The Mentor

by Rebecca Forster

  They were guys the likes of which Los Angeles had never seen. Guys with guts. Guys with beards. Gaunt guys made up of sinewy muscle. Guys in jeans and Tee-shirts with slogans about guns and liquor screen-printed back and front. They were guys who looked as if they came from a gene pool nobody should swim in. They wanted meat on their women and had disgusting pet names for the female anatomy. They condemned the government, blacks, Hispanics. They were guys who didn’t play by the rules because they couldn’t read them.

  But these were definitely not members of the militia, Independent or otherwise. They were pretenders with nothing better to do than cause a ruckus and they were having the time of their life.

  “Are the mountain men still out there?” Abram Schuster talked to Edie from the doorway. She glanced at him. Abram was top dog, Edie second in command. He had rewarded her with position for her service, she responded in kind with her loyalty. It was a fine line they had been walking for years. They weren’t friends, they were excellent colleagues.

  “Yes, they’re out there. I just love the media; they’ll buy into anything. Those guys are no more militia than I am.” Edie cocked her head. “It’s sort of the difference between reading a Stephen King novel and finding the Night Stalker in your bedroom. Half those reporters would pee in their pants if they spent ten minutes alone with George Stewart. He’s the real thing. He’s worth writing about, not those people down there.”

  “And what about you, Edie? I’d venture to guess George Stewart doesn’t scare you at all.” Abram chuckled as he came into her office. She made room by the window.

  “No, he doesn’t scare me. He’s my brass ring. Besides, men are predictable, Abram. It’s women who aren’t.” She tapped her finger against the windowpane, focusing on the woman who walked past the cameras without notice. “She’s the one who’s frightening. Have you seen her up close?” Edie raised her chin, indicating the woman in yellow.

  Abram was by her side now, having stepped over boxes of files that comprised the investigation which would build Edie’s case against George and Henry Stewart, the men accused of killing two people in the course of a domestic act of terrorism. They were charged with blowing up an IRS outpost with 500 pounds of high explosives. Conspiracy charges made the whole package heavy with possibilities and so damn politically correct. Abram focused on the woman below.

  “Yes, I have. I assumed you’d already seen her, too. Perhaps you even talked to her. Falling down a bit, aren’t we?”

  “I’ve been busy. Or maybe you haven’t noticed?” She leaned against the sill arms crossed.

  “Oh, I have noticed. I’ve noticed many things. Lauren Kingsley, for example. Your second seat has been putting in long and tedious hours while you’ve been showing up more regularly on the news, Edie. I thought, given the task of prosecuting two members of the elusive Independent Militia, you would have been burying yourself in strategy rather than tying yourself up with television cable.”

  Edie’s smile was now small and tight. He was testing her. She was up to it.

  “Lauren’s been with this office for three years. She needs to burn the midnight oil. When I’m the U.S. Attorney, and she’s been here fifteen like I have, then you can worry about her.”

  “I do hope you won’t have to wait that long to take my place, Edie,” Abram laughed outright.

  “So do I.” She gave him a lazy, honest look that hid her sudden attentiveness. “Any chance the job will be opening up soon?”

  “I’m ready, Edie.” Interrupted suddenly, they looked toward the doorway before Abram could answer.

  Lauren was there, wound tight and ready to spring into action the minute Jonathan Lee gave the go ahead. Edie eyed Lauren’s charcoal pant suit, the silk blouse, the flawlessness of the younger woman’s personal presentation, then she disregarded it. Style was not a level playing field. You either had it, or you didn’t.

  “Fine, I’ll meet you downstairs,” Edie answered.

  “Abram, it’s going to be a great trial,” Lauren reassured him with a nod and then she was gone. Edie half expected to find the space filled with flashbulb pops of light, residuals of Lauren’s momentary, and blazing, appearance.

  “I would say she looks none the worse for wear, Edie,” Abram chuckled.

