Carl’s was a throwback, a restaurant frozen in 1952.
Usually people have to take their order to go in a white sack and eat in their car. We got lucky and nabbed three barstools at the counter. The Judge sat on one side of Sammy and I sat on the other. We were all smiles, watching the people come and go and watching the cooks smash burgers, fry one basket after another of onion rings, and pour frosty mugs of homemade root beer crafted from the original IBC recipe.
After we ordered, Sammy laughed. “Grandma’s gonna be mad she missed this.”
I put my arm around her. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell.”
The Judge joined in, playfully scolding. “Now now, secrets are never good.”
“I guess not.” I pulled some napkins out of the black and chrome dispenser, and then I asked Sammy what had been on my mind since leaving SoCo. “What’d you think of the schools you saw today?”
She kept her eyes on the griddle of burgers. “They’re good.” She shrugged.
“Seemed like you thought they were more than good during the tour.”
Sammy hesitated and then nodded. “Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to get too excited.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because even if I wanted to go”—Sammy looked at me—“I’m not so sure I can. You know?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. Of course Sammy understood what it would take to go to a school like Baxter or Parker Catholic or SoCo. She wasn’t a naive little girl. She understood money and our circumstances. Then I opened my eyes. I pointed my finger and touched the tip of her nose. “You’re a good kid, Sammy, but you don’t have to worry about that. Let’s find the right school, and then I’m the one who’s going to make sure you get to go.”
Then our food arrived.
We felt satisfied walking out of Carl’s Drive-In. The sun had set. Although the night was still warm, the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees, and there was a cool breeze that hinted of fall.
I was about to ask Sammy whether she wanted to ride back with me to the house in Compton Heights when my phone rang. The screen indicated that it was Emma.
I pressed the button. “You still working?”
Emma didn’t take the bait. She was all business. “You need to come back to the office tonight,” she said.
I looked at my watch. “It’s late. I’m with my daughter, and I want to go home.”
“It’s not that late.” Emma was annoyed. It’s always difficult when the employee is working harder than the boss. “We’ve got something you need to see. Nikolas and Cecil are here, and we’re waiting.”
“You need me back right now?”
There was a moment of silence, and then she said, “Why do you think I called you?”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
All the lights were on. The little storefront was the only sign of life on the entire street. I couldn’t help being curious, despite being tired and wanting to be home. It wouldn’t be that long before I’d have to be back in court for the second day of trial.
Emma, however, was not a dramatic woman. Although she liked tight clothes and big jewelry, she was a professional. She wouldn’t have ordered me back to the office for no reason.
Then I heard the music coming from inside, and suddenly I had my doubts. It was heavy funk—unless I missed my guess, an early Bootsy Collins cut.
I walked to the office, the music getting louder with every step, and when I opened the door, I saw a little party. Cecil and Emma were dancing. Hermes sat in one of the chairs in the waiting area mixing a drink, and Nikolas sat in the chair behind the front desk rolling a joint.
I stood there, unnoticed, for a few seconds, until Cecil saw me as he spun Emma around and into a dip. “There he is,” he shouted over the music. He lifted Emma back up and then pointed at me. “Lawyerman himself.”
Emma, Hermes, and Nikolas cheered.
“I thought this was an emergency.”
Emma laughed. “More like a miracle.” Emma walked toward me, took both of my hands in hers, and looked me in the eyes. “If you don’t do something stupid tomorrow, you might actually win a case.”
Emma sat me down at my desk in front of my computer. Nikolas clicked “Play” and the picture began to move. A weird feeling came over me. The last time I’d watched security footage like this, I’d seen my daughter get beaten up in a school hallway.
Emma assured me it was going to be great. Then she clicked a box, and the picture expanded to full screen. “This is perfect.”
It took me a second, but then I realized that I was watching Cecil sitting in the park. The time and date stamp in the upper right corner indicated that it was going to be a video of his arrest. I looked at Emma. “Where’d you get this?”
She didn’t answer the question. Emma pointed at the screen. “Just watch.”
A minute passed, and then I saw a police car drive slowly past the park where Cecil was sitting and stop. Officer Butler got out of the car, and then he approached Cecil Bates. There was no sound, but already there were contradictions between what I was seeing and the testimony that I had heard at trial.
Cecil was not passed out or sleeping. He was sitting up. He looked alert and seemed to be minding his own business.
At first there was what appeared to be a casual conversation, and then Officer Butler pointed. It was clear that he wanted Cecil to leave.
The mood changed, and Cecil got agitated. He folded his arms across his chest. He wasn’t going to leave.
Officer Butler started to walk away, and then he stopped.
“That’s when I called him an asshole.” Cecil laughed. “Not the smartest thing I ever done.”
Officer Butler came back, took out his handcuffs, and told Cecil to stand up. When Cecil didn’t move, the officer grabbed Cecil and pushed him to the ground. There was no bottle. There was no alcohol.
“And that’s it,” Cecil said. “That’s what I been sayin’ happened.”
“OK.” I ran my hands down my face and closed my eyes, trying to think about how this video was going to get into evidence. “Let’s watch this one more time.” I opened my eyes and looked over at Emma and then at Nikolas. “When it’s over maybe our resident computer expert can clarify how you happened to come by this little miracle.”
Cecil piped in. “Came in the mail from the city, responding to my request.”
I couldn’t believe that a city department would respond to anything promptly, much less a data practices request for a security video. “I hear what you’re saying, Cecil,” I said, but I was still looking at Emma and Nikolas. “I just want to talk about it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The next morning, I held the envelope out to the prosecutor, but Cynthia Curtis wouldn’t look at it. She shook her head, telling me no.