Neil Knight Private Dick

I Don't Understand...

Experts say that when people are in the middle of tragic events that time seems to slow down.

A car accident appears to occur in slow motion, sounds extend beyond their normal course, cars skid, tires grasp at asphalt, the smell of burned rubber hangs in the air, arms and limbs flail as they react to the laws of motion and probability, thoughts clarify, the senses take in everything and yet the brain refuses to accept their input, as if in denial of the undeniable.

It was Wednesday, the fifteenth of March, 2017, in the courtroom of the honorable U.S. District Judge Franklin Pierce Sherman, where the District Attorney of Orange County Anthony Thomas Riganti had just rested his case in the prosecution of the Mayor of Santa Ana Miguel Turedo.

That morning Tony had received notification from the Leader of the Lopers Gang, Vincente Eduardo Fuentes, that his 'retirement account' had been fully funded, two years in advance. Riganti directed his wife to purchase one-way tickets for the two of them to Cozumel so they could begin their life post-practice as soon as possible. Rather than sell his home he would donate it, in his last act of contrition, to the 'flower fund' of the Santa Ana Police Benevolent Association, established to provide assistance to officers and their families in times of catastrophic need.

Riganti stood and looked around the room, casting his eyes first to the judge, who had seemed uncharacteristically disassociated from the proceedings this morning, to the young attorney leading the defense, less pale today than on other days, to the concerned citizens, reporters, witnesses, experts, and law students populating the gallery.

'They all wish they were me right now' he thought, a sudden swelling in his pants.

His cell phone buzzed in his jacket pocket and he ignored it.

And then time began to slow down.

The defense attorney stood and began.

"At this moment in time I would like to file a motion for..."

Judge Franklin Pierce Sherman held up his hand.

"I have some foreknowledge of your proposed motion counselor, but at this point in time I am taking action to recuse myself from this case 'sua sponte', or without the need for a motion."

Anthony Riganti could hear the tic of the second hand on the clock hanging on the courtroom wall.

Tic.

Tic.

Tic.

The sound of the air as it passed over his own lips and through the bridge of his nose, slowly inflating his lungs.

"The court will stand in momentary recess."

The judge rose from his chair, his robe fluttering, his hands gathering sheaves of paper from his desk, the sound of each sheet sliding against another as they settled into the manila folder grasped in his left hand.

The gavel echoing across the courtroom.

The murmur of the audience increasing toward a crescendo.

"Wait" someone said. "I don't understand..."

And then Riganti recognized the voice as his own.

The judge left the courtroom and receded to his chambers.

'This can't be happening'.

His head swiveled back and forth as images, motion and sound flooded his brain.

Each individual response recorded.

Surprise.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Wonder.

"I don't understand..." he heard the same voice again.

And time slowed down even more.

The click of the knob on the judge's chamber resonated throughout the courtroom.

The chamber door swung open, heads snapping around in response, although the snaps were fluid, measured, blurred and surreal.

"All rise" called out the bailiff "for the honorable Judge Karen Smatz-Anderson."

Each word spoken as if played at 1/3 normal speed.

The sentence seeming to take minutes rather than seconds.

And then she entered.

The same judge upon which his office had taken punitive action over 18 bench months after she had ruled against his office during the 'Snitch Scandal' trial.

The same judge whose livelihood he had tried to destroy.

An honest judge.

Time slowed again.

Commotion now at the back of the courtroom as a dozen police officers entered the room followed by former Senior Assistant District Attorney Salvadore Malafronte, officers moving in pairs to cover all exits.

"I don't understand..." the voice repeated.

The gavel swung up and down, the clack reverberating throughout the courtroom.

Time responded as well, returning to normal.

The galley came to order with attendees and participants returning to their seats.

Riganti remained standing.

"Counselor?" prompted the judge.

Riganti sat down.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and this time he recovered enough to take a look.

One word on the screen.

Leave.

Light and sound assaulted his senses.

"It is the finding of this court that the prosecution has not provided sufficient evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, to allow this criminal proceeding to continue."

"That being said, I summarily dismiss the charges against Mayor Miguel Turedo with prejudice, which means the claimant, being the state, has NO privilege to refile the case. It's done."

"Mayor you are free to leave."

The judge rose, casting a smile toward the District Attorney, then turned slightly, and, after nodding toward the rear of the courtroom, retreated to her chambers.

Riganti felt a tap on his right shoulder.

"Nice to see you again Tony" said a grinning Sally Malafronte. "Officer, read the District Attorney his rights."

Outside the courthouse Frankie Hopeless stood, pissed as reporters streamed past him, all eager to be the first to break the news on air.

He had tried to warn Riganti that something was up before Sherman had left the courtroom. His Police Tracker app had warned him of a host of incoming law enforcement vehicles not more than five minutes before they arrived on scene. The cops and that rat Malafronte.

The basement at 20510 Regal Oaks Drive, Yorba Linda erupted in high-fives and attaboys as the courtroom scene concluded.

"Alright gentlemen" called out Harry Love. "It's only the first half. Stay focused."

"Winnie can you put the map up on the main screen matrix?" he prompted.

The four-screen matrix of NEC 98" Slim 4K Ultra HD LED Commercial LCD Monitors flashed to life, displaying a satellite view of Santa Ana, with about three hundred green lights, some clustered, others independently moving on the screen.

"These are the coordinates for every Loper gang member in the city whose cellphone has my app installed" said Cotton. "As your policemen apprehend them the green lights will turn to red. The blue lights you might have guessed, are the men in blue."

"But the app" Neil whispered to an intent Winnie "the app will warn them."

"No, it won't" she responded. "Not since last night when that system was disabled."

"They're all sitting ducks."