Chapter 3

"DADDY!?"

Yes, there he stood, Greg Canaday, member of the Boston elite, bastion of conservatism, respected member of the bar. Staring at his, muddy, bedraggled daughter, clad only in an oversized tee shirt.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited. Someone named Hildy called, told me how well you were doing, how proud I should be of you, how much you missed me. So. I thought I would come down, visit, maybe get my fill of Southern cooking and hospitality."

"Daddy, it's not what it looks like. I..."

"How would you know what I think it looks like?

It looks like my daughter attacked one of my employees. A true cat fight, over a man."

"It really wasn't that bad. I just..."

"Not that bad? You two were rolling around in the water and mud in front of at least a hundred people, without the benefit of many clothes. It looked like a Jerry Springer episode."

"Daddy, I'm so sorry."

"SORRY? Is that how ... snort ... a well brought up ... snort ... member of Boston society ... snort ... oh hell!"

He burst out laughing, shaking his whole body in mirth, unable to contain it any longer. Hildy had reentered the room, smiling at first but soon laughing along with him.

"Damn child, I send you down here and[another fit of laughing]you go native on me. Your grandmother would be proud."

She was very, very confused.

"What would my grandmother have to do with it?"

"Your esteemed grandmother is from here, Jefferson County. You're one fourth Alabamian. Virginia Howe of the Birmingham Howes, to be exact. Your grandfather did his required work in our office here and fell head over heels in love with her. Her parents were not amused. 'A Yankee! How dare her!'"

"But they loved each other until the day he died, twenty seven years later. And she was never the same after he passed."

That's where your trust fund comes from, old steel money. She would have been proud of you today, no doubt."

"Why would she be proud? I made a spectacle of myself, drove Hardy even farther away. I've made a bad situation worse."

"Maybe not, girl" interjected Hildy. "Hardy just called to make sure you're all right. And to send word if any video shows up anywhere someone will pay, dearly. I would imagine there's a lot of cells being erased as we speak."

Gwens' hand flew to her mouth. Her shining moment, immortalized forever. It just couldn't get anymore complicated.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her dad spent four days with her, watching her in court, taking her to lunch and dinner. He spent a few hours with his old friend Paul, talking about things neither would discuss with anyone else.

Privately, he had to admit she had grown up some.

It was very gratifying. The only sore spot between them was Hardy. He couldn't understand why she wanted him back, in his eyes she had betrayed him twice, regardless of the circumstances.

"Look at it like this, baby. Have you ever heard the old African parable about the woman and the snake?"

She shook her head no.

"In the parable, the woman finds a snake fallen from a wall. It's cold, and the snake can't survive, so he begs the woman to take him in.

He talks so eloquently, and is so beautiful she picks him up and takes him home. She puts him by the fire for warmth. She feeds him. She holds and pets him, telling him how beautiful he is."

"Finally, summer comes. The sun is shining, it's warm, and the snake no longer needs her. One day as she holds him he bites her neck. As she lies on the ground dying she looks at the snake, and says 'Why? I saved you. I kept you alive. Why would you bite me?'"

"The snake just looks at her before he slithers off."

"Woman, you knew damn well I was a snake before you picked me up."

He paused.

"Do you understand? You knew Allan was a snake, but you still did coke with him in Paris. You still let him in your house, even as you tried to get Hardy back. What happened to you was wrong, but you knew how he was before you let him in. So please, bear a little responsibility."

"And, that's exactly how Hardy views it. You let a snake in your home, knowing what he was."

She sighed.

"Am I going to get him back?"

He hated to tell her, but she needed the truth.

"I don't think so, baby. You hurt him in the worst way possible. True, you didn't know his background and how badly he would react, but you still cheated on him. And be honest, your treatment of him for the time before the 'incident' wasn't exactly that of a loving wife. Tell me, when did you stop respecting him?"

"I never stopped respecting him!" she flared out,

"but I did take him for granted. I guess I felt the love he had for me would see us through anything."

"Including cheating on him?"

