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Will : There is a lengthy legal precedent, Your
Honor, going back to 1789, whereby a defendant can
claim self-defense against an agent of the
government if that act is deemed a defense against
tyranny, a defense of liberty. Your Honor, Henry
Ward Beecher, in Proverbs from the Plymouth Pulpit,
1887, said, quote-
Lawyer : 1887?
Will : Excuse me.
Lawyer : This is the 20th century. He's gonna
make a mockery.
Will : I am afforded the right to speak in my own
defense, sir, by the Constitution of the United
States.
Lawyer : Don't tell me about the Constitution.
Will : This guarantees my liberty. "Liberty," in case
you've forgotten, is a soul's right to breathe. When
it cannot take a long breath, laws are girded too
tight. Without liberty, man is a syncope.
Lawyer : Man is a what?
Will : Ibid. Your Honor.
Judge : Son, my turn. I've been sitting here for ten
minutes now lookin' over this
rap sheet of
yours. I just can't believe it. June '93,
assault.
September '93, assault.
Grand theft auto, February of '94.
Where, apparently, you defended yourself and had the
case thrown out by citing "free property rights of
horse and carriage" from 1798. Joke. January '95,
impersonating an
officer. Mayhem, theft, resisting.
All overturned. I'm also aware that you've been
through several foster
homes. The state removed you from
three because of serious physical abuse. You know,
another judge might care, but you hit a cop. You're
going in. Motion to
dismiss is denied. $50,000 bail.
Will : Thank you.
Woman : Rise.
Skylar : Hello?
Will : Uh, Skylar?
Skylar : Yep.
Will : Hey, uh, it's Will.
Skylar : Who?
Will : It's Will. You know, the really funny,
good-looking guy you met at the bar the other night.
Skylar : I don't recall meeting anyone who matches
that description. I think I'd remember.
Will : Oh, all right, you got me. It's the ugly,
obnoxious, toothless loser who got hammered and
wouldn't leave you alone all night.
Skylar : Oh, Will! I remember. How are you? I was
wondering if you'd call me.
Will : Yeah, look, I was wondering—
Herve: Yo, what's up, baby?
Will : Hold on one second.
Herve: What you doing? Want some of my ass?
Will : Herve, I remember you from juvie. How’re you
doing? Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I was wonderin'
maybe we could get together sometime this week. Sit
out at a cafe. Maybe have some caramels.
Skylar : Oh, that sounds wonderful. Yeah? Yeah, sure.
Where are you?
Will : Uh, well, actually, this is, this is just a
shot in the dark,
but, uh, there's no chance that you're pre-law, is
there?
Officer: Have a seat.
Will : Thank you.
Gerald : Nice talking to ya.
Will : What the fuck do you want?
Gerald : I'm Gerald Lambeau. Professor you told to
fuck himself.
Will : Well, what the fuck do you want?
Gerald : I've spoken to the judge, and he's agreed to
release you under my supervision.
Will : Really?
Gerald : Yeah. Under two conditions.
Will : What are those?
Gerald : First condition is that you meet with me
every week.
Will : What for?
Gerald : Go over the proof you're working on, get
into some more advanced
combinatorial mathematics, finite math.
Will : Sounds like a real
hoot.
Gerald : And the second condition is that, that you
see a therapist. I'm responsible to submit reports
on those meetings. If you fail to meet with any of
those conditions, you will have to
serve time.
Will : All right. I'll do the math, but I'm not gonna
meet with any fuckin' therapist.
Gerald : It's better than spending that time in jail,
isn't it? |
