Legally Wasted

by Tommy Strelka

  “Oh, Larkin,” said Madeline as she crumpled on her seat. Long brown hair failed to conceal crimson cheeks as her head hung low.

  “Of course there are,” said the Judge. “Here, this court has jurisdiction over violations of law that occur over land owned by the United States. The Blue Ridge Parkway is a national parkway of the United States. It is land owned by the United States. The United States Congress enacts laws that govern the goings on of federal land. If you’re on his property, Uncle Sam can tell you just what you can or can’t do, Mr. Monroe.”

  “And what if I had no knowledge of what I could or couldn’t do on federal land?”

  “Nope,” said the Judge. “Sorry. That doesn’t get you there. Ignorance of the law is no defense to the law.”

  Larkin nodded. “I read that too, you Honor. But not in this case.” The Judge opened his mouth as if to speak but Larkin held up his finger. “Are there other statutory creations that control and govern federal land?”

  “You mean other types of laws?”

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  The Judge cocked his head. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

  Larkin cleared his throat. “Does Congress have the power to govern federal agencies?”

  “Yes,” said the Judge.

  “Is the Blue Ridge Parkway managed by a federal agency?"

  “It is.”

  “Are there different laws that - -”

  “Yes,” interrupted the Judge. “Regulations. You mean regulations.”

  Larkin nodded and clasped his hands together. Perspiration covered his body. Did he now reek of Old Crow? He cleared his throat. Mini-booze swished. “Are there regulations that govern how I, as a citizen of the United States, should know whether the land I’m on has certain restrictions?”

  “Of course. There exist regulations that require codification and publication of all of the nation’s laws and regulations. Mr. Monroe, the act of which you are charged of violating has been publicly available for years. Don’t tell me you couldn’t go to a library and look it up.”

  “Oh, I work in a library, your Honor.” I hide an expensive bottle of gin in the microfiche cabinet, he thought to himself.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but let’s stick to the method, shall we?”

  The Judge nodded. “All right.”

  “Is speeding prohibited on the Parkway?”

  “Of course.”

  “How would a driver know the speed limit for a particular area?” The Judge seemed poised to answer, but Larkin would not give her the opportunity. “Would there be a map of the Parkway with speed limits marked in the codified book in the library?”

  “No,” said the Judge. She raised her right hand to her mouth and curled her index finger against her upper lip.

  “So how would a driver know the speed limit on the Parkway?”

  “Signs.”

  “And are there - -”

  “Yes,” interrupted the Judge. “There are regulations that require there to be signs posting the maximum speed limit. The agency is responsible for the posting of those signs. You were not found speeding, Mr. Monroe.”

  “No, your Honor. But are there regulations governing the postage of signs that regard drinking on the Parkway?”

  “Well, sure,” said the Judge. She rolled her eyes back in her head as she thought. “Given the mile marker you were at, there was a sign not a quarter mile away that informed you as to Uncle Sam’s rules. No booze was one of those rules. No alcohol on the Parkway.”

  “So these regulations require that sign to be there?”

  “Yes,” she said. She leaned forward and rapped her nails against the thick dark wood. Irritation was beginning to show.

  “Your Honor, how often do you hear cases involving the Parkway?”

  “Once a month.”

  “Did you have court last month?”

  “Of course.”

  “And do you remember a man named Roger Huseby?”

  The Judge leaned back in her chair. She fanned her fingers over her mouth, possibly to hide a full smile. “Roger Huseby,” she repeated. “He of the mustard-colored Corvette?”

  “I remember.”

  “And what was Mr. Huseby convicted of?”

  “Destruction of federal property,” said the Judge. She removed her hand to show that she was indeed smiling.

  “Specifically?”

  “A federal sign. A federal sign that was posted about a quarter of a mile away from where you were stopped. He drove his car straight through it.” The Judge shook her head. “How did you know of Mr. Huseby’s case?”

  “I organized the periodicals section last month. Police beat. What was written on that sign, your Honor?”

