Roy Cohn Enters The Courtroom (A Possible and Probable Story)

He was an old 77.

But even after dropping two pep pills, he needed to take a nap.

So as Stormy testified, he closed his heavy lids and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

And as he snored, a red-faced, beady-eyed Roy Cohn appeared.

Trump couldn’t believe it.

Roy Cohn, his mentor, died years ago. The man he idolized. The man he admired more than even his own father. The man whose face was so devilish that he showed a photo of Cohn to intimidate his enemies. The man who taught him the robes on how to be a dishonest crook. This master of manipulation and intimidation stood before him and said, “Donald, you schmuck, didn’t I teach you anything!”

Roy paused and then asked, “Have you hired a new fixer since Michael went to jail?”

With a sweaty brow and trembling hands, Donald replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Good and you do remember what I taught you about juries?”

“Yes, never trust a jury. Always rig a jury by putting a member of your team on the panel. Always find one juror’s weakness, be it booze, broads or gambling. Your fixer pays their debts or threatens them with disclosure if they don’t vote for acquittal. And I also recall you saying, ‘In every trial, always tamper with at least one witness.'”

“Well Donald, is the fix in.”

“No sir, not yet. We’re working on it.”

Roy looked into his mentee’s eyes and said, “Donald, from what I’m seeing going on in this courtroom you’re in deep doo-doo. This case is going south. It may cause you to lose the election. You need a hung jury or you’re going to jail. Working on it doesn’t cover it.”

Donald felt the nudge of an elbow on his rib cage. Startled, he jumped to attention and heard his lawyer whisper, “Wake up. Some of the jurors are staring at you.”

Donald opened his eyes, glanced around the room, as if he was searching for Cohn. He thought, “I wish he was still alive. I could surely use his services. He’d know how to handle this mess.”