In which Uncle Chuckie deals with the criminal justice system.

No, it wasn’t me.  How long do you think a prosecutor that stupid would live?

In the early summer of 1990 I was engaged to a wonderful woman.  It did not work but that was more my fault because I was not wonderful.  The relationship just came to a soft landing and we stayed friends.  She had two teenage boys and they were a handful.  One Sunday afternoon my phone rang and it was her telling me that one of them was in jail!

At first I thought she was joking, she was not.  It seems that while she was working the night before the boys were entertaining their friends and had gotten into drinking stupid juice.  One of the-er-friends was a runaway who announced that he wanted to rob a local gas station the son in question, wanting to be a good host, said, “You can use one of grandpa’s guns,” and proceeded to loan him a revolver, fortunately without bullets.  He never really thought that the kid would do it.

He was wrong.

So, while still under the influence he and another friend drove to the gas station later to find out if it had been robbed.  It had and they somehow got busted.

Oh joy.  We are looking at a felony here and Uncle Chuckie was about to learn more about the criminal justice system than he knew or ever wanted to know.

The first order was to see the lawyer.  Fortunately the woman was from a very well connected family and the boy got a good lawyer.  We visited him and he was very clear on the issues involved.  We went back to her house and her son said, seriously frightened by now, “I’m not going to prison, am I?”  Well I was in no mood to be gentle and just said, “That is what we have the lawyer for.”

Then I sat his mother down and told her he needed a suit and tie.  It did not have to be a good suit and tie but he needed them to go to court in.  Believe me, appearance matters.

Then came the preliminary hearings.  The arrangement was that the boy would plead guilty in the hope of getting probation.  I wanted him to have a jury trial because I could psychically rig that and it was not like the prosecution would have had any witnesses left to testify.  My group had already done that experiment earlier that year.  I could not tell the lawyer that though and we had to do what the lawyer thought best.  He was being paid good money and frankly I was not sure I wanted the boy to get completely off for being such an idiot.  I was pretty mad at him for causing me all that inconvenience and extra work.

As the day of the sentencing approached, I wrote a letter to the judge on behalf of the boy and put it on a machine to charge.  I charged the hell out of it before I gave it to the lawyer to give the judge.

The night before I set up a machine to send a protective pattern to the boy, another one to send a disruption pattern to the prosecutor and the energy of talisman to win the favor of a judge to the judge.  I also set up a machine to charge me as well just in case I needed it.

We went to court.  The boy’s case was called and he and his lawyer went up to the bench.  This got funny.  The prosector and the lawyer both made their, er, arguments, both a little over the top, so much so that when the prosecutor said, “the outrage of the community,” the judge rolled his eyes in disbelief.  The community could not have cared less and everyone knew it.  Remember, the gun had no bullets.

In the meantime, I was focusing on the center of the judge’s forehead sending the word. “probation” into it over and over again.  That meant visualizing the word in front of me, and shrinking it to a pinpoint as it drove through the judge’s skull into his brain.

Arguments over the judge opened my letter, read it, looked a little shocked meaning the charge worked and then his mother got called up, a sign we had succeeded and the judge was just going through the motions.

The boy got probation and we all breathed a sigh of relief because one of the reasons I had set up a machine to charge myself was that if the sentence had been prison both the judge and the prosecutor would have dropped dead of heart attacks on the spot.  Taking out one target was pretty easy but two required a lot of extra juice.  After we spent the day doing celebratory shopping,  I went home and put on my helmet to get rid of that extra charge.  I think I caused an earthquake somewhere.

Oh and the friend who was busted as well?  He went for a jury trial and was acquitted.  He really had done nothing but be in the wrong place.

The boy never got in trouble again after learning that lesson.  He went on to ultimately be a good, hard-working father and as soon as he completed his probation he burned the suit.  I could hardly blame him.

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