Justice may be blind, but she can still look good in a gray two-piece suit. At least Veronica Hidalgo did, anyway.
Top of her class in law school at UT, she came back home to go to work in the DA’s office before being elected to the office on her own. She had a gift. There were hopes she’d stick around Fort Stockton long enough to finally prosecute Mayor Goodman for any number of the crimes he frequently committed against the population. But most folks knew she’d probably be long gone to Austin before she could ever make anything stick against the ‘Teflon Mayor’. If not Austin, maybe even Washington. The Big Leagues.
She dressed sharply, wore perfume that smelled like intimidation, and drove a 2008 Chrysler 300C SRT8. Her clothes were from Neiman’s online. She was a perfect Size 4. Would have been a size 2, if not for the wide birthing hips she inherited from her mother. Her scent was Baccarat Rouge 540 Maison Francis Kurkdjian Extrait De Parfum. The Chrysler was an attempt to establish dominance from the moment she pulled into the parking lot. Ms. Hildago was one of the few women that folks thought might be able to kick Lucinda’s ass in a catfight, though none of us at the Grounds for Divorce would ever let Lucinda know that.
The woman was as cold hearted as she was ambitious. And the thing about it? She could smile the whole time she was sliding the blade right across the carotid artery of her opponent’s neck. She was as good at what she did as any prosecutor in Texas. But she didn’t really want to go to court and convict three teenagers for the death of their friend. They had really not actually killed him, regardless of how the law read. She would have preferred to have them take the plea deal offered so she could move on to something splashier.
The court-appointed attorney for the boys, however, was betting that the jury would see that the three were actually innocent of the crime. He aimed to prove that the DA was employing the law in ways it wasn’t intended. Cottle was never in any danger. The boys hadn’t broken into anything, they just went through a door that was ajar. Nothing was stolen and no property was damaged. He was rolling the dice that the twelve citizens of Pecos country would see his defendants as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were guilty only of being stupid. They hadn’t damaged Cottle’s beloved 1959 Chrysler 300E coupe, only admired it. One of the boys was already back home by the time the shot was fired. How could he be guilty of murder?
The Stockton Telegram-Dispatch was quick to note that the DA also drove a Chrysler 300C. “Perhaps she should understand why three young men would want to give a classic ’59 Chrysler Letter-Car a better look,” the defense attorney was quoted as saying in the paper. “The DA drives a modern version of one herself.”
Ms. Hildago was surprised that the case was going to court, and irritated that it took time away from other, more important things she needed to focus on. In one final attempt to convince the defense attorney for the boys to reconsider, she was blunt. “Make no mistake about it. I would prefer not to try this case. I think you should take the deal. But if you don’t, it is my intention to make your three young clients poster children for all that is wrong with the education system in Texas right now. I intend to appeal directly to the Law & Order segment of our community that is looking for justice anywhere they can find it. I will nail those three boys to the cross in front of this very courthouse.” The defense attorney held his ground. But he stopped at the Lucky Lady Lounge on his way back to the office and got drunk wondering if he’d just made a critical mistake.
Mr. Cottle’s 1959 Chrysler 300, parked right next to Ms. Hildago’s 2008 Chrysler 300C SRT8 in the Pecos County Courthouse parking lot, made the perfect picture for the front page of the STD the day the trial began. The headline read, “DOES SHE HAVE THE HORSEPOWER TO GET A CONVICTION?” That morning at the Grounds for Divorce, New Guy commented, “She could convict me of anything she damn well wanted to, as long as she gave me the punishment herself.”
Besides an eye for fast sedans and expensive business suits, Veronica Hildago had an eye for how to pick jurors, something the public defender lacked. The jury box was full of older, scared Fort Stocktonites who feared their neighborhoods were declining due to crime and their government officials didn’t care. They felt the system they counted on had let them down. Most had GOODMAN ’20 bumper stickers on their car and a chip on their shoulder. It was their opportunity to turn the tables on crime. The jury only deliberated an hour before they found Todd Culbertson, Donny Donley, and Bo Edwards guilty of homicide, despite not a one of them not having a record. Of course, the parents of all the boys lived near that same neighborhood. The boys grew up Trick-or-Treating on the front porches of some of those same jurors. They all shopped at the Piggly Wiggly and the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store. They all bought cars at Frontier Ford, which stopped using the tagline, “Home of the Straight Shootin’ Deal” for the duration of the trial.
The public defender vowed to appeal the verdict, but struggled to come up with logical reasons anyone would feel it would change the results. The parents of all three boys felt like they had lost a son, just as much as the boy who’d been killed in the driveway. Mr. Cottle wept as he made his way out to the parking lot and got in his red Chrysler and headed home. Ms. Hildago’s only statement was, “The only winner here today was Justice.” She drove her 300C directly out to the Fort Stockton Regional Airport & Feedlot to catch a private plane to Austin to meet with donors about her future state-wide run for office.
