Legally Wasted

by Tommy Strelka

  “You are excused, Justice Byrd.” The Justice elegantly stood, straightened his suit coat and departed the stand.

  “Any more evidence, Mr. Monroe?”

  “Yes, your Honor. I call Anthony Swain.”

  “Marshals,” announced the Judge, “I would like two of you to personally escort Mr. Swain to this witness stand.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the Marshals enthusiastically replied before double-timing into the lobby. He came back a moment later with his large hands securely wrapped around the left arm of Anthony Swain. Like Ryan had just described, his cheeks shone bright red. His thick glasses fogged as if he had stepped into a sauna.

  The Judge gave Anthony the oath and his “yes,” was so soft, it was barely audible. Anthony stared around the courtroom. His eyes fixated on the cameras.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Swain,” said the Judge. Anthony complied. He clasped his hands together tightly and breathed heavily.

  “Mr. Swain,” said Larkin. “Do you currently work for Justice Byrd on the Supreme Court of Virginia?”

  “I . . . yes I do.”

  “And do you currently have a job offer with Havish Cromwell in New York?”

  “You’re under oath, Mr. Swain,” said the Judge as Anthony cleaned his glasses.

  “I would like a lawyer,” said Anthony. “No. I demand a lawyer.”

  “This is,” said the Judge and Larkin simultaneously, but Larkin let the Judge finish, “a civil matter. Not a criminal matter.”

  “I have been given an offer, yes,” said Anthony under his breath.

  “What was that?” asked Larkin.

  “Yes,” stated Anthony.

  “Did Alex Jordan know about this offer?”

  Anthony remained quiet.

  “Did Alex Jordan confront you about this? Did Alex Jordan discover that you had agreed to a $175,000 payout and a job if you could get the Judge on the railroad’s side? Did you kill Alex Jordan?”

  Anthony looked at the cameras. His cheeks shone crimson. “I want a lawyer,” he said after far too long. He bowed his head. “I need to take the Fifth,” he finally said.

  “Why?” demanded Larkin. “We’re talking about a job you applied for, right? Just what would you be incriminated of if you kept talking?”

  Larkin stood still. Anthony placed his hands over his face. His body shook as if he had begun to cry. The throng of people seated on the edge of their benches behind Larkin remained still. The whole room seemed to hold its breathe.

  “I take the Fifth,” said Anthony.

  “This is a civil case,” said Larkin, “not a criminal one. If you take the Fifth in a civil matter, the Judge is allowed to draw a negative inference from your lack of testimony.”

  Anthony’s body raised and sank rapidly with his breath. “I take the Fifth.”

  Larkin could find nothing else to say.

  Judge Wexler stood and somehow a woman who seemed barely five feet tall towered over the entire room. She scowled at Anthony. “I know what crime he committed. You did this?” she asked as her right hand jutted outward, her index finger stabbing the air. “You committed murder for a job?”

  Anthony looked up. His eyes watered. “I . . .”

  “I know,” said the Judge. “You took the Fifth. Ms. McAdams?”

  “Yes?” she asked. She was too stunned to even stand.

  “I presume you will want to drop the charges against Mr. Monroe and Mr. Meeks?” Wendy looked at Larkin. The glare of the overhead lights shone upon her glasses and for a moment, it was impossible to tell her true expression. But her face soon shifted back to the Judge and it was clear that her eyes were wide, her mouth frozen in bewilderment. “And your answer is yes,” said the Judge. “Do I have that on the record, Ms. McAdams?” Wendy nodded. The Judge looked down at her clerk. “Let the record reflect that the Commonwealth of Virginia is dismissing all charges against Mr. Monroe and Mr. Meeks.”

  The sounds of tiny frenzied hands punctuated the courtroom. Larkin turned to see Ryan standing on the tips of her toes applauding furiously. Others followed suit.

  “I further direct,” said the Judge over the rising applause, “that the United States Marshal Service release Mr. Meeks and Mr. Monroe from custody and take Mr. Swain into custody pending charges.” She raised her hand to her brow and searched the gallery. Kincaid raised his hand and the Judge nodded. The applause grew. “All separated witnesses may return to the courtroom if they wish,” stated the Judge although no one could hear her.

  Two Marshals grabbed Anthony beneath his armpits. His legs hung limp as they hauled him through the back door into the holding area. As the door swung open, those nearest the door could hear Trevor laughing at the sight of Anthony. Trevor soon reappeared, unescorted, in the doorway. The applause was deafening. Trevor waved to his constituents. He approached Larkin and grabbed his friend’s right hand. Like a referee after a championship bout, he raised Larkin’s right hand high in the air. Everyone in the Court was on their feet. The applause continued.

  The double doors leading to the lobby opened and Madeline stepped into the courtroom. Upon seeing the crowd of cheering people, she retreated a step before locking eyes with Larkin. Her hand cupped her mouth.

  “Come on!” shouted Trevor to the crowd. “Let him hear it!” He jerked Larkin’s arm even higher. The cameras rolled as people laughed and cheered. Ryan squealed. Larkin stepped away from Trevor and, unhindered by the U.S. Marshals Service, pushed open the wooden gate bisecting the courtroom. Madeline met him halfway, tears filled her eyes. Larkin hugged his wife.

