All language subtitles for Law.and.Order.S14E11.Darwinian.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

the people are represented
by two separate
the people are represented
by two separate

yet equally important groups,

the police who
investigate crime,

and the district attorneys
who prosecute the offenders.

These are their stories.

It's like she
expects me to read her mind,

for crying out loud.

Well, you're
supposed to do it

without her having
to ask, you know,

it shows you're
considerate or something.

It shows you're psychic

and by some miracle,

I figure out what she wants,

two seconds later,
she changes her mind.

Take last night,

where do we eat?

She says, "You
choose, I don't care."

So I say, Patsy's

and suddenly she does care

and says any place but Patsy's.

Am I boring you?

That guy.

What about him?

The weenie waver
sarge was talking about,

likes to flash
old Chinese ladies

while they're doing their
morning tai chi Jackie Chan.

Could be.

Hey pal, talk to you?

Hey you, stop!

Police, stop, get back here!

Police, stop!

Hey, get back here!

What's the matter with you?

Why'd you run dirt ball, huh?

- Chasing me, aren't you?
- Stay down!

C pop to central, we
have an apparent DOA

at Roosevelt Park.

I tackled him Rich,
he's not killed.

Goddamn, look.

10-4, C
pop, bus is on the way.

White male, mid twenties,
looks like he was homeless.

Sure he's not just
sleepin' it off?

Nobody smells this bad,

I don't care how many
showers they miss.

Found these in his pockets.

A locker key, and
some loose change.

Thanks.

What are you burning
the midnight oil?

Man, I was catchin'
up on my DD5s

and didn't get home 'til
almost two in the morning.

Plus I think I'm coming down
with whatever's goin' around.

Ms. Malchiodi, to what
do we owe the pleasure?

Facial contusions,
broken bones,

two days worth of decomp.

Factor in the cold weather,
I say he's been dead a week.

How you get a week?

Bugs don't lie,
don't know how.

Check it out.

Maggots, pupae, beetles.

Who's on the buffet line when

gives the approximate
time of death.

Plus fluid seepage--

Yeah, yeah, we
get the picture.

There's no way he's
been lyin' here a week

without somebody noticing.

He was on ice somewhere.

So that means the
body was dumped here

either late last night,
or early this morning.

Damn, he took a beating.

Of the vehicular variety.

Safety glass, like from a
windshield, and paint flakes.

And he's got tib fib
breaks in both legs.

Bumper fractures.

And you thought you
were feeling run down.

It's definitely a hit and run.

CSU confirmed that the glass
and the paint are from a car.

Beck's working on both.

I've never seen him happier.

You know what
would make me happy,

a name to go with our victim.

What, John Doe
doesn't do it for you?

You ran his
prints through BCI?

First thing we did, no soap.

So no ID on the vic, no
lead on the car, no witnesses.

Well they can't all be gimmes.

The vic had 26 cents and a key

from one of those
coin operated lockers.

He was homeless,
but he had a locker.

It's a safe place
to keep his stuff.

It's better than
a shopping cart.

After 9/11 how many public
lockers are left in this city?

I mean, Port Authority,
Penn Station,

Grand Central took 'em all out.

What about a gym, a
place to shower and change?

He didn't do either, and I
doubt if he had a membership

to the New York Health
and Racket Club.

How about the YMCA?

There are what,
six in Manhattan?

Start with those.

You feelin' lucky?

I was the first
three or four places.

Now I'm startin' to feel like
one of the Village People.

Next we should buy
a lottery ticket.

You gotta have faith.

Yeah, especially if
you're a Knicks fan.

Pocket knife, wallet.

Nope, no license.

Why am I not surprised?

Family snaps maybe.

I guess this is him.

He must have aged 30
years on the street.

For Allen, happy birthday.

Hope you like this
as much as I do.

Love, Gina.

We don't know
that book is his.

He could've picked
it up somewhere.

Somebody had a
doctor's appointment,

two years ago last March.

I wonder if they kept it.

Two years I've been waiting
for this knock on the door.

That looks nice, honey.

I just have to talk to
these men for a minute.

How'd you find me?

We talked to
Allen's psychiatrist.

He told us that your
brother was a schizophrenic.

It started manifesting
his first year of college.

Voices, hallucinations.

He had what they call
suicidal ideation.

Talked about killing himself.

