By contrast to the ruckus we and our supporters were raising across the street was the dignified, staid formality of the courtroom (which, of course, simply masked the crimes that the court officials were committing). The bailiff cried, “Oyez, oyez, oyez!”, and I noted that this court, at least, was adhering to the traditional Latin formulation (although none of them actually read or spoke Latin. I thought of responding, in Latin, “And if I don’t?” - and pictured the judge halting the proceedings while he hunted a Latin dictionary.
Anyhow, we all approached the bench, Mr. Huber introduced each of us to the court (as though both the judge and prosecutor hadn’t knelt between Doug and me and prayed, only a few hours before).
The judge opened the case file, and read (as though Doug needed to be told ) that “Douglas Downs” was charged with “attempted murder” by “discharging a firearm into the body of Christian Ericsson.” Of course, it begged the question of why the “attempt” hadn’t succeeded.
They hadn’t described the crime with more specificity, because they wouldn’t place on record the fact that they couldn’t manage to kill me, despite having put three bullets through me.
But when he said “attempted murder”, Doug fainted and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Ordinarily, they’d have simply continued the hearing until another day. But then didn’t want us holding another “pray for Doug” rally, and making them look bad( any more than we already had).
At first they all looked at me, like they thought I’d lay my hand on him, do a miracle - something. When I simply stood there, the bailiff tried giving him artificial respiration (which he didn’t need - Doug was breathing fine); and about that time a doctor showed up, managed to “bring him around,” and pronounced Doug fit to continue (which he was). But they all glanced fearfully at me, as though they each expected to be the next to collapse in the floor.
Mr. Huber advised the court that the parties had “reached an agreement,” and the prosecutor head the terms. The guys hadn’t known, until then, that Doug would be on probation, and were devastated, fearing that as soon as the pressure was off, they’d go ahead and grab Doug. I knew there was no danger, and that he’d soon be granted a full pardon, but didn’t tell the guys, and let them experience it a day at a time.
Then the judge surprised them by asking to speak to Doug alone, in chambers. We’d scared him pretty bad, because he “bent over backward” to make sure Doug understood he didn’t have to. Doug “waived” his right to have counsel present, despite the fact he was a minor and thus incapable of waiving any of his rights.
Shane was making a recording of the “secret” meeting, in case anything went awry. The judge first told Doug he was going to approve the “deal”. Doug was so overwhelmed that he asked over to be sure he hadn’t misunderstood.
Then, when he understood that he really wasn’t going to jail, he broke down, cried, and started praying out loud, thanking God. It was this one-on-one encounter that finally “got through” to the judge, since he had a grandson our age.
Anyhow, when Doug got settled down, the judge asked him if Mr. Burns had said anybody else was helping him, or if Doug knew anything that would help the police in their investigation. Now, it was a silly question, since the cop who’d dragged Doug down there in the first place, without a warrant, must necessarily have owed them an explanation of some sort.
But, in spite of the pressure Doug was under, Doug still had “the gift”, and knew what the judge was up to. The judge had no direct knowledge of the plot, but suspected Mr. Burns had no personal vendetta against Chris, could hardly have raised the payoff money unassisted, and that generally the CPS story didn’t sound credible.
Moreover, although the judge assured Doug that the plea bargain was a “done deal,” and his answer wouldn’t affect that, Doug didn’t believe it. Of course, that put Doug squarely on the e spot, since we had the tape of the prosecutor arranging the hit.
Doug did what he had to, told the judge that Mr. Burns hadn’t mentioned anybody else (which was true enough), and that so far as he knew, Mr. Burns had acted alone (not really true, since Doug had heard the tape - repeatedly - we’d played it for the guys, and he had good reason to believe the tape was genuine).
(Mr. Huber tried to resolve our doubts by saying the tape wouldn’t be admissible in court - you’d have had to get a voiceprint expert, and juries usually don’t believe them. But Doug had told him he had not reason to think Mr. Burns had accomplices - which went a bit beyond saying “any legally admissible evidence” - and Doug and I were both devastated by his having to lie to stay out of jail).
(Mr. Huber also argued that since the judge had no right to question Doug without his counsel present, any information he got would be inadmissible as “fruit of the poisonous tree.” Of course, that simply meant it couldn’t be used to prosecute CPS - but Mr. Huber’s point was that it wouldn’t have supported a perjury charge against Doug. I’m not sure t hat’s right - but our obligation to “provide things honest in the sight of all men) probably included more than just beating a perjury rap on a technicality. And Jesus Christ, in a similar situation (and yes, I think CPS is just as evil as Pilate, the Sanhedrin, and the Roman soldiers who gambled beneath the cross) simply "held His peace”, and eventually answered the question.)
At any rate, neither Doug nor I had any peace about it until he’d performed another miracle, and saw that he still had God’s power.
Anyhow, they got Doug to sign an affidavit saying it - also meaningless, since a minor can’t swear (but Doug said he knew kids who did - OK, his repartee’s improving). Then they came back to the courtroom, and went through the formalities of Doug’s pleading guilty (which a minor also lacks the capacity to do, unless he’s being tried as an adult - which Doug wasn’t. So the whole proceeding was, in effect, a “kangaroo court”).
When the judge asked if Doug had anything to say before sentence was imposed, he again apologized to me - and then wondered whether the judge would send him off, in spite of it all.
