Solomon versus Lord svl-1

by Paul Levine

  Victoria got to her feet. “Your Honor, may we have a brief recess before the witness answers?”

  “What?” Steve couldn't believe it. “Let her answer.”

  “Shut up,” Victoria said.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the judge asked.

  “We just need five minutes, Your Honor.”

  The judge shrugged and said: “No jive. Back in five.”

  When they reached the corridor, Victoria grabbed Steve by the tie, kicked open the door to the women's rest room, and dragged him inside.

  “Hey,” he protested.

  The harsh, astringent smell of ammonia was in the air.

  “You think you can get away with this?” she said.

  “With what?” He put on an innocent face that didn't fool her for an instant.

  “You tell me. What'd you do, kidnap Thigpen and extort your sister?”

  “You're nuts. Let's get back in there. We're one answer away from my winning custody.”

  “No, we're one answer away from my reporting you to the Bar.”

  “For what?”

  “Whatever you've done is going to backfire. The next time Janice gets arrested, she'll go screaming to Zinkavich. She'll turn on you to save her ass.”

  “She's got nothing on me.”

  For someone so shifty, he was a lousy liar. “You're not stealing home on me, Solomon, no matter how fast you think you are.”

  “Jesus, lighten up.”

  “I'm giving you ten seconds to come clean.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I go back inside that courtroom and ask to withdraw as your lawyer and stay the trial until the state investigates your sister's conduct.”

  “C'mon, Vic. This is the truth: When Janice walked into the courtroom, I didn't know what she was going to say.”

  “Sure you did. And you knew Thigpen wasn't going to show up. That's why you told me to wing it. You knew exactly what was going to happen.”

  “I just have good instincts.”

  “Not that good. What'd you do, bribe them?”

  All of Steve's famed instincts told him to keep quiet. He knew how many criminals were tripped up, not by the police, but by their own big mouths. He also knew how self-righteously upright Victoria could be. So he would never understand why, in that moment, he told her. Did he hope that her feelings for him would outweigh her rigid sense of propriety? Was it some test, one she was bound to fail?

  “Dammit, Steve,” she prodded. “What turned Janice around?”

  He blurted it out. “A hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, no.” She was shaking her head. “How could you?”

  “I borrowed it.”

  “Damn you! You know what I mean. How could you suborn perjury?”

  “I suborned the truth! I paid her not to lie. Every word she said in there was true.”

  “That's a rationalization.”

  “Yeah, but it's a good one. I was extorted. I'm the victim here.”

  “Tell that to the disbarment judge. It doesn't matter if Janice told the truth. Paying her is an illegal inducement under the Ethical Rules.”

  “Then the rules are wrong,” Steve argued.

  “Damn you!” Her look was anguished and angry. “You're as dirty as Pincher.”

  “I'm doing justice here. That's a pretty big difference.”

  “I could have won playing straight.”

  “I couldn't be sure of that,” he said, softly. He moved closer to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, felt her tremble. Any second, she could burst into a rainstorm of tears. Or she could kiss him. Or she could-

  Smack. She slapped him hard across the face.

  “Ow! What the hell…?”

  “I'm required to tell Judge Rolle.”

  “No way. You ever hear of attorney-client privilege?”

  “Doesn't cover fraud on the court. Read Kneale vs. Williams.”

  “Haven't I taught you anything? When the law doesn't work-”

  “There's no wiggle room here. The Ethical Rules are mandatory.”

  “I'll lose Bobby and go to jail. They'll pull my license.”

  “I don't have a choice.”

  “You have the choice to do justice or blindly follow a bad law.”

  “I warned you when I took the case. I do it strictly by the book.”

  He slammed his hand into the tile wall. The tile didn't break. He wasn't so sure about his hand. “This makes it easier for you, doesn't it?”

  “Makes what easier?”

  His hand swelled with pain, and he felt a throbbing in his temples. “My being disbarred, disgraced, out of the picture. It's the proof you needed that you made the right choice.”

  “I'm marrying Bruce because I love him.”

