Barely Legal

17

David Ross went home to his father’s Fifth Avenue apartment. David had a dorm room at Columbia, but his father’s apartment was more convenient, being on the East Side like the court. It was also more comfortable. The councilman’s floor-through duplex boasted several amenities not available in the dorm room, like food, for instance, and David’s own shower and sauna and big-screen TV.

David’s father met him in the foyer, which was large enough for the average apartment’s living room. It was furnished with a couple of divans and side tables, to handle the slipover from the parties the councilman was sometimes forced to throw.

“What do you mean you didn’t take the deal?” Councilman Ross said. “I had it all worked out.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I tried to tell you, you didn’t listen.”

“Because you didn’t listen to me. I didn’t do it. The drugs weren’t mine, and someone set me up.”

“This is not the most brilliant defense ever thought of. Any penny ante thief ever busted with the goods says, ‘That’s not mine.’”

“It’s not a story, Dad, it’s the truth, and I’ll find a way to prove it.”

“Didn’t your lawyer strongly advise you against doing that?”

“My lawyer wasn’t there.”

“What?”

“He was in the hospital, so he sent another guy in his place.”

“What guy?”

“A lawyer named Herb Fisher.”

“How is he?”

“I don’t think he’s very good, but he isn’t forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do,” David said, and stomped off to his room.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

Councilman Ross prided himself on rarely getting upset. He was a politician’s politician, who knew which side of the bread his butter was on. No matter how sticky a situation, he always managed to come out squeaky clean. He’d earned the allegiance of the police department not by any special favors, but by always appearing to be on their side, whether he was or not.

Arranging the plea bargain had not been difficult, just inconvenient. He hated to waste the political favor, but it had been necessary. A misdemeanor settled out of court would scarcely sully his reputation. His son in jail on a drug conviction could have been the nail in his political coffin. Underneath it all the councilman really did love his son and would do anything to save him. He just had trouble letting it show.

The councilman went into his home office and dialed the cell number of Bill Eggers, the CEO of Woodman & Weld.

Eggers was surprised to hear from him. “Councilman. What’s wrong?”

“My son’s attorney didn’t show up for court.”

“Impossible. I’d have heard about it.”

“He sent a replacement. Can you believe that? A substitute. This is my son, for Christ’s sake.”

“Who’d he send?”

“Herb Fisher.”

“Councilman, this is actually very good news. James Glick is an excellent courtroom lawyer, which is why I assigned him to your son’s case, but Herb Fisher is a brilliant attorney and a partner in the firm. Trust me, you could not be in better hands.”

“So you say. He rejected the plea.”

“He what?”

“He rejected it. Against my express orders.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. I’m waiting for my son to come home a free man and he’s still on trial.”

“Relax. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Bill Eggers broke the connection and called James Glick.