If he took his meds,
he could function but--

He stopped takin' 'em?

They made him numb.

Our father had stomach cancer.

We had to sit here and
watch him die in stages.

Allen said he couldn't
feel anything.

Said he wanted to be able
to mourn Daddy's death.

Feel something when
he said goodbye.

After the funeral, we all
went home to sit shiva,

and Allen never showed up.

Next day, I filed a
missing person's report.

Nothing happened, so I started
looking for him myself.

Did you ever find him?

I saw him once,
a few months ago,

Tompkins Square Park.

My little brother,
looking like someone

I would normally cross
the street to avoid.

I couldn't get him to come home.

He was so far gone, I'm not
even sure he recognized me.

His name is Allen
Fisher, you know him?

What happened to him?

He got hit by a car.

Well, why didn't you say so?

I got my BMW parked
right over here.

Man, that ain't funny.

Sorry, he okay?

He died.

Oh.

I know this guy.

Got in my face a couple
times at the Mission.

Got in your face?

Yellin' about this and
that, spittin' and screamin'.

Scary dude.

When's the last
time you saw him?

I dunno, a couple
weeks ago maybe.

All right, thanks.

Hope that's good news.

It's Beck, he's got
a line on the car.

The paint's a shade of green.

Pentland green, specifically,

but I couldn't match it
to an assembly line model.

Must be a custom job.

How about the glass?

Garden variety automotive,
not unique to manufacturer.

Thanks for bringing us
all the way down here.

It was a lovely trip.

Let me finish.

Now, the high end
auto makers use lasers

to microscopically etch the
VIN number on the windshield.

How cool is that?

Right, now this
is just a partial,

but it's enough for the DMV to
ID the car that it came from

as an Aston Martin V12 Vanquish.

An Aston Martin who?

Vanquish man,
James Bond's car.

You know, in the last
one, "Die Another Day?"

Sorry, I haven't
seen a Bond movie

since Sean Connery
hug up his rug.

So if James Bond
lived in New York,

and wanted to buy a
Vanquish, where would he go?

The V12 retails for
236,000 plus options.

More than my last house.

But that includes
delivery to your door,

and you get to pick your color.

Just bring us a chip,
and we'll match it.

So it's a custom paint job.

No two alike.

It's a must buy.

You got an installment plan?

My great grandchildren
can pay it off.

Either that or
the national debt.

At a price like that,
you can't sell that many.

We try dealing with
a select clientele.

You wanna give me a number?

This model, year, roughly
50 in the Tri-State Area,

10 or 12 in Manhattan.

I don't suppose one of
them was in Pentland green?

Quarter of a mill's a
little extravagant, I know,

but trust me, image-wise
it's a bargain.

And how much does
image go for these days?

My time bills
out at 500 an hour.

Damn, you must be one
hell of a publicist.

Well, publicity is just
what's on the letterhead,

but you know what
I'm really selling.

Image?

That's why you guys
are the detectives.

Speaking of which--

I certainly haven't
been in an accident.

Do you have any idea how
much I'd pay for collision?

Believe me, I get the
teeniest little door ding

and I wear black for a week.

Well, then I guess
you won't mind us

takin' a look at your car.

Be my guest.

Parking level three, don't
forget to lock it up.

Mama, I'm home.

Looks in pretty good shape.

Hurting a car this fine,
that should be a felony.

Wanna take it for a spin?

Yeah, I can just
see the headline.

Cops take $200,000 joy ride.

I got a home
address, Bank Street.

That's not so far from
where the body was dumped.

It's not so close, either.

There's not a scratch
on this puppy.

So how many body
shops do you think

are authorized to
repair this puppy?

Actually, we're the only
certified Aston Martin body shop

in the entire northeast,

and the only one
with a Blackhawk

cork body alignment system.

Don't leave home without it.

Mock all you like, sure beats

entrusting your most
prized possession

to a couple of
neighborhood knuckleheads

with a ball-peen hammer.

True, no question.

So this Blackhawk cork gizmo,

did you use one on a Vanquish
owned by a Carrie Salter?

Carrie Salter, sure.

Yeah, she hit a deer
up in Connecticut.

We replaced the windshield,
pounded out the hood,

repainted the whole thing.

Oh that's convenient.

Hey it's open, I'm going in.

Detective?

Was there something else?

