against you.”
Gus wanted to beat Melwin senseless and looked around his cell for any tool that would do the job. By US standards, the cell was very spacious, comfortable, and private. It was complete with a TV, a wall-mounted telephone, private bathroom and a kitchenette. Still, it was a jail cell. When things go wrong get aggressive, he thought. It was a credo he lived by when flying combat. “Alex, you are one cheerful, absolutely worthless son of a bitch. Now go find me a real lawyer and crawl back under the Blarney Stone.” Melwin stared at him in shock. “You look like a constipated beagle.”
“I do not share your expertise on the bowel movements of beagles,” the lawyer finally said.
Gus laughed. “That’s funny. Okay, indulge me for a moment. How strong is this so-called ‘case’ against me?”
“The war crimes you are charged with under Article Eight have very specific elements, which Madam Du Milan, based on the evidence I have seen, will have no trouble establishing that you factually committed.”
“That I ‘factually committed,’” Gus repeated. “Now how is she going to prove that? Besides, what happened to the presumption of innocence?”
“Of course you are assumed innocent, that’s why the prosecutor must present the facts to the court.”
“Melwin, I know a kangaroo court when I see one.”
“I assure you, we are not a kangaroo court.”
“Does the term ‘bullshit’ have meaning around here?”
“It’s obvious you don’t understand our system of law.”
“You are absolutely right about that. By the way, do I have attorney-client privilege under your system?”
“Please remember that I am a member of the court, and have certain obligations to the court that override attorney-client privilege as you Americans understand it.”
I’m going to wring your scrawny neck , Gus promised himself. “So what brings you here today?”
“Madam Du Milan is going to meet with us and offer what you Americans call a deal.”
“A plea bargain,” Gus corrected.
“For admitting your guilt to the court, she will recommend a sentence of 12 to 25 years which means you will be eligible for parole in eight years.”
“Eight years doesn’t sound like a bargain to me. I’ll take my chances.”
“An unwise choice. She is due here at any moment and you should listen to her.”
“Do I have a choice?” Melwin shook his head and stared at the floor. Gus leaned back in his chair and waited in silence as he plotted what to do with the Irishman’s body.
The door lock clicked and Denise entered the cell unannounced. Both men stood and Melwin offered her his chair. She sat and crossed her legs. “I assume Alex has explained why I’m here.” Gus nodded but said nothing. “Considering the circumstances, I believe it is a very generous offer.”
Gus’s fingers drummed a tattoo on the table as he framed an answer explaining exactly what she could do with her “generous offer.” He decided it was anatomically impossible but certainly worth a try. “Excuse me if I don’t bounce off the walls with joy, but eight years sucks.”
“Please remember who you’re talking to,” Melwin cautioned. “Madam Prosecutor, I must apologize for my client’s …”
Gus interrupted him. “I’m not your anything, Melwin. So shut up and get the hell out of here.”
“Your hostile attitude is counter-productive,” Denise said.
“Hostile? Madam Prosecutor, you haven’t seen hostile.” He came to his feet. “First, I have done nothing wrong. Second, I’m not sure if Melwin here is my prosecutor or executioner. Third, my wife is terminally ill and she’s the most important thing in my life. I should be with her.”
“Monsieur Tyler,” Denise said, “you are a war criminal who wantonly massacred thousands of innocent people. You are exactly where you should be.”
“Those ‘innocent people’ were doing their damndest to kill me, and it was only a couple hundred.” Gus and Denise
Gus wanted to beat Melwin senseless and looked around his cell for any tool that would do the job. By US standards, the cell was very spacious, comfortable, and private. It was complete with a TV, a wall-mounted telephone, private bathroom and a kitchenette. Still, it was a jail cell. When things go wrong get aggressive, he thought. It was a credo he lived by when flying combat. “Alex, you are one cheerful, absolutely worthless son of a bitch. Now go find me a real lawyer and crawl back under the Blarney Stone.” Melwin stared at him in shock. “You look like a constipated beagle.”
“I do not share your expertise on the bowel movements of beagles,” the lawyer finally said.
Gus laughed. “That’s funny. Okay, indulge me for a moment. How strong is this so-called ‘case’ against me?”
“The war crimes you are charged with under Article Eight have very specific elements, which Madam Du Milan, based on the evidence I have seen, will have no trouble establishing that you factually committed.”
“That I ‘factually committed,’” Gus repeated. “Now how is she going to prove that? Besides, what happened to the presumption of innocence?”
“Of course you are assumed innocent, that’s why the prosecutor must present the facts to the court.”
“Melwin, I know a kangaroo court when I see one.”
“I assure you, we are not a kangaroo court.”
“Does the term ‘bullshit’ have meaning around here?”
“It’s obvious you don’t understand our system of law.”
“You are absolutely right about that. By the way, do I have attorney-client privilege under your system?”
“Please remember that I am a member of the court, and have certain obligations to the court that override attorney-client privilege as you Americans understand it.”
I’m going to wring your scrawny neck , Gus promised himself. “So what brings you here today?”
“Madam Du Milan is going to meet with us and offer what you Americans call a deal.”
“A plea bargain,” Gus corrected.
“For admitting your guilt to the court, she will recommend a sentence of 12 to 25 years which means you will be eligible for parole in eight years.”
“Eight years doesn’t sound like a bargain to me. I’ll take my chances.”
“An unwise choice. She is due here at any moment and you should listen to her.”
“Do I have a choice?” Melwin shook his head and stared at the floor. Gus leaned back in his chair and waited in silence as he plotted what to do with the Irishman’s body.
The door lock clicked and Denise entered the cell unannounced. Both men stood and Melwin offered her his chair. She sat and crossed her legs. “I assume Alex has explained why I’m here.” Gus nodded but said nothing. “Considering the circumstances, I believe it is a very generous offer.”
Gus’s fingers drummed a tattoo on the table as he framed an answer explaining exactly what she could do with her “generous offer.” He decided it was anatomically impossible but certainly worth a try. “Excuse me if I don’t bounce off the walls with joy, but eight years sucks.”
“Please remember who you’re talking to,” Melwin cautioned. “Madam Prosecutor, I must apologize for my client’s …”
Gus interrupted him. “I’m not your anything, Melwin. So shut up and get the hell out of here.”
“Your hostile attitude is counter-productive,” Denise said.
“Hostile? Madam Prosecutor, you haven’t seen hostile.” He came to his feet. “First, I have done nothing wrong. Second, I’m not sure if Melwin here is my prosecutor or executioner. Third, my wife is terminally ill and she’s the most important thing in my life. I should be with her.”
“Monsieur Tyler,” Denise said, “you are a war criminal who wantonly massacred thousands of innocent people. You are exactly where you should be.”
“Those ‘innocent people’ were doing their damndest to kill me, and it was only a couple hundred.” Gus and Denise
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