Racism. Despair. Suspicion, Lies. Violence. Consequence. It's all here.
What follows is a story about a Census taker visit gone bad. Why? Because too many people out in the world take the hate radio, the hate TV and the hate blogs at face value. Too many of these persons have firearms, and a willingness to use them. And too many of these folks have no impulse control.
This is not a blanket condemnation of conservatism, or gun ownership or even kool-aid consumption. (There's plenty of other diaries for that sort of thing.)
THis story is about why it is dangerous to play with inflammatory rhetoric - it truly is playing with fire.
For it only takes one match in a dry patch to destroy far, far more.
Orange jumpsuit and chains were all that Calvin Reading wore as he sat in the simple bare room in a hard steel chair before a scratched steel table. Another equally uncomfortable chair, empty for the moment, faced him on the other side. He glanced up at the two security cameras; red lights on both. He snorted dismissively. No doubt even when the lights were off they'd be recording everything. So much for attorney-client privilege. But that's how things were in the new order. Ever since that pretender took power.
A sharp buzz interrupted Calvin's internal rant before it even began. A heavy door in the far right corner swung inward and a tall thin man, floppy brown hair (thinning, he noted with satisfaction) and a neat blue suit stepped in. The man stoppped, turned to look at what Calvin assumed was a guard and said "Cameras off, please." He could not make out the response but a few seconds later the cam lights went dark.
This must be my attorney, Calvin mused. He sized up the man. Green eyes, thin goatee, not much grey compared to Calvin's own, which was peppered with silver. Much weaker than himself. He smiled a bit and flexed his forearms; he could not do much more with the chains. Not much of a man...but in his current situation he needed a bookworm to get his back.
Maybe this would would suit. At least he was white.
"My name is Paul Smith, Mr. Reading. As you probably guessed, I'm a public defender."
Calvin nodded. "Forgive me if I don't shake hands," he raised and jangled his chains a bit. He chuckled.
Paul nodded and smiled primly, and stared intently at Calvin for a long moment. "If you're going to get the best defense possible, it would be a good idea to get your side of the story." He motioned with his hand. Calvin too that as a prompt to start talking.
Calvin's eyes flashed up to the security cameras.
"Don't worry, Mr. Reading. The cameras are off. This is a purely confidential conversation. Microphones, too," Paul added, anticipating the next likely objection.
"I'm just a bit nervous, as you might guess," Calvin said.
Paul nodded. "I can appreciate your situation." He took out a folder and perused a few pages before coming to a stop. "Ordinarily we'd have time to spend together and establish trust but this is not one of those cases. Your arraignment is later today; lucky you, the state wants to move fast on your case."
"Of course. I am now an enemy of the state. All of us are with that person in the White House.."
Paul held up a hand. "I think you misunderstand. I meant that the state of Virginia wants to get you in court on state charges. After that...well, you are accused of killing a Federal employee."
Calvin scoffed. "That's a lofty description for some temp clerk stepping on my property and invading my privacy."
"The slain woman was acting under the law. Think of her as being deputized."
"I don't think of her as anything at all except one less burden on society." Calvin flinched at a sharp sound. He glanced at Paul's hands; the attorney's pencil had snapped.
The attorney looked down. "Hmm...bore down a bit too hard, there." Calvin frowned as Paul brought up the pieces. "Well good thing I brought a spare," Paul added, as he calmly retrieved another pencil from his jacket pocket. "How did it go down, Mr. Reading? I really need to know...and you really need to tell me."
"I've already given my statement, counselor." Calvin tapped the table close to the file in front of Paul. "It's all there."
Paul took a breath and exhaled. "You waived Miranda rights..."
"Don't need them. It was a justifiable homicide."
Without looking up, Paul replied "A jury will need to decide that one, Mr. Reading."
"If they're real Americans, they'll see things clearly," Calvin replied.
Paul looked up. "Now this is the sort of thing that's not in the statement."
Calvin's brow furrowed with confusion. "What sort of thing?"
"Your thought process. The values behind your justification to kill the..." Paul paused "...alleged intruder."
"She WAS an intruder!"
"According to the U.S. government, she was a census taker that came to your residence because you had not sent in the census form."
Calvin could feel his face turning hot. Paul could see Calvin's face reddening.
