Side by Side

82

On Monday morning at eight A.M. sharp, Ross Laughlin, who had arrived an hour earlier on his law firm’s jet after spending two days in Miami with a senator to build an alibi, took a seat at the defense table in a federal courtroom. He opened his briefcase to retrieve his crocodile notebook and his shiny amber pen, and pulled the shirt cuffs out so his cuff links were visible. He was going to look his best when he appeared before the mob of press gathered on the courthouse steps expecting to announce Colonel Hunter Bryce’s conviction.

The U.S. marshals escorted a stern-faced Colonel Hunter Bryce to the table and removed his handcuffs. Before he sat down, the colonel straightened his tie and tugged at the hem of his blazer. Laughlin had to admit that he wished his own suits fit him like Bryce’s fit their owner, but you can’t buy a body like that.

In a low voice Bryce asked, “How does everything look?”

Ross opened his notebook, and on the first sheet he had printed, Free at last, free at last.

“How long will it take to do the paperwork?” Bryce asked.

“An hour, if you get someone from the clerk’s office who’s literate. The press will be going apeshit. You’ll have to avoid making any statements.”

“I’m great on TV.”

“Gloating would be ill advised, Colonel. There’ll be a shit storm when Fondren turns you loose. The media is discussing whether you’ll get life or the needle.”

“I was messing with you, Ross. Loosen up. Where’s Randall going to be?”

“I haven’t spoken to him. I assume he’s been busy cleaning things up.”

Colonel Bryce turned to look at the faces in the seats behind the defense table. Aside from the journalists who had been covering the trial, he didn’t see anyone he recognized.

Just as he was about to turn back, two women entered the courtroom. “Oh, man,” Bryce said to Laughlin. “Looks like somebody’s babe’s been in a car wreck.”

Ross Laughlin snapped the cap off of his pen, then turned to look at the woman Bryce was referring to. She was pretty despite the bruises and lacerations. Something about her seemed familiar, but Ross couldn’t quite place her. The attractive woman with her was dressed in a gray suit and carried a leather handbag.

He assumed the second woman was an attorney who had come to see him lose one. Like a lot of people, she was in for a surprise. He glanced at the prosecutor, a self-assured ass.

“Mr. Laughlin?” the woman in the suit said.

“Yes?” he said, putting on his dignified political smile.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Lucy Dockery. Lucy, this is Ross Laughlin, Mr. Smoot’s business partner.”

The pretty woman with the bruised and scratched-up face studied Ross with an expression that could have driven dull nails into solid oak. “My pleasure,” she said through tight lips.

Laughlin was aware that Hunter Bryce was squeezing his arm, and that the bailiff was calling the court to order. Stunned, Ross sat through a very long pronouncement of guilt delivered by Judge Fondren, who never once took his cold blue eyes off Hunter Bryce. The judge set a date for sentencing, then vacated the bench.

As Hunter Bryce was being led from the room in handcuffs by U.S. marshals, Special FBI Agent Alexa Keen introduced herself to Ross Laughlin, read him his rights, and handcuffed him.

Lucy Dockery made her way to the door leading to the judge’s chambers, where her son was waiting with his favorite sitter.

Alexa Keen and Special FBI Agent Crisp escorted the stunned attorney from the courtroom past a phalanx of reporters, photographers, and camera crews.