THE CRAZIES

Beau had his own form of cabin fever going on and he’d only been in Whitehorse a few weeks. A midweek break in the trial was a little unusual and he could use the time for some more trial prep but perhaps that could wait he thought, silently cajoling himself, “I should find out what this whole Break Out thing is about. Perhaps the Sourtoe Saloon would be a good place to start.”

“Bear, you sonofabitch! How you doin’ brotha?” The American accent was unmistakable, “Hey Shrap, good seeing you man.”

“Meet my buddies.” Beau looked over at Shrap’s companions. They were both small in stature but ramrod straight and well built, they were obviously tough. Of course the military fatigues they were wearing added to his first impression. Beau assumed they were South American and immediately wondered how on earth they had ended up in Whitehorse.

“This rat faced badass is Felipe, you can call him ‘Bean’ and this fucker over here is Pablo. They call him ‘Pablum’. Guys this is ‘Bear’ Jackson, he’s the mouthpiece defending the dude who killed Woods. But don’t hold that against him,” he laughed at his joke, “He’s good.”

Beau knew he was in good company for the evening and being introduced by nicknames was Shrap’s way of welcoming Beau into his group, letting his buddies know he approved, even if he was a lawyer.

And the night took off like a rocket ship from Cape Canaveral. Where it would end up Beau had no idea; all he knew was that it was going to be one hell of a ride.

Beau loved it. Here they were Bear, Shrap, Bean and Pablum, out for a night on the town. None of them from here, all of them here for a reason. As the night wore on, each of them trying to out drink one another, all part of the universal cock fight that it is to be a man, the stories got wilder and wilder.

Bean and Pablum it turned out were both from Columbia and had been soldiers in the guerilla wars that were plaguing that country.  Neither of them had any strong beliefs about what they were fighting for. They’d been born into poverty and were recruited by the guerillas who came to their villages in the jungle, offering food and shelter and money to fight.

“I would have fought for anybody.” said Bean. “You can’t understand what it’s like to have no hope and no future. It was my way out. And I was good at it. It’s what I am now.”

Beau realized Bean and Pablum were mercenaries. Honest to God soldiers of war. He couldn’t get enough of their stories and where they had fought in the world; Columbia, Brazil, the Congo, Vietnam they’d lived incredibly dangerous lives and they had survived, which Beau assumed was something to do with how hard they partied.

“Where’d you guys meet anyhow?” he asked, looking at Shrap.

“In an opium den in the Golden Triangle over in ‘Nam.” Beau knew by now he shouldn’t be shocked by anything these guys said, but God damn if they didn’t keep doing it!  “I told these guys I was out, that I wasn’t coming back and I’d head into Canada if I had to. We just ran into each other up here a couple of months ago. But I’m not like those guys, they’re just here to get away from it for a bit. They’re mercenaries now, it’s kind of what they do. Guns for hire. Live now. Die later.”

“Jesus, what a life!” Beau was incredulous. “Did you ever think about it.”

“Being  a mercenary? Hell no man. I ain’t no killer. It’s why I got out. I couldn’t even kill for my country, I’ll be damned if I could kill for money. These two don’t know no other way. It’s what they’re good at. Probably be dead in a couple of years.”

Beau didn’t know whether to admire this posse or be scared of them but as one drink led to another, one shot became five, any anxiety he harboured evaporated into a ribald, wild four man car crash of a night; in and out of every bar they staggered, picking fights and avoiding them, laughing like school boys, losing themselves in an alcohol fueled hiding place.

“Bear,” Shrap shouted over the noise, slurring at this point, “The boyz and I want you to ree-solve somethin’ for us. You’re a lawyer, figure you be a judge one day so we need you to azhuudicate but we need to git neked in order for you to do any judgin’!”

“What the hell you talkin’ about Shrap?”

“Come on, we’re going to your room at the T & M. Pablum buy a bottle of tequila from the bartender”

And off they all staggered, Shrap, Bean, Pablum and Bear, arm in arm, brothers for life or until dawn, whichever came first. Bear knew he didn’t have much left in him but he’d give these boys what he had. Back in Beau’s room, the evening accelerated and spun right out of control. He was told to sit in a chair and pour them all a shot of tequila. When he looked up they were all standing in a row facing Beau, shoulder to shoulder and as naked as the day they were born.

