All language subtitles for Law and Order S13E11 Chosen.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNVSL

In the criminal justice system

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.

I'm going to call her.

You're not going to call her.

She gave me her
card, didn't she?

Uh, no! You gave her your card.

Besides, she was, like,
undressing Darby, anyway.

Get out.

With her eyes.

Whoa! What's your problem?

I'm hungry, man. Help a guy out.

Wait, wait! I'll tell you
what, I'll tell you what.

You go into that bar and
you give a guy named Darby

a big wet one right on the lips,

I'll buy you a
porterhouse at The Palm.

No. Pardon my friend, pal.

He's in heat. He...

That's okay.

No way!

Darby's so smart. He should
really learn to lock his doors.

This is stupid, I have
nothing to do with this.

You're right. You're right.

Never screw with a man's wheels.

His golf clubs are
a whole other story.

You are crazy. You know that?

He just got those
Titleists with the...

Couple of yuppies
drank too much.

Decided they'd play a
prank on their buddy.

They thought they'd break into a
Lexus, but they got the wrong Lexus.

There's The Lone Ranger and Tonto
over there, and I sprang for the coffee.

Hey, much as I love
seeing your face, Garvin,

pranks aren't exactly
our department.

Well, one man's prank is
another man's homicide.

Oh, that does it.

I'm going to stay
with the Crown Vic.

Detroit knows a thing
or two about trunk space.

Word.

Well, we don't have to go
far to find the murder weapon.

Let's get a look at him.

White male, looks to
be in his mid-twenties.

The good news is, he
never saw it coming.

The name's Gordon Meeks.
The car's registered in his name.

Just bought it last month.

He should have
thought about leasing.

What do you want? We
don't know anything else.

Just a few more questions.

Now your friend, Gordon Meeks...

Our friend's name is Ryan Darby.

Okay. Well, who is Gordon Meeks?

Don't you see
what they're doing?

They think we're
common criminals.

You did break into a car.

It was a prank.

You know... Ha-ha?

We work at Bennington
Hart, on Wall Street.

Oh, so the thing about being
common criminals wasn't that far off.

If I didn't feel like
throwing up, I'd laugh.

Darby!

Thank God! Tell them
you've got a black Lexus.

What? I drive a Porsche.

I'm sorry, I've never seen
either one of them before.

You know what? I'm beat.

Let's just book them and
worry about it tomorrow morning.

Damn it, Darby! What the hell
were you going to do to my Titleists?

Oh! Another prankster.

All right. All three
of you, out of here.

I should have let you rot.

There's nothing
on this guy Meeks.

The only prints
in the car were his.

Well, we've got a
name for the deceased.

That usually comes
with an address.

Mr. Meeks had a nice
life. Armani, Brioni, Prada...

What happened to "Buy American"?

What happened to
American quality?

Hey, my suits were made
right on Sixth Avenue.

Yeah, 10 years ago.

And your point is?

Whoa! Looks like
Gordon hit the lotto.

On more than one occasion.

Lennie, look.

Maybe it does. - What?

Grow on trees.

Something tells me
Gordon was up to no good.

There's got to be
over $100,000 in here.

D-N-345. P-N-937.

That looks like
some kind of code.

Think Meeks was a loan shark?

Well, I don't think he was a
colonel in the Salvation Army.

What are you doing?

Well, these
envelopes were sealed.

The cash was probably going out.

Which means that something
had to come in to fill that suitcase.

947 Fifth Avenue.

Now, that address
costs a chunk of change.

What you want to do with this?

Well, there's this Ferrari
I've had my eye on...

Are you sure Gordon sent you?

Let's say we're
here on his behalf.

Because he usually tells me ahead
of time if someone new is coming.

Yeah? Well, Mr. Meeks is busy.

Was I short?

It looks like it.

I could have sworn I counted
out five dimes, like always.

Ah. Five dimes.

So Gordon Meeks is your bookie.

Who are you guys?

Detectives Briscoe and Green.

Oh, come on! You've got to
have something better to do.

Slow news day.

I'm a dermatologist.

Do you have any
idea how boring that is?

I put a few dollars on a ballgame
now and then. Is that a crime?

Actually, it is.

Not if I place the bet overseas.

Five grand? You must have a
lot of frequent flyer miles, Doc.

I call an 800 number,
I log on to the Internet.

Either way, the bet is
actually placed in Costa Rica,

where betting
is perfectly legal.

Until money changes hands here.

Okay, so they haven't
worked out all the kinks yet.

