Chapter 3

Punishment #1

The idea of seeing Sandra at work on Thursday was giving me a mild headache as I drove into the courthouse. The last triumphant "yes!" she had shouted as the game the night before had ended had stuck with me, and now - every time I closed my eyes - I could see the gleam in her eyes. I had no doubt I was going to seriously be in the lurch when I showed up to her place on Friday.

I just had no idea what to expect. And what the hell had she meant by asking me to bring clean underwear?

Oh well... I'm a big boy. And I was positive I'd be able to handle whatever she threw at me.

Still, I didn't expect to see her sitting in my office when I flipped on my lights.

"Howdy, loser," she chortled. I nearly jumped at the sound of her voice.

"What the... Sandra! What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see if you had the huevos to actually show up for work."

"Never mind about my testicles," I groused. "I fully intend to stick up to my end of the bargain."

"Well... we'll see about that, I suppose." Sandra paused. "And we'll definitely see about those huevos," she giggled. "And as far as sticking up... I mean, to your end of the bargain... I guess we'll see about that."

Sandra got up from my chair and squeezed by me in the doorway.

"See you tomorrow... "

"Yeah, see you tomorr..."

"... loser!"

"Bitch." This was said under my breath as just as I was about to shout back at Sandra, Johnny Gomez, who had the office next to me, walked down the hallway.

"Who was that?" he asked, watching as Sandra gave a little wave as she turned the corner. "Not a client." Not a question, that last part, but a statement. No way was any of us every lucky enough to get a client as hot as Sandra Thomas, Assistant District Attorney.

"I wish," I said. "No, that was the enemy."

"Oh yeah? A new assistant DA?"

"Yeah. That too."

The rest of the morning sucked as well. Every thirty minutes or so my phone would ring, but there was no one on the other end. At first I figured someone was stalking me (and as it turned out I was right), but I never expected that it was Sandra. Finally I thought to look at the caller ID and saw that the call had originated from inside the courthouse. I paged down to the front desk and asked to be patched through to the extension.

"Hello?" came the voice I knew too well.

"Son of a bitch!"

Sandra started laughing. "I believe this is someone whose ass is mine?" she said in a sing-song voice. I hung up, but not before the peals of laughter were imprinted on my brain.

Damn those Mavericks! If she could make my life a living hell like this at work, what could she have in mind for me as my actual "punishment"? Stupid, stupid bet.

I turned off my ringer and forwarded all my calls to my voice mail.

I wasn't scheduled to be in court at all in the afternoon, and hadn't made any appointments with my clients, so I put a new message on the voice mail - said I was going out early with a sore throat - and headed home.

When I got home, of course, I had a message waiting for me on my home machine.

"You better be faking it," came Sandra's voice through the tiny speaker. "Because if you're trying to welsh on our deal, there will be hell to pay. Not that there won't be anyway." She said it in a happy voice, so I wasn't too worried, but even still, I unplugged the machine and headed to the back yard.

Out here, I was untouchable. No one could reach me. I read a book until dinner then went to a movie. I finally decided it was safe to go home around ten that night and went to bed.

The next morning my sense of dread was even heavier. Today was game two. I assumed Sandra wouldn't be quite the pest at work today as she'd been on Thursday, but still... you never know.

So it wasn't a complete surprise to see her, this time - thankfully - standing outside my office door when I arrived.

"Don't you ever sleep?" I asked. How long had she been there?

"You're late," was her reply. I checked my watch. Sure enough, two minutes after eight o'clock.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. I unlocked my door but blocked her from entering. "What can I do for you this fine morning, counselor?" I asked. "I assume you're here regarding a legal matter?"

"Whatever," Sandra said and ducked under my arm.

"Hey!" I called out, but she was already in my chair. "Sandra... Miss Thomas... what can I do for you?" I must have let something slip by the tone of my voice for immediately Sandra's expression fell and she started apologizing.

"I'm sorry," she said and held up a paper bag. "I come in peace... I brought donuts."

