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By Matthew Russell Lee, Patreon Maxwell Book
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LITERARY COURTHOUSE, May 28 –  "You better get over here, Michael. There's a defendant talking crazy and Federal Defenders don't want to take the case."   

Michael Randall Long was half way through a motion for acquittal or in the alternative for a new trial for one of his other clients, who had insisted he was not guilty and still did, now awaiting sentencing.

So a new case in the SDNY Magistrates Court sounded better than rehashing the same old, same old. 

   "I'll be right over." It was easy enough. Long's office was just down Worth Street from the courthouse, on the second floor over the Ali Baba fruit stand.

It was late May and the flowers were in  bloom in front of the Columbus park playground, where the basketball courts had been taken over by skateboards. Didn't these kids go to school?  

Long used his hard pass to swipe in, and commented about the weather to the Court Security Officer, who'd used to work up in the Mag Court. Not too hot, not too cold, they both agreed.  

 Long took the elevator up to the 8th floor, past Probation and the Press Room where he felt sure Kurt Wheelock was working, hunched over the PACER terminal.

 On the eighth floor he walked past the painting of Justice Sotomayor, alumna SDNY was proud of, and looked out over Chatham Green and the two bridges. He used to smoke cigarettes out on that terrace. When he used to smoke. Now he avoid both like the plague, or black lung.   He took the other elevator down to the fifth floor and walked into the Magistrates Court.

 One of the Marshals held out his gloved fist, to bump it. "Your client is in there," he said, gesturing at the door to the lock-up.

"Though we can all hear him out here."    Long put his laptop down on the defense table, along with his phone, and went into the lock up, like entering another world.

 "I'm Michael Randall Long," he told the bearded man in the orange WCDOC jump suit. "I'll be representing you if you agree." 

  "I wanna talk to the prosecutor!" the man said.   

"I don't think that's a good idea," Long said. "At least not at this point." 

 "I have info that can get me out of here," the man continued. Long winced, at least inside. He didn't usually like representing cooperators. The Assistant US Attorneys always lorded it over him, like, We know that all of your other clients are guilty too. 

 "Why don't you tell me about it first?" he asked. "You're right they sometimes give a deal. But you have to present it right, and not give away the information for free, or for less that it is worth."  

"When they hear it I'm gonna need, like protection," the man said.   Long nodded. The guy didn't look like a drug dealer, at least not on the street. Despite the incomprehensible tattoo on the guy's right hand, he didn't seem likely to inspire fear, at least not physical fear.

"What is it?"   

"The UN," the guy said. "They paid me to kill someone."

* * *

   Long called the Marshal over. "I'm gonna need some privacy with him, before we go in front of the judge. If it's possible."  The Marshal nodded and led him to the side room. When the door closed, Long asked his client, or maybe client, to explain. 

 "There's this Chinese guy at the UN. He's the head of something called DESA, Economic and Social Affairs. He tells me a UN staff member has been spying, or leaking, that the UN was giving the Chinese government the names of Uighur activists who were going to testify at the UN. He tells me that scaring her won't be enough, she needs to be silenced. He says he'll pay me $100,000."  

Long thought of Kurt Wheelock and his issues with the UN. "And did you do it?" he asked. 

   "I went to check it out, just to see. The lady lives in Queens. I climbed up the fire escape, just to see if it could be done - and that's when the arrested me. They say I stole a laptop out of another apartment in the building. But it's not true." 

 "Why are you in Federal court?" Long asked.

 In his head he heard the kneejerk objection, Calls for a legal conclusion. But this was just a client interview, or try-out. 

 "I'm on probation. Or supervised release, whatever they call it. It came up when they were booking me, and they brought me here. I wanna make a deal." 

 Long thought of asking if he would have killed the UN staffer, if she'd been home. But why muddy the waters. "Lemme see what I can do," he said. "Sit tight." 

   "I don't have much choice," the guy said.

