“Yes I am, Your Honor,” replied Mr. Marrazzi as he rose to face the jury. Unlike his counterpart, WM III, Albert Marrazzi was short, a bit rotund, and had fairly long gray hair that he slicked back in a sort of pompadour. His appearance was not as dapper as Mr. Merriweather’s, nor was his posture as erect and formidable. He seemed to be perspiring rather freely and had removed his coat to be a bit more comfortable. As he prepared to address the jury, he seemed undaunted by the plaintiffs’ closing remarks. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “the esteemed prosecutor has, in fact, proved nothing. My clients are not on trial here for being members of an unpopular organization. This is a free country, and it is no crime to belong to any group that you so choose. My clients’ misfortune was only being in the wrong place at the wrong time. To summarize our previous contentions, Mr. Henderson’s car coincidently quit running right in front of the Quitan home on the Saturday night in question, at approximately 9:00 p.m. His friends, Mr. Hartman and Mr. Stimmel, were in the car with him. Mr. Henderson had borrowed the gas can from Mr. Stimmel a week or so earlier, when he noticed that the fuel gauge in his car was not functioning properly. He had neglected to fill the can, but kept it in his trunk for emergencies. When his car stalled on Saturday night in front of the home in question, he got the can out of the trunk and rang Ms. Quitan’s doorbell in hopes that she might have some gas for a lawn mower or something like that, which he could borrow to try to start his car. She told him that she would check, and to come around to the side of the garage. In a moment, as the garage door was raised, she came screaming out of the garage, saying there was a fire in the kitchen and to run, since they had a gas stove and she was afraid that it would explode. Barely had she stated those words when a large explosion came from the center of the house and both of them ran off into the woods in different directions. Mr. Henderson must have dropped the gas can in the garage, where the police found it. With all the commotion, his two friends got out of the car and ran away, wanting to get away from all the noise, police, fire trucks, etc. I don’t know what Ms. Quitan was doing in the kitchen to start a fire, but to concoct this ridiculous story is preposterous. When Mr. Henderson recovered from the whole fire-and-explosion ordeal, he returned to his vehicle and tried to start it, hoping that it had stalled for some reason other than being out of fuel. It is not a crime to run out of gas or ask for help. There was a policeman in his back seat who erroneously arrested him when he returned to the car. My clients are totally innocent of all charges brought by Ms. Quitan, who apparently must have been doing something inappropriate in her own kitchen, caught her house on fire, and fortuitously found some unfortunate men in need of a little help that she could pin the blame on, rather than face her father’s anger for her own misdeeds. We rest our case and hope the jury will not be swayed by allegations which have no basis in fact, Your Honor.”
Judge Walker looked over to Mr. Merriweather and asked, “Any additional argument, counsel?”
“Oh yes, Judge Walker,” Winston Merriweather quickly replied as he rose to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let me remind you of several key facts the defense has conveniently overlooked in their closing argument. First of all, three of the defendants’ fingerprints were not only on the gas can found at the scene of the crime, but also on the sliding door at the rear of the home, which is in complete accordance with my client’s story of how they entered the home. Next, the alarm which was received first by the alarm company, was not a fire alarm, but an emergency panic alarm—corroborating Ms. Quitan’s story that she escaped from the bathroom window, circled around to the unlocked front door, and set off the panic button on their security system. The fire alarm, also received by the security company, was a full three minutes later. Third, the officer who was in the back seat of Mr. Henderson’s car noted that he started the vehicle without difficulty. Also, the log at the impound lot listed the tank as half-full upon arrival. Finally, the organization to which these men belong, the Northwest Neo-Nazis, makes no secret of their disdain for Muslims and has sworn publicly to avenge the WTC bombings last year. They have expressed their ‘mandate’ to expunge the United States of America of all ‘foreign’ religions and cultures, and most recently have highlighted the Iraqis and all Muslims as targets of their ire. It is totally consistent with this mission that these three men preyed upon Ms. Quitan on the night of October 26, 2002, and no doubt would have left far more devastation in their path were it not for the courageous actions of their victim, Ms. Quitan. Again, I urge the jury to disregard this incredible fiction concocted by their attorney, stick to the facts in the case, convict these three men, and place them behind bars, where they cannot continue with their avowed mission of retaliation and destruction against innocent and undeserving US citizens. The plaintiff rests its case, Your Honor.”
“Very well, gentlemen. As it is Friday afternoon, this court will dismiss the jurors to their chambers to reach a verdict and reconvene Tuesday morning at 9:00 a.m. The jurors are instructed not to discuss the particulars of this case with anyone and to reach their verdict solely based upon the evidence presented to them during this trial.” With that, Judge Walker rapped her gavel on its sounding block, pronounced the court adjourned for the day, arose, and left the courtroom.
The three defendants arose, handcuffed and clad in orange prison attire, and glared menacingly over toward Mariah and her father. As they walked past them, Blood hissed, “You’d better get the hell out of this country before you lose more than your house! If we don’t get you, our brothers will,” he sneered confidently and unrepentantly. “We’re gonna teach you sand rats a lesson—blow the hell out of you and your country just like you did to us. Trust me, you’ll get yours!” he growled as his attorney motioned for silence and directed the three men out of the courtroom and away from the Quitans, who seemed visibly shaken by Blood’s remarks.
Mariah looked nervously over to her father and spoke quietly. “Father, I am so sorry you have had to go through all this. I just wish it had never happened. I loved our home, and now it’s gone. I think it was wise on your part just to sell the lot and rent for a while. These men are horrible, and there’s no telling what their friends will do to us if they go to prison. I’m just tired of worrying about it.”
Dr. Quitan was a tall handsome man in his midfifties. His dark hair was graying a bit now, but he still had a certain youthful energy about him. His skin was darker, in typical Middle Eastern fashion, and his brown eyes revealed much about the intense nature of his personality. He was a scientist to be sure, and one whose curiosity literally knew no bounds. Yet there was more to this man, much more. There were hints of the pain and suffering that he had experienced, still evident in his countenance, although largely overshadowed by the intensity of his vision. There was also a certain compassion there, and a far deeper than average understanding of human nature, both good and bad. His research into the realm of quantum physics had convinced him of the presence of a greater organizing force—a primal consciousness, if you will—that served to connect every aspect of creation and provide a common bond between all forms of life. This realization made it hard for him to be very provincial in his thinking, but rather more universal, and, as such, more tolerant of diversity. Today, however, he was looking visibly exhausted, and readily concurred with his daughter.
“I’m tired of it too, Mariah. You know, I thought I would never get over your mother’s death, and I probably never will. This just adds more loss—our home and everything we had, now gone. The prejudice and hatred in this world never seems to stop. It is hard for us to live in America right now. For a while it seemed like heaven, compared to Iraq. But now, with September 11 and the radical Muslim terrorism going on, there is a lot of prejudice toward our country and our religion. I feel like there is no longer any place we can go and feel safe again. And this trial seems to have dragged on forever—almost two weeks now. I just want it to be over, and for these men get what they deserve. I am just so grateful that you were not harmed by them. If they had succeeded, I would have lost everything…my wife, my home, and my beautiful daughter. Life can be very difficult sometimes. My work tells me of the underlying energy field that unites us all, but what I experience is sometimes far from that. It seems that there can be no harmony, no connectedness, no peace on this planet.”
“Father, I know it’s hard for you not to be