LaughingFiend
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Chapter 123: Judge & Juror's
🕑 Added 2024-12-14 00:46:43 +0000 UTCA week later,
When a claim for a case is accepted by the judge and its respective state, it marks the beginning of a meticulous process that serves as the backbone of the justice system.
Contrary to popular belief, a trial doesn’t immediately start when the case is accepted, even if it is outright like Ricky’s.
Instead, the legal machine we call our justice system shifts into motion, navigating a labyrinth of preparatory steps designed to ensure that justice is carried out to its proper procedures.
Among these, one of the most significant and meticulous stages is the selection of the jury.
The jury, a group of citizens tasked with deciding the case’s outcome, is a cornerstone of any case or judicial process and yet, assembling this panel isn’t simply grabbing random people like straws.
It is a delicate balancing and thorough act that requires the careful consideration of both practical and ethical factors that each side, being the accused and defense, take into consideration.
Before the courtroom fills with the murmur of arguments and evidence, lawyers and legal teams engage in what might be described as a chess match in which the board is the courtroom, the lawyers are the players, and the jurors are the pieces.
The law declares that anyone is innocent until proven guilty, a statement that is meant to safeguard fairness and protect the accused.
But, in the realm of jury selection, this ideal is tested by the skill and cunning of the lawyers who wield their questions and challenges like chess pieces in play.
In reality, the winner of this game often has the upper hand in determining the trial's outcome, for the composition of the jury; its perspectives, biases, and capacity for impartiality, can shape the trajectory of the entire case.
However this process begins with the summoning of potential jurors, often drawn at random from voter registration or driver's license databases.
These individuals, notified through formal summonses, represented a cross-section of the community which Ricky now found himself gazing at through his very window.
Seeing first hand what kind of representation this community had as they all gathered outside his current residence, their picket signs raised high, each bearing slogans that shouted how much they hated him in such vivid colors that would leave people impressed at their coordination if it wasn’t filled with hateful slurs.
“Ugh, I knew I should’ve taken the million bucks,” Ricky muttered with an aggrieved sigh, taking a slow sip of his drink as his gaze drifted out the window, blatantly ignoring the officers seated across from him.
“As we were saying Mr. Luciano, we’ll escort you out the back-”
“The back?” Ricky repeated, glancing over his shoulder, his brows furrowed in skepticism as the chief of police met his gaze with a firm nod of assurance, his expression unwavering.
“Yes, it is dangerous out there-”
“Are you kidding me? These guys?” Ricky frowned, gesturing toward the window just as a rotten tomato splattered against the glass, perfectly punctuating the officers point.
“They’re just a bunch of chihuahuas; all bark, no bite,” Ricky scoffed, dismissing the officer with a wave of his hand, his demeanor radiating confidence and a clear lack of concern.
CRASH
Then, as if the timing couldn’t have been more perfect, a brick crashed through the window, landing with a dull thud before rolling to a stop between them.
Their eyes followed its path, drifting down to the brick and then back up to meet each other’s gaze, a shared silence speaking volumes.
“Listen, I made this case a big deal because I wasn’t afraid, and I sure as hell ain’t backing down now and let me tell you, a couple shards of glass isn’t even gonna scratch me.” Ricky said with a dismissive yawn but Marshall had a reluctant expression, still staring at the brick that had the n-word and mutant written all over it.
“Marshall, let’s go,” Ricky ordered, gesturing toward the door as he yanked Marshall out of his seat and began walking out without hesitation, leaving the officer staring in surprise at his abruptness.
“MR. LUCIANO YOU CAN’T JUST-”
“Can’t hear you, I’ve already made up my mind!” Ricky called out, his voice carrying as he descended the stairs, ignoring the chaos around him while everyone rushed to catch up.
Ricky strode confidently toward the double doors, which swung open with a forceful creak.
As he stepped outside, the crowd gathered in front of his house fell silent, their expressions filled with nothing but utter contempt and yet stunned to a silence.
The surprise of his sudden appearance seemed to momentarily still the air, as if even their anger had been momentarily caught off guard by Ricky's boisterous confidence.