* * *

  Michael Randall Long didn't yet know to which Assistant US Attorney his client's case had been assigned. That might be better. One of the few AUSAs he got along with, Marcus Olson, was just down the hall in the US Attorney's suboffice on the fifth floor. Long went and rang the ball, waved up at the camera they would check him out through. The door buzzed open.

  With Olson, he got straight to the point. "I've got a client, still hasn't been presented or arraigned, who has information your Office could use."  

"I hear that a lot," Olson said. "Especially in drug cases."  

  "This is murder for hire," Long said - and watched to see Olson's eyes get wider. "And the hirer is not in drugs, or at least not mostly in drugs." He paused again. Drum roll. "It's a UN official. From China. And there's motive."  

Olson shook his head. "There'll be immunity problems with that, beyond credibility."  

 Long had heard about this black hole from Kurt Wheelock. He hadn't really believed it then, and didn't now. "Didn't EDNY recently indict a slew of Chinese spies?" 

   "They weren't direct Chinese government employees." Now it was Olson, pausing. "And the current management, they don't much want to charge the UN with anything." 

 "It's attempted murder," Long said.  

 Olson shrugged. "They're not buying that," he said. "But let me check, before we do the show in the Mag court. Sit tight."   Now it was Long who didn't have much choice.

* * *

   Michael Randall Long spent his time waiting for the prosecutor's response in the windowless hallway between the US Attorney's sub-office and the Magistrates Court. It was one of the few places in New York City still with a pay phone on the wall (it didn't work).  

 Olson came out and shook his head. "We can't make a deal, at least not at this time. The best I could do is get myself assigned to the case and offer you release today on his own signature, with two weeks to find two co-signers."  

  "GPS monitoring?" Long asked.  

   "We'd prefer it." 

  "Look, I'll get you the guy's passport today. He's no risk of flight."  

  Olson shrugged. "Higher bond, then. $150,000." 

  Long nodded. "OK let's get this done."   

Magistrate Judge Vratil was on duty this week. Long's client was brought out by the Marshals.

Long whispered to him, "I'm getting you out. We might get a deal later. But you won't be in jail tonight. Once you sign the bond, come to my office and I'll explain more." He gave the guy his card.  

 Judge Vratil's deputy asked, "Are you ready, counsel?" 

  "Ready as ever," Long said. He turned around to see who, if anyone, was in the gallery. And there was Kurt Wheelock in the back, talking to the CSO. Did the guy have some kind alert system? Or just too much time on his hands?  

 Judge Vratil's deputy banged the door, and said "All rise!" Judge Vratil came out and settled into her perch, taking off her COVID mask.

 Her deputy spoke first. "We're here in the matter of US versus Stewart Stogel. Will counsel make their appearances?"

  "Assistant US Attorney Marcus Olson for the Government."

  "Michael Randall Long for Mister Stogel." He paused. "At least prospectively.

  Judge Vratil did the appointment of counsel. "Are we going to have a bail fight?" she asked.  

"No Your Honor, we have agreed terms with the government," Long said.  

"OK let me write them down," Judge Vratil said.

The co-signers were referred to as FRP - financial responsible people -- and Long waived to the thirtieth day for any preliminary hearing. Judge Vratil read the bail-jumping warnings and it was over. 

   "Come to my office when you get out," Long said before his new client disappeared back into the holding cell. It was good Olson hadn't insisted on GPS; that might have required him to stay overnight in jail before getting it installed on his ankle. Long checked the gallery again but Kurt Wheelock was gone.    

"We're locking up, counselor," the CSO who Wheelock had been talking with told Long. He left.

* * *

    The sky was getting dark over Chatham Square and still Michael Randall Long's client had not shown up. Long called the clerk's office and asked if the bond had been signed.

"You kidding me?" the guy asked. "That was hours ago. We closing up now. Have a good evening." He hung up.  