  “You haven't changed since that day in the jail cell. You're still the same robot, the same automaton.”

  “And you're the same unethical lowlife.”

  “You're bloodless and soulless, Lord. Sin alma o corazon.”

  “I can't believe I considered being with you for even a second.”

  “Likewise,” he agreed. “We're totally incompatible.”

  “Polar opposites,” she said.

  “The cobra and the mongoose.”

  “Good-bye, Solomon,” she said, pushing the door open and heading back to the courtroom.

  Fifty-two

  LOVE VS. LAW

  Victoria knew she had, at most, two minutes before the judge would return to the bench. Sitting with perfect posture at the Petitioner's table, she furiously scribbled notes on a pink index card.

  “Your Honor, it is my sad duty under Part 2 of Rule 4, Subsection 3.3 of the Ethical Rules to report an obstruction of justice…”

  Janice sat on the witness stand, thumbing through one of Judge Rolle's children's magazines, Zinkavich glaring at her from his crumb-covered table. The courtroom door opened, and Steve waltzed in, whistling.

  Whistling!

  Some upbeat tune. Trying to distract her, Victoria figured, sidetrack her from what the law required her to do.

  Steve approached Zinkavich, slapped him on the back: “Jack, my man, let's do lunch sometime, whadaya say?”

  “You been drinking?” Zinkavich said.

  “Hey, Sis,” Steve called out. “Despite everything, I still love you.”

  “Feeling okay, Stevie?” Janice said.

  Victoria watched warily as Steve circled her table, winked at her, and said: “You look absolutely stunning, honey bun.”

  She tried to ignore him and kept taking notes:

  “My partner, Stephen Solomon, has committed a gross violation.. .”

  Standing in front of the bench, Steve began singing, “How Deep Is Your Love.”

  Singing! Like the sappy Bee Gees, only off-key.

  Then he glided around the well of the courtroom, swiveling his hips, dancing a rumba with an invisible partner.

  Dancing!

  Victoria tried not to watch him, but that was impossible. Limber as a snake, he coiled his way from bench to bar, all the while singing. Somewhere between being touched in the pouring rain and living in a world of fools, he slid across her table, his butt scattering her index cards.

  “You can stop taking notes, Vic.”

  “Go away!” She snatched her cards as if they were thousand-dollar bills.

  “You probably wonder why I'm so happy.”

  “I don't care.”

  “It just occurred to me you're not gonna tell the judge a damn thing. You know why?”

  “Get away from me! Now.”

  She couldn't believe his arrogance. Even after all this, he was still so cocksure of himself.

  “Because I know what makes you tick, Vic.”

  “Hah.”

  “I know what's important to you. More important than all the rules in all the books.”

  “Whatever you think you know, Solomon, you're wrong.”

  He gave her that gotcha grin that made her itch to sla
p him again.

  “No matter what you think about me, you love Bobby,” Steve said. “I saw it in your face when he was testifying. He said he wished you were his mom. And your look said you wished it, too. You love the kid with all your soul and all your being. And because you know he belongs with me, you couldn't live with yourself if something you did took him away. Just like I always told you, love trumps the law. So tear up your note cards, Victoria, because you can despise me until the end of time, but you won't do this to Bobby.”

  He slipped off the table and plopped into the chair next to her. Victoria searched for a reply, but before she could say a word, the rear door to the courtroom opened and Judge Althea Rolle hurried in, robes flowing. “Don't bother standing,” she said, dropping into her high-backed chair. “We're gonna finish this up real quick.”

  It had been a performance. Steve wasn't nearly as sure of himself as he tried to appear. But he had taken a shot, aiming for the deepest part of Victoria, the part she kept hidden. He had aimed for her heart.

  If it didn't work, if she finked to the Fink and to the judge, he had another option. It would take them several days to crank up the machinery of the criminal justice system. You can't get an indictment overnight. You need subpoenas, affidavits, sworn testimony. Time enough to pack the old Caddy with everything important-some sweats, some John D. MacDonald paperbacks, the panini grill-and uncle and nephew would hit the road. To where, he didn't know.

