Capital Punishment (5 page)

"You won't do anything!" shouted the father. "You won't do one more damn thing on this case. We'll get a different lawyer. A better one. And if we can't sue the school district, then we'll sue you and your entire firm for malpractice."

"Look, I know you're upset—"

"You don't know anything," screamed the mom.

The dad grabbed my coat. "I oughta punch you right in the face. Go to hell."

He shoved me away, then took his wife's hand and they both stormed out of the courtroom.

"Mr. Mitchell?" It was the attorney for the district. I didn't turn around. "No hard feelings?"

I still didn't turn around. I didn't trust myself. I wasn't sure what I'd do if I saw her smarmy smile. Instead, I lowered my shoulders and marched out of the courtroom.

I wanted to jump in my car and drive away. Anywhere. The office. My house. The Ice Cave. I didn't care.

But I couldn't. My car was parked in by a burrito truck.

I would have been pissed—even more than I was—if I hadn't been so hungry. I got one to go and then forced my car out by driving over the curb and gouging out a nice wide swath of Judge Prescott's immaculate lawn.

I parked in the garage and stormed into the office, burrito bag in hand. I was angry at the judge for dismissing the case. I was angry at the school district's attorneys for filing the motion. I was angry at Danielle for screwing up my calendar. But most of all I was angry at myself for having let it happen.

"What happened?" Danielle ignored my mood and followed me into my office.

I looked at her sideways, eyes flaring. "Prescott dismissed it."

"What?!" She was as shocked as I had been in court. "How could he do that? They didn't give you any notice."

"Apparently they did," I growled as I dropped my greasy bag onto my desk. I pulled the pleadings out from my coat pocket and slammed them on the corner of the desk for her to see.

"Two weeks ago?" Danielle was as incredulous as me. "How did they get that date stamp?"

"Because they delivered it here two weeks ago." The obvious, and only, explanation. "The real question is what happened to it after that."

"Mitchell!" It was New Man Johnson. 'Mr. Johnson.' I could hear it in his voice; he was pissed. I knew why. "Where is Mitchell?"

I heard some paralegal tell him I was in my office.

"Mitchell!" He started to storm into my office, but pulled up short when he saw Danielle there. I don't think he expected to have a witness. "I just got off the phone with the Cunninghams."

"Yeah," was all I said.

"They're threatening to sue us."

"I know," I answered as I pulled my burrito out of its bag. "I don't think they're just threatening it."

"What the hell happened, Mitchell?"

I inspected my burrito. "Damn it," I muttered. "They forgot the sour cream." Luckily I kept a stash in my office mini-fridge.

I picked the pleadings up off the desk and handed them to Johnson as I walked around to my fridge. "These never made it to my desk."

Johnson reviewed the documents while I reached in and pulled out my sour cream tub. It seemed light.

"This is a bullshit motion," Johnson said. "Summary judgment. You can beat this with a simple one page reply."

"I know." I opened the sour cream. It was empty.

"What the hell?!" I yelled. I threw the container against the wall. "God damn it!"

"What is it?" gasped Danielle. Johnson looked askance as well.

"I'm out of sour cream!" I shouted. "I could have sworn I had some sour cream left. How the hell am I supposed to eat my burrito without any sour cream?!"

"Pay attention to the real crisis here, Mitchell," Johnson barked. "Why did the judge grant the motion if all you had to do is file one fucking piece of paper?"

"Because I didn't file that one fucking piece of paper!"

"Why the hell not?"

I stepped over and smacked the papers in his hand. "Look at the date stamp."

He did. "Two weeks ago. That should have been plenty of time."

"Sure," I agreed. "If I'd gotten it two weeks ago."

"But we did get it two weeks ago," Johnson protested. "The date stamp shows that."

"No," I growled as I plopped into my desk chair. "It shows that the motion arrived at the office two weeks ago. Danielle didn't get it until this morning. And even then, there was no scheduling order with it so we didn't know it was set for a hearing until the fucking judge called to find out why I wasn't there."

Johnson didn't say anything for several seconds. "When did you get the brief, Danielle?"

"It was in my in-box when I got to work this morning," she answered.

"It must have gotten buried underneath other stuff," Johnson suggested.

He was going to blame it on her. But everybody knew Danielle was the most organized paralegal in the office. Hell, she was the most organized person—lawyer or support staff—in the office. I was about to defend her, but she didn't need me.

"No sir. It was on the very top. I noticed it as soon as I got here. It was not there when I went home last night."

Johnson smiled. "Well, I think everyone will believe you, Danielle."

Then he turned to me. "So what's your excuse, Mitchell?"

"I— I beg your pardon?" I tried to catch myself. "What do you mean my excuse?"