  Baby Proof

  “Monroe and Monroe,” said the secretary into the phone. “Do you need to be directed to the real estate office or the law office?”

  Larkin listened to his secretary ask the same question he had heard her ask for the past several months. Part of him knew that efficiency and productivity demanded separate phone lines for the businesses. But the thought of sharing so much of his life with Madeline made him hesitate to get the second phone line. He twisted his chair and looked out the floor to ceiling window. The sun hung low in the sky and Big Lick’s star shone brightly atop the nearby mountain.

  “Admiring the view?” asked Madeline. Larkin watched her silhouette reflected in the broad windows that lined his new office.

  “Never had one like this before,” he said. Nearly all of Big Lick lay before him. “I can see all of the city. You can really move some properties, babe.”

  “Phone call is for you, Madeline,” called the secretary from the next room.

  Madeline turned. Larkin smiled.

  “Just take a message, Donna,” said Madeline. “I have to run along to the Jensen property.”

  “I thought you weren’t showing properties anymore,” said Larkin. “Any day. Any moment. Boom. Family.”

  “I’m restricting myself to properties within six miles of the hospital.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed and stepped out of view. “This is the last one for a while,” she said as she walked down the hall. “I’ll be by the house before seven.” Larkin heard the door open. “Looks like your last appointment is here,” she called before leaving their office.

  Larkin reached for his phone and scrolled through his electronic calendar. “I don’t have any other appointments today,” he said to himself.

  “Knock knock,” said a familiar voice. Larkin turned. Detective Kincaid stood in his office doorway. He clutched a plastic bag in his left hand and a coiled edition of the Big Lick Times in his right.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” said Larkin. “Have a seat.”

  Kincaid crossed the room and tossed the paper on Larkin’s desk. “Nice view,” he said as he took a seat. “Sentencing was today.” Larkin could clearly see part of Anthony’s round, pink face on the top half of the newspaper. “I expected you to show and give a victim impact statement.”

  Larkin nodded. “You know, I expected that too.”

&nbs
p; “So why didn’t you?”

  Larkin shrugged. “Other things on my mind I suppose.”

  “So I heard.”

  Larkin smiled. “It’s going to be a girl.”

  Kincaid smiled. “How did you find the mother?”

  “Wendy McAdams of all people found her in the juvenile courts. A young gal, still in high school. Local. And you’re not going to believe it, but she’s actually a grand-niece to my old secretary. Small town, right?”

  “Is that going to make it difficult? Having the mother so close?”

  Larkin shook his head. “She’s welcome in our home any time after the adoption. The more people who can love this child the better.” Larkin had to look away, lest he reveal his watering eyes to the tough Detective. He glanced down at the newspaper. “Trevor showed at the sentencing hearing, didn’t he?”

  “Boy did he ever. He was on the stand longer than anyone. The Judge was laughing one minute and then threatening to throw his butt in jail for a few hours the next.”

  “He should take the show on the road,” said Larkin.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Kincaid. “If he stays around these parts, that smug grin of his is one drunken drive away from a month in jail.” Kincaid leaned forward. “But I guess if I did pinch him for a DUI, then you’d be defending him, wouldn’t you?”

  Larkin nodded.

  “Pointless.” He smiled. “What in the hell does a Vice Mayor do anyway?”

  “I think you’ve seen it.”

  Kincaid nodded.

  Larkin pointed to the paper. “How much time did the law clerk get?”

  “Forty years.” Kincaid shook his head. “Should have got life. Or death. The whole thing was just crazy.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Kincaid stared out the window. “And it all started with his jealousy. That and he found your business card while rifling through Alex Jordan’s purse.” He turned back to Larkin. “Do you know what he said in one of his statements?”

  “Do I want to know?”

  Kincaid shrugged.

  “Tell me.”

  “He said that when he looked you up and found out that you had never been to law school that he knew you’d be perfect. Boy did he get that one wrong.”

  “He nearly got it right,” said Larkin.

  Kincaid placed the plastic bag on Larkin’s desk. “I wanted to give this to you in court today.”

  “A gift? For me?”

  “A little something the wife made. Didn’t really have time to wrap it.”

  Larkin opened the bag. Inside he found a tiny infant one-piece. It had been knit of bright orange, the same color of Larkin’s prison jumpsuit. An inmate number was printed on the right breast and ‘MONROE’ was emblazoned in big bold black letters on the left. He had to laugh.

  “Congratulations,” he said.

  Larkin laughed. “I don’t know if Madeline’s going to love this or hate this.”

  “A good woman will always keep you guessing.”

  “Larkin!” shouted Donna from the other room. “Madeline’s on line two.”

  Larkin picked up the phone. His wife spoke breathlessly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll meet you over there.” He placed the phone back on the receiver. He looked to Kincaid. “She said . . . she said it’s time. They called. I’m going to be a dad.”

  Kincaid smiled. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tommy Strelka is a lawyer in Roanoke Virginia who focuses his practice on civil rights cases in the workplace.