I set the phone in a cup holder in the center console.
“Damn, I’m gonna need a good story,” I say to myself, and then light a cigarette.
Twelve
All I want to do right now is go home, tuck myself away for the rest of the day and through the night, but I gotta smooth things over with Leslie. I know how angry she must be. It’s not the first time, but even with all the baggage I carry, which I know can affect any friendship or business relationship, I’ve never done something this stupid. I don’t really know what I can do to fix it except to say I’m sorry and it won’t happen again. I certainly can’t tell her the truth. Hell, I’m so good at keeping that part of my life a secret even I believe what I say half the time.
Maybe I’ll give her a part truth and tell her I’m an alcoholic. But no, we both enjoy drinking too much, and I don’t want to give up that part of our relationship.
I shoot Leah a smile when I enter.
“Is she in?” I ask.
“Yes,” Leah answers.
When I walk into her office, the first thing she says is, “You look like a bum in a suit,” and I feel forgiven already ’cause that’s how she normally talks to me.
She’s sitting behind her desk. She returns to a case file she’s reviewing; she’s writing notes on a yellow memo pad that already has several pages turned over and tucked under it.
“I just want to say—” I begin.
Without looking up at me, she says, “I don’t want to hear anything, Frankie. I especially don’t want to know anything about whatever it is you’re working.” She sets her pen down and looks up at me. “But please tell me you’re cooperating with Detective Davidson and Fairfax County.”
“Davidson’s the only one I’ve spoken to, and yes, I am cooperating.”
“Well, that’s a relief. And seriously, you need to get that suit pressed, definitely shower and shave. I can smell the cigarettes and sweat from here.”
“I’ll be fresh by tomorrow. And I’m sorry about this shit. This case has got me all worked up.”
“I told you I don’t want to know about the case. Last thing I need right now is getting summoned to a grand jury, which, by the way, still might happen.”
“No it won’t.”
I sit on the chair in front of her desk.
“I’m assuming that’s the Claypole file you’re working on?” I ask.
“Yes. He won’t take a plea, so we’ll be going to trial.”
“What did the government offer?”
“Aggravated assault.”
“It sounds better than assault with intent to kill, but still not much of a plea offer. It could still get him the max, with a record like his.”
“No judge will give him ten years for agg assault, especially the way this one went down. He should have taken the offer. He’d be out in three, less with time served.”
“Shouldn’t be that hard for someone like you to find mitigating circumstances.”
“Quit kissing my ass. And you know I already tried to establish that. We go to trial on this, I’m going to lose. And I hate to lose.”
“But this time you’ll be presenting it to a DC jury.”
“Trust me when I say that won’t matter with this one.”
“When’s the trial?”
“We have a status hearing on Monday. Since he won’t accept the plea, the judge will probably set a date for jury selection.”
“You need me to do anything?”
“No. You’ve already done everything you can do.”
“I can have a sit-down with Claypole if you want, maybe convince him you know best.”
She looks at me like she’s considering it.
“No. I did my best on that one; he’s the client and the client wants to go to trial.”
“It’s been a while since I talked to him. Maybe I could get the story again, see if there’s anything else to work with—for the trial, I mean. The time’s on me. Least I can do for all the shit I just put you through.”
She nods like she agrees and says, “You’ve already worked this one to the ground, but then it can’t hurt, right?”
I agree with a nod and a bit of a smile.
“But I want you on the clock. I don’t take freebies, even from you.”
She’s forgiven me.
“It’s your dime,” I tell her.
“I’ll set it up with DC jail so you can meet him tomorrow.”
“Make it in the afternoon. I’ll probably have to get with Davidson sometime in the morning.”
“All right,” she agrees.
I push myself out of the chair.
“Can you clean yourself up, please?” she asks sincerely.
“I suppose so,” I say, but then realize how difficult that would really be.
Thirteen