Juror #11

Every time Bingham fucks up on the stand, Joshua’s counting his money. Lester doesn’t know where he was on August 8th? Another grand. A furious, uncontrollable-rage-implying outburst? Five gs, easy.

Lester’s got the money to burn, but as the trial goes on, Joshua wonders if Bingham can afford him. He’ll hang the jury, no problem, but it won’t come cheap, and the deeper Bingham digs his grave, the more heat comes down on Joshua when he folds his arms in deliberation.

He’ll have to find a clean phone to call the lawyer. In his head, he’s like a secret agent.

Juror #4

Dalhousie stopped, and furrowed his brows in disbelief
As he recognized the face
“Certainly not,” he muttered, “that can’t be Edward Johns;
He disappeared without a trace!”

“And why is nobody surprised here? Forget about that crook!”
After mumbling that, he leaned in for a closer look

And sat back down, relieved, but still a tad confused
As he took a heavy breath
“The real Ed Johns, he had a scar on his right hand;
That man’s scar is on his left!”

Juror #8

Louise is halfway through her notepad already, and they’re only in the first hour of the day. Lots of evidence introduced today, lots of testimony. She wishes again that she could take pictures in here, but she’ll have to make do with sketches.

In her room in the hotel where they’ve been sequestered, she has a chart on the wall, and a whiteboard with a timeline. When the other jurors ask, she says it’s for the book. She doesn’t tell them that she looks at it all at night, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, she sees something they don’t.

Juror #7

I’ve gotta go, I’ve gotta go, really really really really gotta go
Wasting my time, he did the crime
Bang the gavel, yes he’s guilty, we all know

I’ve gotta go, I’ve gotta go, really really really really gotta go
I’ve got a date, I can’t be late
I need time to put on my new eyeshadow

I’ve gotta go

I’ve gotta go, I’ve gotta go, really really really really gotta go
I’ve gotta go, I’ve gotta go, really really really really gotta go

Juror #5

This fuckin’ guy, thinks Bradwin. Fuckin’ Lester man. You are the shit.

Sure, yes, he killed his wife. Anyone with half a brain can see that. But it sounds like she had it coming.

The prosecution calls Bingham’s (former) sister-in-law, and she talks about the dead woman, all tears and these screeching, terrible sobs. The way she’s talking makes Bradwin think of an ex-girlfriend, this bloodsucking cow he hasn’t thought of in years, and in his head, Diana Bingham-Jones has this old lover’s face and Bradwin hates her a little.

And he thinks, You go, Lester. You fucking rock this.

Juror #9

It’s a shame, that woman was so pretty
It’s a shame, it ended up this way
When it gets this messy it’s a pity
It’s a shame, there’s nothing much to say

But why do women like Diana desire men like him?
I may not have his money, but at least I’m not a criminal
With no respect for the tender lusciousness of the female sex
We’d connect if it were me they would select

Juror #3

Shawna ignores the lawyers, mostly; they don’t talk like humans. Instead, she watches Bingham, the way she’d watch slow-motion footage of a car crash or a star imploding.

But what she sees isn’t a disaster. The way he looks at people, with those weird green eyes, the way he smiles, all shining edges. She watches with a cold surety that this man is a killer, and yet. Shouldn’t there be something wrong?

Shawna’s got a good eye, but there’s something missing in Bingham. And the more she looks, the less she knows. The less she’s sure about anything at all.

Juror #2

Mister Bingham, did you recently have an argument with your wife, in which you threatened that you would, quote, “kill her gold-digging ass”?

Twister fling’em, I bid you decently half an hour you mint with your knife, and switch you Tibetan statue wood, goat, “thriller colt-pig alas”?

Unfortunately, the young exciting swine-horse hybrid and the rigid caprid
Alongside the blade and circuitry device belonging to you, sculpture, Tibet
While clothed, I proclaim some thirty minutes to the flavored candy in front of me
I urge the tornado to launch them…

I don’t understand the question.

Juror #6

Stanley is making the best fucking plane ever. It has curved wings and a weighted nose, and even a little rudder thing at the back. Now he’s drawing on the wings with a pen, huge gouts of black flame and an eagle -

The lawyer says, “Mister Bingham, did you recently have an argument with your wife, in which you threatened that you would, quote, ‘kill her gold-digging ass’?”

Bingham goes, “I don’t understand the question.”

Stanley slides the plane onto his lap and keeps drawing. He’s not really paying attention. Everyone in the room knows Bingham’s guilty. Even the eagle.

Juror #10

Yes, he did it, can we please get out of here?
(How did Miller Lite become a leading beer?)
Courtrooms always make me nervous, make me tense
(When will bowling be an Olympic event?)
Don’t say anything to give yourself away
(Did I miss my daughter’s birthday yesterday?)
Deep breath, hands on lap and you’ll be left alone
(Thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone)

That could be me over there!
(I love spider solitaire)
Did the judge just say my name?
(Shit, I missed the Dodgers game!)

And no one knows what I did!
(I’m thinking I should try squid.)