Well, there's a few
somethings actually.

Thought we covered everything.

Well why don't we talk
about it down at the precinct?

Hey Lennie!

That ain't motor oil.

Well, well, well, a
garage in mid November.

It must be what, about
45 degrees up in here?

A natural refrigerator.

What the hell is going on?

We'll talk about it downtown.

What about my car?

I'm gonna call a tow truck,

they're gonna take
it to impound.

Impound, a tow truck?

Oh don't worry, he
slows down for deer.

Oh don't worry, he
slows down for deer.

I was turning on to my street.

Okay, don't I have the right

not to worry about
some drunken bum

stumbling in front of my car,
scaring me half to death?

Oh yeah, how dare they
wander into your neighborhood?

It was an accident!

He just, it was late,
and he just stepped out

right in front of me, he
just came outta nowhere,

and I hit the brake,

but he just flew
into my windshield

and he was just
hanging there like

half in, and half out.

I panicked, so I just turned
the car into the garage.

And I don't suppose
calling an ambulance

for the poor bastard
ever crossed your mind.

It wasn't like that!

Was he still alive
when you pulled in?

He was moaning and,

just I went inside for a
few minutes to calm down

because I was so scared,

and I sat there trying
to figure out what to do,

and I could hear him
calling for help.

You heard him
calling for help?

Yeah.

When I went back
to check on him,

oh god.

He was dead.

Carrie, stop
talking right now.

Sanford Rems, Ms.
Salter's lawyer.

Ah, what a shame.

If you'd have come in
30 seconds earlier,

you could've heard your
client's confession.

Then I have my work
cut out for me, don't I?

In the meantime, I want
Ms. Salter processed

through central
booking immediately.

On the way, you don't
say one word to her.

You don't even ask her
what her favorite color is.

We already know.

Pentland green.

It was dark, it was
late, she was tired.

She didn't expect some
deranged vagrant who,

by the way, had a well
documented history

of suicidal tendencies to
jump out in front of her car.

And I'm sure the
four apple martinis

she drank that evening had no
effect on her expectations.

Fine, suspend her license,

she does some community service,

and you get to go back to
prosecuting real criminals.

Like people who commit
vehicular homicide

and tamper with evidence.

And let their
fatally wounded victims

die a slow death in the garage

while they sit in their living
room and have another drink.

See, this is what
I was afraid of.

You're twisting an
unfortunate accident

into an act of
cold-blooded murder.

Leaving a man to suffer and
die is cold-blooded, Sandy.

No question,
but did he suffer?

I really don't know,
and neither do you,

because there hasn't
been an autopsy,

but let's rectify
that, shall we?

My motion to disinter
Mr. Fisher's corpse.

You want the body?

Well, it'd certainly be
difficult for my expert

to conduct an independent
autopsy without it.

This was a car accident,
not a suspicious death.

Moreover, the family's
Jewish, they're observant,

they don't want an autopsy.

And when necessary,
religious doctrine

should be trumped by the law.

Bringing me to my next point,

there's no precedent
allowing a defendant

to conduct her own
autopsy of the victim.

Maybe not, but there's no
precedent prohibiting it either.

On the contrary, I submit
an independent autopsy

is perfectly acceptable
pre-trial discovery.

When the evidence
is arguably relevant.

You seem to forget that
your client confessed.

And you're looking to
paint her as an uncaring,

callous bitch who allowed
this poor soul to suffer.

Well that sounds like a
pretty accurate portrait to me.

Just what I'm talking
about, and to rebut this,

I need the opportunity to
conduct an independent autopsy.

You have the medical
examiner's report.

And the medical examiner
is employed by the city.

I'm sorry, when I said
independent autopsy

was I being too oblique?

Has your ME finished
her examination?

That's the point,
she's not my ME.

But she's done
with the body, right?

Then I don't see the
prejudice to the people

by allowing the defendant
access to the victim.

Defense motion granted.

You gotta admit
it's a brand new spin

on the time honored
defense strategy

of beating up on the victim.

Rems had a very
compelling argument.

He's a good lawyer, Jack.

The best that money can buy.

Poor victim, rich defendant?

Well, Lady Justice may be blind,

but nobody ever said
the old broad was fair.

Branch.

When?

Thanks.

Well that expert must
have found something,

'cause Rems is
moving to dismiss.