  “I would say you’re right.” Edie reached for her briefcase and whipped it up atop the desk. Obviously, he hadn’t come in to announce that his position was about to be vacated. She fiddled with the latches and asked woodenly, “Has Lauren complained about the way I’m handling things? Is that why you’re worried about her hours?”

  “Our Lauren? She doesn’t complain. She states facts and spouts her opinion, which she somehow manages to make sound like fact.” Abram dismissed Edie’s concerns with a cursory wave. “Just don’t make her a lackey because she threatens you. Use her because she knows what she’s doing. Remember, Lauren clerked with Wilson Caufeld. That’s about as good as the federal bench gets.”

  “That’s probably where she learned that every call is black and white.” Edie smirked as the gold locks clicked on her briefcase. She turned back to look out the window and then at him. “But, Abram, let’s be honest. Threatening is the last thing I find Lauren. I’m just practical. She’s won six cases to my fifty. If you’re worried about the hours she’s putting in, take her off the case, otherwise we’ll do what needs to be done.”

  Abram smiled and peered at the crowd of cretins below. He was pleased with Edie’s sovereignty. Lauren Kingsley should count herself lucky to work under such a woman. Still, there was a danger in not recognizing the more human aspect of the work they did. Emotions and desires, rather than the simple intellect, needed to be considered, if outcomes were to be more easily predicted and objectives achieved. Edie, he feared, would never learn that.

  “It was only an observation, Edie. I’m a voyeur at heart. I never like to get involved in the fray if I don’t have to.” They were face to face now.

  “Why don’t you observe how I work instead of how often you see Lauren hunched over her desk,” Edie said, companionably cool.

  Abram’s nod was the only sign that he’d heard her. She raised her hand self-consciously to her head. Her dark hair was parted on one side as always and it lay against her head like a helmet. When she spoke, the slight curl of the cut moved as her wide lips did, like a punctuation mark calling attention to the fact that she meant every word she said. “I’ll make you proud, Abram. I promised you that when you hired me and when you promoted me. I’m not going to let you down now.”

  Abram reacted charmingly with that sort of Ronald Reagan “there you go again” chuckle the broadcast media loved. He looked good in print, too. Abram was an Alistair Cooke clone of sorts, a gentleman’s gentleman unless you looked too closely. Then you saw his skull was a bit too large for his body, his silver hair was slicked down too tightly against his almost-patrician head. His suits, of superb quality, weren’t quite tailored properly. That twinkle in his eyes was not one of delight but a trick of his chemistry. But no one ever looked that closely because Abram moved on before they could find his flaws. Edie saw them and understood them. She didn’t have to like Abram to appreciate what he had, and probably would, do for her.

  “Quite right, Edie. You run this case as you see fit.” He ended the administrative talk and pointed casually out the window. “So what do you think about the mother?”

  “I think she’s as scary as her husband. She won’t walk ten paces behind bringing up the rear with a rifle, I’ll tell you.”

  “Do you think she’s calling the shots?”

  “Who knows?” Edie shrugged, more comfortable now that they were back to the business at hand. “This is supposedly an offshoot of the Guardians, but none of the big groups are acknowledging the Stewart boys. They haven’t denounced them either, so I guess it’s a wash. The case agents interviewed the mother and said she’s a tough nut.” Edie smiled. Abram did, too, knowing Edie felt a certain kinship with that kind of woman. “Mrs. Stewart
is proud of her men, Abram. She didn’t even try to alibi them. She’d probably hand over George without blinking. They’d both love to be martyrs. She may think twice about the boy, though. I’m not sure he’s really with the program.”

  “That’s nice to know, but I’m not handing over either of them.” Abram moved away from the window and slid onto her desk, letting one leg hang over the side.

  “Don’t you mean ‘we’, Abram?” Edie said, emphasizing the partnership.

  He raised only his eyes toward her and smiled. “Of course, Edie. In for a penny, in for a pound. But the sad fact remains that I am where the buck stops. You’re simply not the boss—yet.”

