by Mark Pryor
“Maybe so,” Portnoy was saying. “But I’m not talking about adjudications. I’ve seen this young man’s face on considerably more than two occasions, as you well know.”
Muckles sat down, and Brian McNulty gave her that smug smile of his.
Portnoy went on. “I’m going to recess the disposition portion of this plea for two weeks. That means you’re going home with your sister today on home detention, which means you’re allowed to go out with her but not on your own, for any reason. If you set one foot wrong in the next two weeks, you’ll spend the next six months here at the ISC—and I mean that literally, as you’ll be wearing an ankle monitor. Charge it every day, and do not even think about removing it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bobby said, his head down. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew the look they held in them: contempt and fury. To his credit, he was learning to play the game, as his voice was meek and respectful. “I’ll do right, I’ll show that I can.”
“I hope so,” Portnoy said, then looked at McNulty. “And the State needs to figure out who’s handling which cases. I’ve made it clear in the past, I like continuity in my courtroom.” Without waiting for an answer, she stood. “We’re adjourned.”
“All rise,” the bailiff said, and we hauled ourselves to our feet and watched the elegant figure of Judge Barbara Portnoy sweep out of the courtroom.
◯
McNulty huffed his way into our shared office, not meeting my eye.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked mildly.
“I thought you asked me to handle it if you were late.” His brow furrowed, as if he really thought that. “A couple of days ago.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, you were late; I was covering for you.” He probably heard the whine in his own voice, so he looked up and said more assertively, “You’re welcome.”
I held his eye. “Don’t handle my cases without asking me. Understood?”
“What’s the big deal, Dom? Seriously? Another little shit steals another friggin’ car, so what do you care?”
“You heard the judge; she likes continuity with the cases in her court.”
“Since when did you care what she wants?” McNulty snapped. “Or anyone else?”
Terri Williams appeared in the doorway. “There a problem, guys?”
“No,” I said. “Just friendly banter. You know how we are.” I gave her my most innocent smile.
“That’s why I asked,” she said. “Anyway, you fellas have a minute?”
“Sure.” McNulty dropped his plump form into his chair. “What’s up?”
She lounged against the doorway and gave us a broad smile. “A fun opportunity for one of you.”
“Hey, I don’t volunteer,” McNulty said quickly. “I got a lot on my plate already.”
“You haven’t heard what it is yet,” Williams said sweetly. “And when you do, I’m guessing you’ll change your tune. But looks like you get first dibs, Dominic.”
“Fire away,” I said.
“As you may know, the DA’s office hasn’t always had the best relationship with the Austin Police Department,” she began.
McNulty snorted. “Because they do crappy investigations and their offense reports are usually incoherent?”
“That’s a long word for you, Brian,” I said.
“Hush, both of you,” Terri said. “From their perspective, they do a ton of work, write all these reports, and then we dismiss cases without consulting them. Or even letting them know.” She held up a quieting hand, to McNulty not me. “I’m just telling you what their perspective is.”
“Fine,” McNulty said. “So, what now—we have to consult with them on every case?”
“Nothing like that,” Terri said. “We have a new liaison program in place. You already know that APD divides Austin into nine sectors for patrols. Each sector will now have a prosecutor assigned to it. The day shifts will have your cell number in case they have legal questions and, here’s the best part, a couple of times a month you’ll ride out with a Thursday evening or night shift, and get the next day off.”
“Wait,” McNulty said. I could see the wheels turning in his mind. “So I can work Monday through Thursday, then ride out Thursday night and have Friday off.”
“Right,” Terri said. “Except I think Dominic gets dibs, since you wanted nothing to do with this.”
“I was totally kidding,” McNulty said. “Come on, seniority wins, surely.”
“Sure it does,” I said. “On the county scale, I’m a level six attorney; you’re a level five attorney. I win. When do I start?”
“No, I meant seniority down here. I’ve been down here the longest, I should have the choice.”
Unfortunately, he was right and I knew it, that’s how this place usually worked. “Why can’t we both do it, get different sectors?” I asked.
“Yeah, or that,” McNulty agreed.
Williams shook her head. “Sorry, I checked already. They only want one from juvenile. Each trial court will have someone assigned, as well.”
McNulty turned to me, his voice high and a little desperate. “Don’t you play gigs on Thursday nights?”
“Sometimes,” I conceded. “But I can probably move them to Fridays. Wednesdays if I have to.”
“Much as it pains me, I should probably stick with the house rule,” Williams said. “Sorry, Dom, that gives Brian right of first refusal.”
“And he already refused,” I said.
“He got pretty close to it, I agree.” She wagged a finger at McNulty. “Next time, be more of a team player else I will bypass you.”
McNulty ignored the chastisement. “When do I start? Any training or anything to do?”
“No, but there are some rules,” she said. “You wear a jacket or polo shirt with the DA logo on it.”
“Can I carry?”
“No guns; absolutely not.”
“What about a bulletproof vest?”
“You realize you’re gonna be sitting in a car all night, not getting in gunfights, right?” I said.