Judge has scheduled
an evidentiary hearing

for 10 in the morning.

I began by pickling
the deceased's brain

in a formalin solution.

This was done to harden the
brain, like boiling an egg,

so it could be dissected.

And when you dissected
it, what did you find?

A subdural hematoma.

The decedent had
bled into his brain

from the sagittal sinus.

What
happens when one incurs

a subdural hematoma?

Blood slowly seeps
into the brain,

eventually killing the subject.

It can take hours, even days.

Often the victim doesn't
even know he's dying.

You wouldn't
feel sick enough

to get medical attention?

You might feel woozy,
sleepy, nauseous, unwell.

To a homeless person
like Mr. Fisher,

who's probably already
in poor health,

possibly intoxicated, this
would be a familiar feeling.

Fair enough, but Mr.
Fisher was struck at two a.m.

and dead by three.

Isn't it reasonable to assume,
as the medical examiner has,

that this accident caused
Mr. Fisher's hematoma?

Reasonable, but in
this case mistaken.

May I?

Your honor, if I may,

defense exhibits A and B.

Given the size of
the ruptured vessel,

an hour between trauma and death

would have produced
bleeding in the brain of,

at most, 10 CCs of blood.

Approximately this much fluid.

However, I siphoned
five times that amount

from the decedent's brain.

50 CCs.

There's simply no way
this much bleeding

could have occurred
in only an hour.

So what
you're saying is--

Ms. Salter hit
someone with her car

who was already fatally injured.

If the car crash didn't
kill him, what did?

Judging by the three
contrecoup injuries he sustained

to the back of his
brain, he was beaten.

I wanna see
Rogers in my office.

Damn.

That doesn't sound
very encouraging.

It's not meant to be.

Now I wish I'd
insisted on an autopsy.

Sounds even less encouraging.

Well the family
didn't want one,

and I wasn't about to waste
the city's time and money on--

On a homeless person?

On someone who obviously
died from head trauma.

Which I assumed he sustained

when he was struck by
Carrie Salter's car.

So what's your expert opinion?

I'm afraid I have
to agree with Geller.

The car didn't kill him.

It doesn't matter.

Doctrine of
intervening causation.

A man leaps off a building,
gets hit by a bullet

on the way down, it's
homicide, not suicide.

Except in this case, it wasn't
the bullet that killed him.

The car accident didn't
cause the hematoma.

Hell, didn't even exacerbate it.

Expert testimony is
for a jury to evaluate.

Except I can't let it go
to a jury on these facts.

Come on, Jack, give me
something to work with.

The defendant left this
man in her garage to die.

If she'd gotten him
medical attention,

the doctors might've
detected the hematoma,

stopped the bleeding,
and saved his life.

I count at least
three maybes in there.

My client is prepared to
plead out on tampering,

obstruction, failing
to report an accident.

The crimes she
actually committed.

What do
you have in mind?

First defense, I think
probation's warranted.

Three years plus
community service.

Your honor!

I'm sympathetic,
Ms. Southerlyn,

but as much as I'd like to,
I can't order jail time.

The criminally negligent
homicide charge is dismissed.

I'm accepting the
defendant's pleas

on obstruction and tampering.

Mr. Rems, have your
client see probation.

Then she's free to go.

Dead man walking,

just when you thought
you'd seen everything.

You still have a victim
in search of a suspect.

Did Salter's expert give
us anything new to go on?

He says someone beat Fisher up

about seven hours before
Salter struck him with her car.

So two a.m.

Which would mean
he took a beating

around seven o'clock
the night before.

Well beyond that,

we still got a grand
total of zero leads.

So we start with square one.

Tompkins Square.

I already told you,
I didn't know him.

We're just trying to figure
out who beat on this guy.

Thought you said
he was hit by a car.

He did, but he
got beat down first.

You ever see a boxing match,

a dude takes one too many hits,

he walks outta the ring,
and two days later he dies?

Is that what happened to him?

I'm sorry, I don't
know anything.

But I can make a guess.

See, all you had to
do was concentrate.

Yeah, I seen,

what'd you say his name was?

Allen.

Yeah, yeah I seen this
Allen guy bumming spare change

outside a bodega on Avenue A.

And?

Really pissed the owner off.

And how do you know that?

'Cause I saw the dude run
him off with a baseball bat.