“Good morning, my fellow Americans!” Ricky boasted loudly, spreading his arms wide to welcome the onslaught of hatred.
His voice rang out, cutting through the tension, until a flash suddenly erupted, momentarily blinding him and unfreezing the crowd in place.
An anxious photographer, waiting patiently at the side, seized the moment, capturing a shot that would be displayed in history books in school.
But the flash of his camera set off a chain reaction, prompting the other photographers around him to snap their own shots in quick succession.
“YOU FCKING MUTANT SCUM, PIECE OF LOW LIFE TRASH! GO BACK TO THE SHT HEAP YOU CAME FROM AND STOP RUINING OUR WAY OF LIFE!”
“I HATE YOU, MY WIFE DOESN’T LOVE ME AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”
“THE LORD IS ON THE SIDE OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE AND THE PEOPLE WANT YOU GONE!”
Flashes erupted from every direction, and insults were hurled at him from all sides, turning the scene into a media frenzy.
Despite the barrage of negativity, Ricky stood unfazed, basking in the chaos as if it were all part of the show.
“They love me, they really love me!” Ricky said in a heartfelt tone, obviously mocking the crowd before him which all became red faced in fury at his taunting.
“DAMMIT, HOLD THE LINE!” The chief barked, his voice cutting through the tumult.
The officers scrambled into action, rushing forward to form a barrier, desperately trying to keep the seething crowd at bay.
“Let’s go, Marshall.” Ricky slung his arm around Marshall’s shoulder, grinning as more flashes erupted around them.
Posing for the pictures that would one day be synonymous with civil rights whether America liked it or not, Ricky’s sleazy smile stood in sharp contrast to Marshall’s worried, stubborn expression, capturing the tension between them in a single frame.
“You're crazy,” Marshall whispered, his voice barely audible as he gazed around, his eyes darting from the jeering crowd to the flashing cameras.
The oppressive weight of the chaos seemed to close in on him, every movement and sound making the air feel thick, as if it might swallow him whole at any second.
“That’s why folks love me,” Ricky laughed, giving Marshall a playful pat on the shoulder as someone began to push their way through the crowd.
The noise swelled around them, but Ricky’s confident, almost carefree demeanor never faltered.
“Love?” Marshall scoffed, gesturing toward a nearby sign that read ‘Die Devil Die’ in bold, angry letters.
“They love to hate me, don’t they?” Ricky countered with a smirk, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Marshall glanced around, surprised as a reporter quickly scribbled in his notebook, clearly having found a headline in the moment.
Meanwhile, a man weaved his way through the picket line, his eyes focused as he reached into his coat, drawing an unsettling silence from those nearby before reaching into his coat.
“THIS IS FOR AMERICA!” A fanatical man screeched, his voice trembling with intensity as he leveled a gun directly at Ricky’s head.
The crowd froze, the air thick with tension, as the sudden shift in danger hung like a dark cloud over the scene.
“GUN-” The chief yelled, trying to rush over to Ricky and bridge the distance only for the lone gunman to pull the trigger.
BANG
BANG
Screams erupted, the crowd recoiling in horror at the sight they’d feared but as quickly as the terror had ignited, a strange silence fell over them, broken only by the relentless flashes of cameras.
The shock wasn’t just from the shooter, but from Ricky himself who had, with a calm, almost amused smile, stopped the bullets mid-air.
They hovered for a moment, suspended in time, before they dropped harmlessly to the ground with a soft clink of metal.
“Sorry, buddy, but bullets aren’t enough to whack me,” Ricky laughed, his voice full of mockery as he shoved a terrified Marshall forward as the police rushed in, quickly apprehending the man.
“FREAK!”
“MONSTER!”
The hate continued to pour from the crowd, their chants and insults a constant barrage as Ricky made his way to the car and with a casual wave of his middle finger, he acknowledged them, his smirk never wavering.
Marshall, still shaken, followed closely behind, his eyes darting nervously as they both climbed into the vehicle.
As the doors slammed shut, the sound of the crowd's fury seemed to fade, but the tension lingered in the air, a reminder of the storm that had just passed.
“Alright Marshall, it’s your turn.”
