Legally Wasted (2 page)

“Your Honor,” Larkin shouted, although his
lips had outpaced his mind. He had no idea what to say. “As I
stated earlier, this Court could be making a grave, er, grievous
error and . . . there is an injustice serving to undermine the
authority of, well the United States, your Honor.”

The Judge leaned back in her chair. “By
finding Ms. Simmons guilty, I’m undermining the authority of the
United States? How exactly am I doing that, Mr. Monroe?”

The nearest bailiff chuckled. The entire
guilty bench, with the exception of Madeline, had turned to watch
Larkin. The same speck of a smile again flickered at the corner of
the Judge’s mouth. Larkin nodded.

“Your Honor,” said Larkin, “I have studied
some of the law myself.”

“Good for you.”

“And I have familiarized myself, I believe,
with the Socratic method.”

“The Socratic method?”

“Yes, your Honor. I think I have a grasp of
it and if the Court should allow - -”

“The Socratic method is the traditional form
of instruction in law school,” said the Judge.

“Yes, your Honor. I think you’ll feel well
accustomed to it.”

“The Court is satisfied that Mr. Monroe has
made various inquiries into the law,” she said, her head cocked to
the side. The smile flickered. “Perhaps he should have been
studying the intersection of federal law and his possession of
certain controlled substances on federal land rather than
antiquated pedagogical methods.”

She took a breath and Larkin raised his hand.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as sweat collected
at his temples.

“Yes?”

“I have studied those areas of the law too,
your Honor. I believe that Ms. Simmons and I are completely
innocent of our charges. Although, as you have said, I am not a
lawyer. I’m not trained in courtroom procedure. Frankly, I just
didn’t have time to read it.”

The federal prosecutor, who until that moment
had his nose buried in the file of a multi-felony drug conspiracy
case he planned on arguing later that day, stood and straightened
his coat. He wiped his eyes as if his coffee had yet to kick in.
“Your Honor,” he said, his voice cracking a bit. “Do we really have
to entertain this? I mean, she pled guilty your Honor. Mr. Monroe
can plead not guilty, guilty, no contest, or insanity if he should
prefer.” He paused and stared at Mr. Monroe for a moment, giving
everyone in the courtroom an opportunity to chuckle. “If he wants a
trial he can have a trial. But if that’s the case, let’s just have
the trial. The United States does not need to waste time on -
-”

The Judge smacked her bangled fist against
her bench. “The United States has been warned twice before about
referring to matters in this court as a waste of time. I shall
determine when and how this goes, understand, Mr. Roarke?”

The prosecutor hesitated, nodded, and then
slumped back into his chair. He reached for his big folder and once
again buried his face in a case that was more worthy of his
time.

Larkin meekly wiggled his hand in the Judge’s
direction. “Your Honor? What I mean to say is that if you’re
comfortable, I think this whole thing can be cleared up if I could
use the Socratic method here in the courtroom.”

“The Socratic method is a teaching device,”
said the Judge. “Who would you use it on?”

“Yourself, your Honor.”

The smile flickered.

“Objection,” said the prosecutor before
flipping a page and sipping his coffee. He nodded as he read the
language in an indictment.

“Noted and overruled,” said the Judge. She
looked at her watch before turning her attention to the neatly
organized files arranged on the wheeled cart behind the deputy
clerk. She nodded slightly. “I’ll give you a little leeway, Mr.
Monroe.”

Madeline covered her face with her hands.
Larkin nodded to the Judge. “Well then, please raise your right
hand, your Honor.” said Larkin.

The Judge blinked.

“Yes,” said Larkin. “Your right hand, right
there, just raise it up . . . there you go.” The Judge held her
right hand high in to the air. “I would ask Ms. Clerk there,”
started Larkin.

The young woman with the pony tail looked at
Larkin with a mixture of surprise and fear.

“Yes,” said Larkin. “Hi.”

The deputy clerk feigned something like a
confused smile.

“I’m going to need you to swear in the
Judge.”

The deputy clerk scowled. “What was that?”
She looked to the Judge and back at Larkin.

“Please swear the Court in, Ms. Deputy
Clerk,” said the Judge, obviously amused. The guilty bench laughed.
Best show in town.