  He laughed and Edie colored. One day she probably would be, but the job was his until the Federal administration changed. Even with that, though, Abram Schuster felt rather secure having survived two presidents. There was no reason to think he wouldn’t outlast a third. Black robes and a lifetime appointment to the federal bench, or a presidential housecleaning, were the only two things that would send him packing. Edie could have her dream when he had his. He had thought that moment was close at hand until he took a good look at the Stewart case. This terrorist act wasn’t quite a national disaster with only two dead, but it had its merits. It also had its problems.

  “Officer Readmore’s stop wasn’t good, you know. It was a bad mistake that could ruin you before you get started, Edie.”

  “We’ve got it covered. There are precedents,” Edie shot back, annoyed that he should think she hadn’t covered such basic ground. If the stop was flawed, then the defendants could walk. Luckily, judges were human. They weighed the law against public perception, and then seasoned the whole stew with their own prejudices and beliefs to come up with their unique recipe for justice. “Judge Lee is a good man. He’s ruled favorably for the police every time there’s been a fine line of admissibility. We couldn’t have drawn a better judge on this one.”

  “I hope you’re right. It isn’t just your lovely ass, Edie. It’s this office’s reputation that’s on the line. The national eye has turned upon us once again.” He sighed. Menedez and O.J. were both disasters, so they had to make this one good. Few people understood the distinction between the D.A. and the U.S. Attorney. To them, lawyers were lawyers and when they worked for the government incompetence was assumed. “People want someone to be punished. You better be definitive on the issue of Officer Readmore’s stop or the defense will be all over you and the judge. Unless, of course, you can make a case without the physical evidence from that truck.”

  “I don’t intend to try.” Edie felt worn out, and the day hadn’t started. Abram, half politician, half attorney, had that effect on her. He might not be able to pontificate so easily if he were to step back into the courtroom for a minute. Sometimes she simply didn’t have the energy to be the hard-driving, hard-working, hard-edged professional everyone expected her to be. Sometimes Edie wondered when the rug would be pulled out from under her.

  She looked for a way around Abram, found none and moved past him to put on her jacket. Edie was transformed. She stood taller, her eyes were sharper, she became an even more powerful-looking woman. Sometimes juries and judges didn’t like that.

  “They’re waiting. I’ve got to go. You want to come watch?”

  Abram looked at the clock on the wall and slid off her desk. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m sending my best. Go defend the People against the evil men who would dismantle our government, rape and pillage.” Abram chuckled, thoroughly amused with himself for just a moment. “I think I’ll let you ride off to battle on your own.”

  Edie was skeptical. “You’re turning down a chance to see and be seen?”

  “It’s your party, Edie. I assume you’ll tell me when you think my presence might be beneficial. I’ll show up after we hear how Judge Lee rules on the arrest of our anarchists, but only if he rules in our favor.”

  Edie swung her briefcase off the desk. When she looked back at him her eyes were filled with amusement.

  “Thanks for the lesson in deportment, or was that a vote of confidence?” She stepped past him. Before she had cleared his path, Edie hesitated. Though she would hate to admit it, she did need Abram’s approval. Without it she felt too alone despite Lauren Kingsley by her side or, perhaps, because of it. “I’ve got Lauren handling the motions this morning. There isn’t a man on earth who can resist a strawberry blonde standing at his feet pleading for him to do right by her. What do you think?”

  “A wise decision, Edie. I admire a woman who knows how to work effectively with those of her own sex.” Or use them to the best advantage. He sent her on her way with another smidgen of self-assurance. Edie thought a pinch was all she craved. Abram had a feeling bushels wouldn’t be enough.

  In her wake Abram sniffed, but Edie hadn’t left a trail of burning doubt behind her. That was good. Prosecution was nothing more than guts and the desire for glory. Outgunned, out-financed, a prosecutor needed to be focused by a desire for right to triumph in the face of evil, or an equally strong need to triumph for the sake of proving oneself superior in the face of such odds. Edie, he thought, was the latter.

  She was a funny, personally secretive woman. He would like to be around when that incredible passion of hers couldn’t be contained one more minute. No matter how she tried to hide it, Abram was sure the passion was there. But that was for another day. Edie and Lauren had worked their tails off for this day. All in all, they had each done what they could to ensure the success. Now the battle had begun, and the troops had been sent forth.

