ensue.
The Sheriff, to his credit, chose to hear me out and even admitted fault on the part of the law for being negligent in its duties of enforcement. It was at this moment I think I came to understand something about Ezekiel Barnes – that he is not a tyrant for the sake of power itself, but rather a man of principle who believes fervently in his own righteousness. Perhaps our morals were at odds, but at least now I knew they were earnest. A man who holds true to his beliefs is a man I can trust to be consistent. A consistent man can be both reasoned with and exploited. I do not mean this as an insult, for I am likewise a man of principles and I know all too well my own weaknesses.
The conversation went in circles for ages. Barnes pushed for total control, while I dug my heels in for personal liberties. To my utter surprise, Dattoli became the voice of mediation between us, and offered solutions that would satisfy both warring parties. Finally, after an hour or more of discussion, we had come to an accord.
We stood in deafening silence, side by side before the bench, as the judge wrote up the new legislation. I realized my hands were shaking terribly. I did my best to obscure this from the Sheriff by shoving them into my pockets. It was not enough that my nerves had been worn thin by a week of no sleep and the razor’s edge to which I found myself in this very moment, but that I had disposed of all my cocaine a week prior and the symptoms were becoming unbearable. I had only one bottle of Cocalixir left on me, and I was saving it for the night to help me sleep. I felt my shirt soaked in cold sweat as I swallowed dryly while we waited.
Finally, it was ready. Read and signed, I felt the proverbial noose around my neck loosen. I had only intended to shake the Sheriff’s hand, but the anxiety of what had just transpired broke over me like a wave. I embraced him, holding back hot tears as if I were a stricken maiden. The others left us for which I was grateful. I did not mean to make such a fool of myself, but the effort to maintain my facade under such scrutiny had worn me down to my very marrow. Why I divulged to him the secret of my shame, I do not know, but the words fell from my lips like rain.
I relayed to him my darkest fear – the terror what keeps me awake at night and rattles me to my core at the mere thought of it. I told him of my time in prison. Twelve long years in chains. I couldn’t go back. I assured him that if I were to commit a crime that would risk something so very dire, it would most certainly not be something so terribly sloppy.