  Matamoras, Mexico? Tegucigalpa, Honduras?

  He'd never been to either place, just liked the sound of the names.

  “Now, Ms. Solomon,” the judge began, nailing Janice with a steely look, “my question is this…”

  Steve sneaked a peek at Victoria. Perched on the edge of her chair, she looked like a bird about to take flight.

  “Between the state and your brother,” the judge continued, “who would you choose to care for your son?”

  “Your Honor, I have something to say,” Victoria said.

  Damn. Steve wondered if his passport was up-to-date.

  “Hold on, Ms. Lord,” the judge said. “You'll get your chance. Now, Ms. Solomon-”

  “It's important, Your Honor.”

  “I said, in a minute.” Judge Rolle gave Victoria a stern look, then turned back to Janice. “The state or your brother, Ms. Solomon? What's your choice?”

  Victoria fidgeted in her chair but kept quiet. For the moment.

  “I been in enough state facilities to know the shit that goes down there,” Janice said. “Stevie's blood. He's good people. Why not give him a shot?”

  “I thought so,” the judge said.

  Victoria sat at her table, clutching her note cards in a white-knuckled grip.

  What's she going to do?

  “Does the state have any more witnesses?” the judge asked.

  “My cupboard is bare,” Zinkavich said, “but I move for a continuance until I can locate Mr. Thigpen.”

  “Denied.”

  “Then I ask that the Court withhold ruling until the State Attorney's Office can investigate the veracity of Ms. Solomon's testimony,” Zinkavich said, desperately.

  “Denied.”

  “I request for a stay of all proceedings until-”

  “Denied. Ms. Lord, please sum up for the Petitioner.”

  Victoria seemed stunned. “Oh, Your Honor, I'm not ready for closing argument. But there's something I need to disclose-”

  “Ms. Lord, if you're half the lawyer I think you are, you already know which way the Court is leaning. So stand up, talk quick, then sit down.”

  Victoria stood, shakily. “This is difficult. I don't know exactly how to say this.”

  She was torn, Steve thought. Torn between her heart and those damn rules.

  “Ms. Lord, just give me a thought or two about Mr. Solomon, and we'll call it a day, okay?”

  Victoria's eyes seemed to focus on a spot on the wall. She sighed. Then she said, “Your Honor, Steve Solomon is the most exasperating man I have ever known.”

  “That's a start,” the judge said. “Go on.”

  “He has great empathy for people who've got no one to stand up for them. But he's also maddening, impetuous, utterly irrational.”

  Winging it, Steve thought. But where would she land?

  “He has absolutely no respect for the rules,” Victoria continued. “He makes up his own. He's witty and fun and smart, but he can do some incredibly stupid, thoughtless things. He-”

  “Your Honor,” Zinkavich interrupted. “Is this closing argument or couples therapy?”

  “Quiet,” the judge said. “I want to see where this is going.”

  “I know this man, Steve Solomon,” Victoria said. “Oh, Judge, I know him so well. I've looked deep inside him.”

  “Objection!” Zinkavich shouted. “Counsel is testifying. It's totally improper to offer personal opinions on the issues.”

  “Counsel is right,” Victoria said, before the judge could rule. “I just crossed the line. It's forbidden by the rules. Frowned on by legal scholars.” Her voice took on a sarcastic lilt. “And, oh, how I've always followed the rules.”

  Her face was flushed now, her eyes flashing with sparks. Running on emotion.

  “I got straight A's while working two jobs and playing varsity tennis at Princeton,” Victoria said, while unbuttoning her double-breasted jacket. “At Yale, I was the star of the law journal.” She tore off her jacket and tossed it at Steve. His hands came up late, and the jacket covered his face before he could whisk it away.

  “I was going to make my mark in the public sector,” she continued, “spend time in private practice, then go on the bench. All mapped out on color-coded note cards. I planned something else, too. A tall, handsome, suitable husband and two-point-four perfect children. And I was going to follow all the rules.”