Later in the courthouse,
HUFF
HUFF
“Breath, you’re doing great.” Ricky said half-heartedly, looking at his watch as Marshall was crumpled near a wall while breathing into a brown paper bag.
“Could you at least pretend to be sincere?” Marshall asked, his voice shaky, his face sweaty and pale from the tension as Ricky glanced at him, shaking his head with a slight chuckle.
“Not after that whole speech you gave me yesterday, I expected you to have more bravado than this. I mean, I know gerbils with more guts than you,” Ricky laughed, his voice dripping with a light mockery as Marshall slumped against the wall.
“Well, I’m sorry, unlike you, it’s my first time being shot at,” Marshall jabbed back, his voice tinged with frustration and Ricky let out a light-hearted laugh, shrugging nonchalantly.
“Good point, but still, pull yourself together.” Ricky replied, still grinning Dewey walked in from the side with Hawkins.
“Oh look Hawkins, it’s tweedle dee and tweedle dumb-”
“Eh, try again,” Ricky interrupted, making a buzzing sound with his mouth, mocking Dewey's attempt at an insult.
“You little-”
“Eh, I’m taller than you short stack, try again.” Ricky interrupted him once more, the buzzing sound echoing as Dewey scrunched his brows.
“Nothing? Alright, my turn,” Ricky grinned, leaning in as Dewey hatefully squinted his eyes.
“What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef. What do you call a cow with one leg? Lean beef. What do you call a cow with two legs? Yo mama.” Ricky laughed at his own joke, clearly amused by himself and even stooping as low as Dewey’s mama would when she got on her knees from 9-5 everyday.
“You see how I didn’t interrupt you there, that’s how a professional acts,” Dewey spewed out, showing his professionalism only for Ricky to laugh right in front of his face.
“More like a professional scrub, you’re the bottom of the barrel at this point and everyone knows it.” Ricky laughed louder, unable to help himself as Dewey had no legs to stand on to even meet his gaze.
“And yet, it was enough to cast you out,” Dewey took a step forward, his voice laced with a bitter satisfaction, reminding him of his hand in that decision as Ricky looked down at him, unfazed, his smile still firmly in place.
“And yet, it still wasn’t enough,” Ricky's tone turned murderous, though his smile never wavered as he’d have dumped Dewey's body into a shallow grave if he didn’t want him to suffer first.
“God, you’re still the same. You think that just because you’re in the limelight it makes you important, but it’s not,” Dewey laughed, wiping his mouth as if Ricky hadn’t changed a bit as he still saw the same kid from three years ago, the one who didn’t know better.
“Do you know how many mutant scum have done what you’re doing? You’re nothing but a cheap knockoff of their real efforts.” Dewey continued, his words biting but Ricky’s smile only grew wider at this provocation, his eyes glinting with unspoken amusement.
“If anything, I’m the upgrade.” Ricky chuckled, his tone full of quiet menace, daring Dewey to say anything more.
“Let’s go Dewey, we have a case to win.” Hawkins interjected, patting Dewey’s shoulder and pulling him away as Ricky watched him leave.
“Hold onto that hope Dewey, it's just gonna be more enjoyable when I crush it right in front of you!” Ricky called out behind him, Dewey turning his sight forward and looking back at Marshall.
“Get up and get in there, you have to crush Hawkins so I can laugh in Dewey’s face.” Ricky yanked Marshall to his feet, the man taken aback before looking dumbfounded at him.
“That’s not how jury selections work-”
“Then lawyer that sh*t up and conjure a victory.” Ricky unreasonably said, pushing him forward as now it wasn’t about simply winning at the end, but torturing Dewey throughout the process and then crushing him.
Walking into the courtroom, various volunteers plucked from the community stood at the side, awaiting whether they would take part in history.
The process of approval was a careful one, overseen by both the defense and prosecution teams.
Each juror would be scrutinized, with questions aimed at uncovering any biases, personal connections, or preconceived notions that might cloud their judgment.
The judge, seated at the bench, would oversee the proceedings, ensuring that the selection process adhered to the principles of fairness.
Lawyers would engage in ‘voir dire’, a method of questioning designed to reveal any potential conflicts of interest.
