An Unequal Defense (David Adams)

by Chad Zunker

  David slowly drove the dusty circle past all the trailers. Several chickens were running loose on the property. There were various cars parked here and there, some of which looked like they’d probably never start up again. Tires were missing, hoods popped open, tall grass growing around several of them. Marcy North’s trailer was located in the back corner of the property. The RV looked to be in decent shape, with the green space all around it properly maintained. A late-model white Kia Sorrento was sitting out front, caked in dust. David parked in front of the trailer and eased up the steps to a small wooden deck that held two plastic chairs surrounded by several potted flowers. There was an ashtray on a small table that was overflowing with cigarette butts.

  He knocked on the door, waited. It was going to be interesting to find out what kind of woman was once married to his client. According to Rebel, the marriage had ended about five years ago. Marcy had never remarried. His ex-wife had kept his surname for some reason.

  Hearing noise inside, David took a small step back. The lock released, the door cracked, and then a woman with frizzy bleached-blonde hair appeared in the doorway.

  “You that damn lawyer?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. David Adams.”

  “Hold on a sec.”

  Seconds later, Marcy reappeared and stepped outside with him onto the deck. Behind her inside the trailer, David noticed a small boy sitting on the worn carpet playing video games on a TV. The boy looked up at him. He was the spitting image of Rebel. Same clear blue eyes and long hair. Marcy closed the trailer door. She wore a sleeveless black Iron Maiden T-shirt and cutoff blue-jean shorts. She was skinny and yellowed, as if years of smoking several packs a day had gradually altered her skin color. Still, David could tell she had been a beauty at one point.

  “I appreciate you agreeing to see me,” David said.

  She lit up a cigarette, dropped into one of the plastic chairs. “Got nothing better to do today, anyway.”

  “Mind if I sit?” David asked.

  “Free country.”

  David eased down into the chair next to Marcy, readjusted his position so as to not get caught in the direct crosshairs of her puffing.

  “So that idiot finally did it, huh?” she said, taking a long drag. “I knew it would happen someday. Just a matter of time before he actually killed a man.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Rebel was a loose cannon from the day I met him. Hell, he used to take a swing at every damn guy who even looked twice at me at the bars. Got his ass kicked too many times to count.” She grinned, puffed. “’Course, he kicked a lot of ass, too, believe me. Used to find it kind of sweet.”

  “When was the last time you saw Rebel?”

  “Not since he left. Haven’t heard a single word from him in over five years. You’d think he’d come around here and there at least to see his son. But he don’t. Not even a phone call. Junior is better off without him, anyway.”

  “How long were you guys married?”

  “Two of the lousiest years of my life.”

  “Was Rebel physically violent with you?”

  She shook her head. “Nah, just a yeller. He never touched me. I was his queen.”

  “So why did the marriage end?”

  “He just kept getting worse until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Worse, how?”

  “Always talking about these make-believe people who were after him. The stupid CIA this and that. He was so obsessed with it that he’d never shut up. Drove me freaking crazy. And he’d never let us stay anywhere for too long, either. He kept wanting to move us every damn month. Over and over again. I’d finally had enough and told him I wasn’t going anywhere no more. That’s when I woke up one night, and Junior was gone. Rebel had taken him. I tracked them down outside Texarkana at his uncle’s place. That’s when it was over for me. You try to take my kid, you lucky to still be breathing.”

  “Did he talk about people being after him from the beginning?”

  She pondered that. “Here and there, but I always just thought he was trying to be silly. I never took him too serious. But it quickly grew worse.”

  “Did he ever seek medical help?”

  She looked over at him with a wrinkled brow. “Like a shrink? Hell no! That man was as stubborn as a mule. Hell, he never thought anything was wrong with him. We were all the crazy ones.”

  “Rebel told me he suffers from blackouts.”

  “You mean his stupid ‘spells’?”

  “Right. Is it true?”

  She took another long drag, finished off that cigarette, shoved it into the crowded ashtray. “Who the hell knows for sure? Sometimes I’d find out he’d been with another woman, but he would try to tell me that he’d had a ‘spell’ and couldn’t remember anything.”

  “You think he was making them up?”

  Marcy lit up another cigarette, began puffing again. “Nah, I think some of them were real. I found him passed out behind a bar a few times, and it wasn’t from drinking too much. He’d just gotten there, but he was already out cold. When I’d wake him up, he couldn’t even tell me how he’d ended up there. Although it started to follow a bit of a pattern, I think.”

  “What kind of pattern?”

  “It usually happened right after Rebel had done something violent. Like pick a fight with someone. Had a girlfriend once tell me she watched it happen. Rebel hit a man over the head with a bottle, walked outside, sat down in the dirt by his truck, leaned up against the tire, and just drifted off for a good while.”

  “You really think he could kill a man?”

  She took a moment. “Hell, I don’t know.”

  David eased back in his chair, thinking about what she’d just said about how violence usually preceded the blackouts. It did not bode well for his client’s defense. If the pattern held true, what violent thing had Rebel just done that would’ve made him black out? Shoot a man?

