By Matthew Russell Lee, Patreon Maxwell Book
BBC-Guardian UK - Honduras - ESPN NY Mag
LITERARY COURTHOUSE, May 28 – "You better get over here, Michael. There's a defendant talking crazy and Federal Defenders don't want to take the case."
Michael Randall Long was half way through a motion for acquittal or in the alternative for a new trial for one of his other clients, who had insisted he was not guilty and still did, now awaiting sentencing.
So a new case in the SDNY Magistrates Court sounded better than rehashing the same old, same old.
"I'll be right over." It was easy enough. Long's office was just down Worth Street from the courthouse, on the second floor over the Ali Baba fruit stand.
It was late May and the flowers were in bloom in front of the Columbus park playground, where the basketball courts had been taken over by skateboards. Didn't these kids go to school?
Long used his hard pass to swipe in, and commented about the weather to the Court Security Officer, who'd used to work up in the Mag Court. Not to hot, not to cold, they both agreed.
Long took the elevator up to the 8th floor, past Probation and the Press Room where he felt sure Kurt Wheelock was working, hunched over the PACER terminal.
On the eighth floor he walked past the painting of Justice Sotomayor, alumna SDNY was proud of, and looked out over Chatham Green and the two bridges. He used to smoke cigarettes out on that terrace. When he used to smoke. Now he avoid both like the plague, or black lung. He took the other elevator down to the fifth floor and walked into the Magistrates Court.
One of the Marshals held out his glove fist, to bump it. "Your client is in there," he said, gesturing at the door to the lock-up.
"Though we can all hear him out here." Long put his laptop down on the defense table, along with his phone, and went in.
"I'm Michael Randall Long," he told the bearded man in the orange WCDOC jump suit. "I'll be representing you if you agree."
"I wanna talk to the prosecutor!" the man said. "I don't think that's a good idea," Long said. "At least not at this point."
"I have info that can get me out of here," the man continued. Long winced, at least inside. He didn't usually like representing cooperators. The Assistant US Attorneys always lorded it over him, like, We know that all of your other clients are guilty too.
"Why don't you tell me about it first?" he asked. "You're right they sometimes give a deal. But you have to present it right, and not give away the information for free, or for less that it is worth."
"When they hear it I'm gonna need, like protection," the man said. Long nodded. The guy didn't look like a drug dealer, at least not on the street.
"What is it?"
"The UN," the guy said. "They paid me to kill someone."
To be continued...
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