The Last Chance Lawyer

by William Bernhardt

“The owner only carries classics. Nothing later than 1982.”

  That caught his attention. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Oh yes. More recently than you might imagine.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “What’s the point? Life is too short.”

  Shorter than he might imagine.

  They continued strolling down the hall. A sudden gust of wind brought a chill and he slid in closer, taking her arm. He was hers now, she knew it, body and soul. Their shoes clicked on the Cuban floor tiles, creating a syncopated soundtrack to their long day’s journey into twilight. The tall ceilings, the iron chandeliers, the retro vendors, all conspired to create an ambience suggesting all things were possible, failure could become success, and everything that seemed most hopeless might yet hold promise.

  “Oh my God. It’s her.”

  They stopped. The soundtrack ceased.

  “Who?”

  “Your boss.”

  At the far end of the walkway, someone attracted a small crowd.

  “Did she spot us?”

  “I don’t know. She’s turning this way.”

  “Run!”

  They pivoted and bolted, still clutching one another’s arms. They burst through the crowd, carving a path through strollers and scooters and phalanxes of friends. They spun and twisted, dancing like ballerinas intent on maintaining poise while racing for their lives. They panted and gasped and even laughed a little, not sure if they should be amused or terrified, happy to feel either emotion or both, delighted to feel anything at all.

  They passed through the tall iron gates onto Central Avenue, breathless and sweating and fully alive.

  “Do you—Do you—” He could barely catch his breath. “Do you think they saw us?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think we should leave?”

  She pushed him hard against a brick wall, pressing close to him. “No.” Their lips were barely an inch apart, their eyes locked tightly together. She spoke a language he could translate with ease.

  “We...don’t want to attract attention,” he said, not breaking her gaze.

  “I know a place. Thirsty?”

  “Very.”

  She pulled a small metal flask out of her jacket pocket. “Take a long swig of this.”

  He did, then winced. “That stings. What is it?”

  “Brandy.”

  “There was more in it than brandy.”

  “I enhanced it.”

  “With what?”

  “Paradise.”

  She led him to a large old-style bakery, currently closed. The doors were shut and the windows were shuttered. It looked as if it had been closed for some time, but scaffolding nearby suggested renovation would soon begin.

  He slowed. “I don’t think it’s open.”

  “I can get us in.” She slid a key into the lock. The door complained but ultimately yielded. She closed the door behind them and secured it.

  The interior was dark and fusty. A bit of light trickled in from the top of the windows, but not much. She could see the counter where the bakery once sold its goods, and tables of various sizes where people consumed them.

  “How long has this place been closed?” he asked.

  “Not that long. The machinery still functions. New management is revamping.” She shoved him against a wall, grabbing his butt cheeks and pulling him close. “Are you ready for that moment of perfection?”

  “What, here?”

  “Why not? Don't you feel it? Stirring inside you? Something new, something exciting. A longing from the core of your soul.” She pressed her lips against his, hard and rough. “You want me.”

  “I do.” He swung her around, pressed her against the wall and hoisted her skirt.

  “Not like that.” She swept the napkin holder and salt-and-pepper shakers off a table, clearing it. “Here.” She lay down on the table and invited him in.

  He ripped off his trousers and climbed aboard. Once they connected, he gasped. “Oh. Oh. Yes.”

  “Tonight will be different. Like nothing you’ve ever had before.” She rocked her hips, pulsing, and he moaned in rhythm. “Starting now.”

  She flipped him around and before he knew what happened she was on top of him, astride and in control.

  The pounding and thrusting was urgent and furious, but not fast, not fleeting. His eyes rolled back into his head. She could read his thoughts in his eyes. He had never felt like this before, never felt anything like this in his life. This was perfection, this was the sanctuary he had sought but never found. This was worth the danger, maybe enhanced by the danger, being with her again, putting everything on the line, throwing caution and common sense to the wind. This was being alive.

  When he finished, it was not so much a release as an eye-popping, full-body nirvana. He cried out, so loud she winced. His heart raced.

  “Was it all you hoped it would be?” she asked.

  “More. Much more.” He laid his head on her chest, ready to rest.

