by R. A. McGee
“Where to now?” Badway said.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been here,” Porter said.
“Yeah, but didn’t you go to court all the time when you were a fed?”
“They’re all different, Sarge.” Porter looked around the large entryway. Slick flooring ran throughout, and there were signs showing the directions to various courtrooms. Each courtroom had an enormous wooden door blocking the inner activity from public view. “Look, there’s a monitor. They have them to tell people which case is happening in what courtroom.”
The pair walked across the mezzanine, looking at the stairs down and up. Porter looked up at a flat-panel monitor, trying to decipher the seemingly random lines of numbers.
“I’m not sure what the case docket number is, so it’s hard to tell,” Porter said.
“You don’t know the case number because you aren’t the lawyer, Mr. Porter.” Cat Castonguay's voice crept up from behind them.
“Mr. Porter? That almost makes me sounds respectable.”
“I’m never going to think you’re funny,” she said, then turned to Badway. “Bobby.”
“Hi Cat,” Badway said. “What’s the game plan?”
“Game plan? We have to get the other team to even agree to show up and play ball. Stacy Brown’s lawyer is shrewd. He keeps stalling the proceedings and it makes it hard on Kevon.”
“How long can they get away with that?” Porter said.
“Mr. Porter, the only reason I even let you be here is because your cousin wants you here. He is the boss, but I’ve already told you to let me handle the lawyer business. I’m good at my job.”
“Not too good if you can’t even get the woman in the courtroom,” Porter said before he could stop himself.
Cat shot him a withering look, but Porter didn’t flinch.
“There’s Kevon,” Badway said, pointing to the walk-through metal detector.
Kevon was wearing a suit, carrying a manila folder in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. He slipped his shoes on, then came hustling over to the group.
“Did I miss anything?” he asked, out of breath.
“Not yet. Our hearing doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,” Cat said.
Porter looked Kevon over and saw that his suit was freshly pressed, if getting a bit threadbare. The wear on his shoes showed that they were well used, but Kevon had them shined to a mirror polish. He was cleanshaven, his face smooth except for the craggy scar that ran down the left side of his face, from his eyebrow to his jawline.
“Can we go in?” Badway said.
“We have to wait our turn,” Cat said. “The hearing before ours is closed; no one’s allowed in.”
Porter looked around in search of the bathroom sign. The hipster coffee had run its course and needed an escape route.
“There he is.” Cat pointed with her head to the metal detector and x-ray machine.
“He who?” Porter said.
“Leslie Abernathy. Stacy’s attorney.”
“That’s weird,” Porter said.
“An old Southern name. Spend any time on the east coast from here down to Georgia and you’ll meet plenty of Leslies, Whitneys, and Ashleys with penises. Don’t look so surprised.”
“Not surprised at that, just that there’s no little boy with the group.”
Leslie Abernathy came through the metal detector, followed by a large blond man, hair cut so close it showed the scalp. His suit was a little too small, but that wasn’t his fault. It was probably hard to find a double-breasted jacket that could fit a gorilla. The third man in was small but fit. Expensive suit and nice loafers. Porter could smell the money from where he was standing.
Stacy Brown was last. Short and compact, with curly shoulder-length hair and an attractive mole on her cheek, she was dressed in a well-tailored pantsuit.
“That’s him,” Badway said.
“Him who? You guys are killing me with the pronoun game,” Porter said.
“Alex Vance. Stacy’s new boyfriend? The one who owns the PMC?” Badway said, low enough that Kevon didn’t hear him.
Kevon lowered the teddy bear he was holding. “Porter’s right. Trey isn’t here.”
“Just relax, Kevon. We’ll see the judge and find out what’s going on.”
“Is it time yet?” Kevon asked as he gripped the teddy bear.
Cat looked at her watch. “Close enough. Let's go in.”
Kevon moved to the left but Cat stopped him. “We’re upstairs today, with a new judge. Maybe my motion for the last judge to recuse himself worked.” Cat motioned toward the elevator.