But everybody does
it, nobody gets hurt...

Wrong again, Doc.

Gordon Meeks is dead.

What?

So you go up or down five
grand, you get a visit from Gordon?

Or Stevie.

Monday's the day
we balance the books.

Stevie?

Strelzik. He's Gordon's
partner. Boss, actually.

Do you know where
we can find Mr. Strelzik?

You're sure it was Gordon?

He looked like his
photo ID. Drove a Lexus.

In the trunk of his car!

What, you'd like it better if
they dumped him in an alley?

Uh, what my partner meant
to say was, in your line of work

you might expect a little
violence now and then.

Are you kidding?

Our clientele was a who's
who of New York money.

Besides, we don't let anyone bet
more than they can afford to lose.

Aw, the bookie with a heart.

We run a legitimate
business, Detective.

That's for a later discussion.
For now, can you just tell us

how long Gordon worked for you?

Now where did you get that
idea? He didn't work for me.

We're both employees
of First Run Gaming, Inc.

Let me guess.
Incorporated in Costa Rica.

You know, I warned
him. Low profile.

But he had to show off with the
fancy suits, the hundred dollar tips.

Did Gordon go see any
of his clients last night?

Yeah.

Sprewell looked
great in shoot-arounds,

so I call maybe a
minute before tip-off.

The line's Knicks
minus eight and a half,

so what the hell, I
put a nickel to win.

Yeah, but they
only won by eight.

Tell me about it. That toll-free
phone call cost me five hundred bucks.

Hey, what time did
Gordon come by?

Around 5:00. My secretary
called me out of a deposition.

And your partners
don't mind any of this?

Hey, we're lawyers, not monks.

My husband is on Wall
Street 18 hours a day.

So, it's either find a lover or
put a couple of bucks on a game.

Well, I guess doing
the latter's a lot safer.

If I got caught doing the former,
I couldn't afford to do the latter.

And your husband don't mind?

Hey, with the way Wall Street's
going, I'm doing better than he is.

And at least I can trust
the people I invest with.

Hey, when Gordon Meeks came by,
did he come by to deliver or collect?

You want to hear stupid?

I never in my life
bet the Knicks.

Bad karma, you know,
betting the home team.

But Sunday night I'm surfing the web and
I see that Allan Houston's over his cold.

I get in under the gun, right,
30 seconds before game time.

I log on and take the Knicks
minus the eight for two dimes.

Hey, a push beats
the hell out of a loss.

Sure, but if Spree hit the damn
free throw, I would have won.

And Gordon wouldn't have
had a reason to come calling.

I don't mind losing.

It's waiting on line at the ATMs
to get the cash that kills me.

Yeah, especially when
they hit back, Susan.

Oh, this?

Kickboxing class.

That's some shiner.

I forgot to duck.

Hmm.

Hey, what time did
Gordon come by?

Around 6:00.

After my manicure.

I'm just saying it's odd.

The lady and the lawyer both placed
bets on the Knicks just before tip-off.

He lost, she pushed.

People have patterns.
They're creatures of habit.

The book knows
that you like the Jets,

so when you call in, he
bumps the line a half a point.

Excuse me, how do
you score a half a point?

You don't. It just means
that there can't be a push.

A push? A tie.

And intelligent people throw
away their money like this?

A dollar earned gambling is
better than two earned working.

That's the American way.

To the tune of several
billion dollars a year.

Yes?

Okay, thanks.

Although I'd love to continue discussing
this, you guys are wanted uptown.

A neighbor called the
precinct to let us know

someone cut down the yellow tape

you guys put up on Meeks' door.

We found the perpetrator
in the apartment.

Well, how did he get in?

She had a key.

His wife?

It's hard to say. You'll see.

For you, Betsy.

Oh, this is wonderful. What
are these bums going to do?

Slap me upside the
head until I break?

This is Betsy. Sweet
young thing, don't you think?

Betsy, we're detectives.
Go ahead, sweat it out of me.

You can give me
the 12th degree...

Listen! Listen. We're investigating
the murder of Gordon Meeks.

Murder?

As in dead?

Yeah. We found him Monday night.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

How could I think a bum like him
would ever put a ring on my finger?

Pre-engaged?
What the hell is that?

Don't ask me. All I
know is post-married.

Did you and
Gordon live together?

Uh-uh. He said, "Wait,
babycakes, until we formalize it."

What a crock.

He said I'd have a
ring by Christmas.