"NO! You know I didn't mean for that to happen. You know that. And, I was never going to let him find out."

"Regardless, it DID happen, and he did find out. Tell the truth, you had to think, somewhere in the back of your mind, that even if he found out you could convince him to forgive you."

She couldn't look him in the eye. That told him all he needed to know.

He sighed.

"There's more news. Hardy has finally had enough of dragging the divorce out. He made it clear to his attorney if things didn't start happening, he was fired. Ivan is doing all he can, but he can't delay much longer."

She felt like fainting. It was finally about to be over. She just hung her head and cried.

Greg left the next day. He stopped by to see Hardy on the way out.

"How are you?"

Hardy more or less grunted.

"As well as can be expected. Lots of cases to look over, lot of people needing help."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Are you still going to divorce her?"

"You know I am."

"Nothing anyone can do to change that? She's grown up a lot this last eight months. I really believe she loves you."

"I still love her, maybe I always will. But you know as well as I love is not enough sometimes. I have to be able to trust her, and that'll never happen again. And I'm not talking about just the cheating. I really feel she was lying from the day we wed. She never wanted what I wanted, even after we discussed it at length and she agreed."

"She never wanted to settle down, and I really feel now she never wanted children. No, the best thing I can do is move on. I still want a family, and time is wasting."

"I understand. But tell me, son, was all you really wanted a brood sow? In my opinion, you both started the marriage based on lies and half truths. You should have told her about you, your upbringing and history. She should have told you how she felt about a family and her history of drug use and infidelity. She did wrong, really wrong, but you need to shoulder some of the responsibility. If you had both been honest you most likely would never have married, and wouldn't be where you are now."

Hardy started to speak but he waved him off.

"Stop. I shouldn't have said what I did, but you're both family to me. You're the son I never had, and I regret losing you. But enough about that, I should never had brought it up. What I really wanted to talk to you about was the new case Gwen is on."

He described the Escobar case in detail, stressing the danger she may be in.

"Paul promised me protection, but you know as well as I how stretched law enforcement is these days. As a personal favor to me, will you keep an eye on her? I know now you have resources they can never equal. Gwen told me about your little discussion with your cousin Roy."

Hardy actually smiled, remembering.

He did call the following week, and little June nearly talked his ear off. Her mother promised him an unending string of pies in gratitude for making Roy see the importance of a happy home life.

"I'm not an idiot, and I grew up on stories about you. All I have to say when he's getting a little neglectful is it's time to bake you a pie, and he perks right up. Thank you. Now, do you like peaches?"

Cousin Ronnie was another matter. He had heard his brags, and caught him in one of those sawdust on the floor, no air conditioning, coolers run on ice instead of electricity type of juke joints you can still find scattered throughout the state.

Ronnie saw him and made a huge mistake. He started bragging about how hard he was going to kick his ass. Hardy responded by slapping him, hard. Then he turned his back on him and went outside, calling out behind him.

"Come on out you loudmouth cunt! I won't hit you, but I will slap you like the little bitch you are until you cry. I may just spank your ass like a young'un before I'm done. You might even piss your panties."

Ronnie had just enough beer in him to cloud his judgement. He rushed Hardy screaming at the top of his lungs.

"I'm gonna kill you, asshole!"

Hardy actually looked bored as he stepped aside and slapped him on his way past, pushing him with his other hand. He went down face first in the gravel parking lot. He sprang up with a roar, angered beyond reason. Hardy didn't dodge, but stepped in and gave him a wicked 'Liverpool kiss', a head butt with all his momentum behind it. Ronnie's nose immediately flattened and blood flew. Stunned he stood with his arms hanging and Hardy took full advantage, raking slaps back and forth across his face. His body's natural reaction to the pain caused tears to fall.

"Lord almighty" one onlooker yelled, "he is crying like a bitch."

That only enraged Ronnie more. He was skilled, you didn't do what he did without them, but he just wasn't up to Hardys' level. He did manage to get a few good blows in. Hardy paid no more attention to them than he would a fly buzzing round him.