Threatened to bash
his brains in.

Ever since this clinic opened,

this block has been
crawling with all whackjobs.

We're interested
in the whackjob

that you threatened
with a baseball bat.

Skinny white kid?

Why, did he complain?

I never touched him, just
waved around a little.

Told him to get lost.

Is it possible he didn't
get the message and came back?

Tell you what, just for fun,

why don't you tell us where
you spend your Thursday nights?

Thursday night, right here,

all night, every night.

Ask anyone.

We will.

Meanwhile, just keep that
baseball bat in the dugout.

Huh?

All right, so
I'm Allen Fisher.

Schizophrenic, homeless,
wandering the streets.

Yeah, persona non grata
at the local bodega.

Where would I go?

I might get a warmer reception

in my friendly
neighborhood clinic.

Allen was one of those guys.

Loving family, plenty of
money, smart, good education.

All the support in the world.

How'd he end up on the street?

Schizophrenia does
not discriminate.

He come here a lot?

Yeah, time to time.

Been working like hell to get
him back on his medication.

When he did, he
felt so much better,

he'd think he didn't
need 'em anymore.

See that's the catch-22
of modern meds.

They work so well,
patients stop takin' 'em.

On the night of November
13th, was he here?

Yeah, stopped in around six,

just as I was getting
ready to leave.

Hit me up for a couple
of bucks for food.

I did my usual song and dance

to try to get him back on
his regimen, fat chance.

You know where
he went after here?

Yeah, Gerald came by.

They went off together,
probably a liquor store.

And where can we find him?

Gerald?

He lives with a couple
other homeless guys

over in Stuyvesant Town.

15th and 1st.

Yeah, I know Fish.

That's what we call him, Fish.

I do, anyway.

He got that fish eye look.

Me, I got the
thousand yard stare.

What you got?

We got a dead friend
of yours, Gerald.

Huh?

Fish.

Fish died?

Somebody killed him.

Killed him?

Somebody killed Fish?

Yeah, and you were the
last person seen with him.

Dr. Emmerich said he saw y'all
leavin' the clinic together.

Yeah.

I remember that.

We bought us a mickey,

went to the park,
and passed it around.

Yeah, right after that
he got his head bashed in.

Ah, I know.

I saw it go down.

You saw what happened?

Guy comes up to
Fish, they trade words,

start wrestling around,

arguing about something.

Next thing you know,
they duking it out.

Guy gets Fish down, he's bashin'
his head into the sidewalk.

You ain't try to stop it?

Are you crazy?

Besides, cops broke it up.

This other guy have a name?

I'm sure his mama
would give him one,

but I'd be damned if I know.

Another homeless guy.

I've seen him around.

Big white guy.

When we got there,

one guy had the other
guy in a headlock.

Broke it up, asked
who started it,

they pointed fingers
at each other.

And you didn't do anything?

We got a call on domestic,

guy using his girlfriend
for a punching bag.

What are we supposed to do?

Tell 'em flag on the play

while we process a couple of
skells through the system?

God forbid the girl gets hurt,

and we're dealing
with these lice heads.

Come on, you know
what it's like.

Triage, taxpayers
first, so sue us.

And only taxpayers
get a ride to the ER?

Those guys, not my car.

Never get the stink out.

They weren't hurt,
no harm, no foul.

Actually one of 'em was,
he died later that night.

A tall white kid.

No kiddin'?

What'd the
other guy look like?

None the worse for wear.

A description, genius.

Oh six feet, six two.

Old raincoat, orange wool cap.

We didn't take any names.

Lucky for you, I
think we've met the guy.

Now just
take your time, Gerald.

What if gets
off, you know, gets out,

comes after me?

Don't worry, he can't see you.

That's one-way glass.

Neat.

Come on Gerald, focus.

That guy, five, number five.

Ah, sorry Max.

I got bad news and worse news.

A witness identifies
you as the one

who introduced Allen Fisher's
face to the sidewalk.

And two cops picked you out

as the one who'd been
fighting with him.

Now I know that math's
probably not your strong suit,

but even you can see how
this adds up against you.

Only question is, which
story is the judge gonna hear,

our version or yours?

Now our version
is that you attacked

some poor, defenseless kid

who was a little
touched in the head.

Shut up!

Just, just shut up!

Let me think.

