Tales from the Blue Line by Rob Riley

Tales from the Blue Line by Rob Riley

Author:Rob Riley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books


Note: this was just before the HIV nightmare had begun in the early/mid-1980s, so we only considered the treatment for Hepatitis C.

Imagine the panic if AIDS had been on the table.

20—The Sneer

There was a master defense attorney in Milwaukee named James Shellow. He was nationally renowned and had received a lot of press during the 1960s civil rights protest era. He was also contacted quite frequently by defendants regarding controlled substance cases. Not for some tool doing a doobie in an alley, but for handling the cases of people involved with selling large quantities.

He was also magnificent with all manner of other cases—from homicides on down. And one more quirky thing: cops liked him. Mmm hmm. I wrote it; you read it. Police officers from a large city department actually liked the best defense attorney in their town. Although he truly was one of the best defense attorneys in the country, he never received the press needed to claim that stature. Acclaim went to Johnny Cochran—overrated!—F. Lee Bailey—who by all accounts was for real—and others, mostly grandstanding—er—working, on the country’s West Coast.

Hollywood style.

The Kardashians’ late father had also been one of these top attorneys, which he proved by his efforts in the O.J. Simpson trial. Wish he were still here, getting some of the press his kids are getting. But once again, I digress.

The reason James Shellow was liked is simple. He was fair and honest. He also had, in my opinion, a Mensa mind, so he could easily figure out the cases he handled and present reasonable solutions to his opponents. Many times the proper solution was obvious and could be handled quickly without a bru-ha-ha trial. I had many cases with him, mostly drug deals and personally know this to be true.

But there was one humdinger of a court trial that went down in everyone’s book—even Mr. Shellow’s, which I know because he told me—and I believe must be shared with the world.

Goes like this.

Middle of winter, late at night, in the large parking lot of a large nightclub on Milwaukee’s far northwest side, some drunken twenty-somethings are arguing about an incident that had started inside the tavern. Somewhere between indoors and outdoors one of the youngsters produced a knife and stuck another guy with it. The stabber runs. Everyone runs. Except the guy who got stabbed. He’s dead.

It was a literally insane crowd oriented mess of a crime scene. One of the dead man’s buddies tells a story of a crazed butchery by a madman. The suspect is identified and the knife was recovered. The madman/butcher is arrested for first degree murder. Simple.

Actually, not. Others at the scene said the victim had been the biggest trouble maker there. That his eventual killer had drawn a knife—three and one half inch blade—out of genuine fear for his safety. He stuck the guy, all right, but it was a manslaughter deal, not a life-in-prison thing.

But it had made big noise in the media and the D.A.’s office apparently felt compelled to charge First Degree Murder.



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