But the judge, as eager as we were to get it done, played it strictly “by the book”. He noted the “character witnesses” - nearly ten thousand - who’d sent affidavits supporting Doug; and also the fact that the “intended victim” (me) didn’t seek to have “Mr. Downs” incarcerated (a considerable understatement, since he thought I’d strike him dead, if he tried it). Then he said flatly that he didn’t think Doug posed a threat to the community, and had expressed an intention to “rehabilitate himself” (How? By not hanging out with any more cut throats from CPS?), and was approving the deal.
Then he shook hands with everybody, wished Doug good luck, and adjourned court. Billy wrote that Doug and I lost faith in the judicial system because the judge was only interested in saving his job.
My “bestest brother” didn’t get it quite right. I’d never had any faith in the American judicial system - and as for Doug, any guy who’s lived on the streets gets to know pretty quick how mixed up the system is.
Nor was the judge just thinking about saving his job, while pretending to weigh Doug’s future danger to the community - he was trying to figure out how to wring the maximum advantage from the notoriety we’d unexpectedly given him.
Anyhow, when we walked back out the door, our crowd of supporters all cheered. I led them in the Doxology, and Doug tried to thank them, but broke down completely, and had to give it up.
So I urged them to all come to our tent that night and thank God for delivering Doug, and to pray for God to destroy CPS - which had been the original purpose for having the meetings. And I did toss out a term we’d not used before, but which was to become quite familiar - I said it would be a “miracle service”.
Of course, I knew what the judge was thinking, and also wanted to recruit his grandson for our “gang”. So I had everybody sign letters thanking the judge for giving Doug another chance (which made no sense, since they’d pushed him into shooting me in the first place - what a farce!)
We got about ten thousand l
etters signed by that night - five thousand on the www, and five thousand from our crowd at the courthouse; which helped convince the judge that he could ride the crest of our wave to higher political office.
It wasn’t even noon yet, and we could have had school. But we’d been up all night, and weren’t in the mood to study. So bob took us to our usual burger place. The owner had been at our meeting all night, and told Doug he was glad things had “worked out”.
I had Doug sign and date my “Pray for Doug” tee shirt, and all the others followed suit - then we all signed and dated Doug’s shirt. In the “wild ride” ahead, those shirts dated the day Doug had “gotten off” became valued souvenirs.
Sammy wanted to go with us, so we took the church van down to the furniture store and bought him a bet. And Doug told Sammy, “It’s been worth all I’ve been through, to have you for a brother.” And we all thought it was a good line - and he meant every word of it.
Then Bob simply took everybody home, and said to get some rest - but it wasn’t real easy done. Of course, our Indian brother was with us, and it gave us some time to get acquainted with him. The only worldly possessions he’d brought along were a few clothes in a backpack, and a Sioux Bible his parents had given him - they were both dead, he told us.
So Doug and I amused ourselves and the guys by reading the Sioux Bible aloud, and translating it; and by conversing with him in Sioux, and translating that. We three even sang a couple of songs in Sioux, but couldn’t do the drumming accompaniment because Juan’s drum set was down at the tent.
Anyhow, there was also a ceremonial dance that went with it - Sammy had never don’t it, because he couldn’t - but he’d seen it done, and knew how it went - and Doug and I did - so we tried that. I wanted to do it at the tent that evening - and asked Bob if I could. Of course, it’s basically a pagan religious ceremony, and he at first said, No way!” But they’re reluctant to cross me ( since I’ve basically dragged in the big crowd, and lots of money), and I managed to convince him it was part of Sammy’s “witness”, and he eventually (and very hesitantly) said “OK” - so we got Frankie to take us down to the tent, and Sammy, Doug and I did the dance, chanting in Sioux, while Juan drummed. It was an odd cadence, and a bit complicated, but I showed him how it went, and he mastered it quickly- he’s good!
(When I made that remark to the guys, Billy perversely suggested that maybe God had given him the ability to do it because God wanted His house polluted by a pagan ceremony - then decided maybe that sounded like he was calling Sammy a pagan, and took it back).
(Wait until we get our Haitian brothers there, and I have a voodoo (OK, vodoun) dance and Christian rock all going at once in the church sanctuary. Whatever else our services are, they’re not dull!)
I’d warned Bob that that evening’s crowd would have grown to seven thousand, and he had Dad's workers put up some more sections of the expandable tent. It was already about filled when we got there, and folks continued to arrive until we had a little over the number I’d predicted. OK, I’d borrowed Moody’s dictum about always selecting a hall that’s slightly smaller than the crowd you expect. (And in my mind’s eye could see Gov. Mitt Romney renting a seventy-five thousand seat stadium to hold a crowd he knew would only number six thousand - the event was by invitation only and all the press scoffing at him).The guys led off by singing a couple of our “upbeat” songs, and I sang Exaltate Jubilate (which Billy persists in calling Alleluia, although I’ve told him what the correct name is for the piece.
Then Doug walked out, and they again gave him a standing ovation. He still feels sunny about being lionized for pleading guilty to a felony, but handled it like a pro - despite all he’d been through in the last twenty-four hours (praying all night, and then enduring the ordeal at court). He thanked everyone for their support, said some nice things about the judge, and insisted that since he was still on probation (meaning they could still grab him), he continued to need their prayers.
Then Dad and Bro. Adams presented the judge and prosecutor plaques recognizing them for their “service to the community”. The judge, who hadn’t actually been involved in the plot to murder me, actually showed up and accepted his, but the prosecutor, who’d been deeply involved, sent an assistant to accept his award.
Chapter 513 - “He’s coming for me!”