Everyone wants Atticus Finch until there’s a dead hooker in a bathtub. Note: Atticus Finch is the lawyer in “To Kill a Mockingbird.”
You know, you’d invite people at the end of their parole back to court… You’d *recognize* those who did their time, turned their lives around, made something of themselves. Everyone in the court applauded, and you made sure they did! Tell them how *proud* you were… Proud of *fucking* strangers!
Did you know 90% of the country believes in ghosts? less than a third in evolution? 35% can correctly identify Homer Simpson’s fictional town in which he resides, less than 1% knows the name Thurgood Marshall. But… when you put 12 Americans together in a jury and you ask for justice? Something just South of brilliance happens. Often as not, they get it right.
My father is a lot of unpleasant things, but murderer is not one of them.
I don’t buy it. It can’t be the first time someone’s insulted you. It’s your job. Why did you go easy on him the first time? Of all the judges in Indiana, the one with the tightest… You gave him 30 days. He threatened her, discharged a firearm at her residence.That’s six months. A year. Easy. What was your reasoning? A hundred and 80 days, that’s solid. Maybe he’d have cooled off. Maybe he doesn’t kill Hope. Maybe we’re not here. Of all the years you sat on that bench… all the people that stood before you, the leniency… the understanding, the free ride goes to Mark Blackwell? How do you explain that lapse in judgment?
Right now? I’m a summer breeze. Once I subpoena you, get you on the stand and extract the truth from your ass like tree sap THEN you’ll realize in THAT moment, correct, I’m not a pleasant person.
Grandpa Schneider is kind of, you know, nice and affable. He’d maybe take you for ice cream, maybe read to you. Grandpa Palmer doesn’t wanna do any of that. If you ask him to read, he might throw the book at you.
Possession of a controlled substance? Domestic violence? That’s you. You all right, honey? What other random myriad of fucking misdemeanors is gonna come to light while you’re drawing out in the slammer? Failure to appear? Bench warrants? Come on. And because I’m the only one that actually isn’t driving with a suspended license, I’ll be driving your gals home. So who lives closer? Uh, bad skin muffin-top, or Red Bull semen breath?
Crackpots. Those I can persuade to swallow their own tongue. Anyone who’s seen a Sasquatch. Moon-landing deniers. Those are our people.
