Chapter 8

My bravado from Tuesday quickly wilted in the heat of the Texas morning as I drove into work. I'd been having some air conditioning troubles in my car, but just hadn't had time to get it worked on, so when I finally arrived to work, my shirt was nearly soaked through and my suit jacket was threatening to wilt as well.

Of course, the first person I saw when I got to work was Sandra, who always seems to hang around at the most inconvenient times.

"Hey, hot stuff," she says, then notices how truly hot I am. "Holy sweaty! What happened to you?"

"My car," I say. I stand in the hallway next to a central air vent and let the cool air wash over me. "It's been kind of flaky for a while. It kicks in, but not for twenty minutes or so."

"How long is your drive?" Sandra asks. I groan.

"Just as long as yours, of course. About twenty-five minutes."

"Yuck."

"Got that right."

"So," Sandra continues, changing the subject. "Wanna get some lunch today? If you've got time, of course."

"Sure," I reply. "I'm in court this afternoon - all afternoon - but my first case isn't until one o'clock, so..."

"I'll come buy a little before noon," Sandra offers. I accept and after a bit more chit chat she goes to leave. Once again I'm kind of relieved to realize that so far no one other than Johnny Gomez a few days ago, but he's a good guy.

In fact, after a few minutes he pokes his head into my office. "Hell of a day out there, huh?" he asks, then laughs when he sees that my jacket and tie are already thrown over the back of a chair, my collar is unbuttoned and my shirt sleeves rolled up.

"Tell me about it," I groan. "This, on top of last night, and I'm just pissed at the world."

"Last night?" Johnny asks. I shoot him a look until he understands. "Oh yea, the game. Yeah... too bad."

I don't get the idea that Johnny Gomez is a big basketball fan, but he's always willing to celebrate or commiserate, whichever is appropriate, so I let it slide.

"You going to watch the game tomorrow?" he asks. I nod. "Want some company?"

"Ah... I better not."

"Big date?"

I laugh. "Hardly. More of a... how to describe it... a fiercely contested... wager," I finally say.

"You got money riding on this, counselor?" he asks in his best lawyer voice.

"You'll never be a prosecutor, Johnny," I laugh. "But no... no money." I tell him a bit about the bet, leaving out anything that he might use to identify Sandra. He seems intrigued, but finally leaves when my phone rings.

"Hey, big boy," says Sandra. I glance at my watch. She's only been gone fifteen minutes. She must have it bad for me. The feeling is certainly mutual.

"Can't get enough of me, can you?" I tease.

"Shut up," she laughs. "No, the reason I called is I need to know how big you are."

"Well, I've never really measured myself, you know... not since I was in sixth grade and I got my first..."

"Hey... too much information," Sandra blurts. "I mean, your clothing size, not your..."

"My Big D?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Why do you need them?" I ask.

"No reason. I just thought we might go out tomorrow night and I want my manto look his best."

"Your 'man, ' huh?"

"Yeah."

"Wait a minute. We're going out for... for my punishment?" I continue in a whisper, just in case someone should be outside my office.

"Are you saying I can't show you off?"

"Where would be going?"

"Just a dance club kind of place," Sandra says. I know she's hiding something; heck, even if I wasn't used to evasive clients and shifty witnesses I could tell that much!

"Any more info?" I ask wryly. Sandra declines, and after a bit more cajoling she manages to convince me to part with my shirt and pants sizes.

"Thanks," she says and hangs up. I spend much of the morning wondering what I've gotten myself into.

Lunch is a quick affair, just the two of us sitting outside the courthouse eating our bag lunches. Sandra had packed a fairly large salad and I had my typical spread of deli meat sandwiches, chips and soda.

"You're going to get fat if you keep eating like that," Sandra says.

"Hey, there's lettuce on this sandwich. Not much, but it's there."

Sandra rolls her eyes. "This is lettuce," she says and tilts her salad bowl so I can see in. She's right, of course. But you'd never catch me eating like that, and I tell her so.

"Not enough... taste... in your salad," I complain. "I mean, look at it. What's in there? Lettuce, walnuts, some other kind of seeds... is there even any dressing?"

"A little," Sandra protests.