What started out one morning as just a dumb idea to skip school ended up ruining five families, nearly beyond repair. The boys were taken to the TDCJ James Lynaugh Unit of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice to begin serving life sentences for the murder of their best friend.
And that was that. Until it wasn’t.
Less than three years into his sentence, Bo Edwards was sitting in the cafeteria of the facility eating lunch when something happened. He dropped his plastic fork onto the cardboard tray of mystery meat and pork and beans and he clutched his chest, grabbing the number on his prison uniform before falling back, off his seat and onto the floor next to the table. Guards were slow to react. But it soon became obvious that his distress was genuine as he ceased breathing and turned a shade of blue that indicated something less than ideal health.
Eventually CPR was administered with a sort of casual attitude. An ambulance was called, the situation quickly turning grave. The 1970 Pontiac ambulance pulled into the facility nearly twenty minutes later, funds for the new ambulance having never been traced to Mayor Goodman’s other projects. Inside the ambulance, Lieutenant Crosby of the FSFD finally stopped the chest compressions and deemed that Bo Edwards had crossed over to the other side. “Bag him and tag him,” the Lieutenant. This boy is face to face with Jesus.”
As a formality, they continued on to the Fort Stockton Memorial Hospital and Animal Testing Facility to unload the body and complete the necessary paperwork in the comfort of air conditioning.
Angelina Newton, just pulling into the parking lot in her 1975 Pontiac Grand Ville convertible, saw the ambulance pull up to the dock at the emergency entrance. Her shift as Charge Nurse in the ICU was beginning in a half hour and she’d intended to get a cup of Folgers in the Nurse’s Lounge before starting. But when she saw the lifeless body of Bo Edwards on the stretcher sliding out of the old red and white Pontiac ambulance, something spoke to her and she launched into action. Maybe it was the resemblance of Bo to her youngest son. Maybe it was a mother’s instinct. Or maybe that’s just the calling nurses have.
She pushed the Lieutenant out of the way and began slapping Bo’s chest like a redheaded stepchild. Soon she was beating on him like a kettle drum in the Jim Bowie High School adaptation of Little Drummer Boy as they wheeled him into the emergency room. To the amazement and consternation of Lieutenant Crosby and several passersby, she grabbed the paddles of the defibrillator hanging on the wall. She cranked the dial up all the way, yelled “CLEAR” and shocked Bo Edwards like he was strapped into Old Smokey in Huntsville State Prison. Lieutenant Crosby said, “It’s pointless, ma’am. The kid was dead before we ever shoved him into the ass end of the ambulance.”
Nurse Newton disregarded the Lieutenant’s words. The first four shocks did nothing but amuse the men in the waiting room waiting for their wives to give birth. It was the fifth one that quieted the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and opened Bo’s eyes. Bo coughed, grabbed the wrists of Angeline Newton and crapped his pants all at the same time. Twenty minutes later he was sitting up, having a Mountain Dew, and attempting to light a cigar one of the new fathers from the waiting room had given him. Angelina Newton had brought him back to life.
That medical miracle, however, presented a fresh legal problem. Bo Edwards had been legally dead for eight minutes. The public defender was quick to point out that he had fulfilled his life sentence before he was loaded into the back of the 1970 Pontiac ambulance and should be free to go. He had been brought to life by Jesus and Angelina Newton at the Fort Stockton Memorial Hospital and Animal Research Facility, a new man. A free man.
The judge over at Pecos County Courthouse hasn’t ruled on the situation yet, awaiting Ms. Hildago to submit her brief on the matter. In the meantime, it’s all anybody can talk about over at the Grounds of Divorce. New Guy said, “She can submit her briefs to me anytime she wants to.” He’s tacky that way.
The rest of us just marveled at how complicated things can be sometimes. Life and death. Law and order. Chryslers and Pontiacs. Things that should be black and white instead being way too many variations of gray.
It’s a lot.
5 responses to “CHRYSLERS & CASTLES, Part II”
Yeah felony murder produces a lot of injustice and some jurisdictions are re-examining their laws but it’s a hard sell
to the law and order crowd.
Well, based on the description of Ms Hildago, and being wifeless, I tend to agree with New Guy
Was it the wide birthing hips? A lot of guys are suckers for those.
No, at 70 those don’t have the allure they might have had years ago . . .
The musical selection the Captain addended to this tale is a particularly apt soundtrack to Chryslers and Castles. Fortunately, Apple Music scrolls the lyrics as the song plays, unlike the link provided here. 🫡Cap’n , and 👍👍up.