  “One moment of perfection.”

  “So true.” His eyelids fluttered and closed. “So good. So hot.”

  She patted him gently till he was asleep, which did not take long. She knew he would be out for a long time. Long enough to accomplish her next task. While he slept, she bound his arms and legs and lowered him onto a sheet so he would be easier to move.

  You thought that was hot? She was unable to suppress her smile. What till you see what comes next.

  “What’s going on? Why am I tied up?”

  “So you can’t leave, obviously.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “You said you’d give anything. Everything. Now you will.”

  “What is this?”

  “The moment of perfect pleasure.”

  “We already had that.”

  “No. You had yours. Now we’re going to have mine.”

  Dan bounced a bit as he approached the witness stand. His Air Jordans always gave him a little lift, and he would need that if he was going to bring off this cross-examination. His client, a twenty-year old USF student with no record, faced charges of assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. If convicted, her college career would be interrupted, probably derailed, by a three-year stint with the Florida Department of Corrections. The charges hung on this witness. If he discredited the witness, the charges would disappear.

  An easel stood at the edge of the courtroom, on the jury side. A sheet masked what was on it.

  He scrutinized the witness. Crewcut. Duty uniform. About fifteen pounds overweight. Hands interlaced. Nervous.

  He started the cross-examination. “One thing I don’t understand, Officer Porter. What caused you to run into that pool party on Burlington Avenue?” The party was in the 801 Conway neighborhood, a downtown district that in recent years had become a haven for young urban professionals. “I assume you weren’t invited.”

  Porter cleared his throat. “I heard screaming. So I pulled over, left my vehicle, and investigated.” His words were even and measured. He was taking no chances, using the time-honored “just-the-facts-ma’am” approach. Police officers were trained to avoid the smart-aleck attitude you sometimes saw on television shows—because jurors found it off-putting. “I immediately saw signs of conflict, fighting, and also illegal drug use.”

  “You could tell from a distance that the drugs were illegal?”

  “When you see people passing a bong, you know they’re not sharing aspirin.”

  “Was my client, Grayson Grant, using drugs?”

  “I didn’t see that. I first saw the defendant when she challenged me, suggesting that I had no right to be there and threatening me.”

  He watched Officer Porter carefully. Many years before, his favorite law professor had told him he could learn everything he needed to know if he watched people carefully. That had become his life mantra. Any time he saw someone, he gave them a head-to-toe scan, carefully drinking in as much as he could. Often those initial insi
ghts proved useful.

  “What did my client say that was threatening?” This was important. Contrary to what people thought, assault was not physically striking someone. That was battery. Assault was putting someone in apprehension or fear of being struck. Hence the phrase, “assault and battery.”

  “It wasn’t what she said. It was more...her manner. She didn’t want me to be there.”

  “Is that surprising? You crashed their party and pulled out your gun.”

  “Not initially. I did not draw my weapon until I saw signs of immediate danger.”

  “Which were?”

  “I already told you. Screaming. Fighting. A woman behaving in a confrontational manner. And she had many friends backing her up.”

  “I don’t doubt that you attracted their attention. But is it possible you imagined the threat?”

  “I was seriously outnumbered.”

  “So you were intimidated. But that’s not the same as being threatened.” He paused to let the jury soak that in. “Was the fact that most of the party guests were African-American a factor?” Out the corner of his eye, he saw the prosecutor, Jazlyn Prentice, raise her head. He’d known Jazlyn for some time, and he knew she wouldn’t let him accuse an officer of being racist unless he could back it up.

  “That had nothing to do with it,” Porter said.

  “Didn’t heighten your fear? Cause you to overreact?”

  “I didn’t overreact. I acted to defend myself, as St. Petersburg police officers are trained to do. As you know, the defendant did in fact tackle me. Knocked me to the concrete.”

  He was tackled by a woman half his weight, which is probably what got his dander up. “My client did that after you pulled your gun. You looked like you were about to shoot her friends.”

  “I posed no threat to anyone obeying the law. But when attacked, a police officer has no choice but to respond. We are the thin blue line. We serve and protect. The people depend on us.”