“I’ll catch up,” Porter said. The coffee evacuation would no longer wait.
Abernathy and Vance, in his nice suit and loafers, headed toward the other bank of elevators, while Porter fell in several feet behind the blond gorilla. The man took the same turns that Porter was going to take, and they ended up in the bathroom one after the other.
The man looked at himself in the mirror. Porter passed him, headed to the urinal. As he passed, Porter noticed the fabric on the right side of the man’s suit coat was discolored. When he’d been a fed, wearing a gun all day long, the butt of the pistol would rub on every shirt he wore. Suit coats would start to look like the gorilla’s, as the butt rubbed the lining and left a print on the outside of the jacket.
Moments later, Porter heard a stall door close.
“You some kind of kin to Brown?” The disembodied voice came from the stall.
“Why?”
“Just wondering. If you are, I was gonna tell you to talk some sense into your boy. Tell him his old lady left and she’s never coming back. Best to leave it alone.”
“He can’t see his son. That’s not something a man can leave alone,” Porter said, shaking himself twice.
“Tell him to consider the alternative.” The toilet in the stall flushed.
Porter walked to the sink, getting his hands wet, but not putting slippery soap on. “What alternative is that?”
The blond gorilla came out of the stall and paused by the exit door. Porter was facing the sink, but had his eyes on the man in the mirror.
The man stared at Porter through the mirror. “If he just disappears, there’s no custody battle. Bing, bang, done. Then everybody’s happy.”
“Everyone except for Kevon,” Porter said.
“Who cares what he thinks? The guy’s an asshole.” The big man reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, dropping it on the counter next to Porter. “You’re a big boy. If you know how to handle yourself, I may have work for you.”
The card read Keith Hylands, Vice President Domestic Affairs, Parabellum, Inc.
“I don’t think I’m your type of guy,” Porter said.
“Why the hell not? You like money, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but you didn’t wash your hands. If a guy doesn’t wash his hands, what else is he cutting corners on? Wiping his ass? It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”
Hylands's neck flushed red, and a purple vein protruded on his temple. “Funny guy, huh?”
“Just observant.”
Hylands flung the door open with such force, the handle chipped the subway tile on the wall.
Porter watched him stalk away until the door closed, then he turned back to the sink and put soap on his hands to wash.
Nine
When Porter got up to the courtroom, the bailiff was standing in the front, thumbs hooked in his belt.
“All rise. The Honorable Judge Kenneth Brookings presiding. God save this court and God save these United States.”
If a television producer were casting for a judge role for a show, Brookings would get the part. Lean, with gray hair and glasses, he was regal in his black robe. His desk was elevated on a platform and he looked down at the parties involved.
“Please be seated,” the man said.
The seats were similar to church pews, and Porter sat stiffly next to Badway. Cat and Kevon were up front, sitting behind a large wooden
table. A few feet to their right, Leslie Abernathy and Stacy Brown sat behind an identical table.
Opposite Porter and Badway, across the aisle, Hylands glared at Porter. He pretended not to notice. Alex Vance was next to him, surreptitiously typing something on his phone.
“Have all parties been sworn?” Judge Brookings asked the clerk at the small table to the right.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very good. This case is new on my docket. Apparently, there was a conflict of interest which required Judge Hastings to recuse himself. Be that as it may, bear with me if I ask questions that you’ve already answered. Everyone good with that?”
Cat Castonguay stood. “Yes, Your Honor.” She sat back down.
Abernathy stood. “Yes, Judge.” He sat back down.
When addressing a judge in court, decorum called for the person speaking to stand as they addressed the bench. Standing showed respect to the judge and the court. By the end of the day, however, everyone always got a little tired and started halfway standing up and leaning forward on the table as they did. It was a little game that amused Porter whenever he got a chance to watch it.
“Let’s get started. Ms. Castonguay, I’ll hear from you.” The judge held an upturned hand toward Cat and Kevon.
