It seemed a useless expense, that door. Not to mention an impediment to judicial efficiency.
I was sitting in the waiting room of the Johnson County District Attorney’s office in the Johnson County Courthouse, a blond-brick structure centered in Olathe. I was summoned there by multiple subpoenas related to the break-in of my VW Beetle and other cars.
And each time, we’d jump in our seats.
I would have killed for a doorstop. Even in the D.A.’s office, I would have killed …
“We” were the small community of victims whose cars had been violated by an apparent small ring of car burglars.
Their M.O. was always the same. (If you know your cop shows, you know that M.O. stands for “method of operation.”) The burglars would case a local gym – they seemed to prefer 24 Hour Fitness and Bally locations – spot a car that seemed promising, bust the windows, grab what they could inside, then split, all in a matter of seconds.
I counted five victims, plus myself, at this preliminary hearing. We were there to testify, if necessary, that our car windows were smashed, personal goods taken, and hopefully project the anger to the judge that a crime victim typically feels.
We signed consent forms, then we marched as a group down to the courthouse a floor below. It was kind of like old-home week, even though we didn’t know each other. We shared a common experience, which made the conversations easier.
“Where’d your car get hit?” “What’d they take?” “What kind of car do you own?” “Do you have a car alarm?” “Did you turn it in to your insurance company?” “You prefer the elliptical or the treadmill?” “Does your gym smell as bad as ours?”
After we gabbed a bit in the hallway, an assistant D.A. handling the case emerged from the courtroom. She told us the odds were good the three perps would waive their rights to a preliminary hearing that day.
No, she didn’t use the word “perp.” I did. Interesting how an immersion into the criminal justice system makes you talk like you belong. Did you know cops call motorcycle officers “bucket heads?” And a “homicide kit” is 12 donuts with an equal number of cups of coffee? “Fat pills” also are donuts. A “Frankster” is a felony subject? And a motorcyle is a “crotch-rocket.”
Imagine the conversations these officers have! “Hey Bucket Head, me and my partner, we think that Frankster over there is the key perp in this case. Now hand me a fat pill from that homicide kit before I shoot the tires off your crotch-rocket.”
But I digress (a bad habit). The A.D.A. then invited us into the courtroom, even though it was unlikely we’d have to testify. She stressed that our trips to the courthouse weren’t wasted – that the perps’ attorneys would see that the prosecutor had amassed a large group of willing-to-testify victims. That, she explained, would convince the defense attorneys that it’d be smarter to seek a plea agreement rather than a trial. More efficient for everyone.
We filed into the courtroom. In the row ahead of us were eight different police officers from various jurisdictions, all sharing similar blue uniforms and crew cuts, also ready to testify.
And there, off to the right, stood the three perps. Each handcuffed. Each wearing prison garb featuring fat blue and white horizontal stripes. (Who designs prison garb? Are they Armani wannabes? How would they do on Project Runway?)
I won’t comment on the trio’s appearance, beyond a couple of points: They were hardly intimidating … they seemed boyish, with quizzical smiles on their faces, amused by the proceedings. And they were small, as in short. Though I believe I already mentioned this was a small burglary ring.
Also, as I indicated in the first installment, if these were the guys who took my phone, they weren’t very bright, because they used it to place so many calls immediately after the theft.
In fact, we were told that they were arrested earlier on the car-burglary charges, then jailed, then were bonded out of jail, THEN immediately started knocking over cell-phone stores.
What is it with these guys and cell phones?
Anyway, I’m trusting American justice to render a verdict and appropriate punishment. It looks like us victims won’t be asked to testify. The three indeed waived their rights to a preliminary hearing, which means they’re willing to admit to some fault in hopes of a lighter sentence.
All that said, one of the perps caught my attention. He had bright red hair, seemed to be in his early 20s, and clearly had Eastern European roots. His first name was Viktor. He had a slight accent.
His face was cherubic, innocent. An immigrant gone bad?
Maybe. I’m guessing he was motivated by seeing so many cell-phone commercials on television … Sprint, Verizon, AT&T and more. Then there are all of those iPhone ads pushing the latest apps.
It had to be phone envy.
We’ll know soon whether Viktor and his compatriots are locked up in a cell-phone-free cell for their alleged indiscretions.
SLAM!
One part of me hopes so. Another part looks at them and wishes they’d taken another path, especially in these tough times.
It’s one thing to steal food to feed your family. It’s another, Viktor, to steal a phone to feed your street cred.
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