Kept Boy to Made Man - 1. Finding Thomas

June 17^th, 1992

Roger Cicero sat behind his large and ornate mahogany desk. It matched the paneling and built in shelves that lined the almost-forty-year-old lawyer’s office. He didn’t need to be in court and really had no work that needed to be done. That was uncommon in his fifteen years practicing law.

The empty reception area was visible through the open door. He had told Melissa to take a long weekend. There were several paralegals and a junior attorney that he brought in as needed, but he wasn’t currently working any large cases that required their assistance.

He had come in because he didn’t want to be in his condo alone. Sitting at his desk alone wasn’t any better. Life with Eddie had always been complicated, but the man had provided steady companionship for most of his late teen and adult life. He glanced at his watch, or Eddie’s actually. He had always admired the white gold Rolex 5100. Eddie had given it to him as a parting gift six years prior. It was 9:15am. Too early for lunch.

The phone on Melissa’s desk began to ring. Grateful for something to do, Roger quickly moved out of the office and sat as he reached for the handset.

“Cicero Law, Roger speaking.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had answered the phone himself. It was a complete surprise to hear genuine laugher over the line.

“Roger, I didn’t expect to reach you directly. This is Mike Schultz.”

Roger wasn’t sure how to respond, and the silence grew into seconds.

“Roger?”

“Ah, good morning, Mike. I wasn’t expecting a call from the DA’s office, let alone the DA himself. Apologies,” Roger finally responded. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Look, I know we’re not friends, but I’m hoping you’ll do me a favor.” Mike didn’t wait for a response. “Did you read about the kid who beat his father to death four months ago over in Hyde Park?”

Roger had read about it; in fact, he had lost several nights of sleep over it due to heavy drinking and bad dreams.

“Allegedly… Yeah, poor kid,” he replied somberly.

“Right. I think I called the right man,” the DA said after a short pause.

“I’m not following, Mike.” Roger was growing more curious by the moment.

Roger and Mike were often on opposite sides of the courtroom. They had known each other and opposed each other from the earliest days of their careers, both finding immediate and meteoric success. Mike had been the Cook County District Attorney for two terms. He was currently campaigning for a third.

“Look, this call is unofficial, okay. The kid’s name is Thomas Miller. He’s seventeen. I’ve got a young ADA who drew the case. He’s… passionate. He’s also very good at landing convictions. He has petitioned the court to try Thomas as an adult and is calling it second degree murder.” Mike paused.

“That’s bullshit. It sounded like a clear case of self-defense to me.” Roger remembered the details reported in the Tribune well.

“No comment,” Mike said. “But I would expect his lawyer to argue that as well.”

“Wait, are you telling me the kid’s lawyer isn’t?” Anger flashed at the thought.

“Unofficial, remember?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, off the record. I’m not recording Mike.” Roger wondered where this unexpected social call was headed.

“It wasn’t in the papers, but the kid’s dad caught him and his pal with their pants down, literally.” There were several seconds of silence before Mike continued. “The court appointed him representation. It’s the guy’s first real case, and between you and me, I think he is purposefully phoning it in. The kid doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Why are you telling me this, Mike?” The question crawled out through Roger’s clenched teeth.

“With my campaign, I don’t dare step in. It would surprise some people, but I do believe in justice. I want to see the kid get a fair trial. I think you will make sure he does.” It was clear to Roger that the DA was holding back emotions as well; it was a side of the man he had never seen.

“What’s the timeline, and where is he being held?” Roger asked, adopting the strong and confident lawyer persona he used when working a case; it wasn’t an act.

“Cook County Corrections. The trial starts Monday.” Mike said softly.

“What the fuck Mike? You’re keeping the kid with the big boys? And Monday? Thanks for the heads up! I need time to build a case.” Roger tried to reign in his anger. It took him a few deep breaths to realize he'd just committed to the case.

“I know, Roger. I’m sorry. I was pretty sure the judge would throw out the charges. I just learned the sorry excuse for a public defender never even filed a motion for dismissal. That man should be disbarred.” It was clear that Mike was also angry.

