“You’d look cute on a billboard.”
“That’s my dream. That and TV ads.” She’d had several drinks and was sitting close, almost touching. Her legs were crossed and her skirt was high on the thighs. Lovely legs. She took a drink, sat the glass on the bar, and asked, “You got plans for later tonight?”
“None whatsoever. You?”
“I’m free. I have a roommate who works for the Census Bureau and she’s gone all the time. I really hate being alone.”
“You move pretty fast.”
“Why waste time? I’m just like you and right now we’re thinking about the same thing.”
Mark paid the tab and called a car. As they drove away, she took his left hand and placed it on an exposed thigh. He chuckled and whispered, “I love this city. Lots of aggressive women.”
“Whatever you say.”
The car stopped in front of a tall apartment building on Fifteenth Street. Mark paid the driver and they strolled inside, hand in hand as if they had known each other for months. They kissed in the elevator, kissed again in the tidy little den, and agreed that neither wanted to watch television. As she was undressing in the bathroom, Mark managed to fire off a quick text to Todd: Got lucky. Won’t be in tonight. Sweet dreams.
Todd replied, Who’s the girl?
Mark: You’ll probably meet her real soon.
—
HE FOUND TODD outside Division 6 at 9:30. The hallway was swarming with the usual ragtag collection of the accused, along with several lawyers working the crowd. Todd was hustling a young woman who appeared to be in tears. When she finally shook her head no, he backed off and noticed his partner watching from a distance. Todd walked over and said, “Strike three. A slow morning. You look like hell. Up all night?”
“It was amazing. I’ll tell you about it later. Where’s Zola?”
“I haven’t talked to her this morning. She’s been sleeping in, a lot of late nights at the hospitals.”
“You think she’s really hustling folks or just reading a book? I mean, she hasn’t hooked a client yet.”
“I don’t know. Let’s save it for later. I’m moving down to Division 8.” Todd walked away, briefcase in hand, and after a few steps whipped out his cell phone as if he had important business. Mark drifted down to Division 10 and walked inside. Judge Handleford was presiding and talking to a defendant. As always, lawyers and clerks milled about the bench, shuffling paperwork. Hadley was there, chatting with another prosecutor. When she saw Mark, she smiled and walked over. They sat at the defense table as if they had important business.
Just hours earlier, they had collapsed from exhaustion and slept wonderfully entangled and naked. Now she was fresh, clear-eyed, very professional. Mark was a bit fatigued.
In a low voice, she said, “I know what you’re thinking but the answer is no. I have a date tonight.”
“Hadn’t crossed my mind,” he said with a smile. “But you have my number.”
“I have lots of numbers.”
“Right. Could we discuss my client Benson Taper?”
“Sure. I don’t remember him. Let me get the file.” She stood and walked to a clerk’s table where she riffled through a large drawer of files. She found Benson’s and returned to the defense table. Scanning it, she said, “Dude was flying, wasn’t he? Eight-five in a forty-mile zone. That’s reckless and it could carry some jail time.”
“I know. Here’s the deal. Benson is a young black guy with a good job. He delivers packages, and if he gets busted for reckless, he loses his job. Can you knock it down to a lesser charge?”
“For you, anything. How about simple speeding? Pay a little fine and tell the boy to slow down.”
“Just like that?” Mark asked with a smile.
She leaned closer and said, “Sure. Satisfy the prosecutor and you get good deals, at least from me.”
“Does your boss have to approve this?”
“Mark, this is traffic court, okay? We’re not talking about a murder charge. I’ll slide this in front of old Handleford over there and he won’t say a word.”
“I love you, baby.”
“That’s what they all say.” She stood with the file and extended a hand, to seal the agreement. They shook, professionally.
22
Benson was eating a sandwich in a coffee shop on Georgia Avenue in the Brightwood section of the District. He was on lunch break and looked sharp in his work uniform. He was glad to see Mark and asked about the good news. Mark pulled an order from his briefcase and said, “We’ve made some progress. You got the rest of the fee?”
Benson reached into a pocket and pulled out some cash. “Seven hundred,” he said as he handed it over.
Mark took it and said, “Everything is reduced to simple speeding. No reckless, no jail. Fine one-fifty, payable in two weeks.”
“You’re kidding?”
Mark smiled and looked at the waitress who had suddenly appeared. “BLT and coffee,” he said. She left without saying a word.
“How’d you do that?” Benson asked.
Slept with the prosecutor, Mark wanted to report proudly, but let it go. “I haggled with the court, told the judge what a good guy you are, good job and all, and he cut you some slack. But no more tickets, Benson, you understand?”
“Wow. You’re the man, Mark. This is awesome.”
“I caught the judge on a good day, Benson. Next time we won’t be so lucky.”
“Ain’t gonna be no next time, I promise. I can’t believe this. I just knew I’d get fired and lose everything.”
Mark slid across a sheet of paper and gave him a pen. “This is the order. Sign there on the bottom and you don’t have to go back to court.”
With a big smile, Benson signed his name. “I can’t wait to tell my momma. She’s been on my ass ever since I got caught. You know, Mark, she likes you. She said, ‘That young man knows his stuff. He’s gonna be a great lawyer.’?”
“Well, she’s obviously very intelligent.” Mark took the order and placed it in his briefcase.
Benson took a bite of his sandwich and washed it down with iced tea. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, “Say, Mark, do you take other kinds of cases? Big cases?”
“Sure. My firm handles a wide variety of cases. What’s on your mind?”
Benson glanced around as if anyone cared. “Well, I got this cousin, he’s from down in Virginia, in the Tidewater area, and he’s in a mess. You got time for the story?”