Zola said, “I suppose all we can do is wait.”
Todd paid for the coffee and they left the diner. They had walked a block when Zola’s phone vibrated. She pulled it from a pocket, looked at it, stopped, and said, “It’s Gordy. He’s at Central Jail.”
—
AT 4:35 A.M., Gordy was stopped after an officer noticed his Mazda weaving along Connecticut Avenue. He stumbled during a field sobriety test and eventually agreed to blow. He registered 0.11 on the mobile monitor and was immediately handcuffed and placed in the rear seat of the police car. A tow truck hauled his car to the city lot. At Central, he blew again with the same result. He was fingerprinted, photographed, booked, and thrown into the drunk tank with six others. At 8:00 a.m., a bailiff led him to a small room, handed him his phone, and told him he could use it once. He called Zola, and the bailiff took his phone and led him back to the cell.
Thirty minutes later, his three friends walked through the front door at Central, got themselves scanned by a metal detector, and were directed to a large room where, evidently, families and friends came to retrieve their loved ones after a bad night. It was lined with chairs along three walls, with magazines and newspapers scattered about. Behind a large window at the far end two uniformed clerks were busy with paperwork. Cops milled around, some chatting with dazed and nervous people. There were about a dozen of them—parents, spouses, friends—all with the same spooked looks and fidgety manners. Two men in bad suits and battered briefcases seemed right at home. One was chatting up a cop who appeared to know him well. The other was huddled with a middle-aged couple. The mother was crying.
Mark, Todd, and Zola found seats in a corner and took in the surroundings. After a few minutes, Mark walked to the window and offered a sappy smile to a clerk. He said he was there to get his friend Gordon Tanner, and the clerk checked some paperwork. She nodded toward the seats and said it would take some time. Mark returned to his chair between Todd and Zola.
The lawyer chatting with the cop watched them carefully and soon came over. His three-piece suit was made of a slick bronze fabric. His shoes were shiny and black, with long pointed toes that flipped up at the tips. His shirt was baby blue and his thickly knotted tie was pale green and matched nothing else. On one wrist he wore a large gold watch with diamonds and on the other he displayed two bulky gold bracelets. His hair was greased back and bunched behind his ears. Without a smile he delivered his standard line, “Here for a DUI?”
Mark said, “Yes.”
The lawyer was already passing out his business cards. Darrell Cromley, Attorney-at-Law. DUI Specialist. Each of the three got a card as Darrell asked, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Our friend,” Todd said.
“First time?” Darrell asked happily.
“Yes, first time,” Mark replied.
“Sorry to hear. I can help. It’s all I do, DUIs. I know all the cops, judges, clerks, bailiffs, the ins and outs of the system. I’m the best in the business.”
Careful not to say anything that might show the slightest interest in hiring the guy, Mark asked, “Okay, so what’s he looking at?”
Darrell deftly pulled over a folding chair and faced the three. Without missing a beat, he asked, “What’s his name?”
“Gordon Tanner.”
“Well, Tanner blew a 0.11, so there’s not much wiggle room. First you gotta pay two hundred bucks to get him out. PRB, personal recognition bond. They’ll process him in about an hour and he can go. Cost you another two hundred to spring his car. It’s over at the city pound. Take half an hour or so to get it out. He’ll have a court date in a week or so. That’s where I come in. My fee is a thousand bucks cash.”
“He keeps his license?” Todd asked.
“Sure, until he’s convicted, in about a month. Then he’ll lose it for a year, pay a fine of five thousand, but I can get some of that knocked off. I’m really a bargain, you know? Plus he’s facing five nights in jail, but I can work some magic there too. We’ll sign him up for community service and keep him out. Believe me, I know the ropes. You guys in school or something?”
Mark said, “Yes, we’re law students.” He was not about to give the name of their school.
“Georgetown?”
Todd quietly said, “No. Foggy Bottom.”
Cromley smiled and said, “That’s my school. Finished there twelve years ago.”
The door opened and two more worried parents walked in. Cromley eyed them like a hungry dog. When he looked back at the three, Todd said, “So we need four hundred cash right now.”
“No, you need fourteen hundred. Two hundred for the bond. Two hundred for the car. A thousand for me.”
Zola said, “Okay, but our friend probably had some cash on him. How do we find out how much?”
“I can find out. Hire me now and I go to work. Your friend needs protection and that’s where I come in. The DUI treadmill in this town will chew him up and spit him out.”
Zola said, “Look, our friend is not doing well. He’s, uh, well, he’s having some problems and he’s off his meds. We need to get him to the doctor.”
Darrell liked it! His eyes narrowed as he moved in for the kill. “Sure. Once we get him out I can file a motion for an expedited hearing. Again, I’m tight with the judges and I can speed things along. But the fee will go up, of course. Let’s not delay things.”
Mark said, “All right, all right, give us some time to think about it.”
Cromley bounced to his feet and said, “You have my number.” He slithered away, found another cop to chat with as he surveyed the crowd for his next victim. As they watched him, Mark whispered, “That could be us in a couple of years.”
“What a slimeball,” Todd said, barely under his breath.
Zola said, “I have $80. Let’s pass the hat.”
Mark frowned and said, “I’m light. Maybe thirty.”
Todd said, “Me too, but I’ve got enough in the bank. I’ll run find an ATM while you guys wait here.”
“Good plan.” Todd hurried from the room as more people arrived. Mark and Zola watched Cromley and the other lawyer work the crowd. Between victims, Cromley either chatted with a cop or took important calls on his cell. Several times he left the room, always on the phone, as if attending to urgent legal matters elsewhere. But he always returned, and with a purpose.
Mark observed, “The things they haven’t taught us in law school.”
“He probably doesn’t even have an office,” Zola said.
“Are you kidding? This is his office.”