Instead, he started raining blows just above the groin in front and the kidneys in back. No body could absorb that much pain, and his bladder released. He fell to the gravel, semiconscious.

Hardy pulled him up by his collar, making it look effortless, and pushed him against a truck.

"Well, you've cried and pissed yourself, do I have to spank you now, or do we have an understanding?"

Ronnie shook his head yes in submission.

"Seems we're about done here. Before I go, remember what I promised you if you touched my woman?"

Ronnie's eyes flew open and he attempted to speak through bruised lips.

Hardy cut him off.

"Shut up, you little bitch. Time to pay the piper."

His hand twitched and a three inch blade snicked open and locked into place. The tears were real now, not pain induced.

Hardy held the blade to a little finger and smiled. Ronnie heard a snap followed by terrible pain, but when he looked down his finger was still there, just hanging at an odd angle.

Hardy put the knife back in his pocket.

"If I hear you're even in the same room with her again, I'll come back, and it'll be ever finger on both hands. Understand?"

He nodded. Hardy looked over the crowd.

"Anybody feel the need to say anything?"

Suddenly people were finding interesting things to look at in any direction except where he was standing.

"All right then. One of you could do me a kindness and take him to see Doc Thomas. He's used to this sort of thing and won't say a word. I'd appreciate it. Tell him to send me the bill.

Ya'll have a good evenin'."

He got into the big truck he had bought when he came back and slung gravel all over Ronnie as he pulled out.

It destroyed Ronnie. No one feared him anymore, his effectiveness as an enforcer gone forever. Roy replaced him with one of the younger cousins, freshly back from Iraq. Ronnie became a runner, doing odd jobs for the group.

He planned, he brooded, dedicating his life to looking for ways to hurt Hardy Wilkes.

Doc Thomas turned out to be the grandfather of Karen Thomas, a.d.a. He told her in confidence that "Hardass Wilkes" was back and meaner than ever, which meant more business for him.

She asked Gwen later if she had ever met Ronnie Wilkes. Gwen made a face.

"Yes, he and another man named Roy came to visit me not long ago, wanting to make a family connection, I guess. Can't say I cared much for either of them. I don't think they'll visit again."

Karen grinned.

"You probably won't see Ronnie again, ever. Someone that resembles your husband stomped a mud hole in his ass the other day. He's bruised, contused, and has a broken finger. They said the guy that beat him just slapped him until he cried, and then gave him a few groin shots, making him piss himself."

"Too bad he didn't kill him. That's a useless waste of humanity if there ever was one."

Gwen smiled when she said it, and the look in her eyes made Karen nervous.

Hardy assured Greg he would watch over her.

"I got a few cousins who are unemployed. They'll look after her."

Greg offered to pay for the services of the cousins, but Hardy brushed it off.

"You can't charge family for something you would do for them anyway. It's just not done, not in my family anyway."

Greg countered.

"Don't call it pay, say it's for expenses. I want their full attention on her, not wondering how their bills will get paid."

Hardy reluctantly agreed, saying he would take care of it.

Greg brought another subject up.

"Since we're talking about money, I've got some papers for you to sign. The prenup you fought so hard against? It's in full force now, remember it's in effect even if you don't divorce. You have proof she cheated, she has admitted it. Thirty eight million, she was faithful for most of two years. Now before you start, it's legal, and the money is yours. If you don't want it give it away, you just can't give it back to Gwen."

Hardy ranted, but Greg just smiled.

"You don't have a choice. You're rich now, welcome to the club."

They had a quiet dinner, each lost in their own thoughts, and Hardy drove him to the airport.

The first meeting with Raul Escobar and his team of lawyers went as well as could be expected. They claimed everything from entrapment to improper police procedure to police brutality, insisting that all charges be dropped and their client be released forthwith. Raul sat with a smug smile on his face.

She just regarded them quietly while they laid out their demands, then actually laughed.

"He got caught, driving while impaired. It's all on tape, including his rant and threats to the arresting officer. It's his first U.S. offense, but it's a class A felony. He's going away for at least five to seven years, if he takes a deal. Fight it in court and I'll go for the max, twenty five to life. His choice. Let me know your decision. Soon."