  “Anything else you can think of that might help, Marcy?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. I’ve got an old box of Rebel’s crap. Tell him I’m going to burn it if he doesn’t come back to get it soon.”

  “I can bring it to him, if you want.”

  “Sure. I’m sick of it taking up closet space.”

  Marcy went inside the trailer for a few minutes and then returned with a worn bankers box with a lid on it. On the outside, she’d scribbled the word IDIOT in black marker.

  “I’m surprised he even hired you,” Marcy said. “Rebel hates lawyers.”

  “Most people do.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “Too soon to know. We’ll go to trial in a few months. I’m going to do my best to represent him in the court of law.”

  “They really going to put him to death if you lose?”

  “It’s still early. But that’s what they’re saying.”

  Marcy lit up again. “I don’t want to see him die, Mr. Adams. Don’t tell him nothing, but I still love him. Even if he’s crazy.”

  Leaving the trailer park, David pulled over at a nearby gas station and began sorting through the contents of the dusty bankers box. There were a couple of shiny silver cowboy belt buckles, where it looked like Rebel might have won some bull-riding contests during his youth. Two framed photographs of his client as a small boy with probably his mother—Rebel sitting in her lap at Christmastime, and both of them on a merry-go-round at an amusement park. There was a pair of black cowboy boots. Branded inside one of the boots was the name Sandy North. Rebel’s father’s boots. Searching further, David found paperback copies of several classics: Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, and Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. There was a faded blue football jersey with an 18 on the front and back.

  In the bottom of the box, David pulled out an accordion file bound with a rubber band. In the very front were dozens of newspaper clippings about the death of Osama bin Laden—something Rebel had brought up the first time they’d
met. The clippings were from both American and Russian publications. David couldn’t read the Russian articles. Could Rebel? His client had certainly highlighted and circled a lot of the contents of the Russian articles. Next, David opened a spiral notebook filled with pages upon pages of scribbled notes all about the operation that had found the notorious terrorist. There were all kinds of random writings and drawings about the Iraqis, the Chinese, the Russians, the Pakistanis, and the CIA, with things circled here and there, and arrows drawn everywhere. None of it made any sense to David.

  Continuing to search the file, David discovered an envelope with a copy of Rebel’s official military personnel file, including his health and service records. Nothing in his health records indicated he displayed any manic behavior as a young man. His health looked solid. His service record showed he was in the marines from 2001 to 2005 and had served in Iraq.

  David’s phone buzzed with a new text message from Thomas.

  Reading it, David cursed out loud. His partner said there was a last-minute change of location for their scheduled meeting to discuss the recent eviction notice with the new building owners. The ownership group wanted them to meet with their lawyer instead, which was never a good sign.

  That wasn’t what had rattled David—it was the name of the damn lawyer.

  William Tidmore of Hunter & Kellerman.

  SEVENTEEN

  David met Thomas in the lobby of the Frost Bank Tower.

  “Is this for real?” David asked. “Tidmore?”

  “It’s real, I’m afraid. You ready to beg forgiveness?”

  “I think I’d rather work out of my truck than have to suck up to Tidmore.”

  “Not me. So just keep your cool, and let me handle it.”

  They traveled up the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor, where they stepped into the familiar grand lobby of the richest law firm in town. A dozen different emotions hit David all at once. It was hard to believe that not even a year had passed since he’d walked into this firm for the first time, the newest member of an elite group of lawyers who were all fabulously wealthy. Not much had changed. The lobby rugs and artwork were still fancy. The floors shone. The place just smelled like money. At one point, he’d loved that smell—now it made him a bit queasy. They checked in with the receptionist and then took a seat on two plush leather couches. It felt strange to be sitting there as a guest. Eight months ago, he’d been the toast of this place. A rookie who had just broken the firm’s long-standing one-month billing record. On the fast track to partner. Now he was sleeping on a sofa because he couldn’t afford rent anywhere.

  “How’d it go with the ex-wife?” Thomas asked.

  “Let’s just say we won’t be putting her on the stand.”

  David explained Marcy’s view of their client’s spells.

  “Violence, followed by blackouts,” Thomas repeated. “Let’s hope Mason doesn’t go looking for Marcy.”

  “Any luck yet with getting access to city security cameras?”

  “Not yet. I feel like I’m getting the runaround. I keep getting passed off to others, who won’t call me back. But I’ll keep pressing. Doc called a few minutes ago, said he was able to get another camera view he thought might be helpful. He’s at the office, waiting for us to get back.”

  The receptionist came over. “Mr. Tidmore is ready for you.”

  Trailing the receptionist, David took a hallway path he’d traveled a thousand times last year over to the main conference room, passing by several associate offices in the process. None of his former colleagues even looked up from their desks. Their tired faces and glazed-over eyes were all buried in their laptops or in piles of paperwork. A few of the assistants and paralegals said hello as they made their way down the hallway.

  The conference room had a huge glass wall, and David noticed Tidmore standing inside, wearing a black suit, already looking so damn smug. Opening the glass door, the receptionist led them into the room. Tidmore walked over to greet them, shaking Thomas’s hand first. When he stuck out his hand for David, Tidmore gave him the familiar cocky grin.