  Looking about, his practiced eye saw nothing intriguing in Edie William’s office. At the very least he didn’t have that sense of despair that often precedes disaster, so Abram Schuster went to attend to his own important business. Mark Jackson was waiting in his office.

  “Your Honor,” Lauren said firmly. Judge Lee gave her just a bit more of his attention for her effort. “There is no question but that the restraint of Henry Stewart was lawful. As the driver in the car in which his father, George Stewart, was riding, Henry’s presence was inclusive in the officer’s detention. Now, I admit that the driver can challenge the detention, but, Your Honor, I can point to numerous cases which override the challenge. For example, United States v. United States District Court, both of which uphold the notion that if the vehicle in which the passenger was riding is lawfully stopped the driver himself is lawfully stopped and can be detained.”

  Lauren raised a hand and pointed to the judge as if she had just called the eight ball and popped it in. Joe Knapp, young Henry’s counsel, rolled his eyes. It must be nice to still get revved by your own arguments. The kid talked like she knew everything. He chanced a glance toward the end of the defense table. Eric Weitman, George’s attorney was honed in on Lauren like a laser. The man was a barracuda. When this thing got going in earnest, and Edie hopped into bed with them, Joe knew he was going to have to fight for poor old Henry’s share of the covers. If, of course, they ever got into bed. With a sigh he noted the time. If Lauren Kingsley was as smart as everyone said she was, she’d wrap it up. Not that it looked like she was in any danger of losing judge Lee’s attention. The man was giving her more than her due.

  “If the courts did not recognize such lawful detention of the driver of a vehicle, Your Honor, we would have criminals—” she cast a stony look toward the defendants, “—murderers—hiring lawful citizens to sit in the passenger seat while the bad guys drove. Criminals would all be set free based on the theory that a driver cannot be detained because of a reasonable expectation of privacy.”

  Edie, sitting at the prosecution table, rose slightly and handed Lauren a note. The younger woman didn’t miss a beat, nor did she read the note. Edie sat back and picked up a pencil to cover her annoyance. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Lauren, sometimes Lauren simply annoyed her. She never seemed to stay still long enough to learn what Edie had to teach. She would remind Lauren who ran this case and whose experience would guide the
m through the trial if Lauren ever stopped talking.

  “You, Your Honor, would be providing the criminals with the means to their end. That would result in anarchy, Your Honor, something I’m sure these two gentlemen would relish.

  “Behind the lectern, Ms. Kingsley. And, may I remind you we are hearing motions, not closing arguments.”

  Jonathan Lee looked over his bifocals and motioned her back. His smile was so slight she almost missed it. Her impassioned contention still ringing in her own ears, Lauren sidestepped back to the lectern lamenting the lack of drama in Federal Court. She must remember to ask Wilson if her mother had been as cool in the courtroom as Judge Lee. She took a deep breath and centered herself. Her mother always said that an attorney who was centered was the one who moved the quickest. Her mother...

  “Ms. Kingsley? Is there anything more?”

  “No, Judge.” Startled and ashamed to find she had stood silently before the bench, Lauren walked back to her table.

  “Counsel?” Jonathan Lee looked toward the defense. Joe came to attention and took his place, ready to go through the motions. There wasn’t much that would influence the judge at this stage since Jonathan Lee wanted to go to trial. The best bet would be to get every possible argument on the record for an appeal.

  Lauren watched Henry’s attorney. She paid attention the way her mother had taught her and forgot her mother simultaneously. It was getting easier all the time. Joe Knapp was standing in the proper place.

  “Ms. Kingsley makes up for her youth with her enthusiasm, Judge. United States v. Gonzales disagrees with anything she can throw out to this court. The point of this whole exercise is moot. I will let Mr. Weitman speak for his client, of course, but in regard to mine, Henry Stewart should never have been detained. There was no reason to stop the vehicle he was driving in the first place...”