“Son of a bitch! This conversation that never happened is over, Mike. I’ve got to pick up a new client and save his case.” Roger was about to hang up on the DA but hesitated. “Why me Mike?”

“I figured you’d ask.” Mike collected his thoughts before containing. “I put Shy Eddie Vitale away, and I am glad he’s off the streets. You two were obviously close, and I know you weren’t just his legal counsel. I asked around; thoroughly. I picked up some rumors from New York, but not a lot of facts. I’m reading between the lines, but I thought you just might care enough to help the kid out.

“You came up clean Roger. That surprised the shit out of me. I have no idea how you have been able to ride the line. Thomas Miller needs someone to care. Plus, ADA Radcliffe is a sharp kid who doesn’t like to lose. I’d like to see him learn something in this case.” Roger thought about Mike’s words before looking at Eddie’s Rolex again. It was 9:33.

“I’ve got to go Mike. I have a kid to save.” This time he did return the handset to its base, ending the unexpected conversation that never took place.

. . .

Roger passed the visitation request form through the slot in the glass partition. He watched as the uniformed woman’s hands typed something into the fancy computer in front of her. He knew nothing about computers but knew that Cook County had paid a fortune to enter the modern age. Even the wall clock behind her was digital. It read 9:58.

. . .

Thomas Miller looked extremely young as he was led into the tiny legal consultation room. The petite, blond teen had dark circles under bloodshot eyes which stood out against his pale white complexion. He was not tall, and his small frame looking even smaller in the orange jumpsuit that was several sizes too big. Roger could see his confusion as their eyes met.

“You’ve got sixty minutes councilor. There is a camera, but we don’t record audio. The button by the door will call a guard if you finish early.” And then they were alone.

“Who are you? You’re not my lawyer,” Thomas said nervously as he slipped into the waiting chair across the table from the unfamiliar man who looked to have stepped out the latest Esquire.

“Hello Thomas. My name is Roger Cicero. I am here to offer my help.” Roger offered his hand, which Thomas awkwardly accepted as his hands were cuffed together.

“Um, where is Mr. Williams?” He said nervously.

“I assume he is your court appointed lawyer?” The kid nodded. “I do not know him. I received word from a friend that you were not being fairly represented. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I do want to help you, Thomas. But I need you to hire me before I can do that.”

Thomas looked into Roger’s eyes.

“Nobody can help me, sir.” Tears were pooling in the boy’s eyes and there was an obvious quiver in his voice.

“Why do you think that?” Roger asked softly.

“Mr. Williams said I’m guilty. He said there wasn’t any way to change what I’ve done.” Thomas’ voice was barely a whisper.

“Pardon my crude language, but Mr. Williams is a moron at best. I have a feeling he would be all too happy to fuck up your future, and I don’t want to see that happen.” Roger was barely controlling his anger as he watched the young eyes in front of him grow wide.

“What do you mean?” He asked, even as he shrank before Roger’s growing emotion.

It was clear to the older man that Thomas was afraid of him. The thought made him feel ill. Taking a deep, calming breath, Roger tried to make a connection.

“I want to hear your side of the story, but first I want to tell you why you should trust me.” He waited for Thomas to nod nervously. “I grew up in New York City. My father was a hot-tempered Italian immigrant. My mother was submissive to a fault. They were literally fresh off the boat.

“My parents were children in Italy during World War II. It was a tough place to live before the war and even worse after. My father fell in love with the Wild West and the American Dream. New York City wasn’t what they thought it would be, I guess. Money was tight and respect was even more difficult to earn.

“I was born in the city and grew up on the streets of lower Manhattan. I didn’t understand my Italian parents, and they didn’t understand their American child. My father liked whiskey. My mother didn’t seem to like much of anything. I liked music and art; I also liked boys. We were never close, and I think they would have been happier without the extra mouth to feed.

“I know a bit about living with an abusive father, Thomas. He found it easier to yell and hit than to understand. I was an embarrassment to him, especially when he discovered I was gay. It was illegal to be gay in New York in the sixties, but he was more concerned about losing the respect of the community.

