WEEK TWENTY-FOUR
My lawyer spoke. The lawyers at the other table spoke. My lawyer spoke again. The other lawyers interrupted to speak. My lawyer objected and spoke at length. In the ensuing silence, the other lawyers were stymied for a moment, but, when they realized that my lawyer had finally sat down with no intention of continuing to speak, they spoke quickly, probably to make up for the time they weren't speaking. I had no idea what any of them were saying. I believe Latin was involved.
Eventually, my lawyer turned towards me while the other lawyers spoke to the judges. "How long have you -" he started.
"Shouldn't you pay attention to what's going on ?" I demanded.
"They're just pre-trial motions," he assured me in a tone of voice that was highly unassuring. "Trust me - nobody pays any attention to them."
I didn't trust him, but before I could express my doubts, he asked "How long have you been in here?"
"You're my lawyer," I answered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Don't you know?"
"Umm...," he said, evasively, but with the assured evasiveness that only lawyers and serial killers seem able to achieve, "why don't you tell me so that I can see if it agrees with what I have been told?"
"It's hard to keep track of time in here," I informed him. "Maybe...three weeks...a month?"
"Right. Right. That's what I've been told." Then, leaning towards me, my lawyer whispered, "You, uhh, weren't told any of the details of the charges against you, were you? You know, just, uhh, anything that might indicate what the, you know, the charges against you actually are?"
"Last week, didn't you say that I was on trial for...umm...a bunch of conspiracies and something nasty to do with penguins?"
"You mean: treason, terrorist acts, conspiracy to commit terrorist acts, conspiracy to commit treason, murder, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, espionage, assault with a weapon that could be deadly in the wrong hands, various acts of mayhem and civil disobedience, traveling under a false passport, assault with a non-deadly but nevertheless highly unpleasant weapon, conspiracy to destroy official federal documents and conspiracy to transport live penguins across state lines?"
"That sounds about right, yeah?"
"Well...those were just...examples of the sorts of things that people in your position might be - can be - may be charged with," my lawyer explained. There was a definite assurance gap growing between us. "I have no idea if those are the exact charges against...I mean, obviously, I have a good idea of, err, the, you know, charges charges, it's just that I need any detail you could give me. Any detail at all. Really, any detail would be very helpful at this point."
I sighed. You never see lawyers begging desperately like that on Law and Order. "I don't know what to tell you," I sputtered. "I...I just want to get back to the Dietrickson Diaper account. I'm sure they gave it to Mitchelson, the dumb Yugoslavian bastard!"
"The Dietrickson Diaper account?" my lawyer looked lost.
"You want to know the truth?" I blurted, close to tears. "I didn't even want the damn Dietrickson Diaper account! Diapers aren't exactly manly, if you know what I mean - I mean...not manly at all! I only took the account because old man Plasterton was in danger of falling behind on the payments on his second home and we needed the advance and Dietrickson was eager to pay it and get us on board and I wanted to be a team player at Yossarian Samsa Pilgrim Smith!" I considered this for a moment, then, more soberly, added: "You know, in retrospect, that doesn't seem like such a good motivation, does it?"
My lawyer put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I know that being a lawyer can be hard..."
"It certainly can," I muttered. A what? Wait - no, that couldn't - I shook my head to clear it. It appeared that my time in prison had made me...open to suggestions. Too open to suggestions. "Except, I wasn't a lawyer. I was an advertising executive."
My lawyer took his hand off my shoulder and turned to the judges. "Your honours," he loudly cut the other lawyers off, "Request permission to leave the court."
The old judge narrowed his eyes and asked, "For what reason?"
My lawyer was undaunted as he said, "Your Honour, I have reason to believe that this isn't my client!"
SOURCE: Harpo's
[http://harpos.org/archive/2012/06/17/dd-9000024]
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