Long thought back to his argument to Olson, that his client didn't need any GPS monitor, that turning in the passport would be enough. Actually, he hadn't gotten the passport. This could screw him up on other bond negotiations, for other clients. But where to look for his client?

   The knock on the door of his second floor loft should familiar. Two bursts of three fast knocks, then a turn of the door handle. "What the hell were you doing there, Kurt?" Long said as he opened the door.  

"You know me - I do that whenever I'm free. Unlike you, I don't get paid by the hour," Kurt said.  

"I've seen your Patreon," Long said. Actually, he'd let his five dollars a month subscription lapse. But Kurt's paid readership had been growing, ever since the Ghislaine Maxwell trial, and he probably didn't keep track of old readers falling away. At least Long hoped he didn't. 

 "The guy you're representing, he called me," Kurt said.   

"Really," Long deadpanned. "And where is he?"   

"He wouldn't say. Says he's scared of the UN. I think he'd Googled me and that's why he called me," Kurt said. 

 "He thought you have some kind of secret key to not getting screwed by the UN?" Long was joking, but Kurt wasn't laughing.  

  "No. He wants me to publish something. And I think I will. I just wanted to tell you first."  

Long asked, "Accusing the UN of contract killing?"  

"Yeah," Kurt said. "Blowing away the whistleblower." He paused. "That'll be my title.

* * *

   Michael Randall Long decided to wait and see what Kurt Wheelock published. The blogger worked fast, but it couldn't be immediate. So Long decided to jog across Chatham Square and through the projects to the City gym both he and Wheelock used, albeit at different times of day. They had been closed down during COVID but now even masks were no longer required.

The other work-outers were a mix of Chinese teens filming themselves, and tattooed seeming ex-cons, also filming themselves, with more weights on the barbells. Long found a poor man's Bowflex and worked out, listening to a podcast and wondering what Wheelock would write.

   After a time, now sweating, Long headed back to his office. Tasty Dumpling around the corner on Mulberry was already closed so he went into Ali Baba and filled a plastic clam shell with couscous and tzatziki. It came to $2.81 so Long got two peaches too.    Up in his office, eating tzatziki with a spoon, Long checked Wheelock's blog, which he insisted on calling a website.

 There is was: "Whistleblower Claims UN Hired Him To Kill Staff Member Who Exposed Collusion with CCP."  A bit long, and too jargony with "CCP," Long thought. But that was Wheelock.

Long copied the article and emailed it to himself. The question now was how the US Attorney's Office would deal with it. Would it make them want to make a deal with his client? Or to double down on prosecuting him, now calling him a bail jumper to boot?

* * *

  China and the UN were more Kurt Wheelock's thing than Long's. But he tried to bone up, to represent this client. UN Human Rights Commissioner Michelle Bachelet was just finishing a tour of Western China - Wheelock called it a whitewash - and have given a press conference in which she said she couldn't access the situation of the Uighurs. What was the point of the trip, then? Only to whitewash genocide? 

 Long was scrolling through photos and videos leaked from the Xinjiang jails when AUSA Marcus Olson called him.  

 "Do you see what Kurt Wheelock wrote?" Long asked him right off the bat. 

  "Yeah, we have a Google Alert on him over here. He's right about half the time."  

 Long said, "I think it's higher than that, at least a little. But what about a 5K1 letter for my client, or a deferred prosecution and he cooperates?"  

 "Things have changed," Olson said. "Or hadn't you heard?" 

 "What?" Long asked.  

"That UN staffer in Queens that your client was hired to kill. Well, now she's dead. And we're thinking of indicting your client for it."  

Long shook his head. "Why would he have confessed to being hired to kill her, before going out and doing it?" 

 "Hiding in plain sight, maybe. Anyway, he's beyond a person of interest. You better tell him to come in, or we'll get a warrant put out for his arrest." 

 "And no warrant for anyone at the UN?" Long asked.  

"No," Olson said. "They have immunity."

To be continued...

***

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