Posts Tagged ‘crime memoir’

—an excerpt from RELATIVELY CRIMINAL

It was apparently just a few hours after his release from his latest prison stint that he appeared at my back door.

“Hey, Sis! Just thought I’d stop by,” he said, with a smirk. I noticed the small red vehicle in the driveway, but at first I didn’t think about the car at all. I was still shocked that he wasn’t in prison, since that was where I thought he was supposed to be for at least another year. But as always, first and foremost I missed him, so I gave him a hug, grabbed him a Pepsi, and we sat on the couch together.

“Frank, what are you doing here? I mean, I’m happy to see you, but I thought you had more time on your sentence.”

“I do! Guess it was just my lucky day.”

“Wait a minute . . . did you escape?”

“Nah, didn’t have to. They let me go. I just walked out.”

“Frank, they don’t just let you go!” I insisted.

“Welp—they did!” he said, and took another swig of his Pepsi.

He was really enjoying this whole little tease of a story, but I was losing my patience.

“C’mon, Frank, quit playing stupid games with me. What happened and how did you get here?”

Frank relented then and told his story about the court mix-up.

“That’s our justice system in action,” I said. “But you still haven’t told me how you got here. Whose car is that in the driveway? A friend of yours?”

“Nope. I borrowed it.”

“From who?”

“Welp, I was standing on the street in Schaumburg and saw this car sitting right there with the keys in it.”

“You didn’t borrow it—you stole the car! And then you came here? Jesus, Frank!”

“Don’t worry, Sis, I’ll get rid of it quick. They probably don’t even know it’s gone yet.”

“Great! So here I sit with my escaped criminal brother and a stolen car in my driveway.” He was laughing. “It’s not funny, Frank.”

He continued to laugh and pulled his usual presto-chango, switch the subject-o. He threw a small foil package in my lap.

“Need any rubbers, Sis? I got a bunch more.”

“Rubbers? So, I suppose you knocked over a rubber machine, too, on your way here.” I joked.

“Well . . . ,” he began, pausing for the punch line, “as a matter of fact, I did!”

I did not find it funny, and smacked him in the arm. “You are hopeless, Frank, ya know?”

“I had to have some money, Sis. You know me.”

“Yeah, I do, Frank,” I said with a big sigh.

I was relieved when he finished his Pepsi and announced he had to go. Saved me the trouble of asking him to leave, because that stolen car in the driveway was making me very, very nervous. He assured me he was going to ditch it on a street somewhere that same day, once he made it to a friend’s house.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, what could I do, Sis? I suddenly found myself free and out on the street. Couldn’t get Ronnie or anybody on the phone, had no money in my pockets. So I saw this car sittin’ there with the keys in it, just like somebody left me a ride.”

“You could have called me, Frank.”

“I know—didn’t want to bother you. I’ve bothered you enough, ya know?”

I just shook my head. Whenever there was a choice to be made, Frank could be counted on to make the wrong one. But then again, it might have been a bad idea anyway if I had picked him up. Would that have made me an accessory, since he was technically a prisoner and supposed to be in jail? I wasn’t sure, but I knew two things: I was happy to see him, and I was happy to see him leave again.

He was back in prison a few days later. Not for the stolen car, which he had dumped as promised. He got picked up for theft of a coin machine. I’m sure the drunken dating population in the area was happy to see the local rubber supply return to normal.

As we sat in a waiting room before Frank’s scheduled court appearance, we chatted with the other two occupants of the room. One was a woman who was out on bond, on charges of embezzlement, and the other was a man who was out on bond, charged with attempted murder. He was tall, dark, and relatively nice-looking, dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and tie, so his revelation that he was accused of a violent crime came as a real surprise. What surprised me even more was that my brother was locked up for stealing a stupid toolbox, while this man was sitting in the waiting room with us. I couldn’t understand how that was fair at all.

