It’s today—2024-Oct-19. Charlie will be arraigned today. It’s 4am. Charlie can’t sleep. Yesterday his lawyer visited with him to prepare for court. It didn’t go well. Charlie was offered a plea deal to NRS 199.210—misdemeanor evidence tampering. He turned it down.
Why risk a felony conviction, five years of state prison time and possible fines of up to $10K? Charlie is undiagnosed. Likely he is on the spectrum. The strict structure of prison soothes him. He and I took our own paths less traveled by. So Charlie asked his lawyer to fight the felony case. The lawyer asked him to think about it. 4:30am and Charlie is obsessed with what might happen to him. Charlie’s less traveled by road went south.
The good boomer life we were taught has a familiar path—college degree, meet the spouse, graduate, get the job, after a couple years the first child and the first house. Soon after a nicer car. Then fall into a shared rhythm of vacations in fashy locales, cheering the kids at their events, church on Sundays, until it’s time to retire.
A century of battle to entrench ever more Maoist radicals in the places of power destroyed the boomer utopia and replaced it with a hope that a job could last a couple years, maybe. My Dad retired with a pension from RCA. Now a college graduate may get offered an option to invest in the company 401k, get 80 hours a year of PTO and an employer contribution to the cost of mandatory health insurance. Beyond that, good luck.
Or Not
So to be included you need the boomer dream. Anything that falls short makes you deplorable. Charlie and I, we are very deplorable. We graduated college, BA in English Literature for me and a BS in Science for Charlie. I made a career out of technology break/fix and Charlie’s flame burned bright until he tried to rescue his Aunt Betty. If only she’d come correct before gaining a toe tag.
“All that wasted talent . . .” and “He could have been something” Uh huh. I am something. So is Charlie. Just not the presumed “something” of our bougie peers. My something is the estimated 547,500 words published to this space in ten years. And two careers, cab driver and IT field service tech. And more but this post is about Charlie’s arraignment.
The unanswered question: did Charlie murder the body found in the desert? Why was his blood found where human bones were found? Charlie has a fascination with carrion beetles. The bad news for Charlie is that in the Court of Public Opinion the accusation is the punishment. In the news and on social media the adjudication is a formality. You are guilty. The “until proved innocent” isn’t part of this.
Freedom in Condemnation
What the more shouty of us want is to continue the punishment. The accused cannot repent or be redeemed. Our scarlet letter is branded on us. We will die with it. We can never recover. The more shouty have spoken.
Two aphorisms, “the beautiful thing about rock bottom is that all directions point up,” and “shunning is liberating. Once condemned it doesn’t matter what we do. Our accusers will hate us whether we live honorable lives or not. So we might as well live honorable and healthy lives.” It is not the accused that is enslaved to resentment. It is the accusing with the legion of chains they wrap themselves with. Each chain one more grievance they shackle themselves with. Charlie has plenty of company.
But . . . Charlie is frustrating. I’d like him to be redeemable. I pray he’ll repent. He is the fly in the ointment for my Christian brothers who hold true that no one is irredeemable. Charlie is chronic. There is no fixing him. And that’s the story being told about Charlie. 毛主席萬歲!
In the Jailhouse Now
For you and I it’s about a 5 minute drive from the jail to the courthouse. The lights come on at 5:00am. Charlie is already awake. The Sheriff takes a couple hours to get everybody up, fed and in the holding cells by 8am, “When I call your name, step to the door with your hands through the slot!” It’s 5:30am. Miller is midway through the alphabet, “Miller!”
Charlie’s stash of commissary was in jeopardy. He had his hiding spots in the kitchen. But his most valuable holdings he kept in the pod. His stash might remain if he was on good terms with the other guys. He’s somewhere between tolerated and despised.
He put his hands through the slot and they handcuffed him. The next thing is to step into the cell a bit so they can open the door. Then wait to be searched, shackled at the waist, and shackled at the ankles. Breakfast came at the courthouse in the holding cells.
