Injustice for all

46

Roscoe Stinnett pulled into the gravel driveway of a small bar outside Morristown. He’d been here before, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable. The place was a dump. It was in the middle of nowhere. But Rafael Ramirez owned it and refused to meet anyplace else. Since Stinnett’s relationship with Ramirez had been so profitable, he ignored his misgivings, got out of his Jaguar, and walked through the gravel. He’d brought his briefcase along, just in case. He didn’t know what Ramirez wanted, but he hoped it was something that would involve another fat fee. Perhaps he needed help moving his cash around. Stinnett had some experience in that regard, but he’d never dealt with a drug dealer as wealthy as Ramirez.

Stinnett pushed through the heavy front door and stepped into the bar. Ramirez was waiting in the corner booth, the same seat where Stinnett had met with the person he knew only as the Mexican. It was there, in that very same booth, where Stinnett had set in motion the murder of Hannah Mills. He immediately put his hands on the table of the first booth inside the door and waited for the two men to frisk him and check him for recording devices. When they were finished, he walked back to Ramirez’s booth.

“How about a scotch on the rocks?” Stinnett said as he sat down.

“No scotch here,” Ramirez said.

“Beer then. Whatever’s on tap.”

Ramirez motioned to a white man behind the bar and told him to bring Stinnett a draft beer. The man brought the beer around the bar and put it down in front of Stinnett.

“So how’s life on the outside?” Stinnett said.

“I want my money back,” Ramirez growled.

Stinnett nearly choked on the beer. He put the glass back down on the table.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“The money I paid you for the murder case. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. You didn’t earn it. I want it back.”

“But I fulfilled my obligation under the contract,” Stinnett said. “The case against you was dismissed. I earned the fee.”

“I’m willing to let you keep twenty thousand,” Ramirez said. “But I want the rest of it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Stinnett said. “It’s unheard of. You signed a contract. The fee is nonrefundable. Nearly all fees in criminal cases are nonrefundable. I couldn’t run my business otherwise. I have to pay my bills, plan my budget-”

“Live like royalty?” Ramirez interrupted. “I saw the Jaguar when you pulled up.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“I think I’m being generous,” Ramirez said. “More than fair.”

“I don’t see how you can call giving you a hundred and thirty thousand dollars of my money-money to which I have a contractual, legal right- fair,” Stinnett said. “The contract called for me to represent you to the disposition of the case, whether it be trial, plea bargain, dismissal, whatever. I got the case dismissed.”

“I was responsible for the case being dismissed,” Ramirez said. “Not you.”

Stinnett heard the door open and looked around. Another Mexican had walked into the bar. He looked at Ramirez and shook his head.

“But I was the one who brought you the proposal in the first place!” Stinnett said.

“And for that, you’re being paid twenty thousand dollars.”

“But when I first mentioned the deal, you didn’t say anything about refunding the fee for the murder case. I was under the impression it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“You were wrong.”

Stinnett sat back in the booth and ran his hands through his curly hair. The truth was that he no longer had the money. He’d used it for a down payment on a used Cessna Skyhawk. He’d been flying for most of his adult life and had had his eye on the plane for a long time. Ramirez had given him the means to go ahead with the purchase.

“This isn’t right,” Stinnett said. “What if I refuse?”

“It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“What if I told you I don’t have it? That I’ve already spent it?”

“I’d think you’re either a liar or very stupid. I want my money, and I want it in the next twenty-four hours.”

“But that’s impossible! I’m telling you I don’t have it.”

“What if your life depended on it?”

“So now you’re threatening me? I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with. I’m not some criminal you can kill and nobody will care. If you do anything to me, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Ramirez began to laugh.

“Did you hear that, muchachos? There’ll be hell to pay!”

Stinnett squirmed in the booth as the laughter continued. He started to get up, but Ramirez’s hand caught his forearm.

“Relax, my friend. Relax. I should have known better than to try to get money back from a lawyer.”

“You don’t understand,” Stinnett said nervously. His leg was beginning to shake uncontrollably. He suddenly felt nauseated. “It’s just that we had a contract. A contract, you see?”

“Yes, yes, a contract,” Ramirez said.

Ramirez reached beneath the table, and Stinnett suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol equipped with a silencer.

“Speaking of contracts,” Ramirez said, “I’m afraid you’re the only person who might be able to tie me to the contract on the girl. The only person I don’t trust, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Stinnett said. He felt his bladder give. Warm urine was running down the inside of his thigh. “I’d never do that. Think about it. If I ever said anything about you, I’d be right in the middle of it, too. It would be professional suicide. I’d wind up in jail.”

“This friend of yours, this friend from the district attorney’s office who gave you the money for the contract,” Ramirez said. “He knows who I am, that I arranged the murder.”

“So what? You didn’t touch the money. You didn’t talk to the people who actually killed the girl. You’re clean on this, Rafael.”

“I don’t like loose ends.”

“Will you please get that gun out of my face?” Stinnett was trying to remain calm, but he felt himself on the verge of tears.

“I’ll give you the money back,” Stinnett blurted.

“No, you won’t. You’re lying.” Ramirez pulled the hammer back on the pistol.

The last words Roscoe Stinnett heard were, “You’re all the same. Fucking lawyers.”