“So Judge Bear, herezzz the question we need you to decise for us.  Who has the worst battle injuries. So you need to take a close look at each of us. If you have any questions you can ask. So okay. Go!”

Beau knew that this was possibly the funniest moment of his life, for sure beating anything so far but maybe even making his #1 Lifetime Funniest Moment Ever! list.  But he was not about to laugh at three drunk military veterans, two of whom were mercenaries.

“For sure.” Judge Bear got up from his chair, strode over to the three men, all standing at swaying attention, eyes front. Bear looked Bean up and down and noticed two obvious knife wounds, deep slashes across his chest and right shoulder. But there were two other wounds, one on his chest, the other on his right thigh.

“What are those?” he asked.

“Bullet holes. This one up here damn near killed me. They had to stretcher me out of the jungle to a field hospital in the Congo, nearly bled out. Same bastard got me in the leg, still have some metal in the bone from that.”

Bear moved on. He surveyed the naked Pablum and then Shrap and had each of them identify their wounds and tell the battle stories behind them. It was all too bizarre for Beau to deal with but that was fine, the boys could care less about poor Beau and what he thought. These boys were demanding to know what Judge Bear had decided.

“Don’t you be no pussy Judge Bear” they all laughed at their own joke. “We ain’t leaving ‘til you decides who got  it the worst.”

Judge Bear had an idea. He gathered himself in the chair and told the three men that he had sufficient evidence to make his decision and instructed them to put their clothes back on. They were surprisingly compliant thought Beau, and then he figured it out. This was just a game, a bit of fun for them, a release; getting naked and drunk with other soldiers was about as intimate, as revealing as they would ever get about the dark memories their damaged bodies hid. These boys were sharing. In the brotherhood of soldiers this was a good time.

“This court has been asked to adjudicate on which of these three brave men, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Bean and Mr. Pablum has suffered the worst battle injuries. I am ready to render my verdict. The court has closely inspected the bodies of these three brave soldiers and has decided the following:

Mr. Bean is to be recognized for suffering the most severe battle injuries incurred during battle as a guerilla in the Columbian civil conflict.

Mr. Pablum is to be recognized for suffering the most severe battle injuries incurred during battle as a mercenary soldier serving in the Belgian Congo.

Mr. Shrap is to be recognized for suffering the most severe battle injuries occurred during battle as an enlisted soldier serving in Vietnam.

It is so ordered.”

And crickets. For Beau a long ‘hold your breath what’s going to happen next’ silence.

And then, “Damn Bear’, frickin’ rights eh?” Shrap laughed and gave Judge Bear’s decision a hard high five! All was good. The three men hugged and laughed and poured one last shot.  It was a natural end coming to a night not one of them had expected to share when they had woken up that day.

And then they were gone. All Beau knew was he would remember this night forever. Well, what he could remember he would remember forever.

As he laid down to sleep Beau had one last thought , “This Break Out thing is a good time!!!”

And he was out.

Chapter Twelve

I DID IT. I’M GUILTY.

Beau would open the defence case when the court reconvened. Every criminal trial starts with a strategy, a plan of attack, a theory of the defence that a reasonable jury could accept. And every criminal trial required constant reevaluation. It was for Beau the most important role he played; always having a strategy but never being scared to change it, mid trial if necessary. It was time to review.

Gallagher was satisfied he’d presented an ironclad case to support the charge of first degree murder. The murder weapon, the confession, witnesses to the shooting were all before the jury now, each piece of evidence persuasive alone but as a whole, Gallagher thought to himself, impossible to surmount. Add to that the evidence from several of Stokes’ old prospector buddies, testifying to the ill will he bore toward the victim and his repeated threats to kill Woods if he ever saw him again and Gallagher once again muttered to himself, “Open and shut!”

The biggest decision in any criminal case now had to be made: Would Bear put Joe Stokes on the stand?. The conventional wisdom with jury trials is that you should, the jury needs to see and hear the defendant; hear what he has to say, get a feel for him as a man.

On top of that, the prosecutions’ case was strong; even without Beau’s early admission that Stokes had killed Woods with the .357, one shot to the head at the bar in Ross River, Gallagher had made his case with a long line of witnesses testifying in agonizing detail before the jury. The facts of the case were proven beyond any reasonable doubt.