“I ran away from home the night before I turned seventeen. He hurt me badly, and not just physically. I can see I make you nervous and can honestly say that I somewhat understand why. I hate it, but I do.” Roger stopped talking, letting Thomas absorb words that he had only ever shared with one other man; thinking of that night, of Eddie brought tears to his eyes.

“Someone helped me when I needed it. Thomas, I’d like to help you in return, if you can find the strength to let me in.” Roger allowed his tears to streak his face.

Thomas and Roger sat in silence as the boy processed the older man’s words. Eventually, he spoke.

“I am a faggot and a murderer. Mr. Williams said the judge could throw me in jail for the rest of my life.” The tone was flat, and Thomas expression was equally void of emotion.

“Can you tell me what happened?” And Thomas did.

“You may have killed your father, but that doesn’t mean you are a murderer. I can’t make promises, Thomas, but I don’t believe you did anything wrong.” He placed his hands in the center of the table palms up and looked at Thomas expectantly; slowly, the boy placed hands in Roger’s. “I want to fight for you if you’ll let me.”

“No body fights for me,” Thomas said quietly.

“Let me prove you wrong.” Roger couldn’t explain why, but he was ready to drop everything to defend the boy in front of him. He glanced at his watch: 10:51.

“I don’t have any money.” Thomas was trying to hold back his tears once more.

“I don’t want any money.” Roger freed his hands and opened the leather pad-folio he had brought. He pulled out a single sheet of blank paper and his favorite pen. “As a minor, you can’t legally sign contracts. I’d like you to write a note to the judge. Tell him what Mr. Williams told you and that you don’t think he has your best interests in mind. Tell him you are accepting pro bono representation from me, Roger Cicero. The judge may have questions for you, but it should allow me step in as your lawyer, starting today.”

Thomas looked uncertain, but he picked up the pen and started to write. Five minutes later, he set the pen on the table and slid the paper back to his new lawyer. Roger quickly read what the boy had written.

“I think that should do it, Thomas. I want to stay and get to know you, but I need to get this to the court before the county clerk and judge leave for the weekend. Do you have any questions for me before I go?” Roger hated that the boy would spend another weekend in jail, especially one built for adults.

“Do you really think you can help me?” Thomas didn’t look or sound seventeen in that moment.

“Yes, Thomas. I believe I can help you. You are no longer alone.” Thomas didn’t try to stop the tears this time.

“Are you really gay?” Roger smiled as he nodded his head.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Seconds later it opened.

“Time’s up counselor.” The guard’s voice was not unkind as he as he met Roger’s eyes; Roger could immediately see that Thomas had at least one other ally, which made him feel a little better about leaving him alone.

“I’ll try to get back here tomorrow morning. You are going to be okay, kid.” Roger began building his strategy even as he watched Thomas being led away.

. . .

“I need a case number and the name of the judge presiding over the Thomas Miller murder trial, please.” Roger was glad the courthouse was next to the correctional facility, as the morning was slipping by quickly.

“Thomas Miller, yes. One moment,” the clerk was typing even as she talked.

Soon, the woman proved the efficiency of the county's new and expensive computer system. She scribbled some information from her screen on a small piece of scratch paper and handed it across the counter.

“Here you are, Mr. Cicero. Thomas Miller’s case number is 92CR1004098. Judge O’Malley is presiding.” She pointed at each piece in information as she relayed it.

“Thank you! One last question, if I may.” The clerk nodded. “Is the judge in the courthouse today?”

“Let me check.” Again, Roger listened to the clicking of her nails on the plastic keyboard. “Yes, he has a light day but is in courtroom seven on the third floor.”

“Again, thank you!” The man was already moving towards the stairs before she could respond.

Several minutes later, Roger quietly slipped into a seat in the gallery of courtroom seven. There were only two others observing the proceedings. He didn’t even have time to learn what was being discussed before the judge declared his court adjourned for the day. Roger watched the Honorable Christopher O’Malley disappear through the door behind the bench. He allowed the handful of people to shuffle out before approaching the bailiff.

“Hey Sid! I am wondering if I might speak with Chris before he wraps for the week. I think he’ll be interested in some information I have regarding the trial starting Monday.” The Court of Law was typically very formal during proceedings, but most of the various actors got to know each other over years of working in close proximity.