Cat stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. We are here to ask that the court grant my client equal visitation rights regarding his son, Trey Brown. So far, he has not been able to come to an agreement with his wife regarding this and has been unable to see his son in over a year. In fact, the boy was supposed to be here today, so my client could see him. It seems that isn’t happening.”
Judge Brookings flipped through the paperwork on his desk and was silent for several moments. “I see here that Judge Hastings ordered a visit before and after the hearing today, in light of the fact that an official agreement hadn’t been reached.” The judge looked toward Abernathy. “Counselor?”
Abernathy stood. “Yes, Judge. Unfortunately, the young man took ill and could not come today. He is being cared for by a team of nannies at the moment.”
Kevon Brown leaned over and whispered something to Cat.
“I see. While I understand that sicknesses pop up, it seems that if the boy is not hospitalized he should have been here to see his father. Ms. Castonguay?”
Cat stood. “Your Honor, these are the… inconsistencies that led me to complain to the bar. Mrs. Brown and her attorney have never made the young man available, despite several orders from the court. Judge Hastings allowed them to disobey with impunity.”
“That’s not true, Your Honor,” Abernathy said, coming to his feet. “There have always been real situations that prevented the boy from being here. Couldn’t be helped.”
Badway was shaking his leg, making the entire pew rock. Porter slapped him in the thigh.
“Mr. Abernathy, you might find my courtroom different from Judge Hastings’s. I expect all orders of this court to be obeyed. Are we on the same page?”
“Of course, Your Honor.” Abernathy sat.
“Ms. Castonguay, what is the full complaint against Mrs. Brown?”
Cat stood. “It’s simple, Your Honor. Mr. Brown’s wife has denied him access to his son. Her lawyer and her new boyfriend are complicit in allowing this to happen. It’s a scheme to keep Mr. Brown from seeing the boy.”
“Mr. Abernathy?”
“Judge, Ms. Castonguay makes it sound like some nefarious plot. Mrs. Brown is simply moving on with her life and Mr. Brown is upset he has been left behind.”
“While Mrs. Brown is free to move on, her son isn’t. Am I correct in that assessment, Mr. Abernathy?”
“Yes, Judge. However, my client has become aware of an incident involving Mr. Brown in an altercation at a bar. She believes this proves his violent tendencies and that he may hurt their son.”
Cat shot to her feet. “Your Honor, I have a police report which states—”
“Wait your turn, Counselor. I will allow you to rebut. Continue, Mr. Abernathy.”
“Yes, Judge. A private investigator hired by Mrs. Brown's fiancé discovered that Mr. Brown was taken to jail over the incident. Given this newest behavior, coupled with the fact Mr. Brown has several firearms in his home, she feels it is no longer a safe environment for their son.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Abernathy, did you say her fiancé?”
“Yes, Judge.”
“She is still married to Mr. Brown, is she not?” Judge Brookings looked perplexed.
“For the time being, Judge, but we are working on getting the divorced finalized.”
Porter stretched his arms wide, as an excuse to look behind him. Hylands appeared to be napping, but Alex Vance was intensely focused on the proceedings.
“Okay. Ms. Castonguay?” Judge Brookings looked to his right.
“Thank you, Judge. First, about the so-called ‘incident of violence.’ Mr. Brown was having a drink with some of his friends from the military. There was an incident with another group of men and when the police showed up, they took everyone to jail. My client was never charged, and I have sworn affidavits from the other members of the group that night which state that Mr. Brown was trying to defuse the situation and never even threw a punch.” Cat remained standing.
“So no charges?” Judge Brooking said.
“No, Judge. Also, while Mr. Brown does exercise his Second Amendment rights, his guns are not accessible to his son. In fact, I have a receipt from several months ago showing the purchase of a gun safe, and a picture of the safe in his closet at home. If it pleases the court?”
“Let me see it.”
Cat approached the judge's bench and handed him the paperwork. He looked over the receipt and the picture. “Noted. Anything else to add, Mr. Abernathy?”