"I'm not a cop," I reminded her. "But that's okay, bring it on. I'll just make it a point to parade you around my apartment in the nude all during the game when it's my turn."

"If the Mavericks ever win."

"That's when the Mavericks win, not if," I corrected.

"Dream on. But anyway, you want to see me naked, huh?" Sandra asked, an evil look in her eye. "You might not be a cop, but you sure are a pig!" Another round of laughter from her while I shook my head.

"Is there anything else?" I asked. "I do have a lot of work to do."

"Then get thee to it!" Sandra said and saluted.

"And it will be safe to turn on my phone?" I asked. Sandra grinned, then nodded.

"Scout's honor," she said.

"Okay, fine."

"Fine." Sandra waited for me to say something but I was busy. I had half a day of phone messages to catch up on, and a court date in little over an hour. Finally she turned to leave.

"Oh, and Sandra?"

She turned and waited.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the donuts."

The rest of the morning - thank God! - went fairly smoothly. I had a couple meetings with clients, who - as usual - swore up and down they were innocent. Now, I tried my best to reason with them, letting them know that their attitude would not play well in front of a judge, but they were adamant. One case was a drunk driving situation, where the driver - my client - was also using a suspended license.

"Jake," I said, trying to get him to see the error of his ways. "I've seen the tox reports. That's a pretty heavy piece of evidence."

"So what are you saying?" he asked.

"I'm just saying it might not be the worst thing in the world to try and get the prosecutor to go a little easy on you."

"No way, man," came the expected response. "I didn't do nuthin'!"

"Of course not."

"What's that supposed to mean, huh?"

"Just that when I get up in court and, as your attorney, tell the judge that you didn't do "nuthin'," it's going to make me look like an idiot, which is fine. But more importantly, it's going to make you look like a complete moron."

"So what are you saying?" Jake asked again. Apparently he only had a few go-to phrases and I was pretty sure I'd heard them both.

"I'm saying that the more lip you give - the bad-boy vibe you're playing isn't going to help, by the way - and you'll be lucky if the judge just doesn't give the state what it wants."

"And what's that?"

"This would be your second D.U.I.," I said. "That's not good. Add in the suspended license and you're talking a big fine. At the minimum."

"That's not too bad."

"I said at the minimum. Worst case... the judge doesn't like you - maybe it's you, maybe he got up on the wrong side of the bed - and he decides the letter of the law is the way to go, and you end up in jail for a few weeks."

"Jail?"

Finally. Now I had Jake's attention.

"Yes, jail. See what I'm saying? There's not a whole lot I can do on this one, Jake. I think you better consider saying you're sorry and asking for leniency."

"What?"

"Tell the judge you're sorry, ask the prosecuting attorney to go easy on you, and maybe the minimum - that big fine I mentioned - will be all you get. Heck, you might even get a suspended sentence. Maybe community service."

Jake seemed to come to some sort of realization. "You mean..."

"Yes. Play nice with others. I'm sure people have been telling you this since kindergarten. Has it finally sunk in?"

Thankfully, since Jake outweighed me by almost half a normal adult female, Jake didn't quite catch my condescension, and after a few more minutes of pleasantries, he was out my door, but not before promising to "think it over" before his next court date.

Eventually, my work day ended and I realized my own "court date" was rapidly approaching. The game was at 7:30 PM, so I hurried home after work, showered, changed (and yes, I put on clean underwear, although I also brought along an extra pair, since I had no idea what Sandra had in mind), then headed over to face my "punishment."

As it turns out, I somehow managed to beat Sandra to her own house. She pulled into the driveway about fifteen minutes after I arrived and even over the sound of her car I could hear her apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said as she hopped out. "Gary somehow heard I was down in your office today. I have no idea how he heard..."

"Hey, don't look at me. I didn't tell him. I can't stand the guy, personally." And that was putting it mildly. Her boss is a complete idiot.

"Well, that's two of us. Anyway, he was almost ready to read me the riot act until I told him we were old friends. He had no idea today was your birthday."