You don't get it.

You don't get it, you
just don't get it.

Why don't you
explain it to us, Max?

Tell us why you killed this kid.

I can't, I can't
explain it to you.

Why?

Because you don't know
what it's like out there.

All right?

You don't get it.

You think that you
do, but you don't.

What I don't get is why
you killed some poor guy

who's just as down on
his luck as you are.

He wasn't like me!

He was a selfish bastard,
he wouldn't share!

He wouldn't share.

All I wanted was a piece,
just one little piece,

and I asked him nice.

Piece of what, Max?

An orange.

One little crappy orange.

appreciate the irony.ve to

One defendant hits
a man with her car,

while another defendant hits
the same man with his fists.

Defendant number one gets off

with the help of a
blue chip mouthpiece

while defendant number two--

Gets the assistance
of the director

of the Urban Justice Center,

which beats a funding challenged
public defender any day.

Agreed, but it still
begs the question

how there can possibly
be equal justice

when defendants aren't
treated equally.

Carrie Salter didn't
kill Allen Fisher.

Your client did.

Have you ever gone for
months without a shower?

Scrounged for dinner
in a garbage can,

or begged for changed
on the street?

Life on the street is tough,

so that gives your client
the right to commit murder?

No, his fundamental
right to survive does.

Well thankfully the
law says otherwise.

Oh did they change it?

I haven't been keeping
up with my reading.

Is the necessity defense
still on the books?

Not when the
necessity is an orange.

So you say.

Let's see what a judge says.

It's black letter law.

To make out a necessity
defense, the defendant

has to be able to show that
the need outweighed the wrong!

Which it does if
you're homeless,

and you do whatever
you have to do

to survive in their world.

So it's survival
of the fittest.

Go ahead, scoff.

It only illustrates how
ignorant all of you are.

Fortunately, we have
laws to prevent society

from descending into
Darwinian anarchy.

Except we've evicted
the homeless from society.

We've made them outcasts.

We look at them as
less than human.

We shun them from society,

then turn around and
hold them accountable

to society's laws.

Not the laws they
have to live by.

Your honor.

Don't judge a man
until you've walked

a mile in his shoes, Mr. McCoy.

I don't see any problem
with letting the jury

take a little stroll.

She was basically arguing
that as a matter of law,

the homeless are
less than human.

Fido takes a bite
out of Joe Citizen,

he gets put down.

Fido bites another dog,

that's just life in
the urban jungle.

Well let's face it, we
all say the right things,

but at the end of
the day, we see them

as scary, smelly, subhuman people we'd
rather not deal with.

That's exactly the guilt
Gardner is leveraging.

So don't let her.

Plead this out.

When I've got a confession
and two witnesses?

And a defense attorney

turning the courtroom
into a soapbox.

For the money we'll end
up spending on this trial,

we'll be able to build
our own soup kitchen.

But we won't, will we?

Ms. Gardner,
where's your client?

On his way, your honor.

Jack.

Side bar, your honor.

What is this?

The defendant is dressed like--

A homeless person,
imagine that.

His appearance violates

basic standards of
courtroom decorum.

Which aren't codified
anywhere in the CPL.

The defendant can dress for
court any way that he wants.

You mean how his
attorney wants.

This is a transparent ploy
to get the jury to see him

as homeless first, and
as a human being second.

Actually it's about
letting the jury

see him as he truly is.

Either way, I'm not inclined
to order a wardrobe change.

Now step back and
let's get on with this.

You say the defendant was
banging the victim's head

against the sidewalk.

That's right.

Why didn't you arrest him?

Wasn't clear who started it.

We just sent the
parties on their way.

But I suppose in hindsight,

maybe we should've
picked the defendant up.

What about
medical attention?

Why didn't you take Mr.
Fisher to the emergency room?

I asked if he wanted to go.

He said, "Hospitals are
where they brainwash you."

Besides, he looked okay.

Is that your usual practice?

No arrests, no trip
to the hospital,

so long as everyone looks okay?

I don't have a usual practice.

It's case by case,
I use my judgment.

Then let's chat
about your judgment.

The past year, you've handled
domestic disturbances,

bar fights, traffic disputes,

and in many cases
you've made arrests

and or requested medical attention for the
parties involved.

If counsel could
ask a question.

My question.

What made those cases
different from this one?