There is a process to lining up and walking from cell to holding cell to a seat on the bus. You do as ordered. Any deviation from instructions will cause the deputies to move you to a max cell while they decide what to do with you. Charlie is smart enough to keep his powder dry and do as ordered.
Meet Your Lawyer
The first lawyer Charlie met was a public defender. Charlie’s case was on the docket for after lunch. So he spent his morning in a holding cell. Just before lunch the deputies walked him to a visitation booth to see his lawyer.
Then more waiting for the lawyer to appear at the window, “Miller. Come with me.” The deputy walked him to a room with a different set of booths and sat him across from his lawyer, “Miller?”
“Yeah”
“Ok, I talked to the ADA on your case. You are a pain in the ass. But the case against you is weak. And the DA isn’t prosecuting cases they don’t feel like they can win. So you have a deal you can accept.”
“If I don’t accept the deal?”
“You stay in custody and the county makes an example of you. Likely you’ll be charged with NRS 195.030, a category C felony carrying up to 5 years in state prison and fines of up to $10,000.00.”
“What’s in the deal?”
“NRS 199.210—misdemeanor evidence tampering. You’ve served enough time to qualify for time served. If you can’t pay your fines the ADA is willing to let you do community service. You’ll be out tomorrow.”
“Can we win?”
“Doubtful. You’ve made some enemies outside.”
“Ok, I guess.”
“Great! I’ve got papers for you to sign.”
His lawyer was done in time for lunch with the ADA. Lunch for Charlie was a dry bologna and cheese sandwich with a juice box. Charlie wasn’t hungry. So he traded it for an apple, “Miller!”
Here Come the Judge
Charlie was placed at the table for defendants and shackled to his chair. His case was called. The ADA and his lawyer took their places at the bench. Both were sworn in this morning when court started. Charlie’s charges were read—NRS 199.210—misdemeanor evidence tampering, “I understand there is a plea in this case?”
The ADA, “Yes, your honor.”
“What are the terms?”
“Time served, a $500.00 fine, and two years unsupervised probation.”
“Miller, do you understand the charges and the sentence proposed?”
Charlie, “Yes, your honor.”
“So ordered.” Charlie’s file was handed over to the court clerk. He was escorted back to a different holding cell. Ruh roh. The apple was in the other cell.
Charlie didn’t get back to the jail until 8pm. Then the jail processed him out and on the street by 10pm. No phone, no wallet, his key card for the employee dorms wasn’t in his property bag. It’s a 40 mile, 14 hour walk back home through open desert. This sucks.
Sundance Casino is a mile and a half from the jail. At an easy pace it’s about a half-hour walk. Charlie knew the cook at the snack bar. Maybe there he could call work and get a ride back. Better get walking.
Walking These City Lights
He made the walk in twenty minutes. His buddy was there slinging drinks and bar snacks. He fed Charlie a hot dog, some fries and a draft Miller High Life. Best meal ever. Now, how to get home, “Your dorm is an hour from here. How are you getting home?”
“No clue. I’m not walking.”
“No shit. Uber?”
“With what money?”
“What happened to your property?”
“Gone. These aren’t even my clothes. The jail found these in a Prison Fellowship clothes closet.”
“Shit. Listen, one of the waitresses lives on a ranch up that way. Lemme see if she’ll give you a ride.”
“That’d be awesome.” Unknown to Charlie the jail called his job and asked if they could come get him. One of the Philippine minders was waiting for him outside the jail. Charlie walked right past her car. She was deep in her phone and didn’t see him leave the jail. The minder passed her time at a nickel slot waiting for him. She was actually up a nice amount.
The minder spotted Charlie at the bar talking to the bartender. She walked up to him as he was talking about a way to get home. “Hey Charlie.”
“Shit! Hi! I didn’t think I had a ride. Have you been waiting long?”
“You could at least ask me how I am doing.”
“Erm . . . How you doing?”
“Not great. Your an asshole.”
Not the best time to swing at that pitch, “Yeah. I’m tired and hungry. All I want is my dorm room and some quiet.”
“You are lucky I like Ojisan. Ready?” Was he ever.