Power of Attorney (5 page)

Sachs seemed to completely disregard her gesture though, and taking her place at the podium, he leaned forward and gave the crowd a solemn, but determined look.  I wanted to just appear casual, maybe even a little impatient, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from fixing my gaze on him and practically holding my breath along with everyone else in the room as I waited to hear what he would say.

“I just want to add that my thoughts are with Randall’s family at this difficult time and I myself will do everything in my power to help find him,” he began.

“He’s probably checked the restrooms already himself,” I whispered, but my heart wasn’t in my snark for a change. I was actually rather distracted by wondering if he was really as sincere as he sounded. It didn’t fit with the image of a guy who would put a conviction ahead of his ex-girlfriend’s safety.

Allow me to note for the record, by the way, that his voice was deep and would likely have carried even without a microphone. He looked powerful and he sounded powerful too.  On TV he was attractive, but in person he seemed to hit me like gale force winds in a hurricane.  It had to be pheromones or something. He should bottle that.

“The FBI and local police are working together and following up several leads,” he went on with what seemed to be a note of real concern in his tone.

“He’s probably in Cabo with some chick,” Lena murmured cynically.

“You’re such a romantic,” I murmured back.

“We’re optimistic that Assistant U.S. Attorney Greene will be back with us soon.”

“Hopefully not in several packages,” Dana said somewhat quietly, but not quite quietly enough. That was a Dana quirk too. She didn’t have great volume control.

I saw Boy Wonder’s eyes travel over to where we were standing. They quickly passed Dana and then lingered on me.
Hey! It wasn’t me that time!
Figures I would get busted not for my own smart mouth, but for someone else’s. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but I suspected that it wasn’t “Wow, not only are you gorgeous but you’re witty too!” To my chagrin, I felt heat spread across my chest and up my neck into my cheeks.

“In the meanwhile, I assure you that I will do my best to keep everything running smoothly and cases will progress as scheduled.” His eyes moved on, and as they did, I felt myself start breathing again. I wanted to go lock
myself
in the restroom.

There were several questions from members of the press, which Davis and Sachs fielded expertly. The Dynamic Duo in action. I could almost imagine little bubbles around them that said “POW!” and “ZAP!” After a few minutes they moved on and the crowd finally dispersed. We were just about to head out when Dana’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and mouthed “Trog.” At least our own missing person was back. Maybe
he
had been locked in a restroom.

“C
alm down, Trog,” Dana said for what felt like the twentieth time.  We were sitting in our conference room trying to get a coherent explanation out of our flaky client.

“Okay! Okay! I’m calm. I’m calm. It was her. She suggested it. She said that we would make a statement but that nobody would care.”

“If nobody would care, why would you make the statement?” Lena asked.

“I don’t mean that way! I mean people would
care
!”

“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” Lena asked Dana.  With a look of concentration, Dana gave it another shot.

“Are you saying that someone suggested that you somehow make a political statement and assured you that law enforcement officials would not pursue you for it?”  She obviously spoke Trog. 

“Yes!” he cried like porn star. I went over and subtly closed the window, which I noticed was open a crack. Pedestrians on the sidewalk might wonder.

“Who is this woman?” Dana asked next.

“Her online name is Deon Flux, like the sci-fi character AEon Flux, but Deon.”

“Clever,” I said dryly. How nice, a girl Trog.

“And what did Ms. Flux tell you do exactly?” Dana went on.

“She’s a student, and living on, like, Ramen noodles, you know? And she has to write a paper, but not all the information is in the library. You can get it online, but you have to pay. She was saying how unfair that is.”

“Hey there, Lena,” I said cheerfully, “You and Deon Flux could totally hang.” Lena gave me a look that said that maybe that wasn’t top of her own bucket list.

“And her solution was to break into their system and just take the document?” Dana asked.  “Theft isn’t much of a political statement, Trog.  She played you.”

“No! Not just download her shit!” he replied indignantly.  “You think I’m that naïve?  She suggested that I download as many files as possible and just make them free.  Like hundreds, you know?  And make a big statement about it online afterward.”