Okay, so that makes the $64,000
question, what were you doing in there?

I called the bum last
night. He didn't answer.

I called him again this morning.

I figure he's dunking
his donut, you know?

And the police
tape across the door

didn't give you a hint that
something might be wrong?

You don't know some of
the bull he's tried to feed me.

Hey, can you think of anybody
that would want to hurt him?

Try every bimbo in Bensonhurst.

I answered his phone
a couple of days ago,

and it's some babe, all fancy-schmancy
like she's putting on the Ritz.

She just has to talk to Gordon, like it's
a matter of life or death or something.

When I say he's not here, she
goes nutzo screaming at me.

You know this girl's name?

Yeah. Yeah. Susan.

Black-eyed Susan.

Maybe Gordon
forgot to duck, too.

You've got to see it from
our point of view, Ms. Ashman.

You make a hysterical
phone call to your bookie.

You end up with a black
eye, and he ends up dead.

I didn't kill Gordon.

Fine. So where was it you
took this kickboxing class?

Okay, this was
George, my husband.

But he isn't like that usually.

Oh, God, please don't
say, "I wouldn't listen."

I wouldn't. About the
gambling, anyway.

How much were you
really into Meeks for?

Around 25.

Thousand?

Damn Knicks.

$25,000?

Susan spends more
than that on shoes.

Well, at least then she
has something to show for it.

What do you think I do
on Wall Street? I gamble.

It's the same thing.

Wouldn't I be hypocritical to tell
Susan she couldn't wager a few dollars?

Sure, if she won.

I know if my wife threw
away my hard earned cash...

I don't hit women.

Let's go find her. Come on, Ed.

No, no, just...
Hold on a second.

Why would I kill
anyone over $25,000?

I don't know. I also don't why
you'd give Gordon Meeks a call.

We checked the records
on your cell phone.

Okay. I'll tell you the truth.

Finally.

Susan swore she would stop.

I mean, maybe it is a disease.

She wouldn't tell me
how much she lost.

I mean, the son of a
bitch was sleeping with her.

Turning her into a
whore for the money.

So you killed him.

If I ever found him,
maybe I would have.

Susan wouldn't even
give me his name.

Remember, Mr. Ashman,
we know that you called him.

I had my lawyers check into
this company in Costa Rica.

They gave me his phone number.

Meeks just laughed at me.

Finally, he agreed to
meet me Monday night,

after his meeting
with his accountant.

People like this
have accountants.

He never showed up.

As far as I knew, they were
entertainment consultants.

Well, it's not tax time. Why
were they here on Monday night?

Look, it's a cash business.

In a cash business, sometimes
profits have a way of getting misplaced.

In other words,
somebody ripped him off.

Gordon thought it was Stevie.

Now, how much are
we talking about here?

Almost 600 grand. They
were really going at it.

Gordon wanted me to go over the books
and find proof that Stevie was stealing.

Was he?

Put it this way...
They were short.

Did Mr. Meeks and
Mr. Strelzik leave together?

They went for steaks at
Paul's, around the corner.

I thought it was to
kiss and make up.

Mr. Strelzik is the
New York, medium.

Mr. Meeks, the T-bone, rare.

And the creamed spinach.

What do you think?

It sounds like they're regulars.

The chef comes
out to greet them.

This is their regular table.

So, Monday night?

The usual. Maybe a bit
more to drink than normal.

Both of them?

Mr. Strelzik, mostly.

Lennie, this look familiar?

You mind if we borrow this?

We sell them. Six for 55.

Go. It's yours.

Problem number one, these
knives are hardly unique.

I checked with a
restaurant supply house.

Half the steak houses
in the city use these.

Problem number two? So quick?

Beck!

Well, this one, wiped
clean. Not a print to be found.

We're running fibers found
here, but I wouldn't hold my breath.

What about these?

Uh, the prints were
too smudged to read.

Nada, fellas.

Yeah, but these
are reading glasses.

There you go,
the librarian did it.

Gordon Meeks was 25.

He didn't need reading glasses.

But Stevie Strelzik,
on the other hand.

Meeks realized Strelzik
was ripping him off.

Strelzik made sure he didn't tell
the big boys back at the home office.

And we've got a murder
weapon. Without prints.

Yeah, but those were Strelzik's
glasses next to the dead body.

Uh-huh, in Meeks'
car. They were partners.

Maybe they went to the
company picnic together.

Sounds like you don't think
we have enough for an arrest.

Yes?

No... No, I'll tell them.