"Why didn't you know about the hearing?" he demanded.

"I just explained," I said.

"I didn't hear any explanations," he sneered. "All I heard were excuses."

I was speechless for a moment. "I didn't get notice of the hearing because something broke down in our office. But it's not my fault."

"Did you see the motion this morning?"

I set my jaw. "Yes," I admitted.

"Was the date stamp on it?"

"Yes," another admission through clenched teeth.

"So why didn't you call the court to see if anything had been scheduled when you noticed the date stamp was two weeks old?"

I pressed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I didn't notice the date stamp was two weeks old."

Just then Fletcher darkened my doorway. "What's going on?" he asked a little too cheerily.

"Did you eat my sour cream?" I accused. He seemed like the kind of prick who would do that.

"What?" he stammered. "No. I—"

"Forget the Goddamn sour cream, Mitchell," Johnson ordered. He turned to Fletcher. "Mitchell just lost the Cunningham account. And they're threatening to sue us."

"The Cunningham account?" Fletcher repeated. "Isn't that the little girl who got diddled by the school janitor?"

"It was the gym teacher," I corrected. "And yes."

"What happened?"

Again, Johnson jumped in before I could and explained it all, with an emphasis on how I'd overlooked the date stamp.

"Sucks to be you, Mitchie," Fletcher said. Then he looked at the windows. "How long do you think the drapes should be?"

I stood up and for a second I thought about rushing him. It had been a long day. I didn't need any more of his crap.

"Wait a minute," Danielle interjected. "I have an idea. Just because they delivered the brief to us doesn't mean they delivered the scheduling order too. If we didn't get that, then we didn't really get notice of the hearing."

That was a great point. "I didn't think of that in court," I admitted. "I was so flustered by the judge I only looked at the brief, not the order. They never showed me a scheduling order with a date stamp."

"I'll go check my in-box," Danielle announced.

"I'll come with you," I decided. I wasn't sure what I could do to help, but I didn't want to stay back with Fletcher and Johnson. I was afraid Fletcher would jab me again, say something else smarmy and stupid, and I'd end up doing something I'd regret.

Fletcher and Johnson just looked at each other but didn't say anything as Danielle and I stepped out of my office. She and I headed toward her work station at the end of the hall until I realized I still hadn't eaten anything that day. Even without sour cream, that burrito would taste good while I watched Danielle scour her area for that scheduling order.

But when I got back to my office I stopped short. Johnson and Fletcher were talking and I heard my name.

"—Mitchell will weasel his way out of this?" Johnson was asking.

"No way," Fletcher replied. "The scheduling order was date stamped the same day. I just didn't think to put that in Danielle's box too. I'll stick it in some papers of hers tonight and you can 'find' it in the morning."

Johnson laughed. "Okay, that'll work. Then I can even accuse her of hiding it to help Mitchell."

"No, let me," joked Fletcher. "Then I'll tell her I won't tell you if she sucks me off."

"Let's have her suck us both off," said Johnson. "Then I'll fire her."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But it got even worse.

"What about the Cunninghams?" Fletcher asked. "Are they really gonna sue us?"

"Probably," said Johnson. "But I talked to our malpractice insurance before we did this and they said that as long as I fire Mitchell for cause, they'll have to sue him individually. Whatever liability we might have will be covered by the insurance, but they'll get his house and everything he owns."

"And I get his office," Fletcher laughed. Then without any true remorse in his voice, "Too bad that little girl's case got dismissed."

"Whatever," hissed Johnson. "That was a loser of a case no matter what. Mitchell took it on contingency and advanced them all the costs. We were already in the hole on that one. Glad to get it off the books."

"Two birds with one stone," observed Fletcher.

"Yeah," laughed Johnson. "Besides the little slut probably wanted it."

Fletcher laughed too. But only for a moment.

"You mother fuckers!" I screamed as I stormed into the room. "This was all a fucking set up?"

Their faces went white. But then Johnson caught himself. He looked at Fletcher and winked. "I don't remember saying anything. Do you, Jason?"

Fletcher smiled. "No, Brian, I don't."

Johnson smirked at me. "You find that order yet? The one that's gonna give me the basis I need to fire you for cause?"

I was shaking. I didn't know what to say.

"Oh, one more thing, Mitchell," Fletcher smirked. "I did take the last of your sour cream."

And for some reason, that was the straw that broke my camel's back. I think the poor bastard would have seen it in my eyes, but he was too stupid to look.

"It won't be the last thing of yours I take," he added, just sealing his fate.

"Yes it will," I answered. I didn't yell it. I didn't need to.

I yanked open my desk drawer. The gun was right where I had told Danielle to put it. Loyal Danielle. Poor, stupid, loyal Danielle.