I'll give you a hint.

The parties weren't homeless.

I don't treat
them any different.

Really, because it
seems the only time

you do arrest a
homeless man, or woman

is for vagrancy,
public intoxication,

or when they bother a citizen.

But as long as they're just
beating up on one another--

I didn't think an arrest
was warranted in this case.

Didn't matter if they
were homeless or not.

Homeless.

Is that what you call them?

What else should I call them?

It's just when
you were speaking

to Detectives Briscoe and Green,

you used other terms.

That was just, we use a
lot of slang on the street.

It doesn't mean anything.

Then you won't mind telling
us what those slang terms are.

One of them was skells.

What was the other?

Lice heads.

And to think
you're a duly sworn

representative of the law.

They were pushin',
and shovin'.

First, Fish gave
as good as he got.

But when he got him by the neck,

and threw him on the
ground, it was game over.

Game over?

Game over, he was bashin'
his head into the sidewalk.

And Mr. Fisher
couldn't fight back?

That guy was too big.

Which makes me wonder
why he started yelling

at Mr. Edgars in
the first place.

He couldn't help it.

It was the way his brain worked.

See, Fish would
talk tough and such,

but he wouldn't hurt nobody.

In your
opinion, did Mr. Fisher

pose any type of threat
to the defendant?

Hardly.

Worst Fish could do to anybody
was spit at him a little.

So if the fight
was so one-sided,

why didn't you try to stop it?

Two guys in a beef, you don't
get up in the middle of it.

You stand back and watch,
just the way it is.

In your world.

Right.

Then let's talk a little
bit about your world.

Have you ever been
attacked on the street?

When I was a newbie.

That's when you're
new to the street.

Guys come by, beat me with
a pipe, take my stuff.

And when did that stop?

When I fought back.

See, when you hit back,

they look for somebody
else who won't.

You look nice today.

Do you dress like
that on the street?

No.

New coat, new tie.

Courtesy of Mr. McCoy?

Yeah.

Where'd
you sleep last night?

At the Clinton Hotel.

Where do
you usually sleep?

Heatin' vent.

You have a
shower this morning?

Yeah.

It felt good.

I bet.

Before that, when was the
last time you had a shower?

Don't remember.

Must be nice.

Living in a hotel,
not on the street.

It was heaven.

So when you're
living on the street,

not in a hotel,

what do you do when you
have to go to the bathroom?

Wherever I can,
sometimes behind a car,

or in a doorway, in the park.

Like a dog?

Your honor.

Look behind you, Ms. Gardner.

There's the line.

My apologies, and I
apologize to you, sir.

I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.

Ain't embarrassed.

Livin' on the street,
I've done a lotta things

I never thought I'd do.

Why is this mess
still on your docket?

Because Gardner thinks
she can get him off,

and wants to make a
statement doing so.

And you don't think
she has a point?

That the homeless are animals,
and don't have to follow

the same rules we do.

Well, they don't live
the same lives we live.

We've turned our backs on them.

I think that's
overstating things a touch.

I mean, there are shelters
and soup kitchens.

Well, these
so-called solutions

just hide the problem
instead of solving it.

Nobody wants a shelter
in their neighborhood.

When's the last time

you picked up a ladle
at a soup kitchen?

Every Thanksgiving,
as a matter of fact.

One day a year.

You and all the other
limousine liberals

so you can look at
yourself in the mirror.

And the sad fact is
a lot of these people

aren't gonna get any better,

no matter how much time and
money we throw at the problem.

You might as well try
sweeping sand off a beach.

Careful, Arthur.

You'll make Gardner's
case for her.

She shouldn't
have a case at all.

Make a deal.

Perhaps you haven't
been paying attention,

but this case isn't
just about Max Edgars.

It's about every
homeless man, woman,

and child in this city.

Depicting your
client as an animal,

locked in the savage dog-eat-dog

daily struggle for existence,

this is how you advocate
for the homeless?

I never once said homeless
people were animals.

I said society treats
them like animals,

forces them to
live like animals.

They still have
choice, free will.

Oh do they?

After we cast them into
the outer darkness,

relegate them to a world
that's more Lord of the Flies

than the civilized
one we live in.

Believe me, I'm not denying
any of man's darker instincts,

which is why--

We have laws, I know.

Puts us right back to where
we started, doesn't it?