That was Beck.

Fibers from the blade match the
tablecloths at Paul's Steakhouse.

Hi, sweetheart. Is
your dad in? Daddy?

We'd like to talk
to you, Mr. Strelzik.

We're eating dinner.

It can't wait. Uh, you might
want to do this in private.

Honey, go back to Mommy.

Sweet kid. Too bad you're
going to miss her wedding.

Steven Strelzik, you are under
arrest for the murder of Gordon Meeks.

Steven? You have the
right to remain silent,

anything you say can be used
against you in a court of law.

You have the right to an
attorney. If you cannot afford one...

"Docket number 57893, the
People v. Steven H. Strelzik."

Murder one. Great. Get the
day started off with a bang.

How do you plead?

Your Honor, the Defense
objects to your cavalier attitude

and demands an apology.

Who is this?

Furthermore, in
light of the lack of...

Is this going to
take long, Mr...

Dworkin, Randolph
J., Your Honor.

And yes, I do have
several points I'd like to...

You win, Mr. Dworkin.
I apologize.

Thank you, Your Honor.
Now... Don't push it.

How does your client plead?

Not guilty, Your Honor.

Counselor.

Due to the heinous
nature of the crime,

the People request that the defendant
be remanded without bail, Your Honor.

Your Honor, I object.
What murder isn't heinous?

Good point. No bail.

Next.

Mr. McCoy. Dworkin, Randolph J.

I'm honored to cross
swords with a legend.

I was just telling my
client here... Oh, I'm sorry.

Steven Strelzik, Jack McCoy.

You've already had the
pleasure, Ms. Southerlyn.

So, I was just telling Steven
all about the Gelfant case.

You really knocked it
out of the park on that one.

Front page, law journal?

My hat's off. Sit. Sit.

Make yourself at home.

I assume you asked us
here to talk about a deal?

What did I tell you? Better
than him, they don't come.

So, I was thinking we could
brush this all under the carpet with,

say, assault two,
suspended sentence?

Your client's been
indicted for murder one.

Hey, we all make mistakes.

Maybe you don't understand. I'll put
an offer on the table for murder two.

It will stay there until I leave this
room, which will be in about 60 seconds.

That's fine. That's fine.

But, uh, there is
something you should know.

Mr. Strelzik here is one
of those fussbudgets,

you know the type, who
writes everything down...

Names, dates, dollars and cents.

The police have already
confiscated his records.

Of course they have. But, you see, it
turns out Mr. Strelzik has maintained...

What shall we call it?

Um, a separate set of records
for his more esoteric clientele.

Are you trying to blackmail us?

God forbid I should
do such a thing!

No! No, no, no, no! This is
just a bit of the old give and take.

Goodbye, Mr. Dworkin.

What is a Randy Dworkin?

I checked him out in
Martindale. Harvard. Harvard.

Clerked for Judge Tattleman
in the Southern District,

then worked six years
for Pettijohn Burser.

Turned down partnership
to go out on his own,

and since then he's had
a really good track record.

What, beating speeding tickets?

Federal Court, actually.

My point is, is that
Mr. Strelzik's little black book

might embarrass a
lot of influential people.

Did he kill Gordon Meeks?

We think he did.

Does anyone in this room have his
or her name in that little book of his?

Of course not.

Then convict the S.O.B.

I'm Jack McCoy, Mrs. Ruben.
I'll be prosecuting this case.

I have to ask you
certain questions

to determine whether
there are any conflicts

that would prevent you from judging
the facts in this case fairly and honestly.

I understand.

First, are you acquainted with
the defendant, Steven Strelzik?

No.

His attorney, Mr. Dworkin?

No.

The defendant in this case is
accused of first degree murder,

the penalty for
which can be either

25-years-to-life in prison
or the death penalty.

Would your conscience prevent you from
applying either one of those sentences?

An eye for an eye,
that's what I always say.

Thank you, Mrs. Ruben.

It's a lovely day today,
isn't it, Mrs. Ruben?

It's a little warm in
here for my taste.

We'll see if we can get
the air turned up a bissel.

That would be nice.

She's fine with me.

You consider yourself
a gambler, Mr. Nathan?

I put a couple of dollars into
the Super Bowl pool at the office.

That's it?

I was in Las Vegas once. I won
a couple of dollars on the slots.

Do you know any
chronic gamblers?

Well, my brother...

His wife left him because he played
the ponies a little more than she liked.

Is there any reason you couldn't give
out the maximum sentence in this case?