  “Good to see you, pal,” Tidmore said, clearly enjoying this moment. “Wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “I bet.”

  They all sat down around the conference table.

  “Thanks for meeting with us,” Thomas began, ever the diplomat. “Obviously, we received the notice from the new building owners. I think it’s just a big misunderstanding, and we would like to sort this all out.”

  “Not sure that’s possible,” Tidmore replied. “My client just spent five point seven million dollars to purchase your building, so they’re taking a hard look at all of the current lease agreements and—”

  “Just cut to the chase, Tidmore,” David interrupted. “What’s this about?”

  Tidmore slid over a folder. “Here’s a copy of your lease. Take a look at the highlighted section. It specifically states that a tenant must not operate a business in a way that negatively impacts other building tenants. Or their lease will be subject to termination.”

  “How’re we doing that?” Thomas questioned. “We’re a law firm.”

  “Well, sort of,” Tidmore mocked. “It’s not necessarily the nature of your business that’s the problem here. It’s your clientele, to be frank.”

  David was surprised this wasn’t about his sleeping at the office. “You want to throw us out of the building because some of our clients wear dirty clothes?”

  “And they smell really bad,” Tidmore added. “Like it or not, you guys have a bunch of clients that are disruptive to the other tenants in the building. We’ve received dozens of complaints.”

  “Which other tenants?” David said.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” Tidmore replied.

  “Because it’s BS, and you know it,” David countered. “This is discrimination.”

  “How do we make this right, William?” Thomas asked, staying calm.

  “You can’t. They want you out by the end of the month.”

  “That’s in seventeen days,” Thomas said.

  “Correct,” Tidmore replied. “Better get to packing.”

  David felt a righteous anger bubbling up inside him. “We’ll sue your ass.”

  “Bring it on,” Tidmore said, flashing his perfect teeth.

  David’s face flushed red, but he was able to hold his rage back. It was clear that Tidmore hoped to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t going to allow the jerk the pleasure, even though everything inside of him wanted to unload on the guy.

  Back in the elevator, David said, “I’m serious. We should sue.”

  “And take on Hunter and Kellerman?” Thomas asked.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we have about three hundred dollars left in our bank account. They probably spend that on coffee creamer every day.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Back at the office, David huddled with Thomas and Doc around his TV to watch the new security-camera video that Doc had gotten ahold of. Doc mentioned that he’d visited over a dozen bars before finding someone who was willing to play along. Most establishments weren’t all that interested in sharing anything with him outside of a court order—something David would have to consider pursuing if they couldn’t find what they needed down their current path.

  “Which bar?” David asked Doc.

  “Coyote Ugly. Corner of Sixth and Neches.”

  “How’d you get it?” Thomas questioned him.

  “Slipped the bartender forty bucks. He swore he knew how to operate the cameras from the back room and would get what I wanted when the manager stepped out.”

  “Good work, Doc,” David said.

  Doc shrugged. “Bartender said this particular shot is aimed down the sidewalk in the direction we wanted.”

  Loading the video drive onto his laptop, David pulled it up onto the TV for everyone to see. The bartender was right—the camera view was aimed down the sidewalk away from Sixth Street and toward the correct alley
. The same shot of the alley as the DA’s video but from a different direction. Because the bartender had downloaded several hours of footage from the night in question, David quickly fast-forwarded it to the appropriate time stamp, then let it play out in front of them.

  “There he is,” Thomas said, pointing at the screen.

  Murphy walked into view, his back to the camera. But it was easy for David to tell it was Murphy. He recognized the familiar gait and had already memorized the footage from the other security video. While talking on his phone, Murphy dipped into the alley and disappeared from view. Moments later, the mysterious man in the green military jacket and black knit cap appeared, just like in the other video. David still couldn’t get a look at the man’s face with his full back to the camera. He tried to examine any mannerisms that might suggest it was someone other than his client. The man was around the same height and build. The black knit cap completely covered whatever hair the guy had on his head. David rewound the video, and they all watched it closely again.

  Thomas cursed. “You can’t tell a thing.”

  David sat on the edge of his desk, feeling deflated, while the video continued to play out on the TV screen. “Wait a sec . . .”

  A few seconds after the man in the green jacket and black hat had entered the alley, a second person appeared in the shot wearing jeans, a gray hoodie, and a blue ball cap. This person also entered the alley from the same direction. David had not gotten this sequence from the other footage—the DA’s video cut off before this person entered the scene. Why? Not ten seconds later, the same person in the ball cap and hoodie came scrambling back out, looking panicked, and took off running out of view. Rewinding the video yet again, David paused it just as this new person’s face was in clear view of the security camera. A woman in her midtwenties, black hair poking out of the back of an Astros ball cap. It had to be the woman who was with Murphy at Dirty Dog just minutes earlier. Staring at the screen, David recognized her as the same woman who had stepped out of the shadows in front of him at the county jail the other night. Her words to him echoed anew in his mind.