Justice for All - Fiction

I lost my twin brother, Jimmy, when he went to prison on a drug charge. We had just turned eighteen when they caught him with a few ounces of pot. Twenty-five years to life. Thank you, ignorant politicians, for your war on the only natural remedy for Jimmy’s persistent seizures.

           Rich people, celebrities, politicians, they could have cocaine parties, pass pork barrel bills, even kill people, and get away with it. But not us. Not me and Jimmy.

           We weren’t rich. We weren’t famous. No one gave two shits about a couple punks from a broken home in a broken town. All we had was each other.

           In high school, Jimmy and I were high most of the time. Yet, we both got good grades, and Jimmy was class salutatorian. It makes me wonder what we could have been, if we could have actually paid attention. But that wasn’t an option.

           Too much stress at home. Too much anxiety from when we were kids. Our mother and stepfather, bickering, fighting, taking their misery out on us.

           As teenagers, we stayed away when we could, but the damage had been done. Marijuana was the only thing we were sure would bring us peace.

           After graduation, we looked for jobs, and soon realized the only financial options in our hometown were government assistance, minimum wage, and entrepreneurship. Well, Jimmy and I had hopes and dreams, so government assistance and minimum wage, both of which didn’t pay shit, were out. That left entrepreneurship.

          We had already been selling weed to a few friends in school, so we doubled down on that strategy. It was a few months later that Jimmy got busted.

           My mother and stepfather refused to hire an attorney. I can still remember the looks on their faces when I told them he was in jail. They seemed relieved. One less mouth to feed.

           Jimmy and I had been selling just enough weed to get by. We weren’t trying to get rich, we just wanted enough to be comfortable.

           I hated risk, and I still do. The more people you sell to, the more people there are to narc you out if they get busted. But I needed money if I was going to help Jimmy, and a lot of it. I reached out to a big dealer I had met once in a nearby town and expanded my selection of illegal products: meth, shrooms, opium, six types of uppers, prescription drugs, etc. You name it, I had it, or could get it.

           My circle of customers was very close, all people I had grown up with in our tiny town. But they had reach. It wasn’t long before they were moving my new product and I had five Grand. All of which went to Jimmy’s new attorney.

           The guy was a former district attorney and knew everyone in the county who mattered, where they went to school, how much they could be bought for, etc. After I gave him a five thousand dollar retainer, he asked if I could come up with fifty thousand more in the next week. Not for him, but to make sure the charges against Jimmy got dropped.

           I tried. God knows I tried. But, in the end, I failed. And, in my opinion, Jimmy’s attorney failed. He encouraged Jimmy to plead guilty, hoping for a reduced sentence. The judge gave him the max. Clean, simple, pay the cashier, next case please.

           The system is overloaded with cases like Jimmy’s. Only a handful go to trial. Attorneys are often simply clerks, rushing clients into settlements so they can please judges and get favors here and there. The whole court system is overcrowded. This leads to rushed judgments and a lack of transparency and justice.

           Trying every case with a jury has simply become too expensive. That makes wonder what would have happened if Jimmy had resisted, if he had applied pressure to the system. What if, rather than taking the first deal he was offered, he had held out for a better deal. Would the charges have been lowered to a slap on the wrist, just to get him out of the system?

           For decades, many Americans been in favor of legalizing marijuana. What if Jimmy had refused to take a plea deal altogether? What if he had insisted on a real trial by a jury of his peers, as promised in the American Constitution. Would they have let my brother go?

           I’ll never know. But he certainly would have been no worse off.