She got up and left them with their mouths hanging open.

'Don' Vincente was furious when he heard. Who did this gringa bitch think she was? He'd destroy her.

Calling up his private jet, he flew into Birmingham.

He did nothing half way, doing research on anyone he considered an enemy or who could cost him time or money. Nothing he read pleased him. The puta was already rich, money wouldn't work as a persuasion. Neither would threats to her family. The mother was in France, married to a French judge, and the father was even richer than his daughter, well respected and even more well connected. The soon to be ex husband was a thug himself in earlier times, and was now a lawyer with dubious ties to his old crime partners, regarded by all as extremely dangerous in and out of court.

He asked for and received a meeting with the woman and her boss. At first he tried to reason with her.

"Please" he said, turning on his considerable charm, "he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn't even know the drugs were in the vehicle, which he borrowed from a friend. Release him into my custody and reduce the charges so he can get probation. I'll make sure he leads a life of righteousness and good works. I'll even send you monthly drug tests. You should be familiar with those."

Gwen went bright red. How did he know about the drug tests?

"First, he rented the car, he didn't borrow it. His name is on the rental agreement. His fingerprints are all over the bags, and his DNA, in the form of saliva, is even in one of them. He resisted arrest, then tried to bribe the arresting officers, then threatened them in your name."

"Even if we were inclined to let it drop, the arresting deputy is cross trained and certified by Homeland Security as a local liaison, and he has federal powers. If we were to let it drop, the feds would snatch him up faster than lightning. Cut your losses, Mr. Escobar. All the lawyers in the universe can't help him. Let him plead out."

Vincente Escobar was used to almost god like power. Everyone south of the border walked in fear of his wrath. Even the other cartels left him alone. And now this woman, barely more than a child, was telling him he was powerless to help his nephew, his blood. She needed an education, and he had just the teachers.

Paul was beside himself after the meeting.

"That arrogant bastard. How dare he dictate to us, or make hints about consequences? He needs a reality check."

Gwen was calm.

"Relax, Paul. I've seen his type many times in contract negotiations. Totally convinced that whatever he wants is the best course for all concerned. He'll soon realize this won't be like below the border."

"However, none of the people I went up against in contract law had a history of killing those who opposed them, so we all need to be careful."

Things were quite somber around the office for a few days. Raul had appeared before a judge, been denied bail once again, and was bound over for trial in three months.

Gwen went back to her regular routine. Drug dealers, thieves, prostitutes, killers all needed her attention. She plead out where she could, set trial appearances where she couldn't. Paul had started letting her handle the simpler ones for the experience. She lost one early on because of a procedural error, and it embarrassed her so badly she became fanatical in research. If an arresting officer was the least bit sloppy she ate him up. Her reputation for being a frosty Yankee bitch grew exponentially, but no one argued about her results.

One of her lighter moments came when she had to interview a pimp who had beat up one of his girls.

Homer 'Big Daddy' Johnson was arrogant, fat, and dirty. Easily weighing four hundred pounds, his casual approach to personal hygiene was legendary.

She almost gagged when she went into the interview room.

He was too cheap to hire a lawyer, so the least junior public defender was assigned to him. She looked positively green when Gwen entered.

He grinned at her, showing off his three gold teeth no doubt.

Not wanting to stay in the room a second longer than necessary, she cut right to the chase.

"We have three witnesses, all willing to testify. The woman involved has signed the complaint. You've got priors, Mr Johnson, all for assault on females. Take a deal, serve six months, and go back to your glamorous life. Give me the least amount of shit, and you're looking at eighteen months to three years. And I would hazard a guess, Mr. Johnson, that prison cuisine wouldn't meet your approval, much less the stringent sanitary practices they adhere too."

The public defender actually laughed, pissing 'Big Daddy' off greatly. He glared at her.

"Bitch, you supposed to be on my side. Get me out of this shit."

