If You’re Going to Be a Thief, Be a Good Thief!

Early in my legal career I represented a young rascal named Jean-Guy (not his actual name, but close enough). He was eighteen or nineteen, tall and skinny, and what you might call a “space cadet”. You’ll soon see what I mean.

Jean-Guy and some friends had planned the ultimate heist. They were going to get rich. One of them knew that the safe in the back room of a local restaurant had thousands of dollars in cash in it by Sunday night, theirs for the taking if they could get their hands on it.

Perhaps inspired by The Italian Job, but lacking the sophistication, the lads figured the smartest way to get the money was to rent a van, rent a moving dolly and ramp, rent a bunch of tools such as drills and sledgehammers, bust down the back door, ramp the safe into the van, and drive off to some remote location to smash the thing open at their leisure.

The plan had the appeal of direct simplicity, but suffered a few gaps in the planning. Among those was the fact the ramp had not been engineered for this kind of work. As you might guess, the safe crashed through the ramp to fall ignominiously upon the greasy alleyway behind the restaurant.

Not to be discouraged by the failure of the engineers, the boys simply set out to smash the bejeebers out of the safe right there on the spot, under the conveniently located yard lights at the back of the restaurant.

We’re not sure if it was the burglar alarm, or the residents of the adjacent apartment tower who summoned Ottawa’s finest to the scene. In any event, the boys were soon captured with tools in hand and volunteer witnesses aplenty.

Now, having the client caught in the act always makes it difficult for defence counsel to mount much of a negative defence. Alibis are tough in these situations. But what made life harder for Jean-Guy and me was the fact that he had rented the van and the tools using his own credit card. And that was back in the days you had actually to sign a paper copy.

The Crown Attorney gave me full disclosure with something of a smirk. We set a date for first appearance, which we both knew would be a plea bargain of some sort. The only good thing that Jean-Guy had going for him is that this was his first offence, at least as an adult.

In situations like this, defence counsel looks to bring the young man before the court at the earliest instance, own up to the dastardly deed, and cast the client as a troubled and misguided youth of otherwise astonishing potential, call in family and friends to express their incredulity at this out-of-character episode, and angle for some kind of break involving restitution and suspension. With luck.

With Jean-Guy’s reluctant permission, I called his Dad.

Dad had no idea of what had happened, and he went wild. But, he said, he’d do what it took to help his kid.

I interviewed Mr. Tremblay (another pseudonym, but close enough) with Jean-Guy sitting beside him. Mr. Tremblay was a towering, muscular individual in his late forties, a yard foreman at the local paper mill, tough as nails, and no nonsense. Very Catholic, very French-Canadian, very to the point.

As I laid out the details of the escapade and explained why any attempt at a defence would be futile and counterproductive, Mr. Tremblay became more and more agitated. You don’t want to see the yard foreman from the CIP plant get purple angry.

He stopped me in mid-flight. “I’ve heard enough!” Turning to his son, he exploded, “Jean-Guy, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! If you’re going to be a thief, be a good thief!” Now, it’s not exactly that Mr. Tremblay was recommending a life of crime, so much as he hated the mindlessness of it all.

I don’t remember exactly what sentence young Jean-Guy received, except that it was remarkably lenient. And there was only one reason for that. The reason was two hundred pounds of solid muscle standing in the witness box, tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice breaking, apologizing to the court for being such a failure as a father and vowing that history was about to change.

And from what I’ve heard since, history changed. I’m not sure exactly how it all worked out, but Jean-Guy must have redeemed himself in the eyes of his father, and of the world. I never got another call from Jean-Guy, and for as long as I practiced in the criminal courts, I never again saw his name on the docket. I guess that Mr. Tremblay must have made his point.