The homeless, shunned
from the very society

that makes those laws.

People need to
realize we are all

just two steps away from
becoming Max Edgars.

I used to work construction.

High steel.

I got hurt on the job,

and blew through all my savings,

and by the time I was back
on my feet again I was broke.

Behind on the mortgage,

and eventually I lost my house.

My family.

Then where did you live?

For a little while, in my car.

But then I sold it to eat.

Then I started
living in doorways,

and ATM vestibules
were the best.

Then the mayor
started cracking down.

So where did you go?

For a few months, I lived
in this empty subway tunnel.

There were a lot of other
homeless there, and rats.

If you didn't wear gloves,

they would nibble on your
fingers while you slept.

Sounds awful.

You got all these people
living in their own filth.

You go in there, the stench

would knock you back
like three feet.

And you couldn't
go to a shelter.

They're not safe.

Lotta people,
crazies and junkies

lookin' to steal your
stuff, or do worse.

Did that happen to
you, people steal your things?

Yeah, I've been mugged.

Lost count how many times.

One time these two guys
rolled me for my shoes,

and gave me smileys
all over my body.

That's when they hit you
with a chain and a padlock,

and the lock leaves a
bruise like a smiley face.

I want to turn your attention

to the night of your
altercation with Mr. Fisher.

He was crazy.

I just asked for a
piece of his orange,

and he just started
screamin' at me.

And I told him to back
off, and he pushed me,

and kept putting
his hands on me.

He was a lunatic.

So why didn't
you just walk away?

I couldn't.

Word got out that
I had backed off,

I would be fair game.

Fair game for who?

Anybody.

That's how it works.

If you're vulnerable, if
you're weak, you're a target,

and I wasn't gonna be
a target ever again.

So, you admit

assaulting another man,

because he refused
to share his orange.

It's not that simple.

The law of the jungle.

That's right.

And your lawyer
suggested that you

live like an animal
in that jungle.

Yeah, well, maybe she's right.

Then what are we doing here?

We don't put animals
on trial, Mr. Edgars.

We put them down.

Fine.

Put me down, you'll
be doing me a favor.

Tired of living in
the street, are ya?

You think I chose
this for my life?

I think you have more choices

than Allen Fisher did, don't ya?

He was held hostage
to his own delusions,

but you could control yourself.

You could've looked for a job.

I had a job, I told you.

And a house.

Yeah.

And a car.

That's right.

Friends, family, possessions.

And I lost them!

I lost it all!

You don't know what
that feels like,

to be a failure.

To go to bed on a
piece of wet cardboard

every friggin' night, wondering
how did this happen to me?

I didn't want this.

I didn't choose this life.

This is something
that happened to me,

and it's like this thing in
my chest that's killing me.

It gets me right here.

Sounds

human

to me, Mr. Edgars.

Most of us woke
up this morning,

punched the snooze button
of our clock radios,

before eventually
willing ourselves

out of our nice, warm beds

and stumbling into the
kitchen for an English muffin

and a hot cup of coffee.

But others,

people who most of
us will never know,

woke up in a subway tunnel,

surrounded by rats
and human excrement.

We all pay lip service.

We all say the right
things about the homeless,

as long as we don't have
to get too close to them.

We blame them for
their own misfortune,

and say we cannot understand
why they live the way they do.

We can't comprehend
their existence.

We can't possibly ever know
the fear and desperation

that drove Max Edgars to
kill Allen Fisher that night.

We can't.

So we should all
go home tonight,

crawl back into our
nice, warm beds,

and thank our lucky stars

we don't have to.

The law exists to protect,

as well as to punish.

So, if you say
that society's laws

don't apply to defendants
like Max Edgars,

you're also saying
that society's justice

doesn't apply to victims
like Allen Fisher.

If that's your verdict,
then society truly has

turned its back on these people.

They have no food,

no shelter,

no money.

Don't deny them justice as well.

Jury foreman,
have you reached a verdict?

We have, your honor.

On the sole count
of the indictment

manslaughter in
the first degree,

we find the defendant guilty.

12 years in Ossining.

At least he'll have
plenty of food, and shelter.

Careful Jack, that almost
sounded like sympathy.

Don't get me wrong, he
killed a man for an orange,

he deserves to be in prison.

But?

We just moved him from
one jungle to another.