The young woman recoiled violently. He turned to Gwen.

"And you, I know who you are. Me and your old man bumped heads back in the day, he cost me a couple of good girls, real moneymakers. I always said I'd pay him back."

He leered at her, his foul breath almost making her gag.

"Maybe I'll turn you out. Good looking bitch like you would probably last three or four years before you got used up. I could make some real money before you were done. How would hubby like that?"

He leaned back, quite pleased with himself.

Gwen's sweet smile almost scared him.

"If you bumped heads with my husband, he probably kicked your ass and made you like it. I'm betting you haven't seen him lately. He's a lot bigger than he was, according to people who knew him then, and it's not fat. And thanks to me, he's not as friendly as he used to be. Maybe I'll tell him what you said."

"Or maybe, I'll just say fuck the deal, handle you myself, and put you away for a few years. You probably can't even find your fat ass with both hands, but they'll be guys there who'll be glad to find it for you. Who knows, when you get out you could maybe give your girls pointers on how to give a really good blow job or the proper way to take it up the ass. Good day, Mr. Johnson. Hope you learn to enjoy your new life."

The public defender scurried after her.

"He wants the deal, and said to tell you he was just kidding about all he said."

"Tell him it's a year now, take it or leave it."

She hadn't stopped walking.

"He'll take it."

She pulled Gwen into a hug, surprising her.

"Thanks, Aunt Gwen. I learned a lot back there."

Gwen was shocked.

"You're name is Chapman, right?"

"Yes Ma'am. Grandpa Hardy was my great aunts' brother in law. And my grandmother on my father's side is a Howe. You're related to most Chapmans, Grants, and Wilsons around here in one way or another. It's not all Wilkes, you know."

"Shit" Gwen thought as she walked back to her office, "I'm probably related to everybody in the state, one way or another."

Paul caught up with her as she walked.

"Got a minute?"

She grinned.

"You're my boss, think I'm gonna tell you to fuck off?"

He didn't know whether to laugh or not, but followed her into her office.

"Gwen, we got another case we need you to handle while we wait for the Escobar trial. This one gets a little tricky. Karen and I both are on murder trials, so you get this one."

"Come on, you're not telling me something. What's so special about this one?"

She didn't like the way he was skirting the subject.

"It involves the three strike law. And the accused is Sam Wilkes."

"Surely you know I'll do my best even if I'm sure somehow he's related to my husband, right?"

Paul hastened to assure her.

"We know. The thing is, his defense attorney is going to push this as a referendum on the three strike law. He kinds of specializing in hopeless cases like this, often with surprising results."

"I don't care, it'll make it more interesting. What's his name? Maybe I heard of him."

"Oh, you have, child, you have. His name is Hardy Wilkes."

The color drained from her face. Hardy. Her. Different sides in the same case. Could she handle her emotions? Could she sit at the table beside his for days without breaking down?

Could she do her job effectively for the state?

A calm settled over her.

"Can you handle this? Sarah has five more weeks of maternity leave, and Jimmy is still in traction from the softball accident. I just don't have anyone else."

"Don't worry Paul. I'm on it. One way or another, now he has to talk to me."

He was relieved.

"Good, here's the file. The kid doesn't deserve it, but the law is clear. Good luck."

The file read like a Greek tragedy.

Sam Wilkes, twenty three years old. First felony at eighteen, caught joyriding with his cousins.

He wasn't driving, he wasn't in the car when they took it, all the others agreed, but he was still in the car when they pulled them over. Class D felony, probation.

Second felony at twenty, again because of his cousins. Caught in the middle of a bar fight. He hit a guy with a beer bottle, giving him a concussion and a fractured skull. Assault with a deadly weapon resulting in serious bodily injury. She read the transcripts.

"I didn't know a beer bottle was that strong, I see guys get hit in the head all the time in the movies, it breaks and they don't even slow down. I was just trying to get him off my cousin, I didn't mean to hurt him, really. I'm truly sorry."

The jury felt pity, but he still did six months.

Class B felony.