Not at all.

Thank you, Mr. Nathan.

He's fine.

That's a nice tie, Mr. Nathan.
Where did you get it?

Barney's.

Cost you an arm
and a leg, I bet.

Maybe just an arm.

I love this guy.

You've got to give Dworkin
credit. At least he enjoys his work.

There's a complaint box
outside Branch's office, Serena.

That's not what I meant.

If you're paid in cash, you're
just not that afraid to lose.

Although I would have rejected
two-thirds of his witnesses.

If the facts are against
you, argue the law.

If the law's against
you, charm the jury.

Gee, was that charm? I
thought it was just buffoonery.

Buffoons don't clerk
for federal judges.

The People of the State of
New York against Steven Strelzik.

I object, Your Honor.

We haven't even started yet.

"The People of New York."
I'd say that's a bit prejudicial.

It certainly doesn't mean all
the people of this great state

are against my
client from the get-go.

I know I'm not against him.

And you, Your Honor, you're
certainly open-minded on the matter.

And we can't forget the jury, because
if they're predisposed against my...

Very cute, Counselor. Try it
again and we're talking contempt.

Much thanks, Your Honor.

I did their books
for three years.

And filed their tax returns?

That's right. I encouraged
them to report all income.

I'm sure you did. Now, if
I could turn your attention

to the night
Mr. Meeks was killed.

What, if anything, do
you recall about that night?

Well, they were
arguing. Gordon...

I mean, Mr. Meeks was accusing Mr. Strelzik
of stealing some of the profits.

Was he?

Yes.

But you didn't tell
that to the police.

Mr. Strelzik was
still my client.

I had to consider my
professional obligations.

And now?

Well, he did kill someone.

Do I hear an
objection, Mr. Dworkin?

Why ruin the flow?

Things must have been
tense in your office that night.

They were loud.

I suggested they go have a drink at
Paul's Steakhouse around the corner

and talk it out between them.

Thank you, Mr. Riley.

You're a certified public
accountant, Mr. Riley, is that right?

Yes. Am I allowed to deduct
Knicks tickets if I force myself

to take a client
every now and then?

Objection. Relevance.

You know what these guys charge?

Your Honor.

I know, I know.

My first appellate case. Judge
Kornbeck asked me to define strict scrutiny

as it pertains to
substantive due process.

With all due respect, any
first-year law student could do that.

Well, perhaps, but there I was,

confronted with the majesty
of the Court of Appeals.

Nine gods in black
robes looking down at me.

And I froze.

And he repeated the question, "Counselor,
what do you mean by strict scrutiny?"

So finally I looked
him straight in the eye,

and I said, "Well, Your Honor,

"it's like regular
scrutiny, with a girdle."

Too bad Judge Kornbeck was
born without a sense of humor.

On the contrary. He busted up.

And so did his eight brethren.

And you know what?

I won that case.

Opposing counsel had
100 years of precedent,

but I made the judge laugh.

And we have 12
ordinary citizens.

And if they like this guy
more than they like you,

there's a good chance
we could be sucking wind.

Exactly what is it
you do, Mr. Strelzik?

I consult in the
gaming industry.

Let's talk turkey, shall we?

You're a bookie,
is that correct?

Please speak up, Mr. Strelzik.

Adele's got to
take this all down.

Yes, I'm a bookie.

Just to get our terms straight,

you take wagers on
ballgames from the public?

That's right.

Now, if someone loses,
say, a lot of money.

What? You let them
slide for a couple of weeks

until they win the lotto, or
Uncle Morty kicks the bucket,

leaving them a pot of gelt?

That wouldn't be
good for business.

No, I suppose not.

So, what would you do to
goose this unfortunate fellow?

Gordon... Mr. Meeks was more
the muscle end of the business.

Just like the movies, huh?

Objection.

Yes, I suppose I'd object to a
couple of broken kneecaps myself.

Enough, Counselor.

Now, Mr. Strelzik, you were in
the courtroom earlier this week

when your accountant,
Mr. Riley, testified, weren't you?

Yes.

He accused you of stealing
money. You heard that, did you?

Yes.

Dirty liar, isn't he?

Objection.

Withdrawn.

To your knowledge,
was Mr. Riley correct

in his assessment of
your business situation?

Yes.

Whoa.

Did I just hear you
testify under oath

that you were stealing money from
the people you were working with?

Yes.

In most businesses,
that's a no-no, Mr. Strelzik.