The only issue, and it had been the only issue from the beginning was intent. What was Joe Stokes state of mind when he pulled that trigger? Was it all intentional or was he in such a dissociative state of mind that he didn’t actually know what he was doing? Was he ‘out of his mind’?

In law school, this would have been open and shut. Of course, your trial law professor would have said, of course you’d have to put Joe on the stand. The case is proven, that’s your only hope! But Beau had learned through many jury trials that it is never an open and shut decision. He had always known the case against Joe was strong.

Beau didn’t have much time for Gallagher and he suspected Gallagher held him in the same regard. The forced civility between lawyers often breaks down with the personal tensions that inevitably develop in long criminal trials. When he thought it served his clients purposes Beau had often intentionally aggravated prosecutors; any energy he could divert his way was energy diverted from the case. He even remembered a fist fight in the barristers changing room between two lawyers, during a long drug trial in Victoria. Things could get heated.

But none of that mattered right now. Gallagher was a good trial lawyer and he had been very effective. By the time he rested his case Beau knew Gallagher would have been confident of a conviction for first degree murder.

But that, thought Beau, with the unblinking contrariness of any good defence lawyer, that is before the jury has heard Joe’s defence and the forensic psychiatrist Dr. Pringle.

For Beau the question was simple: Did the jury have enough to acquit Stokes of first degree murder on the lack of intent to commit a planned and deliberate murder?

Or did he have to put Joe on the stand? Could the jury on the strength of Dr. Pringle’s evidence decide that Joe was in a dissociative state, that he was ‘out of his mind’ and so acquit him on the first degree murder charge? And Beau reminded himself once again, he didn’t need the whole jury, he just needed one member of the jury to think that way.

Any decision to put your client on the stand in a criminal trial has to involve a clinical assessment of your client. Is he smart? Is he sympathetic? Does he contradict himself? Can he handle being cross examined by an experienced prosecutor? Would he convict himself with his own words?

And what about Joe himself. If he did put him on the stand what kind of witness would he be? Joe wanted to testify. From the moment Beau had first met him in the Prince George Remand Centre, he had been inconsolable, openly weeping as he admitted how he had shot his old friend Hank, “I don’t know what got over me, I can’t even remember doing it but I know I did it. I’m not going to say I didn’t!”  At first Beau thought Joe would be a good witness. His emotion was real and authentic and any jury needs to see that in the defendant. His tears were inevitable and they would be persuasive. The jury would warm to him.

But Joe was a simple man. For him ‘I did it. I’m guilty.’ was his north star and no matter how much time Beau spent with Joe explaining the difference between first and second degree murder, no matter how much time Beau took trying to explain that he might have been ‘out of his mind’ when he shot Hank and if he was that would be a defence, no matter any of it Joe just repeated, ‘I did it. I’m guilty.”

Joe’s story was a good one and if he put him on the stand it he could get it in front of the jury. He had spent his early years in Prince George, raising a family and running an automotive business. ‘Joe’s Automotive’ had been a fixture in Prince George for decades with a trusted reputation for straight talk and good work.

His son Jake was also mechanical and learned helicopter maintenance and worked in the lumber industry. Eventually Jake started North Country Helicopter and built a successful multi million dollar business. When Joe left Prince George he moved to Whitehorse, first working in an automotive shop fixing big trucks and then slowly beginning to prospect. It wasn’t unexpected when he told Jake and his grandchildren that he was going to prospect full time. He had enough money saved and they all knew he loved everything about it.

Every year, twice a year since then Joe made sure he came down to Prince George to visit with his son and family, always thrilling the children with exciting stories of raging rivers, hungry bears and mysterious beasts. And he always came with little gold nuggets for the kids which he gave to Jake for safe keeping. One day he would say, it would be a little nest egg for the kids. It helped Beau to think about all this. He knew that Joe would come over as a genuine, decent man, a man who until he shot his old friend had lived a quiet, anonymous life; a good man who had caused trouble for no one, not his family and not anyone who knew him.

But Beau was as unsure of the answer to the question as he had been at any time during the trial. Back and forth he went, going over and over in his mind, weighed down by his awareness that this decision would decide Joe’s fate, calibrating a hundred thoughts, knowing that he was running out of time.

But one thing had come clear. The jury needed to hear from Dr. Pringle first. He would evaluate his defence one more time after that. Right now he just wanted to get through to the weekend and leave the jury time to take it all in.