“Ah, hey, Rog. Let me pop my head in and see if he’s got the time.” Sid had been a beat cop on the inner-city streets for over a decade before pressure from his wife forced him to transfer to the courthouse; he quickly realized that he loved the job.

It hadn’t even been a minute before Sid was back.

“Head on in Roger. He said he’s not in a hurry, and he is curious what you know about next week’s trial.” The bailiff ushered the attorney into the judge’s chambers before closing the door again behind him.

Christopher R. O’Malley was an intimidating man, standing just over six feet tall and built like a heavyweight boxer. Roger stared at the man’s almost orange hair as he hung his robe in a small closet. The judge turned, and his piercing green eyes focused on his unexpected guest.

“Roger Cicero! It’s been a bit. Run out of mobsters to fleece?” Chris was a jovial and loud man outside of the courtroom; Roger couldn’t help but like him.

“Sadly, Mike and his office have been increasingly successful in indicting and convicting my client base. I’ve been taking mostly civil cases on the north side of late. The Outfit might be in hiding, but there are fortunately plenty of other persecuted souls to keep me in the black,” Roger joked.

“Sid said you wanted to talk about Thomas Miller?” Judge O’Malley was curious as to why Roger Cicero, a high-paid and high-powered, rich man’s defense lawyer was interested in the low-profile murder case.

Roger pulled Thomas’ handwritten letter from his pad-folio and handed it to the Irishman. The judge raised an eyebrow but began to read. When he finished, he sat casually on the corner of his desk and looked back to the attorney.

“I just met the kid this morning. The second-degree murder charge is bullshit, Chris. This William’s prick seems happy to let Thomas rot, and I simply won’t let him screw this boy’s life up further. I need a few days to build an actual defense for my client.” The tone in the small office had grown suddenly serious.

Chris’ green eyes disappeared as his lids slowly closed. He inhaled deeply, sucking the sound from the room as he organized his thoughts.

“You’re serious about this? Pro bono?” The judge asked.

“Yes, deadly if you’ll pardon the pun.” Roger hoped a little joke would work in his client’s favor; the small laugh he received never reached the judge’s expression.

“The jury has been selected and the courtroom reserved. It is too late to file any pre-trial motions. I can’t postpone the trial without evidence of gross misconduct or a significant breach in due process.” Roger glanced at the note still in the hand of the judge and raised an eyebrow at the judge’s words.

“Both of which I would say clearly happened.” Roger held his anger in check, knowing how much he needed this man’s support. “This kid isn’t a killer, Chris; he’s the victim.”

“I will allow Thomas to fire his court appointed counsel and retain your services Roger. His note makes his request clear and reasonable. I didn’t read anything sinister into Mr. Williams’ lack of engagement in discovery, but the things he has allegedly told your client do hint at very poor representation. Can you be ready for opening statements by Monday?” Roger nodded, and Chris lifted his desk phone and dialed a short extension.

It was clear to Roger that the judge wasn’t planning to offer a continuance, which was frustrating but not surprising. Cook County was heavily and densely populated; The court system was a well-oiled machine by necessity.

“Janet, would you do me a favor and print out a duplicate set of case files for me?” Chris listened for a second before moving around his desk to retrieve his planner.

“Yes, Thomas Miller, ah, case 9-2-C-R-1-0-0-4-0-9-8.” The judge waited while the clerk pulled up the records.

“Okay, great. Roger Cicero will be over shortly to collect it. Thanks Janet, and have a great weekend!” The phone was returned to the base.

“There isn’t much in the file beyond the original police report, crime scene analyses, the ME findings, and a list of witnesses the DA’s office has submitted. I’m afraid the defense didn’t add a lot in pre-trial.” The judge couldn’t hold the attorney’s gaze for long.

“Do I at least have some witnesses to establish character and context?” Roger asked the question but could see the answer in Chris’ expression. “What the fuck was that bigot planning to do after the prosecution's case? ‘The defense rests?’ I am going to file an official complaint to the bar association.”

“And I don’t blame you, Rog. I’ll admit, I’m glad to see you stepping in. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that when you’ve waltzed into my courtroom.” Chris began clearing his desk and preparing to leave.