“If you want a vest, you’re welcome to buy one,” Terri said. “As far as I know, APD doesn’t provide them to riders, and we don’t either.”
“Cool,” McNulty said. “I’ll check online, see how much they are.”
I could just see him, lacing up combat boots, strapping himself into the heaviest vest he could find, boning up on the lingo. He’d probably strap a fake .32 to his ankle and hope no one noticed, probably start crying if they did.
Terri handed him a piece of paper. “These are the sergeants for the evening shifts this Thursday, one runs from two p.m. to midnight, the other from four p.m. to two a.m. Choose one, e-mail the sergeant to arrange pickup from here, and do at least six hours.”
“And I won’t see you Friday.” McNulty grinned and picked up his cell phone. “Better let the girlfriend know. Excuse me.”
He left the office, no doubt headed out of the building so he could crow to his vapid girlfriend about how cool he was now, riding out with the cops every week, but doing it out of earshot of anyone who knew what a dick he was. Which happened to be everyone in the building.
“I thought this was a liaison program,” I said to Terri. “You really want that idiot being the face of the DA’s office?”
“Be nice, Dom. Look on the bright side: he won’t be here to annoy you on Fridays.”
“Now to take care of the other four days of the week,” I said with a smile.
She looked at me, and for a second I was afraid she’d taken me seriously. But then she checked the hallway was empty and said, “There’s one other thing.”
“One good thing or bad thing?”
“That depends, as always.”
“I get to go back to trial court?” In truth, I didn’t mind juvie, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. But I missed trying the big cases, the murders and rapes and robberies. I liked the performance of jury trials, which we never had in juvenile, and I liked seeing my name in
the newspaper every month or two. I’d told Terri when she arrived that I wanted out, that if she had a chance to advocate for my return, I’d like her to. She was cool about it, understood completely, and I actually believed her when she said she would.
“Not that, no. Sorry.” She gave a deprecating smile. “I have brought it up, I promise. No, it’s about Brian, actually.”
“Terri, I swear to God, if they move that useless, lazy sack of—”
Again she held up a calming hand. “No, don’t worry about that. Thing is, Judge Galaviz is retiring in a couple of weeks.”
“Oh really? That’s a little sudden, isn’t it?”
“I was talking to her the other day. She went to one of those retirement seminars the county puts on from time to time and realized she’s eligible before she thought she was. Her husband has a good job so, as she put it, why hang around here longer than necessary?”
“Fair enough,” I said. Michelle Galaviz was an assistant public defender years back and had been appointed to her current position about nine years ago. Barbara Portnoy was the only elected district court judge; the other three in juvie were, technically, juvenile referees or associate judges. It was a county job like any other; you applied, got interviewed, and whoever had the most contacts with the deciding committee got the job. Which meant a nice salary bump, an office with a window, and a couple of black robes. Not to mention power over the lives of several hundred kids a year.
And as that thought went through my head, I knew a couple of things—one of them being what Terri was about to say.
CHAPTER TWO
BRIAN
When I got back to my office, Dominic was watching me with that look he has. I’ve tried to explain it to my girlfriend, Connie, but she doesn’t get it. It’s a cross between looking right through you, and seeing everything you’re thinking. I don’t like it. I expect it’s a cultural thing, him being British. Well, English, to be precise. He gets pretty annoyed when you say British, and so I do it sometimes for kicks, but he doesn’t mind.
We get on pretty well, actually; we’re both big into music, though I’m more of a listener than a player. And he’s really good. I’ve been to half a dozen of his shows. He acts like a bad-ass at work sometimes, but when he strums that dang guitar and sings with his low, melodic voice, man, you can see the female population of any bar just swoon. Some of the guys, too, if I’m honest. This is Austin, after all, where anything goes. The weirder the better. Not that being gay is weird—I’m not saying that at all.
Anyway, Dominic’s nice enough. Gives me grief sometimes, sure, but from what I can tell, he does that to people he likes. And, of course, I give it right back.
I sat in my chair and gave him a cheery smile. “So, what should I do with my Fridays off?”
“I can make several suggestions, if you like.”
“Connie was pretty happy.”
“That you’ll be out on Thursday evenings? Maybe I’ll pop over and keep her company.”
I laughed. “She’d probably like that, you English bastard. She was pretty impressed last week.” It was the first of his gigs she’d seen, and “impressed” was me playing it down. I actually got a little annoyed, how much she went on about how awesome he was. I mean, it’s fine to have a little crush or whatever, but keep it to yourself. Especially when it’s on a friend and colleague.
“Remind me which trailer park you live in.”
“The one without Mexicans,” I joked. “Oh, wait, no such thing.”
“So I gather you might not be doing this ride-out thing for long.”
The change of subject, and his tone, threw me just for a moment; then I figured Terri Williams must have told him my news. Potential news.