Abernathy looked flustered. “Well, Judge, I’m not sure the court should brush aside the allegations Mrs. Brown has made regarding her husband’s temper. An abundance of caution should be called for to ensure the boy is safe.”
“Mr. Abernathy, you have provided me little evidence that there is anything to worry about. This court is not in the habit of denying parents—mothers or fathers—the right to see their children.”
“Understood, Judge. I just feel like, you know, I was unprepared for the change in venue from Judge Hastings’s court to your court this morning. I believe we already covered most of the ground necessary with Judge Hastings to award sole custody to my client. With more time to prepare, I could make the same compelling arguments in front of Your Honor; however, I don’t have all my… uhm… earlier notes with me today. I was unaware I would need them.” Abernathy sat.
Stacy Brown whispered animatedly to her lawyer. Porter didn’t need to hear her to know she was chewing him out.
“Let me say this. The court is always willing to hear an argument regarding the safety of a child. As it stands now, it looks like there isn’t one. I’m going to grant a continuance for ninety days, to allow both parties to make a more thorough argument.”
Cat Castonguay stood. “What about custody in the interim, Your Honor?”
“Until I see both parties again, I will keep Mrs. Brown in the role of custodial parent; however, Mr. Brown will be entitled to see his son according to the standard visitation calendar. I will have the clerk print it out, so there is no confusion about who gets the boy on what day.”
Stacy Brown let out an audible sob. Porter snuck a look at Alex Vance. His jaw was clenched.
“Anything further, Ms. Castonguay?”
“No, Your Honor,” she said.
“Mr. Abernathy?”
“No, Judge.”
“Very good. I will see all parties in ninety days. I do want to end with this. When we reconvene, I don’t want to hear about any trick or con from either side. Visitation is just that— there needs to be visiting. I expect everyone to play nicely.” Judge Brookings banged his gavel against his desk.
“All rise,” the court officer said. “This court is now adjourned.”
Ever
yone stood as Judge Brookings exited his bench and walked through a small wooden door into the back.
“That went much better than I thought,” Porter said to Badway.
Stacy Brown, Alex Vance, and Abernathy were huddled together by their table. Cat walked Kevon over to the bench where Porter was seated.
“You guys go ahead,” Cat said. “I’m going to get the visitation calendar from the clerk. That way we’ll know how soon you can get Trey. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Porter led Badway and Kevon from the courtroom, past Hylands, who was now awake.
“Pussy,” Hylands coughed into his hand.
Porter smiled but kept walking. He pressed the button on the elevator, noting that the floor indication light was several floors above them.
“I’m gonna take the stairs,” Badway said.
“One flight down?” Porter said.
“I’ll go down, then back to the top and down again. My ass, remember?” He jogged to the emergency exit door.
“Did that go how you wanted?” Porter asked Kevon.
“I mean, it’s not like I want Stacy to never see Trey. I just want my turn, you know?”
“Good thing you had a different judge,” Porter said. “He was decent.”
“Good thing,” Kevon said.
Porter looked at the man, who was gazing at something in the distance. The scar on his face was thick; whoever stitched it had done a poor job. Kevon caught him looking.
“It’s ugly, right?”
“It’s not like either of us are beauty queens. Scars aren’t the worst things for us to have,” Porter said.
“I guess. Stacy gave it to me, believe it or not,” Kevon said. “Got mad at me one night and blindsided me with a kitchen knife. Flayed me all the way open.”
“Doctor didn’t do you any favors,” Porter said.
Kevon’s eyes darted away. Porter assumed he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
With a bang, Stacy, Alex Vance, and Hylands came barreling out of the door. Once in the hallway, Stacy began screaming at the two men.
“You said this wouldn’t happen. You promised! I won’t let him see my son, ever!”
Upon seeing Porter and Kevon, Stacy made a beeline toward them. “You asshole. You think you’re going to take my son away? I’ll kill you first.”