Without further hesitation, the deputy clerk
stood and turned to face the United States District Court
Magistrate Judge for the Western District of Virginia, Big Lick
Division. One of the oldest courts in the nation. She raised her
right hand to match the Judge. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the
truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” said the Judge. She thanked the
deputy clerk and lightly clapped her hands. “You may proceed, Mr.
Monroe.”

“Thank you, your Honor,” said Larkin. “And
Ms. Deputy Clerk?” The deputy clerk looked up from her clipboard.
“Thank you ma’am.” The deputy clerk did not smile. “Now, your
Honor,” started Larkin, “are there laws that govern the land and
territories of the United States?”

“Oh, Larkin,” said Madeline as she crumpled
on her seat. Long brown hair failed to conceal crimson cheeks as
her head hung low.

“Of course there are,” said the Judge. “Here,
this court has jurisdiction over violations of law that occur over
land owned by the United States. The Blue Ridge Parkway is a
national parkway of the United States. It is land owned by the
United States. The United States Congress enacts laws that govern
the goings on of federal land. If you’re on his property, Uncle Sam
can tell you just what you can or can’t do, Mr. Monroe.”

“And what if I had no knowledge of what I
could or couldn’t do on federal land?”

“Nope,” said the Judge. “Sorry. That doesn’t
get you there. Ignorance of the law is no defense to the law.”

Larkin nodded. “I read that too, you Honor.
But not in this case.” The Judge opened his mouth as if to speak
but Larkin held up his finger. “Are there other statutory creations
that control and govern federal land?”

“You mean other types of laws?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

The Judge cocked his head. “I’m not sure I’m
following you.”

Larkin cleared his throat. “Does Congress
have the power to govern federal agencies?”

“Yes,” said the Judge.

“Is the Blue Ridge Parkway managed by a
federal agency?"

“It is.”

“Are there different laws that - -”

“Yes,” interrupted the Judge. “Regulations.
You mean regulations.”

Larkin nodded and clasped his hands together.
Perspiration covered his body. Did he now reek of Old Crow? He
cleared his throat. Mini-booze swished. “Are there regulations that
govern how I, as a citizen of the United States, should know
whether the land I’m on has certain restrictions?”

“Of course. There exist regulations that
require codification and publication of all of the nation’s laws
and regulations. Mr. Monroe, the act of which you are charged of
violating has been publicly available for years. Don’t tell me you
couldn’t go to a library and look it up.”

“Oh, I work in a library, your Honor.”
I
hide an expensive bottle of gin in the microfiche cabinet
, he
thought to himself.

“You do?”

“Yes, ma’am, but let’s stick to the method,
shall we?”

The Judge nodded. “All right.”

“Is speeding prohibited on the Parkway?”

“Of course.”

“How would a driver know the speed limit for
a particular area?” The Judge seemed poised to answer, but Larkin
would not give her the opportunity. “Would there be a map of the
Parkway with speed limits marked in the codified book in the
library?”

“No,” said the Judge. She raised her right
hand to her mouth and curled her index finger against her upper
lip.

“So how would a driver know the speed limit
on the Parkway?”

“Signs.”

“And are there - -”

“Yes,” interrupted the Judge. “There are
regulations that require there to be signs posting the maximum
speed limit. The agency is responsible for the posting of those
signs. You were not found speeding, Mr. Monroe.”

“No, your Honor. But are there regulations
governing the postage of signs that regard drinking on the
Parkway?”

“Well, sure,” said the Judge. She rolled her
eyes back in her head as she thought. “Given the mile marker you
were at, there was a sign not a quarter mile away that informed you
as to Uncle Sam’s rules. No booze was one of those rules. No
alcohol on the Parkway.”

“So these regulations require that sign to be
there?”

“Yes,” she said. She leaned forward and
rapped her nails against the thick dark wood. Irritation was
beginning to show.

“Your Honor, how often do you hear cases
involving the Parkway?”

“Once a month.”

“Did you have court last month?”

“Of course.”

“And do you remember a man named Roger
Huseby?”