“Yeah, so I was going to tell you myself,” I said. “They posted the associate judge job last Friday, and as soon as I told Connie, she pushed me to apply right away. I mean, I would have anyway, as I did before. But Connie, you know, she loves the idea of me in a robe. And Judge Tresha Barger suggested I apply, too, and since she’s on the appointment committee, I figured that was a good sign.”
Tresha was sort of an old friend, having worked at the DA’s office in trial court with me, even though I wasn’t there long. Then she went to do some CPS-related job and so we saw each other a lot at juvie. She was appointed to the bench about four years ago. It’s hard to be friends with a judge, Judge Portnoy thinks it looks bad for judges and lawyers to hang out, but Tresha and I get along and, I think, would like me on the bench with her.
“Maybe I should apply, too,” Dominic said.
I couldn’t tell whether he meant it. “You can if you want. Applications are open for another week, I think. Although, like I said, Judge Barger’s on the committee.” And we both know she doesn’t like you much.
“Good point,” Dominic said. “I like this gig well enough. Maybe I’ll get to ride out with the cops and eventually go back to trying real cases.”
“Yeah, true.” I decided to mess with him a little more. “Although, in the meantime, maybe you can be assigned to my courtroom. Give me a chance to boss you around in front of everyone.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Have you call me ‘Judge McNulty,’ and ‘Your Honor.’ Stand up whenever I come into the room.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Hold you in contempt, too, if I have to.”
“It’d be mutual, at least.”
“Hey, don’t think I wouldn’t if you were disrespectful.”
“You know, Brian, there’s a pretty good chance of that.”
“Yeah, I think I would like being a judge,” I said. “Quite a lot.”
“This is America; anything’s possible.” Dominic stood up. “I’m headed to Starbucks, want anything?”
“No, I’m good; thanks, mate.” He looked at me like he always does when I call him “mate,” a mixture of amusement and something else, probably exasperation. I kind of wanted to tell him that I really would like him in my court if I became a judge. He’s always the smartest guy in the room, knows how to make a decision, and is very fair to the kids. More lenient than I am as a prosecutor, that’s for sure, but I don’t have a problem with that. We all have the same mission; the DA’s office, the probation department, the public defender’s office, and the judges: fix the kids, don’t punish them. Sometimes I lose patience with the repeat offenders and want to hammer them, a bit like Judge Portnoy does, but Dom always seems to have that extra bit of patience.
A good example is something he started doing about three months ago. It raised some eyebrows at first, but now it’s all cool. You see, there’s always been this impassable barrier between prosecutors and defendants. On a good day they’ll nod at each other in court, but any communication between them is forbidden, unacceptable. Unless, of course, a defendant testifies in court, which we prosecutors love, because then we get to cross-examine them. But otherwise, no communication at all, ever. Except, Dom went to the chief public defender and suggested they try exactly that. He pointed out that everyone had the same goal, and both sides could benefit. First, if the ADAs started talking directly to these kids and seeing them as more than just hooligans, they’d likely be more lenient, more inclined to try this program or that placement rather than arguing for lockup. And he argued that the DA’s office would benefit because it’d be easier to figure out who the real bad apples were and who could be saved. He even drafted a written contract that both parties would sign, saying nothing from those meetings could be used in court.
All seven public defenders were pretty surprised, but he was persuasive and they let him do it on a few, select clients. The super good ones, of course, who’d made one mistake and were otherwise perfectly normal kids. Well, except for that one kid, Bobby someone. Give Dominic credit, he seemed to connect with that kid and tried real hard to talk some sense into him. Bottom line is, it worked for both sides and we all started doing it. I don’t like to very much, as I find it hard to talk to them. I
mean, it’s my problem, I know, but even so. And since I applied for the judge job, I had to stop because I won’t be able to preside over the cases of the few I did talk to. But all that’s to say kudos to Dominic for starting this. And to the public defender’s office for being open to it.
Of course, with the kind of joking, semicompetitive relationship Dominic and I have, I can’t very well tell him all this. Maybe when I’m a judge I can be more open and up-front. We’ll see.
CHAPTER THREE
DOMINIC
It was either coffee or strangle the smug little weasel. I was pretty confident that if it came down to it, Terri Williams was an astute enough boss to keep me out of Judge McNulty’s court as best she could. But in reality, with vacation schedules and people being out sick, if that tosser became a judge, I’d have to appear in front of him now and again.
The nearest Starbucks was a five-minute drive, and I took the time to call my special lady.
“Hey, Dominic,” she said. “What happened back there in court? Why was McNulty handling Bobby’s case?”
“Yeah, sorry. I have no idea why he jumped on it like that.”
“Is Bobby going to be sent to the ISC?” She sounded genuinely worried for him.
“We’ll see. Any chance he can behave himself for the next two weeks?”
“Like not commit any crimes?”
“That’d be a start,” I said. “If he stays out of trouble, goes to school, reports to his probation officer, all that crap, then I can probably keep him out.”
“For two whole weeks?”
“Yep. And make sure he keeps that monitor charged.”
“I’ll do what I can.” She paused. “So, are we still on for tonight?”