Paul retrieved another document from his papers. "How about we restart with Mr. Stuart King's statement instead?"
"Damn black faggot..." Calvin muttered.
Paul cleared his throat. "You probably don't want to say such things at trial, Mr. Reading."
"I'm not 'at trial' Mr. Smith. And if I were I could say what I pleased anyway!"
"And find yourself in the death chamber for sure." Paul quickly retorted. "This is not some pissing contest, Mr. Reading. This is a matter of life and death." He rubbed his temples for a moment, then steepled his hands. "You were seen coming out of your house at a quick pace, shotgun in hand, screaming obscenities. You were seen holding the muzzle of said shotgun to the face of Allison Wade Smith, while she was performing official duties on before of the Bureau of the Census. You were seen, after both you and Smith exchanged words, to discharge your firearm at close range.
"All on the word of some q... one of my neighbors," Calvin said.
"There's the physical evidence, Blood and powder - hers and yours, respectively - were found on both your face and clothing and that of the deceased. Pellets taken from Smith's jaw and throat seemed to match ammunition later taken from your home. Ballistics on the confiscated firearm, using a round of ammunition taken from your home, backed this finding.
"And last but not least," Paul flipped back to Calvin's police statement, "You bragged to police that you had - your words here - 'killed that mouthy nigger bitch...if she had been the least bit smart she would have known never to step on my property but she did and I am happy she did and now there's one less of them.'"
Calvin looked up at the ceiling silently.
Paul kept on. "The rest of your statement is saturated with similar comments. I have to tell you, the prosecutor may tack on hate crimes charges. You've handed them freely a weapon to use against you."
"They can only execute me once, if at all," Calvin replied calmly. "Real Americans are with me on this."
"Mr. Reading, am I a real American as you see it?"
Calvin shrugged. "Sure. I suppose. You look it from here."
Paul smiled. "I look it. And Allison Smith...she did not look it?"
"That goes without saying."
"The prosecutor is going to ask that question or something similar.. and the judge is going to make you answer it. You'd best have a better answer."
Calvin nodded. "I see your point. I need to be, um, politically correct." After a moment he added. "This woman and you have the same last name."
Paul nodded. "There are lots of Smiths in the phone book, Mr. Reading. Twenty 'Paul Smiths' in town, if you want to know."
Calvin chuckled. "I thought it was an interesting coincidence. Not blood kin, I suppose." He laughed openly now.
The attorney grew still. "No, we're not blood relations." Paul then drew out his wallet, retrieved three pictures, and placed one of them in front of Calvin Reading.
Calvin looked down. It was a portrait shot of a young girl with long blonde curly hair, hazel eyes and light brown skin. "Beautiful child, counselor. Yours?"
"This is Ariel, my daughter. She's six years old." Paul drew a deep shuddering breath. "Does she look like a real American to you?"
Calvin quickly answered. "Sure! A future Miss America from the looks of her!"
Paul set down another picture, this time of an African American woman, smiling down at a newborn baby, red in the way that all newborns are. "And these two?"
Calvin looked at the picture then moved it away. "I can't say for either. I don't know the woman."
Paul nodded. "Evasive, but probably the smartest thing you have said yet."
"Where is this going.. I'm not sure if I like this," Calvin said.
Paul paused, as if to gather himself. "Oh, just one more picture. I am trying to understand something here." He showed the final picture.
Calvin looked at it. The photograph was was of Paul Smith, Allison Wade Smith and their daughter Ariel Smith. It had the look of a church portrait.
Calvin's heart skipped a beat. "You're her husband."
"I was." Paul just glared coldly at Calvin Reading for a minute. Neither man moved. Then Paul looked away for a bit and reached slowly to retrieve the pictures that he had shown the killer of his wife.
"Like I said, I am a public defender, Mr. Reading.
"But for obvious reasons I cannot be yours."
Paul Smith stood up, walked to the door and knocked on it loudly. He glanced back at the stunned Calvin Reading.
"Nothing said here, of course, is admissible in court. Oh, I forgot to mention - Virginia wants to have first go at you...but they're not going to get it. You killed a Federal employee. The Feds aren't about to let that go.
"YOUR defender will be along shortly, Mr. Reading. I'm sure you will get the justice that you deserve."