by Paul Coggins
Cash leaned toward her and whispered, “How’s life in the big leagues?”
“Couldn’t be better. So much nicer to work at a firm where the lawyers don’t have rap sheets.”
“Sounds kind of boring.”
She pointed to Fine across the aisle. “Shouldn’t you sit with your new BFF? No one else seems to want to.”
Sure enough, despite butt-to-butt parking on the pews, space had opened around Fine. A pariah among pariahs.
“He’s my client, not my friend. You know me better than that.”
She turned toward him and waited until their eyes locked. “I know you better than you know yourself.” Her voice rose above a whisper. “You’ve earned a rep of never backing down, even when you’re in the wrong. Especially when you’re wrong.”
He didn’t have a ready defense. Nor did he come up with one before a hush fell over the courtroom. Cash wheeled around to catch the second coming of an almighty presence.
Stewart Powell stood in the entrance and surveyed the packed pews. Cash half-expected everyone to rise in tribute, including the judge.
Everyone but Cash, of course.
Instead, only the minions at Powell’s firm jumped to their feet and jockeyed for the privilege of ceding their seats to the name partner. Fergy mooted the grand gestures by calling Powell’s case first.
Figures. A trial judge with an eye on an open appellate bench would naturally cater to someone who had the ear of several U.S. Senators.
Team Powell surged forward, pulling Eva along in the wake. An opposing force of equal size and stature squared off against Powell’s platoon. Lawyers and paralegals filled both tables and spilled into the jury box and front row.
All those mercenaries and only two speaking roles among them. A matching pair of silver-haired senior partners announced ready, on behalf of faceless corporations fighting over billions in a civil suit destined to drag on for a decade or more.
Cash quickly lost interest in the nitpicking over discovery and tuned out. He perked up only when Fergy called the morning break.
***
It took Cash two minutes to track down Paula in the hallway and two more for her to shake free from her client’s general counsel. Paula and Cash found an empty bench at the far end of the floor.
“How do you think it’s going for my side?” Paula sounded nervous.
“Not a clue. When the stiffs started arguing over the number of interrogatories, I put an end to my misery by puncturing my eardrums. One good thing about watching what the big firms do, it reminds me why I went into criminal law.”
“Yes, a down and dirty trial by ambush suits your personality.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing,” he said.
“We don’t have much time, so I’ll get to the point.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Eva is miserable.”
Caught off guard, Cash tried to deflect the conversation. “Are you saying I ruined her for women?”
Paula snickered. “Quite the opposite. You set a very low bar for my gender. But you did ruin her for big firm practice.”
“How so?” Not that Cash couldn’t figure it out himself.
“Thanks to you, she sees a paralegal’s role as interviewing witnesses, collaborating on trial strategy, sitting at the defense table at trial, and feeding questions to the litigators. That’s not how real firms operate.”
“Well, not your sweat shop anyway,” Cash said. “You lock the poor paralegals inside windowless rooms, where they dig through boxes of dusty documents, or scroll though gigabytes of emails. All the while, billing out their time at three hundred dollars an hour. Cha-ching.”
Paula’s temples pulsed, but she didn’t push back.
“That’s not Eva,” Cash said, “and it never will be.”
She checked her watch and glanced over her shoulder. “Her unhappiness on the job is screwing up our relationship.”
So that’s why she’s reaching out to me.
Cash had trouble mustering sympathy for Paula. Why should he be the only one to sacrifice for the greater good of protecting Eva?
“She may be unhappy,” he said, “but she’s safe. You have to sell her on sticking it out at your firm, at least for the short-term. I hope to bring her back when…if….”
Paula’s eyes narrowed. “So your intent all along has been to park her with us until the heat’s off.”
He nodded.
“Would’ve been nice if you had let me know up front that we were only a way station. Even nicer if Eva had a clue.”
“Trust me on this,” he said. “Eva has a clue. And she rarely needs more than one.”
Speak of the angel, Eva showed up. “Break’s over.” The chill in her voice dropped the temperature in the hallway. “But the next time you two get together to decide my fate, deal me in.”
As Paula turned to leave, Cash grabbed her arm. “You and I,” he said, “we’re not finished. I need to know why you and your boss foisted Rhoden on Martin Biddle.”
The color drained from Paula’s face. It could’ve been due to Cash’s question. More likely, it stemmed from Stewart Powell’s sudden appearance at her side.
Speak of the devil.
Powell addressed Paula, his back to Cash. “The client is asking for you. Don’t keep him waiting.”
She rushed to the courtroom, leaving Powell and Cash alone in the lobby. Cash couldn’t resist a jab at the rainmaker. “Surprised that a swell like you would slum with us working stiffs. Who gave you the directions to the courthouse?”
“I’m surprised, sport, that you still have a law license.” Powell smiled. “In my role as president of the state bar, I’ll have to look into that.”
***
By the afternoon break, Fergy had flushed everyone from the courtroom, except Cash and his client. Even the government table—the one closer to the jury box—was empty.
