Callahan: Truth Hard To Find In Sordid Pierce Case

[Way Of The Ray <wayray@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Trial by error: `Truth' tough to find in sordid Pierce case

by Gerry Callahan
Friday, October 4, 2002


Sometime today the jurors on the Paul Pierce trial may finish their work
and walk out of Suffolk Superior Court for the last time. It will be the
biggest upset since the Super Bowl if the defendants don't walk out
right behind them.

It will be a sad and unnerving sight - not to mention a brilliant career
move for the proud thugs on trial - but it will also be the only
conclusion the jurors can reach when they ask this one question: If Paul
Pierce doesn't care what happens to these guys, why should we?

Pierce is the one who was carved up like a pumpkin and left to die on
the floor of the Buzz Club two years ago. The club was full of people
that night - many of whom were no doubt watching every move the Celtics
star made - but prosecutors could find no one to stand up and
dramatically point the finger, ``Law and Order'' style, at the accused.

In the end, the Pierce trial turned out to be another kind of made-for
drama, a disturbing story of intimidation and fear and bad guys who make
Ralph Cifaretto look like Ralph Malph. It was the story of the Made Men
who had it made because of frightened witnesses who changed their
stories and defense attorneys who checked their souls at the door. Let's
face it: For pure, shameless entertainment value, a well-paid,
thugged-up defense attorney can top the best street mime or juggler that
Fanueil Hall has to offer.

As Peter Gelzinis pointed out in these pages yesterday, one of the
lawyers made train noises in his closing arguments as a way of implying
that his client was being railroaded. Now there's talent. Word is he can
also put his hand in his armpit and make flatulent sounds. Maybe he's
hoping to sing back-up on Made Men's next Grammy winner.

The lawyer's words were effective, of course, but not nearly as
effective as the stares and the scowls of the accused. One witness,
Krystal Bostick, fainted on the stand after recanting her grand jury
testimony and learning that she could face jail time for perjury. Poor
Bostick has a family. She had a life. She used to be a college student
majoring in criminal justice, and it would be hard to blame her if she
decided to switch to a more noble and rewarding career. Like euthanizing
puppies or stealing mail from nursing homes.

At first, Bostick seemed to be a sad excuse for a concerned citizen, but
she probably came to the same conclusion as the jurors might: If the guy
who got stabbed doesn't care if the alleged stabbers walk, why should I?
On the stand, Pierce faced the questions like he was sitting through an
IRS audit, dispassionately, reluctantly, as if he were hoping to get out
in time for practice. He insisted at least two of the guys who were on
trial were involved in the attack that almost killed him. These were the
guys, he said, who plunged their knives into him eight times, missing
his heart by less than an inch. He said this like he was accusing them
of installing a faulty water heater in his house.

Pierce was lucky to be sitting there in the courtroom, alive and well,
ready to embark on another All-Star season, but the prosecutors were not
so fortunate. They watched as their star witness, Bostick, wilted under
the menacing glare of the accused, and they suffered another setback
when their 6-foot-7 victim shrunk to the size of Spud Webb.

The irony was heavier than 341-pound defendant Tony Hurston. Here was
the great Paul Pierce, the man they sometimes call ``The Truth,'' a
superstar who was not afraid to take a jump shot at the buzzer in front
of a soldout enemy arena and a national TV audience. And he seemed to be
incapable of telling the story of the night he was damn near murdered.
Where was the outrage? Where was the anger?

Wasn't this a horror story he had recounted in his mind a thousand times
over? Wasn't he looking forward to this moment and the chance to point
his finger and put away the savages who allegedly thrust their knives
into his back? But now, it seemed, Pierce wasn't all that interested in
putting them away.

Does Pierce believe there's some kind of twisted honor in letting these
alleged attackers off the hook?

Pierce told the Herald two days ago that he just wants to put ``this
court stuff'' behind him, so he can turn his attention to that other
court. He said he would be ``happy when it's all over with so I can just
mainly concentrate on basketball.'' Well, you may be happy, Paul, but if
the jury comes back with a not guilty, you won't be the happiest fellow
in the courtroom.

One click on the Web site of the Made Men, and you get a good look at
what this trial means to the defendants. It has raised their profile and
made them famous. It has given them a chance to flex their considerable
muscle and to stare down a big sports star and an even bigger legal
system. Someone stabbed Paul Pierce, and someone will, most likely, get
away it. But that doesn't seem to matter. This was a game to these guys
and to their lawyers, and as the jury heads back with a verdict, it must
feel like a rout. You call it an acquittal. They call it a great career
move.

Get ready for the victory party, the high-fives, the handshakes, the
noise. Maybe we'll even hear more funny sound effects from the legal
bottom feeder.