Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Taking cash is worse than taking calamari, but it's still graft and taxpayers still pay for it. Besides, $10,090 is a heap of squid. If it was an outright bribe, Sepe has set a cheesy precedent for future corrupt judges and those who seek to enlist them.

Even the dumbest criminal understands the concept of bribing with cash. Bribing with food is much harder. It requires a certain minimum level of savvy and sophistication. Not every case is worthy of Buccione cuisine, but pity the poor shlub who tries to fix a traffic ticket by offering the judge a Big Mac, a large Coke and a side of McNuggets.

Now that the Sepe-squid allegations are public, some defendants will assume the worst about the justice system. Their lawyers will creep into court with brown bags full of menus instead of money. Those facing serious felonies will rely on the Michelin restaurant guide for five-star selections, and hope that their judge is hungry.

The good ones aren't. After a long day on the bench, they don't have much of an appetite. Neither would you.

Borrowing lines from Brando won't help judge February 4, 1993

Soap-opera time at the Operation Court Broom corruption trial: Confessions of a Newly Reformed Junkie, starring Judge Phillip Davis.

Sure, I took payoffs, he said. But, see, I was hooked on liquor, cocaine and Demerol! The drugs made me crazy.

"I let you down," Davis lamented in court. "I could have been somebody, I could have been somebody!"

Stop, Phil, you're breaking our hearts. I could have been somebody? Now you're swiping lines from Brando.

Here's the sorry truth: The judge is a crook. He took $30,000 in bribes from an FBI informant. He sold his robe and his honor.

What did Davis say as he grabbed a bundle of dirty cash? "Beautiful." It was a Kodak moment, preserved on video by the FBI.

Months later, mid trial, Davis suddenly comes clean about the dope and the booze. Turned him into a monster, he says. Made him nutso, fogged his normally impeccable judgment. That's why he lunged so hungrily for that bribe money—it was those darn evil drugs, taking over.

A sad tale, all right, accompanied by genuine tears. Maybe jurors bought it, maybe they didn't.

For the longest time, Davis has denied using drugs. He denied it to friends before his arrest, denied it to cops afterward. When agents found syringes in his office, the judge made up a silly story about how they got there. He gave TV interviews promoting his deception. Months after allegedly entering therapy, he continued to lie publicly about his drug problem. His own lawyer didn't know the truth.

And exactly when did Judge Davis decide to become an honest man? After sitting through weeks of devastating testimony, seeing the clarity of the FBI videotape, realizing the full weight of the government's case.

Staring at a possible 100-year prison sentence, the judge experienced a moral awakening. Time to tell the truth. Why? Because he was out of options. All that remained was to play the pity card.

I don't doubt that Davis was royally screwed up on drugs. Unfortunately, that's no excuse for being crooked. If it were, you'd have to throw open the doors of the county jail.

In every cell are men and women with wretched drug addictions: the crack head who robbed a Mini-Mart, the drunk who shot his neighbor during an argument, the auto thief who ate amphetamines for breakfast.

Most of them never had the opportunity and good fortune that Phil Davis has. They didn't have a shot at college or law school, and they didn't make judge at age 34. Maybe they were offered drug treatment along the way, but most likely not. And when the time came to answer for their crimes, these men went to jail.

Judge Davis wants the jury to think he's different, special, worthy of forgiveness—as if fixing court cases isn't as bad as stealing car stereos or knocking over ATMs.

The strategy might backfire. Some people, especially those with family members who've struggled with drugs, would say Davis is worse than your average junkie. He wasted chances that most people never get, and he did it for greed.

He had risen to the most honored and powerful position in the justice system. Then, between cases, he'd retreat to his chambers, pack his nose and arrange shakedowns.

A student of drama, Davis poured out his heart on the witness stand: I could have been somebody!

Finish the scene, Phil. You know the rest ...

You coulda had class. You coulda been a contender. You coulda been somebody.

Instead of a bum, which is what you are.

Court Broom's final score warrants Lysol April 29, 1993

Fumigate the courthouse. It's finally over.