  The Judge smiled and waved her hand. “I think you’ve made your point. I’m giving you credit for your research skills. I’m going to dismiss your case, Mr. Monroe.”

  “And Ms. Simmons’ case?” asked Larkin.

  The prosecutor leaned his folder down so he could see the Judge. “Your Honor,” he began without even standing, “the Court has already found Ms. Simmons to be guilty.”

  “I did no such thing,” said the Judge. “I took Ms. Simmons’ matter under advisement pending Mr. Monroe’s presentation.” The Judge looked to Madeline. “Ma’am, your case is dismissed. You may leave.”

  Madeline stood while the guilty benchers looked nervously amongst themselves as if they had made the wrong decision. Madeline turned and though her cheeks still shone bright red, she could not help but fight a smile at her would-be fiancé. Her deep brown eyes were about as wide as Larkin had ever seen them. Though she had nearly torpedoed his defense, Larkin could not bear an ounce of ill will. It had taken far more courage than he had anticipated to stand his ground with the Judge, and Larkin had spent long nights at the library studying both the United States Code and the Code of Federal Regulations. It was intimidating as hell to take center stage in federal court. How could he fault her?

  She rushed up to him. “You prevented it all from coming out,” she whispered. “They didn’t hear about any of it.”

  “Oh, right,” said Larkin with a grin. The tawdry facts concerning what occurred after most of the bottle of champagne had been drained had been thankfully omitted from United States v. Monroe. “We should have been charged with indecent exposure,” whispered Larkin. “I don’t think I could have gotten us out of that. Thank god the federal park ranger was at least somewhat reasonable.”

  A firm hand clapped on Larkin’s shoulder. He glanced at the fingertips. They once clutched at a federal skull basher. “I know, I know,” said Larkin. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, sir,” said the bailiff. “The Judge is about to take a recess. She would like to speak with you.”

  “She can’t charge me again,” said Larkin, suddenly alarmed. “That would be double jeopardy.”

  “I don’t think it’s about that,” said the bailiff. Larkin smiled weakly and grabbed Madeline’s hand. She squeezed back. God he loved that woman. He led her out of the courtroom and into the lobby. They sat upon one of the metal benches and Madeline rested her head against his shoulder. The room was so large, they actually felt somewhat alone, despite their surroundings. He leaned down and kissed the thick waves of brunette hair atop her head. Cinnamon.

  “I’m exhausted,” she said. “And I didn’t even say anything.”

  “Guilty. You said guilty.”

  She punched him lightly in the side. Larkin stroked her back with two of his fingers and stared at the large color photograph of the President. It hung curiously close to the brass trashcan.

  He sighed. The last time that she had found her way to the crook of his arm, they had overlooked half of the state bathed in a spectacular sunset. A diamond ring had nearly burned through his right jeans pocket while a folded letter, forgotten hours before, had smoldered in his left. The diamond eventually made its way out to see the sunset, but the letter remained concealed in the same denim poc
ket.

  “How’d you know how to do that?” she asked after four perfect minutes.

  “I just spoke with the guy.”

  “Yeah, but it was more than that. You learned a lot studying for that test. More than you let on to me anyway.” Madeline straightened herself. “You’re going to end up cramming so much in your head.” She turned and smiled. “Just don’t feel like you can’t talk to me about it, okay?”

  Larkin returned the smile. “Never. It’s still me. Whether I get a law degree or study ants, it’s still me.”

  “Yeah, well.” Madeline shrugged. “You know me.”

  “I do.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I had ‘happily ever after’ in mind.”

  “So do I,” said Madeline. Larkin thought her smile was the stuff at the center of nuclear blasts, all brightness and power. “But I think we have two slightly different pictures.”

  “Not at all,” said Larkin. He scooted to the edge of the bench. Adrenaline from his Perry Mason moment still bubbled in his blood. His left hand brushed against the mini-booze inside its holster. “You see - -”

  “The Judge will see you now, Mr. Monroe,” shouted a bailiff from across the lobby. “Just head to that door yonder. They’ll buzz you in.”