We waited and waited, but Frank’s public defender, Mr. Wagner, was nowhere to be found. There was another public defender’s office near the waiting room, a Mr. Romano, and finally I poked my head inside his open doorway to see if he was there and might be able to help.

“Hi! I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you knew where Mr. Wagner is. He’s supposed to be here today for my brother’s case.”

“I’m not sure, but I can check for you. I’m Tony Romano. And you are . . .”

“Donna Delaney. Nice to meet you, Mr. Romano.”

“You can call me Tony. C’mon in, Donna, and have a seat. I’ll call and check to see where he’s at.”

“Thank you. Oh—I have a friend here with me, Natalie. Can she come in, too?”

“Sure, no problem.”

I waved to Natalie to join me, and we both waited in Tony’s office as he made a phone call. I couldn’t help noticing that the artwork in his office was all clowns—one a painting of a single clown, another a painting of the seven dwarves dressed as clowns, and even a clown statue lamp.

Tony hung up the phone. “I left a message with his office. Hopefully, we’ll hear back soon.”

“Thank you. So, you’re a public defender, too?” I asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but I see you’re a big clown fan. Your office is full of them.”

“Well, they were gifts from a client. You’ve heard of John Gacy?”

I was stunned. “You mean John Wayne Gacy, the serial killer?”

“Yes, I was part of the team that had to defend him.”

“Wow! That’s creepy. I heard that he liked clowns, so I guess those pictures make sense now. What was it like defending him?”

“Creepy,” he said, and Natalie and I laughed. “The law provides everyone with a defense, so . . . let’s just say I was doing my job.”

“So, you did it because you had to. I can see how that would be hard, especially defending someone as obviously guilty as him. I wouldn’t want to do it.”

“Not one of my favorite jobs, that’s for sure. So, tell me about your brother?”

Natalie and I filled him in on some of the background of how Frank had come to live with me, the signs of drug addiction, his moving out and finding a job, and then his eventual downward spiral back to drugs and his arrest for stealing a toolbox.

“So he needs help for his drug addiction, not another jail term,” I told him. “Frank is not violent, he’s a coke addict. This is the first time he has asked for help with it, and I’m afraid if he just goes back to jail and gets out again, it will start all over.”

“That’s too bad. But it’s good that he has the two of you when he goes before the judge. Judges like to know that a defendant has someone who cares and can give them support.”

“But is there any way we can get them to send him to drug treatment instead of jail?”

“There’s no guarantee, but I would recommend that you write a letter to the judge, telling him of your concerns, and your brother’s drug history, and make a strong appeal to him to send your brother for treatment.”

The phone rang then, and Tonyanswered it. It wasn’t good news.

“Well, that was Mark’s office,” he told us. “Apparently he got hung up in another courthouse on a different case and won’t be able to make it today.”

That came as a complete surprise to me. I had no idea that your lawyer could just not show up for court.

“Are you kidding? But . . . now what? You mean we came here today for nothing? We . . . it’s not that easy to just take off work. And we can’t even see my brother!” Frustrated, I started to cry.

Tony grabbed a tissue off his desk and handed it to me. “I’m sorry, Donna. These things do happen. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional on Mark’s part.”

“But what happens now?” I asked, wiping away the tears.

“It will be continued with a new court date. Mr. Wagner will contact you with the new date.”

“Well . . . I guess there’s nothing else we can do. Thank you, Mr. Romano. I mean Tony. You’ve been so helpful.”

“Not a problem. Listen—here. Here’s my card. If you have any more questions about your brother’s case, I’d be happy to answer them for you if I can.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate your kindness.”

Natalie and I left, grateful to Tony but feeling dejected and helpless at the same time. We both missed Frank terribly and wanted to see him, even if it was just in court. And I was angry about taking an entire day off of work, without pay, for nothing. Still, it was futile to think about it too much.

We were at the mercy of the court system.

 

This is an excerpt from my book, “Relatively Criminal:  A Memoir