You had to expect Mr. Meeks
to be just a tad upset with you.

I really didn't care. I
needed the money.

And what was so
important, Mr. Strelzik?

What on earth could
justify, in your mind,

stealing your company's
hard-earned gambling profits?

I was sending
the money to Israel

to help stop the senseless
murder of innocent Jews.

Chambers, Your Honor!

He sandbagged us, Your Honor.

What? I'm supposed to show you
my hand before you call my bet?

Let me remind you,
Counselor, this is not a game!

You're damn right it's not.

My client has
devoted his adult life

to fighting a disease bigger
than AIDS, bigger than polio.

Beating the gaming laws?

No, anti-Semitism.

They gave Salk a Nobel Prize.

You want to give my
client a life sentence.

He killed an innocent man.

Who was going to stop him from doing
what he knew in his heart was necessary.

There were better
ways than murder, sir!

Yeah? Name one.

And before you tell me
violence doesn't solve anything,

think about the Afghani
women who are now permitted

to show their faces in
public because of violence.

Think about the black man in America
who had his chains unlocked because of,

you guessed it, violence.

And while we're still on the subject,
let's not forget my great Aunt Sophie

who spent six glorious years in
that garden spot known as Auschwitz,

until American violence said,
"Soph, you can go home now."

Counsel is asserting
justification, Your Honor.

That's an affirmative
defense which requires notice.

I'm not asserting anything.

I asked my client a
question. He answered it.

I didn't hear me use the
word "justification," did you?

Did you?

No, I didn't, Mr. Dworkin.

You're actually
going to allow this?

Would you have prepared
your case any differently?

That's beside the point!
Answer my question.

The statute says
it's irrelevant.

I'll take that as a "no," which
means you haven't been prejudiced.

The People's
objection is overruled.

Your Honor, in effect, the
defendant is changing his plea

to "guilty with a reason."

At this stage of the trial!

I heard him say
he stole the money.

I didn't hear him say he
killed anyone. Did you?

No, I didn't.

If the court will allow us some
time to review our strategy.

What's the difference? Since we're
making up the law as we go along anyway.

You have two choices
here, Mr. McCoy.

You can apologize, or
you can be sanctioned.

He apologizes, Your Honor.

Well, I managed to talk
him out of fining you $1,000.

I have the feeling you're going to be
doing a lot of that throughout this trial.

Damn it, Jack. It doesn't
matter how good our case is

when you antagonize the judge.

We have other problems, Serena.

Ruben, Nathan,
Schwartz, Finkel, Cohen.

Don't go there.

He's got at least eight,
maybe 10 Jews on the jury.

If your point is
anything other than

we should have paid more
attention during jury selection,

I don't want to hear it.

The fact is, millions
of Arabs despise Jews

to the point of seeking
their annihilation.

Objection. This is
completely irrelevant.

This man is on
trial for his life.

I think he's entitled
to speak his mind.

You were saying, Mr. Strelzik?

The notion that the hatred will stop if
and when Israel gives up occupation

of the West Bank
is an out and out lie.

Propaganda to justify their mass
murder to the rest of the world.

The fact is, the Arab community
wanted Israel destroyed

long before Jews ever
set foot in the West Bank.

And what about the
money you send to Israel?

It buys wheelchairs and
blood banks and other supplies.

Your Honor,

the body was found in the trunk
of a car in downtown Manhattan.

This is all absolutely...

Sit down, Mr. McCoy.

Did your money buy
weapons, Mr. Strelzik?

You can ask that at
cross, Counselor. Now, sit.

But why you, Mr. Strelzik?

If not me, who?

Certainly not him.

You?

Did you steal money
from Gordon Meeks?

He bought $3,000 suits,

$500 shoes.

Yes or no, please.

It was from our
company, to be precise.

But Mr. Meeks discovered
you were taking it?

Yes.

And he threatened to tell
your bosses in Costa Rica?

Yes.

And if the people in Costa Rica knew you
were stealing, I suppose they'd be upset.

They're in the business
to make money.

So, the truth is what you did was
not for Israel, but for self-preservation.

You didn't want
your legs broken.

First Run Gaming is a
publicly traded company.

They might have sued. They
might have pressed charges.

I doubt it. They wouldn't
have wanted the bad P.R.

In any case, they certainly
wouldn't break my legs.

Did you kill Gordon Meeks?

No.

No further questions.

It's obvious he lied
about killing Meeks.

Yes, it was. It's also obvious
Dworkin opened the door

wide enough for this particular
jury to squeeze through.