  Larkin nodded. He gave Madeline a wink and a thigh pinch before standing. As he followed the bailiff’s directions he found himself praying that Madeline had not done anything rash with the ring. She was a wise one, but a fire burned in her. Hot blood from her mother.

  “She’s expecting you,” said a kindly secretary as Larkin made his way around a corner.

  The Judge’s private office actually appeared quite predictably judicial. Sections of the United States Code and various treatises lined the shelves behind the Judge’s tall leather chair. Various diplomas and certificates cluttered the walls. Not one had a frame that was less than three inches thick. The office even had a two-foot statue of Lady Justice with her scales. Contrasting all of this was a cookie jar in the shape of a begging dachshund on a small filing cabinet.

  Despite fluorescent fixtures installed overhead, the room was lit only by three elegant metal lamps of a Victorian design. This gave the office a softer and cozier feel despite its large size. As he approached one of the chairs, Larkin heard a toilet flush. A moment or two later and door behind the Judge’s desk opened and Judge Wexler entered her office, black robe neatly folded over her right arm. She wore an attractive woman’s charcoal business suit. It appeared so well-fit to her small frame that Larkin assumed it was custom made. The cut of the suit was surprisingly very modern.

  “Well hello there, Mr. Monroe,” the Judge said. She tossed the robe onto a side table and sat upon her chair. The back of the chair towered over the top of her head. “Please, take a seat.”

  Larkin sat.

  “Do you know what I like about being a Judge?” she asked.

  “Being married to the Constitution?” Larkin asked with a hopeful grin.

  The Judge laughed. “I’ve never heard of that,” she said. Like on the bench, she leaned back, crossed her arms, and cocked her head just a bit to the side.

  “Article 3 says you’re a Judge for life,” said Larkin. “That kind of sounds like a marriage to me.” The Judge laughed again. Larkin pointed to Lady Justice. “Wedding present?”

  The Judge nodded and gave a bit of a laugh. “From a law school buddy. She’s a bit much, but we’ve grown to be good sisters.” She looked around her office as she mouthed the words, “for life.” Her eyebrows raised. “Actually,” the Judge said, “I’m just a Magistrate Judge. Only the full District Court Judges are appointed for life. Maybe one day, I can propose to that lovely lady. It’s an arranged marriage, you understand.”

  “The President picks,” said Larkin.

  The Judge nodded.

  “Has there ever been a female District Court Judge in this area before?”

  “No,” she answered firmly.

  Larkin shifted back to the topic at hand. “So if it’s not that,” said Larkin, “then I don’t know what it is that you like best.”

  “It’s meeting people.”

  Larkin nodded. “I suppose that would be interesting. You’ve probably met some characters.”

  “Over the years, sure,” said the Judge. “Occasionally I’ll ask someone back here, a person of interest, to chat a bit more.”

  “A person of interest,” said Larkin. “Kind of sounds like a criminal investigation.”

  “You know some of the law it seems, Mr. Monroe. Have some time on your hands at the library?”

  Larkin shrugged. “I actually took the LSAT not too long ago.” He had hoped that this statement would have prompted at least an eyebrow raise, but the Judge simply regarded him with the same look of slight amusement. “I’ve applied to a few . . . selective law schools.”

  “So are you and Ms. Simmons going to law school together?”

  Larkin bit his lip. “Well . . . no. And by that, I mean that she is not going to go to law school, but that we’re going to be together.”

  “There aren’t any selective law schools in Big Lick, Virginia. No law schools at all in fact. Where have you applied?”

  “Actually,” said Larkin, his heart rate quickening, “I was just accepted at Cornell.” It was news that he had wanted to shout to the world. Larkin Monroe, Mr. Weird-Southern-name from Nowheresburg, was going to receive an Ivy League legal education. At that time, Judge Wexler was the first person that Larkin had informed of this news.