Two months ago he got popped for grand theft auto. He boosted a car from his employer, a vintage gull wing Mercedes. Got caught the next day, said he was bringing it back. The value on the car was over a hundred grand, Class A felony.

Three strikes. Life in prison, no negotiation. The thought made her physically ill. But the law was the law, and she was sworn to uphold it.

He was out on bond, since it was a nonviolent crime, bailed out by and currently living with Hardy.

Hardy sat in deep thought. He didn't see much of a way out for Sammy. The three strike law was the result of a backlash against a wave of lawlessness by a previous administration. Wildly popular for awhile, lately support had been eroding. The cost of decades of imprisonment, the spike of inmate on inmate violence, and examples of cases like Sammy's had left the legal system frustrated. There was talk of a partial repeal, exempting nonviolent offenders, but nothing had actually been done.

A lot depended on jury selection. He knew if he could get enough working class people, people who distrusted the system, he may have a chance. There was an outside chance he could get him out from under life.

He hoped the a.d.a., Jimmy Richards, would be cooperative. A long trial would benefit no one.

That may or may not play into his favor.

Monday morning was ugly. The weather was giving way to the cold, rainy days of winter in central Alabama. A perfect day to fight for a life, Hardy thought as he, Sammy, Crystal Anne, and an assistant hired specifically to do juror analysis entered the court house. Entering the courtroom, they proceeded to their table and set up their equipment.

Oddly, the a.d.a. hadn't appeared yet. Generally the opposing attorneys chatted for a few moments before the judge entered, but today there would be no chance.

Judge Harlin was a surprise. Seventy four, he had been retired for a few years, filling in once in a while for a day or so on minor trials for a sick or vacationing judge. He enjoyed it, said it kept him from getting senile while making him appreciate retirement. He had been pressed into service rather suddenly when the judge originally slated to hear the case got caught in chambers with a defendant, working out a plea deal that included oral sex. Unfortunately, he was performing it on a young man who wasn't happy.

The judge was allowed to quietly retire, pleading guilty to coercion and crimes against nature. A plea bargain that kept him out of jail, but unfortunately not civil court. He would soon be divorced, broke, and shunned.

He strode in quickly, catching everyone by surprise. The bailiff hastily called the court to session.

"Don't bother rising, I'm a little early. Let's get down to business shall we? Please call the first case, bailiff."

"In the matter of the state versus Samuel Jerome Wilkes, grand theft auto. Is the defendant and counsel present?"

Hardy stood.

"We are, Wilkes for the defense. Good morning, your Honor."

There was a twinkle in the judges' eye. He and Hardy went back a long way. He was the judge that offered Hardy a chance to go into the military and avoid a criminal record all those years ago.

"I'm fine. It's good to see you again, Mr. Wilkes. I'm glad to see you gainfully employed, even if it is as a defense lawyer."

The judge was widely known for his intolerance of defense lawyer antics, and general low opinion of the profession.

The judge frowned, noting the empty table normally used by the prosecution.

"Is the prosecution present?"

"No your honor." The bailiff looked over his paperwork.

"It's supposed to be Jimmy Richards, but he recently was involved in an accident. Representing the state will be..."

He paused, about to say the name, when a voice spoke up from the back of the courtroom.

"Gwen Canaday for the state your honor. I apologize for being late, but in my defense you seemed to have started a little early."

Time seemed to stand still for Hardy. There she stood, crisp, professional, and just as beautiful as he remembered. He had only seen her once after the picnic, from a distance. He was still surprised how much it hurt.

He moved quickly.

"In light of this substitution your honor, may I approach the bench?"

The judge was a shrewd old man and had noticed Hardys' face when the prosecutor entered. He motioned them both to the bench.

It almost took his breath away to stand so near her, the familiar smell of her perfume in his nostrils.

He didn't know where to start. The judge grew impatient.

"You asked for this boy, spit it out. What am I missing here?"

"Judge, I would like to ask for another prosecutor assigned to this case. It may be a little awkward."

"Why would it be awkward? Somebody better start makin' sense in a hurry."