After suffering through six sentencings, three re-arraignments, countless discovery disputes, and the swearing-in of a new lawyer, Cash had nearly fossilized into the bench. The break gave him a chance to stretch his legs on a stroll up and down the hallway, with Fine nipping at his heels.
“Man, oh man, I really screwed up.” Fine had perfected the art of whining. “The judge couldn’t stand Rhoden, but he fucking hates you even more.”
Cash kept walking. “The good thing about Fergy is that he’s an equal opportunity hater. He despises all living creatures, great and small. He just hates defense lawyers a tad more.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?” Fine sounded as if he was about to lose his shit.
Cash stopped and faced his client. “Yeah, it should. There are judges in this building who are so hell-bent on helping the prosecution that they might as well sit at the government table. That ain’t Fergy. Sure, he’ll beat on me during trial, but he’ll do the same to the prosecutor.”
Cash checked the time. “We’d better head back.”
After Cash and Fine had settled at the defense table, the door behind them creaked open. Cash swiveled around to see FBI Agent Stanley Bowers swagger into the courtroom, smirk in place.
Damn. Bowers must’ve bumped Maggie as the case agent.
Cash stifled any outward reaction to the bad break. No need to rattle the client any more than he already was.
Cash’s spirits lifted at the sight of Maggie, five paces behind Bowers but gaining fast. Maybe he’d been too quick to count her out.
The courtroom door closed and remained shut for several seconds. It opened with a bang to reveal the new prosecutor.
Cash’s jaw dropped. “Fuck. Me,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for Fine to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Regina Delgado—all five-feet-two and ninety-five pounds of her—blew into the courtroom, a minute after Judge Ferguson had taken the bench. “Sorry, Your Honor.” She didn’t sound near sorry enough. “American Airlines canceled my flight from D.C. last night and put me on the first flight this morning
, which got delayed two hours.”
Cash cringed. Fergy would never buy an excuse short of death.
The judge sat through Regina’s apology, still as a statue. His natural scowl carved in stone. Gray eyes laser-focused on the supplicant. Wearing a black robe that could serve as a small tent.
Cash stayed loose and limber, ready to dodge thunderbolts from on high. Even if aimed at Regina, they would fly fast and furious and might hit innocent bystanders. Namely, him.
Instead, Cash witnessed a miracle. The corners of the judge’s lips curled upward. Not a lot. Just a tick. No full-blown smile, but Fergy’s closest simulation.
“No problem, Miss Delgado. Your assistant called to inform us of your travel issues.” For someone without an ounce of compassion, Fergy sounded almost sympathetic.
What the hell just happened?
Cash’s internal alarm went off. It dawned on him why Delgado had escaped with her skin. The sudden turn of fortune solved two mysteries: why Fine’s case got called last on today’s docket and why the Justice Department had sent Regina to take down the perv.
She had a history with Fergy. Almost twenty years ago to the day, she had moved to Dallas, fresh from Harvard Law School, to serve as his first law clerk. The clerkship had been rugged, more like a boot camp. A year of long days and short nights. Grueling schedules and impossible deadlines. Morsels of encouragement amid mountains of criticism.
A frontline federal prosecutor at the time, Cash had helped Regina through the trying year. Consoling her. Inviting her to happy hours. Introducing her to his colleagues. Now it was coming back to bite him.
Surviving the year had earned Regina two rare prizes: Fergy’s blessing and a ticket to the United States Attorney’s Office in Dallas, a plum post she had parlayed into a seventh-floor office at Main Justice in D.C.—shouting distance from the Attorney General.
Regina made the rounds in the room, receiving a hug from the longtime court reporter and a high five from the bailiff. Cash half-expected balloons to fall from the ceiling and ticker tape to rain down.
Finally, she made her way to the defense table. The bounce in her step testified to her home turf edge.
Cash stood to greet her. “What are you doing here, Gina? You traded in your trial spurs for a corner office on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
Her smile faded. “Someone has to see that justice gets done down here. I go by Regina now.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” he said, with no intent to do so. “But it won’t be easy. I knew you when you were Gina and still had a sense of humor.”
“I knew you when you had a sense of decency,” she said, “before you went to the dark side to represent all manner of scum.” She looked down on Fine, still seated. “Present company included.”
Fine started to rise, but Cash stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” Fine said to Cash.
“I’d push back,” Cash said, “but unfortunately truth happens to be a defense to defamation.”
Regina flashed a smile at Cash. The second miracle of the afternoon.
“I hate to interrupt this touching reunion”—sarcasm laced the judge’s tone—“but we have the small matter of a trial to discuss. It’s docketed for the twenty-seventh of this month. Will both sides be ready then?”
Cash and Regina pivoted toward the judge. Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to commit to a position.
During the awkward silence, the feds played a quick game of musical chairs. Three feds but only two chairs at the government table. Regina and Bowers claimed the open seats, banishing Maggie to the front row.
Tough break for Maggie, the odd woman out. For Cash as well. And most of all, for Fine.
Cash seldom suffered second thoughts over a defense strategy, but they swarmed him now. His game plan had been to request a short continuance of the trial date. That would be the sane, conventional approach for a new lawyer in a case with a terabyte of documents to pore over and a host of witnesses to interview.