You have only
yourself to kick for that.

You had the opportunity
to prevent this at voir dire.

Even if we'd noticed what he
was up to, disqualifying a juror

based solely on religion is a
big, fat constitutional no-no.

This isn't about
religion, it's about politics.

No, it's about
premeditated murder.

Strelzik took the knife
from the restaurant.

He knew what he was
going to do before he did it.

Only the Honorable Judge Miller
is hell-bent on obfuscating that fact.

There's not a chance of cutting
a deal with this Dworkin fellow?

Not on his terms, no.

We just need to
keep the jury focused.

They're human, Serena. They
come in with built-in predispositions.

Predispositions this
judge appears to share.

And opposing counsel knew
what they were long before you did,

which leaves you
sitting in that courtroom

looking like a long-tailed cat
in a room full of rocking chairs.

Let me ask you something.
If we were trying a Mafia don

who'd happen to give
millions of dollars to the church

in front of an all-Catholic jury,
would you think the same thing?

It's not the same thing.

I can't wait to hear
you explain that one.

Serena, I'm not anti-Semitic.

Then why are we
even discussing this?

You tell me.

The fact is, we don't
have the ideal jury.

Maybe we can't do
anything about that.

But where is it written we can't
do anything about the judge?

I'd better not have heard
you correctly, Mr. McCoy.

It's a perfectly reasonable
request, Your Honor.

Reasonable? You want me to recuse
myself because I happen to be Jewish.

With all due respect,

it appears you are bending over
backwards for this particular defendant.

You've got a set on
you, you know that?

It's that Irish
thing, Your Honor.

That's offensive.

Oh, and this is
cherries and ice cream?

Stereotypes swing both
ways, Ms. Southerlyn.

You don't like how
I run my courtroom,

keep putting your
objections on the record.

You know that we
can't do that, sir.

To have those sitting in judgment
who hate you for no logical reason.

Gee, I wonder
what that feels like.

I think we're done here.

Steven and I have been
married for 16 years.

And you have no problem
with what he does for a living?

Would I prefer he
were a doctor? Yes.

But these days, what with
HMOs and insurance premiums,

you might not have $600,000 in
cold cash lying around the apartment.

Let me ask you, Mrs. Strelzik, did
your husband buy you big diamonds?

No.

Fancy cars?

We don't have a car.

Then, uh, how do you get your
daughter to her private school?

Rachel is in public school.

Maybe, if your husband wasn't
so carefree with his money,

you might be able to enjoy
more of life's simple pleasures.

Last year we took Rachel to
Jerusalem for her bat mitzvah.

I know, I know, I read about
the violence in the papers,

but once you see it yourself...

Objection.

Overruled.

Continue, Mrs. Strelzik.

It's like Oklahoma
City every day.

Bombs going off,
people losing arms, legs.

Children dying just because they
walk down the street for a piece of candy.

I mean, can you imagine
that happening here?

If every day was September 11th?

People would be marching on Washington
to destroy everything remotely Arab.

But what does our president do?

He warns Israel
to show restraint.

I sympathize, Mrs. Strelzik.

But the fact is, this case is about
one death here in New York City,

and not about a conflict
between Palestinians and Israelis.

You see? Even you...
You've been brainwashed.

The fact is, there is no
such thing as a Palestinian.

Before Israel took
the land in the '67 war,

Gaza was owned by Egypt and
there were no Palestinians then.

Mrs. Strelzik...

The West Bank was owned by Jordan
and there were no Palestinians then.

Tell me, where does this heartfelt
bond with their long-lost land come from?

These people hate Jews
because they're Jews.

They want to
destroy Israel, period.

And believe me, America's next.

Are you done?

Did you know Gordon Meeks?

Of course.

You socialized with him
on more than one occasion?

Yes.

And you think he deserved
to be stabbed in the back

and shoved into
the trunk of a car?

Do I feel badly for him? Yes.

Will I lose sleep over it?

Not a wink.

Because he was the muscle end
of an illegal gambling operation

who was killed in
pursuit of a greater good?

That's right.

What if he were a heart
surgeon, Mrs. Strelzik?

What if it were a Nobel Laureate
who got in your husband's way?

The fact is he
wasn't, Mr. McCoy.

What if he were Jewish?

So, do you really think it would
have made a difference to the jury

if Meeks was Jewish?

I really don't know.
Then why did you ask?

I was dancing
as fast as I could.

Here's a hypothetical
for you, okay?