"Yeah, put your dressing on my lettuce and we'll have all the salad I like to eat," I say. Sandra just rolls her eyes again. We'll just have to agreeto disagree, just like with our basketball allegiances.

Too soon, it's time for me to head back inside. I thank Sandra for the wonderful time - heck, it saved me from having to suffer through thirty minutes of office gossip down in the lounge - and start to head back inside. Sandra has a little more time than I do, so stays outside, but just as I'm about out of hearing range she shouts something to me.

"What's that?" I holler back. She repeats herself, but I'm not positive what she said. I finally shrug and head inside, but something begins nagging at me. If I'm right about what I think I heard, I could be in deep trouble, or at least in for a lot of questions.

I could swear she told me that Vinny said hello.

Not that I was a complete mess in court that afternoon, but if the judge hadn't said something, I was about two seconds from agreeing that my client was guilty on all counts. Shit, I thought. If Sandra could see me right now she wouldn't need to worry about trying to embarrass me on Thursday!

As it was, I actually saw Sandra once more on Wednesday, late that afternoon. I had just finished up with my client-from-hell, who I had been convinced really did want me as his lawyer, and ended up getting him a short jail sentence, which the judge, to my surprise, commuted to strictly community service and a fairly hefty fine, which my client grumbled about.

"It's better than doing the time," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but fuck it," he moaned. "I did what you said."

"Yeah, almost," I admitted. Jake had managed to clean up his appearance, although he still seemed a bit sullen to even be in front of the judge. "Still, I've seen people get far worse."

"I suppose," Jake said.

As we were leaving, and I was consoling Jake that the fine, along with court costs, wasn't so much as he was thinking (perhaps only a couple weeks worth of cigarettes, the way he lit up every time we stepped outside after a meeting), Sandra walked past.

"Counselor," she said and gave a curt nod.

"Counselor," I repeated and gave a nod of my own.

"Dude, who was that?" Jake asked. He watched as Sandra walked into the courtroom. I had to admit her ass looked good in the skirt she had worn.

"Opposing counsel," I said. "Don't get too friendly. The next time you see her she might be trying to send you to jail," I warned.

"Fuck that," Jake laughed. "It might be worth it. I wonder who the lucky fuck is who gets to tap that fine piece of..."

"Watch it," I hissed. "You're still in the courthouse."

"Whatever," he shrugged. Jake looked around. "I need to get out of here. I need a drink."

"Jake," I groaned. "You're here because of drinking and driving. Take it easy, okay?"

"Whatever, man," he said. "I'll be fine."

I shook my head as I watched him go. In spite of everything he'd just been through, and the fine he griped was going to cramp his "style," I had no doubt I'd see him again. I wasn't looking forward to it at all.

I didn't see any more of Sandra that day, although I did find out a little bit more about whatever it was she had called out to me after lunch. When I got home that night, I flipped through my rolodex (yes, some people still use those), and made a phone call.

"Vinny," I said once my erstwhile "buddy" picked up the phone. "Just the man I wanted to talk to."

"Counselor!" he said. "What's news, my man?"

"Wanted to ask you the same question. How's business?"

"Fine, fine. Can't complain."

"Make any big sales, lately?"

"All legal, counselor. All legal."

"Anything I might be interested in?"

"What kind of things are you into?" he asked. "Besides Catwoman, of course," he laughed, a loud, raspy event that made me worry about his health, just a bit.

"You run in some pretty heady crowds, Vinny," I said, trying to bring him to the point. "Pretty heady, indeed, for a man of your stature in the world."

"Counselor, I'm hurt," Vinny said, trying to affect a wounded tone to his voice. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Come on," I laughed. "A fine, upstanding citizen like yourself? Why should I be surprised that you have clients such as myself and..."

"... your ladyfriend?" Vinny cut in? "She sounded really nice on the phone. How did she like the outfit?" he asked.

"Just fine," I said through gritted teeth. I had been right, but how had Sandra known to call? "What did Sa... what did she say?"

"Oh, just wanted to thank me. Said it was perfect."

"Uh huh."

"Said she'd never been so satisfied. More aroused. More... said she wanted to have my babies."