“And did you do that?” Lena asked.

“Did the Rebel Alliance just go charging straight at the Death Star with no plan?” he shot back with a scathing look. Guess he told her.

“Um, I’m thinking no?” she replied with a smile.

“I had to get in first and take a look around, get the lay of the land, you know?”

“And that’s all you did was go in and look around?” Dana asked skeptically.

“Yeah! I swear!  I didn’t download anything. Well, I mean other than Deon’s article. She never asked me to do that though.  It was my idea. Shit, man! I’ll give them the twenty bucks!”

“Why would the FBI be so interested in the theft of one document worth twenty dollars?” Dana asked more to herself than anyone.  She sat down in a chair and I could almost see her brain working.

“I don’t even know how they found out!” Trog exclaimed. “I was totally careful.  They shouldn’t have been able to trace it to me.”

“Is Deon who you were meeting the bushes yesterday?” I asked pleasantly.

“Yeah.  I sent her a message after the feds came to my door.  I told her that I needed to talk to her but she never showed and she hasn’t answered my messages.”

“Well, just stay calm. We’ll find out what the FBI wants with you,” Lena advised.  She sat back, crossed her legs and gave him her best “We got this” look.

“We won’t admit to anything yet,” I added. “They may not have any evidence.  This could all be a big fishing expedition on their part.”

“We’ll touch base soon. In the meanwhile, if you hear from either the FBI or your friend Deon, let us know,” Dana said, standing up. Trog took the hint and left looking like he was at least a little less on the verge of a nervous breakdown, although it’s kind of hard to tell with Trog.

***

I
t turned out that I didn’t have much time to contemplate Trog’s dilemma, as one of my clients had a dilemma of his own.  Mr. Salvatore Borelli, Sr. was protesting what he considered an excessive fine for inadequately disposing of his poodle, Millie’s, gift to the sidewalks of Philadelphia. The eighty-four year old Mr. Borelli had decided that the best way to express his disagreement with this perceived injustice was to chain himself to a tree in front of Independence Hall dressed as “Exhibit A.”

Apparently, seeing Yoda chained to a tree dressed like dog poop was at least as interesting as the historical building behind him, because people were starting to gather and take pictures. This annoyed the tourist bureau.  As far as they were concerned, he was making a mockery of a national landmark. They wanted him removed, and if necessary arrested, basically for having annoyed them. I was in court seeking an injunction to protect his Constitutional right to be a pain in the ass.

When I entered the courtroom, I immediately approached the Assistant U.S. Attorney who was prosecuting the case. He was a tired-looking lawyer in his late forties or early fifties, who did not seem at all pleased by the fact that I was challenging the Government’s right to scoop up Mr. Borelli.

“He’s in a public forum, staging a legitimate political protest,” I started in as soon as the federal prosecutor and I were face-to-face.

“He’s blocking foot traffic at a national landmark,” he countered, sounding bored.

“Oh come on. He’s not closing down Independence Hall.”

“He’s drawing a crowd and they’re blocking the sidewalk. Somebody could get hurt. Besides, some of our tour guides are having a hard time getting through.”

“So reroute around him. It’s one old guy chained to one tree. Not the whole AARP chained to a national forest.”

“We don’t have the burden of rerouting,” he replied in a cranky tone. “He’s blocking access. It’s up to him to leave willingly or with our assistance.”

“You want my client to not exercise his constitutional rights to Freedom of Speech and Assembly because it’s inconveniencing your tour guides. Well, we’ll see what the Court has to say,” I shot back and turned on me heel, stalking off to have a seat and wait for my case to be called. As I glared back at my opponent, I saw him sigh and roll his eyes heavenward. Well, too bad.  Mr. Borelli had a right to make an ass out of himself and I was prepared to defend that right.

Finally, forty minutes later, we got in front of the judge.  The Honorable Marsha Baker was sitting. I had a lot of respect for Judge Baker. She had done a lot to encourage other African American women to pursue law as a profession.  At least maybe she would agree that the First Amendment still had some importance, especially in front of Independence Freaking Hall.