  The Judge lightly clasped her hands as she had in court. Larkin was amazed to see that her golden bracelet now encircled her right wrist. “Well, that’s a fine school,” she said. “A very fine school. You must have knocked the test right out of the park.”

  “I studied hard.”

  “And Ms. Simmons will be following you to New York?”

  “No. I don’t think so. She’s got a family to take care of. Her father needs help and . . . it’s health reasons. She works here in town and I think that’s going to have to continue here until I’m through school.” With the back of his right hand he dabbed perspiration from his forehead. Why was it more difficult to speak with the Judge privately? “It’s just three years, right?”

  “You haven’t told her,” said the Judge.

  “Sorry?” asked Larkin although he knew exactly what the Judge had said and meant.

  “Cornell. You haven’t told her about it.”

  “You’re right,” said Larkin. He looked down at the thick maroon rug that covered the parquet floor. “She knows I applied, but not that I was admitted.” He looked back at the Judge. “But it’s not just the admission, your Honor. It’s nearly a full ride. There’s really no other option for me. I’m not exactly hailing from a family full of railroad or coal money.”

  “So what are you waiting for? Are you just going to hop on a train to Ithaca one morning and send her a postcard?”

  Larkin shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s been hard.”

  “You don’t want to hurt her.”

  Again, Larkin shook his head.

  The Judge pushed herself away from her desk and stood. Without her robe, her size had diminished significantly. And though she certainly beamed charisma, she looked mundane. She could have been any woman on the street, but one you wanted to meet. The Judge walked toward her window and with two fingers, pushed several of the venetian blinds out of her way. She squinted in the shaft of daylight.

  “Railroad is never coming back.”

  “Afraid not,” Larkin agreed.

  The Judge turned. She smiled brightly, gave a nod and returned to her chair. “I have a son a few years older than you,” said the Judge as she opened the center drawer to his desk, “He’s a lawyer just like mom.” She reached in and withdrew a business card. “Sam Wexler,” said the Judge as she slid the card across the table. “He works here in town. Just started up his practice.”

  “Just like mom,” Larkin repeat
ed as he studied the card. Judge Junior appeared to be a solo-practitioner with an office in downtown.

  “Criminal law, mostly,” said the Judge, “but a general practice to be sure. He’s in court quite a bit. You can’t put a price tag on that kind of experience. You go off to Cornell and you’ll be handpicked by one of the big firms. You probably won’t see a courtroom. Document review. The meat grinder.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I lived it,” said the Judge. “Have you ever heard of reading for the law?”

  “I don’t believe I have,” lied Larkin.

  “It’s an old option that only a few states, Virginia being one of them, practices. Some would like to do away with it all together.” She clasped her hands and leaned forward. The leather chair barely moved. “Essentially, it’s an apprenticeship. You work with a licensed attorney, learn the ropes. On the job training. No navel-gazing legal theory. Just the nuts and bolts. You learn how to actually practice the damn law. And my son could use someone like you. Someone who likes to research.”

  Larkin opened his mouth, but this time his brain could not catch up. He was at a loss for words. He stared at Lady Justice’s exposed bronze breast and tried to wrap his mind around the hand he had just been dealt by a federal judge. “Are you offering me an apprenticeship with your son?”

  “No tuition,” said the Judge. “No competition from law students who will rip key pages from the law books in the library. No years of abstract legal theory that has zero effect on the real world. I’m talking about nuts and bolts litigation. You’ll be working in the trenches and you’ll learn more in your first three months than you would at a place like Cornell in three years. And, I’m sure you can be paid some type of paralegal wage. You could make more than as a librarian. Think about it. In one year, you’ll know more about the actual practice of law than any law student in America. You still have to pass the bar exam of course, but I think standardized tests might just be your forte.” She winked.

  Larkin nodded. His mind raced. A job offer was the last thing he had expected when he had entered the Judge’s chambers. He thought of Madeline waiting for him in the lobby. Sweet Madeline with a finger in dire need of a ring.