  Victoria turned, walked back to the table, and drew back an arm. For a second, Steve thought she was going to slug him, but instead, she swept an open palm across the table, knocking her files to the floor with a crash. “That's what I think of the rules!”

  Three note cards remained on the table. She scooped them up and tore them into pieces, showering Steve with confetti. “And that's what I think of my stupid, color-coded note cards.”

  Complete meltdown, Steve thought. He had no idea what she would say next, figured she didn't, either.

  “And I'll tell you something else, Judge.”

  Here it is. The end of the line. She was going to snitch on him.

  “My feet are killing me.” She propped one ankle over a knee, pried off an ankle-strapped Prada pump, and tossed it to Steve. The second shoe came a moment later. The toss was low, but he scooped it up in one hand.

  Victoria padded toward the bench in her panty-hosed feet. “Where was I, Your Honor?”

  “Somewhere between Mr. Solomon's irresponsible and irritating conduct and your two-point-four perfect children. And may I compliment you on your toenail polish? Malibu Sunset?”

  “Painted Desert, Your Honor.”

  Victoria moved back to her table, and for a moment, Steve panicked: the brown taffeta blouse might be coming off next. “Steve Solomon's taught me so much,” she said. “‘When the law doesn't work,' he always says, ‘you work the law.' At first, it sounded illegal or at least immoral. But it's not. When used to do good, it's the true meaning of the law. Law tinged with compassion. Law that seeks the truth. Law that protects the innocent. It's the only place where the law and justice truly meet.” She turned toward Steve, her eyes glistening with tears. “Otherwise, we're just robots. Unfeeling automatons. Bloodless and soulless. Sin alma o corazon.”

  She picked up a paper clip from the table, twisted it apart, pricked a finger with a sharp end.

  Ouch.

  She held up her hand. A drop of blood oozed from a fingertip.

  “I'm not a robot. I bleed. I feel pain. And I feel love. So does Steve Solomon. I've never known anyone who loves a child more, who gives more of himself to a
child.”

  She stood there a moment, seemingly dazed, then turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, may I be excused?”

  “Go on now,” the judge said, with a wave of her hand, “before you bleed on your skirt. Philippe Adec?”

  “Zanella.”

  “Lovely. Wish I was tall enough for the A-line.”

  Victoria scooped up her purse and headed for the door. Leaving her shoes, her jacket, and her client behind.

  “Z, you got anything to add to these proceedings?” the judge asked.

  “Only that I wish I'd gone to dental school,” Zinkavich said.

  Judge Rolle leaned back in her chair and spun a full 360 degrees. When she stopped, she drilled Steve with a steady gaze. “You must be a handful, Mr. Solomon.”

  “Beg your pardon, Judge?”

  “To get a woman like that so hot and bothered.” She sighed. “You Solomon men are really something.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Steve agreed, not knowing what else to say.

  “Okay, here's the way it's gonna be.” The judge pulled out the court file, made a notation on the cover. “Mr. Solomon's petition is granted. He is awarded full guardianship rights with no limitations other than my request to bring Bobby to chambers for lunch now and then.”

  She banged her gavel and headed off the bench. Zinkavich gathered his files and left without a word.

  Steve sat there alone, shredded pieces of note cards stuck to his jacket.

  Holding one of Victoria's shoes, the inside still warm to the touch.

  Wondering how it was possible to be so happy and so sad at the same time.

  Fifty-three

  WHAT A LOSER, THAT LAWYER

  Frank Sinatra was singing, “Bang bang, she shot me down.”

  “I hate this song,” Steve said, punching a button on the car radio.

  “Wonder why,” Bobby said.

  “It's not that. It's just a weak song. Beneath Frank's dignity.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They were driving the old Caddy, top down, across the MacArthur Causeway to Steve's office. Bobby sat cross-legged in the front seat, eating a flaky guava pastelito. It was a breezy winter day of picture-postcard beauty. Palm trees swayed, terns hovered over the water, and the gleaming white cruise ships stood out in sharp focus at their berths.