They sought out impartial individuals; ones without preconceived opinions about the case at hand or any ties to those involved.
However what made it important was that both sides had the ability to object to a juror's inclusion, using challenges for cause if they felt a particular juror would be biased, or peremptory challenges to remove jurors without needing to give a reason.
It was a process designed to ensure that the twelve men and women who would ultimately decide the fate of the defendant were fair and unbiased, according to the law.
Seated, the bailiff slowly walked out and positioned himself in the spot where he had been standing for twenty years and uttering the same thing every time.
“All rise for Judge Mason!” The bailiff yelled and with it, everyone rose to their feet, including an uninterested Ricky.
“Be seated.” Judge Mason raised his hand and with it, everyone then sat back in their chairs as he settled into his chair.
“Before we begin the voir dire process, I want to remind each council that this is an essential part of the trial.” Judge Mason said, offering a quick rundown but his words weren’t directed at the lawyers, but at the jurors, who often didn’t fully understand how the process worked as he paused, ensuring his next words were clear.
“Both parties will both have the opportunity to ask questions to the potential jurors to assess their impartiality.” Judge Mason’s words surprised the Juror’s at the side, fidgeting in place and wondering what type of questions they would be asked.
"But remember, your duty here is to listen, observe, and make your judgment based solely on the evidence presented during the trial." Judge Mason continued, his tone steady and firm as he made eye contact with each juror, emphasizing the gravity of their responsibility.
"Any preconceived notions, personal biases, or opinions unrelated to the facts of this case must be left outside this courtroom." Judge Mason warned, watching the potential jurors nod in unison.
“Proceed with voir dire.”
AHEM
Hawkins was the first to approach the woman labeled on his briefing as Juror #1.
In fact, all jurors had their identities concealed and were assigned numbers to prevent any tampering or undue influence.
The anonymity was essential, ensuring that no one could approach them outside the courtroom or attempt to sway their opinions and as he stepped forward, Hawkins studied the woman carefully.
“Juror #1, do you believe you might have any bias when considering individuals of different races in this case?" Hawkins first asked, looking at the blond woman twirling her hair in between her fingers.
“I wouldn’t say that, I’ve made love to many white and black men-”
“The defense would deny Juror #1,” Hawkins interjected sharply, his voice cutting through the room like a knife.
“Objection, Your Honor. This question is irrelevant to the case at hand and is designed to invade the privacy of the juror without any basis for relevance-”
Bam
“Overruled, Juror#1 you’re dismissed.” Judge Mason spoke without hesitation, showing no tolerance for the objection and slamming his gavel down on Marshall's Words.
Although Judge Mason had portrayed himself as fair in Marshall’s eyes, the true colors of the judge’s impartiality were starting to show.
Slowly, Marshall rose from his seat, a quiet tension settling over him as he prepared to address the court.
"Juror #2, thank you for being here today. I just want to ask you a few questions to ensure that you can remain fair and impartial throughout this trial. Do you understand the importance of basing your judgment solely on the evidence presented in this courtroom, and not on anything outside of it?" Marshall smiled at the man before him, watching the man scowl at him and cross his arms.
Then, without uttering a single word, his intentions were made painfully clear as the man leaned over, spitting a mouthful of dip onto the floor.
The tobacco hit the polished tiles with an almost deliberate slowness, then splattered onto Marshall's dress shoes, leaving behind an unmistakable stain of saliva-riddled tobacco.
Sigh
“The accused would move to deny Juror #2-”
“Objection, the juror hasn’t even spoken a word yet and clearly accidently missed his cup.” Hawkins objected, smiling while looking at Judge Mason who nodded his head.
“Sustained, continue your questioning, accused, until something more concrete is proven to deny this juror." Judge Mason easily agreed with Hawkins, Marshall holding in his laugh at the bluntness but kept his professionalism.
“Juror #2, can you assure the court that you will remain impartial, regardless of any personal biases or opinions you may have toward either party in this case, including me?” Marshall words were measured, aiming to draw out a response that might reveal something useful, something that could give him a reason to challenge the man’s eligibility.
"F*ck you." The man muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. He then deliberately spat on Marshall's suit, the saliva landing with a sickening splat.