  “I agree that we need police, and most do their difficult job well and honor the rules. The question is whether you were thinking clearly at this pool party.”

  “Objection,” Jazlyn said, rising. Slender. Mid-thirties. Shoulder-length brown hair. Ballpoint pen in left hand. “Motion to strike. That’s not a question. That’s argument.”

  “Sustained.” Judge Petersen had little patience for showboating. “Cross-examination is for asking questions. If you’re out of questions, counsel, please sit down.”

  He nodded obediently. This would be the wrong time to get crosswise with the judge. He needed to bring this witness down, and he needed to do it quickly.

  He took a deep breath and started.

  Read the rest when Court of Killers is released on July 16, 2019.

  About the Author

  William Bernhardt is the author of forty-seven books, including the bestselling Ben Kincaid series, the historical novels Challengers of the Dust and Nemesis, two books of poetry (The White Bird and The Ocean’s Edge), and the Red Sneaker books on fiction writing. In addition, Bernhardt founded the Red Sneaker Writers Center to mentor aspiring writers. The Center hosts an annual writers conference, small-group writing retreats, a monthly newsletter, a phone app, and a bi-weekly podcast. He is also the President of Balkan Press, which publishes poetry and fiction as well as the literary journal Conclave.

  Bernhardt has received the Southern Writers Guild’s Gold Medal Award, the Royden B. Davis Distinguished Author Award (University of Pennsylvania) and the H. Louise Cobb Distinguished Author Award (Oklahoma State), which is given "in recognition of an outstanding body of work that has profoundly influenced the way in which we understand ourselves and American society at large." Library Journal called him “the undisputed master of the courtroom drama.” The Vancouver Sun called him “the American equivalent of P.G. Wodehouse and John Mortimer.”

  In addition to his novels and poetry, he has written plays, a musical (book and score), humor, children’s stories, biography, and puzzles. He has edited two anthologies (Legal Briefs and Natural Suspect) as fundraisers for The Nature Conservancy and the Children’s Legal Defense Fund. In his spare time, he has enjoyed surfing, digging for dinosaurs, trekking through the Himalayas, paragliding, scuba diving, caving, zip-lining over the canopy of the Costa Rican rain forest, and jumping out of an airplane at 10,000 feet. In 2013, he became a Jeopardy! champion. In 2017, when Bernhardt delivered the keynote address at the San Francisco Writers Conference, chairman Michael Larsen noted that in addition to penning novels, Bernhardt can “write a sonnet, play a sonata, plant a garden, try a lawsuit, teach a class, cook a gourmet meal, beat you at Scrabble, and work the New York Times crossword in under five minutes.”

  Also by William Bernhardt

  The Ben Kincaid Novels

  Primary Justice

  Blind Justice

  Deadly Justice

  Perfect Justice

  Cruel Justice

  Naked Justice

  Extreme Justice

  Dark Justice

  Silent Justice

  Murder One

  Criminal Intent

  Death Row

  Hate Crime

  Capitol Murder

  Capitol Threat

  Capitol Conspiracy

  Capitol Offense

  Capitol Betrayal

  Justice Returns

  Other Novels

  Challengers of the Dust

  The Game Master

  Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness

  The Code of Buddyhood

  Dark Eye

  Strip Search

  Double Jeopardy

  The Midnight Before Christmas

  Final Round

  The Red Sneaker Series on Writing

  Story Structure: The Key to Successful Fiction

  Creating Character: Bringing Your Story to Life

  Perfecting Plot: Charting the Hero’s Journey

  Dynamic Dialogue: Letting Your Story Speak

  Sizzling Style: Every Word Matters

  Powerful Premise: Writing the Irresistible

  Thinking Theme: The Heart of the Matter

  The Fundamentals of Fiction (video series)

  Poetry

  The White Bird

  The Ocean’s Edge

  For Young Readers

  Shine

  Princess Alice and the Dreadful Dragon

  Equal Justice: The Courage of Ada Sipuel

  The Black Sentry

  Edited by William Bernhardt

  Legal Briefs: Short Stories by Today’s Best Thriller Writers

  Natural Suspect: A Collaborative Novel of Suspense

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