“Tell me again why he’s dressed like dog droppings,” Judge Baker said squinting.

“He believes he was fined excessively for uh, an excrement incident,” I explained.

“Uh
Huh
,” she replied, not looking deeply moved my Mr. Borelli’s protest.

“Your Honor, it’s long established that the First Amendment does not protect speech that impedes public progress creating a safety issue,” the prosecution argued.

“There’s no real safety issue here,” I countered.  “It seems that my client’s legitimate protest is somehow interfering with their tours, but even if that were somehow a safety issue, it would be very easy to reroute around him.”

“Counselor, are you saying that the government has the burden of changing their system to accommodate your client’s protest?” Judge Baker asked.

“What I’m saying Your Honor, is that nobody has been hurt and the tourist bureau’s inconvenience does not trump Mr. Borelli’s constitutional rights.”

“Your Honor, the law does not require that someone actually be injured before blocking the sidewalk can be considered a safety issue.”

“While technically, the law may not require it,” I countered, “public policy does.”

“And how is that Ms. Roth?” Judge Baker asked.

“Your Honor, my client may look foolish to some people. Okay, most people. I mean let’s face it, an elderly man dressed like dog ... droppings and chained to a tree in front of Independence Hall is hardly the image of one of the brave patriots who fought for nation.  But
he’s
the
reason
that they fought.” My voice became stronger as I realized that I really believed in what I was saying. “They dreamed of a country where citizens could stand up and be heard and they didn’t intend that Freedom of Speech should be denied when it became inconvenient to the Government.” I was truly pouring my heart into my words as I delivered my powerful closing line. “Our Founding Fathers gathered on that very spot over two hundred years ago to guarantee our rights and my client will
remain
on that very spot exercising those rights until he believes that he has been heard.”

With that I ended. I knew that I was on the side of justice and I could see that the judge was sympathetic to my argument. She was about to comment when a bailiff approached, whispering quietly in her ear.

Despite the interruption, it was still a great moment. I could almost hear the opening strains of
God Bless America
. Idly, I turned to face the crowd, wanting to see if anyone had been moved by my impassioned speech. A different kind of passion immediately overcame me. I felt my stomach flip over and a jolt of electricity travel down my spine. Sitting at the prosecution table, staring at me with a look that was part amusement and part something indefinable was Boy Wonder himself.

I froze and the two of us locked gazes silently for several seconds. Incidentally, several seconds can feel like a very long time. Especially when you’re making eye contact with a hot prosecutor while picturing having your way with him in open court. The judge’s voice broke the spell, making me jump.  I spun around again, heart pounding like a drum. My mouth felt dry and my panties felt damp. Damned pheromones. Damned Pavlov. Maybe Dana could teach me some kind of Vulcan mind trick to get over this.

“Well, Ms. Roth,” Judge Baker began, “I will commend you for your zealous advocacy on your client’s behalf, but it turns out you are a little more dedicated to his cause than he is.  I have been informed that Mr. Borelli was observed exciting the grounds of Independence Hall, proceeding to a newsstand across the street, purchasing a copy of
Jugs
and then entering the subway. It seems that he feels he’s been heard for today.” I felt heat slowly infusing my cheeks.

“Thank you for that update You Honor,” I croaked.
God Bless America.

“How about if you have a little talk with your client and see if maybe you can convince him to write a letter to the city next time, Counselor,” she went on. “Motion for Injunction dismissed.” She banged her gavel and I collected what I could of my dignity and went over to collect my briefcase as well.

The Court was taking a five-minute recess and so there was movement and murmuring all around me when I heard someone call my name. Looking up, I saw that now standing next to Boy Wonder, was the prosecutor who had handled Agnes’s case the other day. He motioned to Sachs to give him a moment and then addressed me again.

“Ms. Roth, it seems that your client Mrs. Fishbine is at again.”
Oh God. Not now. Not with him standing right there. 
This time she tried to moon the Mayor, but fortunately, her walker got in the way.  I think it might be time for Mrs. Fishbine to have a psychiatric evaluation.” I swallowed and stood up a little straighter.