"Vinny."

"Yeah, sorry counselor."

"So why did she call?"

"Can't tell you, counselor. Wouldn't be proper. Promises were made. Oaths taken. Strictest confidence. Lawyer - client privilege."

"I suppose you think... what? Did she really say that?"

"You lawyers are into some kinky shit, you know that? Not that I mind. Keeps me in the green, if you know what I mean."

"So what did she buy? I missed it the first time," I asked.

"Uh uh," Vinny laughed. "None of your tricky lawyer stuff with me. Asked and answered, counselor. Asked and answered."

I said a few choice words I wouldn't get away with in the courtroom and hung up.

Obviously there was something up, and I didn't know what it was. Or even if I wanted to know. But I was nervous and anxious about having to wait until Thursday night to find out.

When I woke up on Thursday, I made sure to check the weather. While it wasn't as hot as it had been over the weekend, it was still supposed to be just as hot as Wednesday, and while I still needed to be appropriately dressed in court, that didn't mean I had to drive into work that way.

I picked shorts and a t-shirt, and stowed my suit and tie in a carry-on bag, which I threw into the back seat of my car.

Thursday, at least this week, wasn't going to be completely insane. Mildly insane, yes. Completely... not quite.

Still, I was busy all morning with paperwork and court appearances, with a couple more scheduled that afternoon. Around three o'clock I headed upstairs for a quick appearance and ran into a log jam of people.

"What's the holdup?" I asked a frazzled looking court clerk. Of course, court clerks, in my experience, always look frazzled, so this was nothing new. At least until I heard the woman's reply.

"Something's going on in courtroom number four," she said.

"What?" I snapped. "Is it going to take long?"

"I don't know. Afew minutes ago the door slammed shut and nobody's been let in since."

"So what's going on?"

"I don't know," came the quick reply. Just then the alarms went off. Those of us in the waiting room looked up in surprise.

"Is it a fire?" one man asked. It wasn't, but I didn't recognize what was going on until a passel of cops dressed in SWAT gear rounded the corner.

"Shit," I swore as a couple of them swept past me, pushing me roughly against a wall. "What's going on?" I asked. My question was answered soon enough when the door to the courtroom opened and a very shaken court reporter came out. She was near tears.

"What's the situation inside?" one of the policemen asked. It was hard to make any sense out of what she was saying, but eventually it came out that a man with a gun had stormed into the judge's chambers through the back of the courtroom and started making demands.

"What about?" someone asked. Before the court reporter could answer the door to the courtroom swung opened and a man burst out and headed straight for me. All I could see was the gun in his hand.

"Stop him!" someone inside shouted. Without thinking I stuck my foot out. The man sprawled out and slammed to the ground. In an instant two of the cops were on top of him and within seconds he was disarmed and in handcuffs.

While this was going on two other cops ran into the courtroom. I heard calls of "all clear" and eventually the judge, an older woman now shaking with fear, or maybe anger, was led out.

"Did you get the bastard?" she asked before she caught sight of the man, now sitting on his hands, propped up against the wall. She made a move to head for him, but one of the policeman steered her away.

"Might be better not to say anything," he said and the judge shakily agreed.

Then, to my horror, one more person was led out of the courtroom. It took a moment before I realized that the disheveled and bloody person was Sandra!

I ran over to help, but - like the judge - was steered away before I could get close enough to say anything.

"What happened?" I demanded, but no one seemed to care much about the demands of a lowly public defender. Eventually, once I saw that Sandra was getting treatment from paramedics, I made my way back to my office.

The rest of the work day was worthless. Court sessions had been canceled while the security "experts" tried to figure out exactly how a man with a gun had managed to make it, unnoticed, through all the security checkpoints. I sat in my office, waiting until it was officially time to go home.

I left a quick message on Sandra's machine, hoping she was okay and that I'd like a call when she got home, but not to worry. About twenty minutes later I got a call from a sleepy-sounding Sandra.

"Mark?" she said. "Aren't you coming over?"

"Sandra, are you sure... do you think that's a good idea?"

"Not for that," she said. "But... we could just sit here and watch the game together."

"If you're sure," I said.

"I am. I could really use the company."