I would like to thank my friend pennylin for her suggestions and beta reading of this story. It wouldn't have existed without her influence.
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"Will the jury please remain seated as we clear the court?"
Chase Griffin had a headache, and he was, not for the first time, regretting he'd ever answered the summons. The trial had gone on for more than a week, with each side presenting numerous witnesses. He'd made up his mind, though, after the first afternoon's testimony. Now they had to 'deliberate' - which meant some of the bleeding hearts would be reluctant to see reality for what it was. He would have to push to make his observations known, and then hope he could push hard enough for the rest of them to vote the way he felt was only right. After all, you can't just take authority away from the people trusted to protect you, could you?
"...to the best of your ability, and do not feel as if you have to rush to judgement. This case could become a landmark case for years to come, so please, do your civic duty as best you are able, I implore you. If there are any questions, do not fail to call on clarification from the stenographer's records. That's what they are provided for."
The judge finally ran down, though Chase hadn't heard most of it. The voice inside his head was busy formulating arguments for the debate he knew was to come. 'God, how did I get sucked into this?' he groaned inwardly.
The jury was diverse. Three of them were black, chosen for the color of their skin; not for their ability to weigh the facts and come to an unbiased conclusion, he felt. One was an Asian girl, cute as hell but not likely to be able to make an appropriate decision, either. She was barely out of her teens, from the looks of her! And of the total of twelve, seven were women. This cop most certainly had the odds stacked against him.
"It's getting late. The jury will break for the night, and then return at 8:00 tomorrow morning, promptly. Please be back here on time. It may be a long morning and afternoon, so remember there will be plenty of water available. Snacks can also be supplied, if necessary."
'Water? Snacks? Good god, how long is this gonna take?' he asked himself, though he knew this was not going to be cut-and-dry. This was, after all, a highly contested case. The verdict, he knew, could make them celebrities, if any of them decided to take their story to the press, after all was over. He dreaded the inevitable hoards of press, once the verdict was read, whatever it was. They had been gathering in greater numbers in the courtroom during the trial; he had no doubt they'd be hovering, like sharks, once they reached their decision and delivered it to the court. He held his hand up.
The judge acknowledged him, and asked if he had a problem. Chase said no, but wondered, "Are we going to be sequestered at some point?"
To his relief, the judge answered in the negative. "No," he said, "I don't anticipate that. But you need to be thorough, no matter how long it takes. I will be officiating other cases in the meantime, but the jury pool will be expected to meet for as long as necessary - days or weeks, if that's what it takes - to render a verdict unanimously. Once you have reached that verdict, I will be called back to accept that verdict, and to officiate the conclusion of the case. Until then, you belong to this court."
'Days? Weeks?' As they filed out of the jury box, Chase shook his head. He paused to allow the ladies out before him, and to get a better look at all of them. Nobody looked up at him except the Asian girl, who smiled briefly at him.
"Hope you don't have anywhere to be," she quipped, then dropped her eyes. He didn't smile in return, but he did allow himself more than a glance at her as she passed. He'd been noticing how she dressed during the past week and a half. Sometimes it was dresses, sometimes a t-shirt and slacks. She wore a beige top today, and tight black jeans that accentuated her narrow waist and tiny butt. Her manner of dress made her appear even younger, to his sixty-two year-old eyes. 'They didn't make them like that when I was in my twenties,' he mused. 'Well, that was more than fourty years ago. Things have definitely changed since then,' he decided.
Three overzealous reporters were waiting them outside, even though they had been cautioned not to speak to the members of the jury during the trial. Sharks! Chase walked past them, not speaking, his eyes on the girl's butt. She didn't speak to them either, but did take a card from one of the reporters. He caught up with her.
"Hey," he said. She turned to look up at him, then looked back at the ground as she walked. She seemed to be blushing.
"You shouldn't encourage them," he told her, and reached to take the card from her hand.
"I... I wasn't going..." she said softly, and handed it to him, still without looking at him. Then she veered off towards her car.
Chase's car was three spots behind hers, a citation sticking out from under the wiper. He realized he'd forgotten to put the court-issued paper tag up where it could be seen on the dash. "Oh, for Christ sake!" he muttered, snatching the red ticket up. He slipped it in his shirt pocket as he turned to listen to the starter whine on the girl's beat-up white Toyota sedan. It took three tries, but finally caught, and he smiled as a plume of blue smoke issued from the tailpipe. 'Japanese cars,' he thought, and rolled his eyes as he got into his Ford truck.
The next day was torture. Sides were clearly drawn, and his was not well represented. The original argument involved a black man who had been charged with resisting arrest, after having been ordered to get out of his car. It was a white cop, and it had ended in a scuffle and eventual arrest. The black man had been found innocent of the charge. Now he had brought a lawsuit against the cop, and it was in their hands. Carl found himself siding with the police.
"Sure, he got beat up pretty bad, but I mean, why did he not just do what the cop asked," Chase argued. "And what was he doing out there at three o'clock in the morning?"
The Asian girl rolled her eyes, a motion not lost on Chase. "Pretty bad? You think? He ended up with a broken arm, and the cop left him in the back of his car, handcuffed and in pain, while he stopped to get a coffee and sweet roll!"
Another woman joined in. "He treated that man like a criminal without even knowing him, just because he was black!"
Chase glanced at the three black people in the room, all of whom had remained silent. Two were men, one a woman. "It was three o'clock in the morning," Chase repeated. "Who takes the time to get to know a guy sitting in a dark car at that time of morning?"
One of the black men spoke. "Especially a dark man," he said. "So any brother who's out at that time must be up to no good?"
Chase turned to him. "Yes," he said immediately, then softened a little. "I mean, you have to assume." This was turning into exactly what he feared: another BLM argument.
The woman spoke up again. "He had just gotten off work. Does it matter why he stopped?"
Chase took a deep breath. "To the cop, I'm sure it did."
The argument continued. To Chase's relief, another white man took up his side, and argued that the man had refused to get out of his car. "Hence, the resisting arrest charge. That it was disproven later doesn't have anything to do with this case."
More voices suddenly shouted that it had everything to do with this case, and they went back and forth for the next couple of hours, until the foreman, a white man who had pretty much remained out of it, called one of the court bailiffs for a break. They filed out to the restrooms and to hit the vending machines. Chase caught up with the Asian girl, who had just lost a pack of crackers when they hung up on the coiled aluminum rack that held them. She slapped ineffectually at the glass front.