Though loath to continue cases under any circumstances, Fergy would be hard-pressed to deny a delay of, say, sixty days for Cash to get up to speed. Perhaps ninety, if pushed.
An outright denial of more time to prepare would be grounds for reversal on appeal. The only thing the judge hated more than delay was a slap down by the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals. Or as Fergy called the upper branch, the “Fifth Circus.”
Regina’s eleventh-hour appearance scrambled Cash’s calculations. Better than even odds that she was equally unprepared, and the government had to mount its case first.
Advantage, Cash.
“I’m waiting,” the judge said. “What says the government?”
Cash studied Regina’s face, all clean lines and sharp angles. Pueblo ancestors had passed down dark eyes and a coppery complexion. He focused on her full lips. They parted. Closed. Parted again. A sign of indecision.
“Your Honor,” she said, “while the government is prepared to proceed on the current trial date, we recognize that Mister Fine’s previous counsel died recently and that Mister McCahill filed his notice of appearance only last week. Thus, to accommodate the defense, we will not object to a short continuance.”
Riiiight. Like she’s doing me a solid.
Cash whispered to Fine, “Do you trust me?”
Fine nodded tentatively. The fear in his eyes cast a dissent.
“I’m calling her bluff,” Cash whispered to his client before addressing the court. “While we thank Miss Delgado for her kind offer, the defense will be ready to roll on the twenty-seventh. No delay necessary.”
Silence gripped the room. Regina blanched. Bowers turned red. Maggie shot Cash a look like he’d lost his mind. Fine clenched his fists until the knuckles turned white.
Fergy recovered first. “Mister McCahill, I want to be sure you understand that this is your one and only opportunity to seek a continuance.”
Cash doubled down. “Understood.”
“You won’t be able to wait until a week before trial and then beg for more time.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cash said.
Regina found her voice. “The government moves the court to designate the case a complex one under the Speedy Trial Act.”
Fergy looked perplexed. “To what end? Both sides have said they’ll be ready for trial on the twenty-seventh, a date that clearly complies with the statutory deadlines. Why do we need to address this issue at all?”
“Strictly a fail-safe, Your Honor,” Regina said. “If something unforeseen were to scramble the court’s docket or if a critical government witness proved unable to travel on the scheduled date, it would be good to know in advance that the Speedy Trial Act won’t preclude an emergency continuance.”
“What’s your position, Mister McCahill, on whether this case is complex and, thus, not subject to the deadlines in the act?” the judge said.
Cash saw through Regina’s ploy. She was angling for an opportunity to lobby the court for more time later, if she got jammed during trial prep. Clever lass. Cash had boxed her in, but she was laying the groundwork to escape.
The good news, Cash could read her like a law book. Not that he’d bothered to crack open all that many law books, while in school or out.
The bad news, she could read him as well.
“Like most federal indictments,” Cash said, “this one features a lot of fluff but not much substance. At the core, it’s simple. So no, Your Honor, not complex.”
Without further debate, the court slapped the c-word on the case, deeming it complex. Certain to be first of many rulings in Regina’s favor.
After disposing of the last matter on the docket, the judge left the bench, and the courtroom went dark. Cash fully expected an ambush, as soon as he set foot in the lobby.
He guessed right about the ambush but wrong on who would waylay him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cash searched for Maggie outside the cour
troom. No sighting of her.
No Regina either, though he was not so much looking for her as looking out for her. Little to gain from dredging up their past and plenty of downside.
Not a word had passed between Cash and Regina in over a decade. No contact between them since their short stint on a Justice Department strike force targeting public corruption on the border.
El Paso had offered a target rich environment. Charging corrupt officials had proven as quick and effortless as rounding up whores in a Juárez bar. Easy, sleazy. Couldn’t throw a brick on either side of the border without hitting a crooked pol or a prostitute.
As if there was a difference.
Regina had led the task force and tapped Cash to be her top trial gun, but they had butted heads over strategy. Whatever chemistry had jelled in Dallas evaporated in the desert heat. One dead target had tanked the partnership for good.
The border gig had boosted her government career but aborted his. At the break-up, they’d left much unsaid. Fine with him.
The hall lights in the courthouse clanked off, row by row. The encroaching darkness chased Cash toward the exit. Batting zero for two in the ex-partner department, he decided to take off and leave the past to the past.
At the elevator bank, Cash ran into the absolute last person he wanted to see. FBI Agent Stanley Bowers’ smirk invited a slap. Cash fought the urge.
“Delgado wants to see you.” Bowers had a bad habit of making a simple request sound like a royal command.
“Tell her to make an appointment with….” Cash caught himself. He no longer had Eva to juggle his calendar and keep his life on track. Not that he had a lot on his plate these days. Nor much of a life.
“Now.” Big mistake for Bowers to raise his voice. Made his double chin quiver.
Curious as Cash was to hear what Regina had to say, he had half a mind to brush past Bowers and hit the streets. Drive home the point that the agent’s tough guy act needed work.
“Sorry, but I have a pressing appointment.” Cash didn’t try to sound sorry or sell the excuse.