Marshall’s jaw tightened, and he turned to Judge Mason, gesturing towards the Juror while keeping himself composed.
“Juror #2, please be careful where you spit. If you slip up one more time, there will be repercussions,” Judge Mason warned, his tone firm as he pointed his gavel at the juror as the man simply smiled in response, unfazed by the threat.
“Yes, your honor.” Juror #2 side-eyed Marshall, clearly mocking him as the man rubbed his chin before laughing.
“Your Honor, I’d actually like to accept this juror on the grounds that he seems like someone I’d be friends with, someone who I think would trust me with his ears during this entire trial." Marshall said with a mocking smile, changing his approach and lacing his words in a way that they had to be objected to but Hawkins wouldn’t since arguing against his words could lead to an actual denial.
"This man, right here, clearly knows how to make an impression with his spitting honesty that I just can’t help but see us as two of kind-”
BAM
“YOU SHUT YOUR F*CKING MOUTH, WE AIN’T NOTTIN ALIKE YOU FUCKING N-” The man socked Marshall right n the mouth, unable to hold himself after seeing the blatant comparison of someone he thought was lesser than him.
“BAILIFF!” Judge Mason, who prided himself on how he maintained his courtroom, was enraged that this juror dared to do such a thing.
The bailiff rushed to yank Juror #2 away from Marshall, almost about to lunge at the lawyer currently picking himself but before wiping his bloody nose.
“Your honor, the accused would move to deny Juror #2.” Marshall huffed out, adjusting his suit as Judge Mason squinted.
“Granted.”
BAM
4 hours later,
The juror selections proceeded in such a manner that Marshall had to pull out every trick in his book just to deny one, let alone accept one, while Hawkins breezed through it with ease.
Each challenge felt like an uphill battle, every juror seemingly handpicked to stand against him.
It was becoming almost a spectacle, and Dewey’s laughter cut through the tense atmosphere.
He was standing off to the side, an arrogant grin plastered across his face as he observed the proceedings.
Ricky, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the jurors with quiet intensity.
So far, eleven jurors had been selected, and out of them all, only four seemed to lean in Ricky's favor after his lie detector had dissected their responses as he sat back in his chair, his mind calculating the next steps.
‘I’ll have to interfere with at least three, five to be safe.’ Ricky thought to himself, not bothering to admit it, even internally.
Ricky wasn't going to sit back and rely solely on the process, even now he was already planning to commit witness tampering.
Ricky didn’t care for morality so being unbothered by the legalities of this situation wasn’t any shocker as all that mattered and was remembered was the result, and at the end of the day, it was the victors that wrote history.
Not the losers.
However, an anomaly appeared before Ricky, one that left him completely puzzled. Before his eyes stood the epitome of white trash, a trailer park hick in the flesh.
The man wore a Southern flag plastered on his ragged hat, his toothless grin barely concealed beneath the grime that seemed to cling to his face.
A lip full of dip added to the image of a hillbilly plucked right out of the seedy backwoods.
His appearance, disheveled and foul, seemed to come straight from the muck he'd been lingering in for years, yet he stood there, somehow just as much a part of this trial as anyone else.
But the real oddity came in his words, or rather, his lies.
Every question Hawkins asked was met with a clear and blatant lie, each one ringing even more fiercely than the last in Ricky’s head.
However Hawkins, clearly delighted by the man's appearance rather than his responses, used this to his advantage, bolstering his case and ensuring that Marshall would have the hardest time disproving the juror's claims.
It was as if Hawkins had found a goldmine in this man, a willing pawn to solidify his position which made Ricky even more confused.
“Let him in,” Ricky whispered, his eyes fixed on the picture-perfect appearance of the man, someone who, by all accounts, would despise his very existence.
“But he-”
"Do it," Ricky whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Marshall facepalmed in response, clearly reluctant, but as Hawkins approached his desk, Marshall stood up and still hesitated for a moment, then let out a resigned sigh.
"The accused accepts Juror Number 12," Marshall declared, his words seemingly not registering within Hawkins ears.
“Objectio-huh?” Hawkins, who finally realized what Marshall said, couldn’t help but laugh out and look at him dumbfounded.