The Judge leaned back in her chair. She
fanned her fingers over her mouth, possibly to hide a full smile.
“Roger Huseby,” she repeated. “He of the mustard-colored
Corvette?”

“I remember.”

“And what was Mr. Huseby convicted of?”

“Destruction of federal property,” said the
Judge. She removed her hand to show that she was indeed
smiling.

“Specifically?”

“A federal sign. A federal sign that was
posted about a quarter of a mile away from where you were stopped.
He drove his car straight through it.” The Judge shook her head.
“How did you know of Mr. Huseby’s case?”

“I organized the periodicals section last
month. Police beat. What was written on that sign, your Honor?”

The Judge smiled and waved her hand. “I think
you’ve made your point. I’m giving you credit for your research
skills. I’m going to dismiss your case, Mr. Monroe.”

“And Ms. Simmons’ case?” asked Larkin.

The prosecutor leaned his folder down so he
could see the Judge. “Your Honor,” he began without even standing,
“the Court has already found Ms. Simmons to be guilty.”

“I did no such thing,” said the Judge. “I
took Ms. Simmons’ matter under advisement pending Mr. Monroe’s
presentation.” The Judge looked to Madeline. “Ma’am, your case is
dismissed. You may leave.”

Madeline stood while the guilty benchers
looked nervously amongst themselves as if they had made the wrong
decision. Madeline turned and though her cheeks still shone bright
red, she could not help but fight a smile at her would-be fiancé.
Her deep brown eyes were about as wide as Larkin had ever seen
them. Though she had nearly torpedoed his defense, Larkin could not
bear an ounce of ill will. It had taken far more courage than he
had anticipated to stand his ground with the Judge, and Larkin had
spent long nights at the library studying both the United States
Code and the Code of Federal Regulations. It was intimidating as
hell to take center stage in federal court. How could he fault
her?

She rushed up to him. “You prevented it all
from coming out,” she whispered. “They didn’t hear about any of
it.”

“Oh, right,” said Larkin with a grin. The
tawdry facts concerning what occurred after most of the bottle of
champagne had been drained had been thankfully omitted from
United States v. Monroe
. “We should have been charged with
indecent exposure,” whispered Larkin. “I don’t think I could have
gotten us out of that. Thank god the federal park ranger was at
least somewhat reasonable.”

A firm hand clapped on Larkin’s shoulder. He
glanced at the fingertips. They once clutched at a federal skull
basher. “I know, I know,” said Larkin. “I’m leaving.”

“No, sir,” said the bailiff. “The Judge is
about to take a recess. She would like to speak with you.”

“She can’t charge me again,” said Larkin,
suddenly alarmed. “That would be double jeopardy.”

“I don’t think it’s about that,” said the
bailiff. Larkin smiled weakly and grabbed Madeline’s hand. She
squeezed back. God he loved that woman. He led her out of the
courtroom and into the lobby. They sat upon one of the metal
benches and Madeline rested her head against his shoulder. The room
was so large, they actually felt somewhat alone, despite their
surroundings. He leaned down and kissed the thick waves of brunette
hair atop her head. Cinnamon.

“I’m exhausted,” she said. “And I didn’t even
say anything.”

“Guilty. You said guilty.”

She punched him lightly in the side. Larkin
stroked her back with two of his fingers and stared at the large
color photograph of the President. It hung curiously close to the
brass trashcan.

He sighed. The last time that she had found
her way to the crook of his arm, they had overlooked half of the
state bathed in a spectacular sunset. A diamond ring had nearly
burned through his right jeans pocket while a folded letter,
forgotten hours before, had smoldered in his left. The diamond
eventually made its way out to see the sunset, but the letter
remained concealed in the same denim pocket.

“How’d you know how to do that?” she asked
after four perfect minutes.

“I just spoke with the guy.”

“Yeah, but it was more than that. You learned
a lot studying for that test. More than you let on to me anyway.”
Madeline straightened herself. “You’re going to end up cramming so
much in your head.” She turned and smiled. “Just don’t feel like
you can’t talk to me about it, okay?”

Larkin returned the smile. “Never. It’s still
me. Whether I get a law degree or study ants, it’s still me.”