“Everyone has the right to defend themselves, Chris; both physically and in the court of law.” Roger had no doubt that Thomas had acted in self-defense, and he intended to provide legal defense to ensure the boy wasn’t unjustly punished for protecting himself.

This time, Chris held Roger’s intense stare. The two men didn’t often see eye to eye. Roger made a career and his fortune defending the most ruthless and sinister criminals in Chicago. He was often the reason those men and women ended up back on the streets. It was impossible to disrespect Roger’s skill in front of a jury, but very few respected his willingness to fight for criminals. Most of his peers both envied his success and resented the path he had taken to achieve it.

Chris had found Thomas Miller’s case unsettling from the start. The attorneys on both sides seemed predisposed to lock the boy up. The prosecution was perhaps over-zealous, and evidence was pointing towards bigotry in the case of the defense.

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Chris mumbled. More loudly he said: “the law is biased towards innocence on purpose. Sometimes that means the guilty go free. Unfortunately, the opposite is sometimes true as well. I have no idea how you found out about this case or why you are taking it on, but I’m glad. Thank you for stepping up for the boy.”

Roger hadn’t intended to be so forthcoming, but Thomas Miller was a force of change in more than just his schedule. The attorney hadn’t connected personally to a client in many years and never so quickly or so deeply. The mental walls he had constructed over decades were beginning to crumble, taking his carefully crafted façade with them. With Eddie gone, there was no one to really see him. He decided to take a small chance.

“A kid’s parents are supposed to be their protection, and home is supposed to be a haven in which to learn and grow. When those things aren’t true, it is almost impossible for a kid to survive. The world is incredibly cruel to displaced children. They are thrown into an environment they can’t understand and punished for things they can’t control. They have no rights and no resources.

“Thomas is being charged as an adult, facing possible life in prison. He can’t even sign a contract for legal representation. He doesn’t understand his rights and had no clue how to find help. I know a bit of how hopeless his situation is, and my bad memories make me even more angry. Where are the people and services that are supposed to step in on his behalf? They’re the ones intent on crucifying him. Well, he is going to be protected.” Roger’s words were chilling, the last statement was said in a growl.

Christopher O’Malley was forced to reconsider the seemingly perfect man in front of him. It was too easy to see only the sculpted body in the perfectly tailored suit, the luxurious accessories, the expensive hand-made Italian shoes, and the painfully hansom features. He knew little of Roger’s past, but the intensity of his conviction made it clear that the man was more than the money-hungry mob lawyer many believed him to be.

The judge rewound the clock and imagined the man before him as an abandoned teen, frightened and alone, trying to navigate the world he had just described. Suddenly, the articles of wealth and success before him seemed more like armor than opulence. He began to see Roger in a different light.

He considered the Ivy-League law degree, Roger’s typical clientele, the intensity and passion he brought to the courtroom; Roger was at war with the system that had apparently failed him, and he had become one of the fiercest and most skilled legal combatants Chris had ever known.

“I almost feel sorry for Radcliffe.” He nodded with new respect. “How would you like to handle the change in counsel?”

“If you are game, I’d love nothing more than for Thomas to fire Williams himself in front of the jury. Call it a motion from the defense prior to opening statements.” Roger’s predatory grin was both disturbing and contagious.

“That will certainly set a tone. I’ll acknowledge Thomas’ motion and ask him to explain himself. I assume you’ll be in the gallery?” Chris loved courtroom theatrics, at least when he was a willing participant.

“Indeed. I’ll prep Thomas tomorrow. Thanks for the time your honor, but I have a case to prepare and no time to get it done.” Roger extended a hand, and after a firm shake, stepped out of the judge’s chambers and into the hall.

“Give him hell, Roger… For Thomas’ sake and all the kids like him… Like you. When this is over, I think I’d like to get to know you better.” The burden he had been feeling had grown both heavier and lighter.

Chris gathered himself and his things, following behind the enigma that was Roger Cicero; he was suddenly looking forward to Monday morning. He laughed to himself as an errant thought flashed across his thoughts: To arms!