“Are you giving up?” Hawkins poked fun at Marshall, the man standing there and thinking this was the biggest mistake.
“Then we have ourselves a jury, gentlemen,” Judge Mason announced, striking his gavel down onto the table.
The jurors stood up, one by one, and filed out of the courtroom and as they did, each one cast a brief, lingering side-eye at Ricky, their glances filled with a mixture of curiosity and judgment.
“Ricky, are you sure-”
“It’s a gut feeling,” Ricky confessed, his voice calm and collected despite the chaos around him.
Marshall, already drained from the entire process, facepalmed even harder, knowing deep down he should’ve expected this.
“Fine, you better be right.”
The next day,
"Has it arrived yet?" Marshall asked, his expression tinged with worry as he turned to Ricky, who casually drank his water without a care in the world.
"Yeah, I sent it after you told me. They said I'd get the letter when the trial started, or something like that." Ricky shrugged nonchalantly, while Marshall dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, looking more stressed by the second.
However, instead of conversing, they found themselves being stared at by everyone in the courtroom, as if they were under a magnifying glass.
The weight of the eyes upon them felt palpable, each gaze scrutinizing their every move and word.
“Prosecution your opening witness or piece of evidence?” Judge Mason gestured to him as Marshall thought of stalling only for Hawkins to stand up first.
“Your honor, the prosecution is clearly-....................stalling?” Hawkins' statement trailed off, his words turning into a question as he turned around to the soft sound of a rustling paper.
There, his eyes saw the double doors gently being opened as a man adorned in cardinal robes walking in with a single letter.
“Your Honor, I would like to submit my first piece of evidence into the court: a letter from the Pope himself. This official is here to verify the authenticity of my remarks.” Marshall stated confidently, gesturing toward the man standing at his side.
“Objection! The Pope's words have nothing to do with this case!” Hawkins shouted, his voice sharp with disbelief as he stood, pointing at Marshall with a look of incredulity.
“Your Honor, the defense statement stated that Mr. Luciano's rights were vacated due to threats from both the government and God, thus making the Pope's words valid since he is the voice of God for the globally recognized Church, the Vatican.” Marshall countered confidently, standing firm in his position.
He glanced at Hawkins, who looked at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance, before turning his gaze toward the judge.
Hawkins clenched his jaw, but didn't interrupt, instead casting a quick look at Dewey by his side, silently communicating his frustration.
Judge Mason's gaze lingered on the cardinal, who smiled serenely, almost as though he were accustomed to such attention.
“Do you accept these words, Attorney Marshall?
“Yes-”
“Your honor, does our defense not have a say-”
“You’ve already made your opinion clear. Although this is not God’s house, you’ve managed to bring God into this, and now you must deal with its consequences.” Judge Mason ruled, his gaze shifting toward Marshall.
“The court will accept the letter into evidence, along with the witness.” Judge Mason gestured toward the cardinal, who smiled and stepped forward.
“Greetings, Your Honor, and esteemed members of the court.” The cardinal began, his voice calm and measured.
“I am Cardinal Sebastion, and I am here to read the words of His Holiness.”
Author's Note: Chapter's kinda short cause it was final's week and I'm not gonna lie, I want to spend the rest of the day revising the last chapter because my heart really wasn't in it as my mind was only focused on studying. I felt like i could've done better and i think i can which is why I'm gonna go back and revise it.
Comments
MimicReads
Ty
Rolando Mejia
Your work really is one of a kind, I can’t help but be at the edge of my seat each time, wondering what will happen next
Ludovicus
HAHAGAG HE PULLED OUT A FUCKING YO MAMA JOKE! IM FUCKING DIENG. HAHAH
Gabe
Hell yeah here we go
robert1119
Amazing chapter. Best law related scene I have ever read
Surprise
when it gets to this level of writing it shouldnt even be considered a fan fiction
Blankiooo
This is either going to be the longest or the most fun 15 chapters of my life
Unknown
WOOOO SEBASTIAN COMING IN WITH THE LAYUP
Unknown
YEAAAAAA WE IN COURT BABY if only Luigi is a successful as i know Ricky will be