A group of Jews is taken
over by some bad guys.

They're given the option, give
over one of your group to be killed

or all of you will get
slaughtered. What do they do?

They unlock the jail cell and
sacrifice the vilest criminal they have.

The Talmud says they should
all allow themselves to be killed

rather than to give over
even one Jewish soul.

Since when did you
become a Talmudic scholar?

That's beside the point.

Which is?

Dworkin has turned this into an "us
against them." Let's just deal it down.

Well, you certainly
did a 180 on this.

I watched the jury when
Mrs. Strelzik was on the stand.

Look, I agree with you, Jack.

Strelzik should rot in a cell for
as long as the state will have him.

But now you think
we're going to lose.

You know, my only predisposition

is that a killer deserves
to be punished.

Dworkin wanted assault one.

Let's just play the
old give and take.

If we put man two on the table,

he will grab it and
run as fast as he can.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The cab
thing is a whole situation...

It's not a problem, Mr. Dworkin.

So? Why the chitchat?

I'm willing to go
down to man two.

Now, don't think I'm
not an appreciative sort,

but I'm going to have
to say "no" on this one.

As it turns out, there are considerations
beyond innocence and guilt.

Like a stacked jury?

Yeah, that's right. Those
people. They all stick together.

It's kind of like back in the
day, when Billy Bob was on trial

for lynching poor Willie for
looking at Bettie Lou the wrong way,

and the jury hearing the case
was Goober and Gomer and Beau.

It is hardly the same thing.

Why, because we're
the chosen people?

Well, if that's the
case, I wish y'all would

choose someone
else for a change.

I'd like to think that we've taken a few
steps forward since the day, Mr. Dworkin.

Why? Because there's no one
goose-stepping down the Strasse?

At least the Nazis hid their
sadism from their own people.

The Arab anti-Semites
who kill Jews are deified.

Their pictures hang
in the public squares.

Their families are
compensated financially.

But, hey, everyone's
got to earn a living, no?

Let's, for the moment,
assume he did it.

Steven Strelzik
killed Gordon Meeks.

Why?

Because he was scared.

He was scared
because on the news

he saw people
dancing in the streets

after a suicide bomber killed elderly
women in a social club in Jerusalem.

He was scared because
governments around the globe

turn their backs on this killing to
pursue oil and other commercial interests.

And he was really scared
because his own country,

the land of the free and
the home of the brave,

a country which itself was
the recent victim of terror,

does not regard men who
strap themselves with explosives

and walk into a
pizzeria filled with Jews

as terrorists
worthy of fighting.

Somebody had to do something.

Steven Strelzik did what
he thought was necessary.

Mr. Dworkin is a
first-rate attorney.

Hell, he's a magician.

He put the facts into a
box, sawed the box in half,

and out popped
thousands of years

of the most despicable
hatred known to man.

Like any good magician, he kept
you busy with what he was saying,

hoping you wouldn't notice
what he was doing with his hands.

Hoping you wouldn't catch him

trying to hide a corpse,

trying to make a
murdered man disappear.

I'm betting you saw
through the trick.

So the only question is,
will you pretend it worked,

or will you make this
illusion disappear?

One bookie killed
another bookie.

That's it. Period.

The defense hardly
bothers to say otherwise.

Mr. Dworkin just now all but
said his client killed Mr. Meeks.

Not once did he claim
Mr. Strelzik was innocent.

Like I say, he's
a good attorney.

He knows no one
would believe him.

Instead, he had the
deeply offensive idea

to use your sympathy for Israel

to put a killer
back on the street.

Mr. Dworkin wants you to
choose culture over citizenship.

Visceral hatred
over codified laws.

He's counting on at least
one of you saying to himself,

"I'm a Jew first, and only
after that, an American."

I asked you back when
you were selected for this job

whether you could look at the facts
presented without passion or prejudice,

and each one of you swore
under oath that you could.

I know it's hard,

but if you don't,

all of this

is meaningless.

Have you reached a verdict?

We have, Your Honor.

On the only count of the
indictment, murder in the first degree,

how do you find?

We find the defendant, Steven
H. Strelzik, guilty as charged.

May I?

Help yourself.

Hell of a job. You're top of the legal
food chain, Jack. No question about it.

You're not upset?

Hey, giving money to Israel is a
good thing. Everyone should do it.

Murder, on the other hand...

Here's to hoping the Big Guy
upstairs has a little more sympathy

for Mr. Strelzik than did the
People of the State of New York.