Rattlesnake & Son

by Jonathan Miller

  He was a small wiry man in a plaid jacket, who was chugging a Red Bull. He had some framed pics of his billboards around town:

  Name Change? First vowel free, consonants assessed according to law!

  If you must molest, hire the best! Hire Abe Ogado!

  Don’t get removed! I’ll get you approved! Hire Abe Ogado!

  Legal Malpractice! I sue drunk lawyers! Hire Abe Ogado!

  “Can you give me a hand with this box?” he said. For someone who sued drunk lawyers he seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

  I helped him open a box of files. Several of the files fell on the floor and couldn’t help but glance over them. He apparently made a pretty good living undoing the work of other lawyers. He was his own private breakdown docket. There were a few trust account deposit slips for tens of thousands of dollars.

  I helped him carry in one file box from the back of his Porsche. He was doing well. He asked me for advice about some judges and prosecutors all over the state. As I knew everyone, I gave him some helpful advice.

  “Maybe we should go into practice together,” he said.

  “Not right yet.”

  “The real money is in immigration. I’ve figured out a loop hole in the immigration courts,” he said. “If you ever have any clients who are getting deported, send them to me. I’ll rep the first one for free.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I would have to be desperate to refer cases to him.

  The nicest office belonged to Mitch Garry, a real rattlesnake lawyer who owned a ranch. Garry was arguably the finest trial lawyer in the state and I’d known him for years. He was only going to be here—literally hanging his cowboy hat—for a few weeks on a brutal murder trial against Doug Douglas before Judge Comanche. We caught up on old times and I gave him some tips on how to avoid getting doug-ged.

  I noticed the pages of a manuscript in a banker box. “What are you writing?”

  “A fictionalized version of my law school experience. My mock trial partner turned out to be a famous serial killer.”

  “Now, that sounds like a helluva story,” I said. “Don’t hesitate to ask me if you have need any writing tips.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The final office was occupied by Allegra Kunis. She had once been a witness in one of my cases. She was now every inch the documentary film maker and even sported a beret. I saw a picture of the spaceport, under a file marked SHOT LIST.

  “I’m shooting some freelance stuff down at the spaceport next week,” she said.

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  “Then I’m starting a documentary on women getting out of prison, a subject I can relate to. Let me know if you know of anyone. I can pay them.”

  Both Abe and Allegra were yapping on the phone the rest of the day, as Mitch Garry prepped for his murder trial. I missed my solitude, but I sure wish I had Marley answering my phones for the next few “What’s going to happen” calls.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I yelled into the phone after every call.

  • • •

  I don’t remember what happened over the next few September days. I must have gone through the rest of my files. I know I hit Thompson and Ulibarri, at least twice, but I don’t think I hit Ybarra and Zamora again. The misplaced X-file, Jervon Xavier Wayne, was missing both in X and W. I didn’t get any new cases, but I was still catching up on the old. I might never finish them, as my clients constantly got new charges.

  In Greek myth, Sisyphus, rolled a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down again. I was on the boulder docket.

  The summer monsoons had been delayed, but they came now, in September, with a vengeance. New Mexico felt like New England, and even the tumbleweeds were turning colors.

  Every day feels like Sunday, shiny and gray, Morrissey sang on the radio as I went home. He was right.

  That night, Ogado emailed me about some other jurisdictions—Carrizozo, Clovis, Deming—I’d been in all of them. He then asked me about two other places, Aguilar and Crater.

  “Are those real?” he asked.

  “They were,” I said.

  After I told him some stories, he was impressed. “I definitely owe you one,” he said.

  Mitch Garry called me for advice about structuring his novel about the serial killer in law school. I warned him about making the Act One go on too long before getting to the good stuff.

  I still had the occasional pinging in my head, and I liked to think they were from Marley. He was staying in touch in his own way, and that was a good thing. I would make my son proud if, and it was a big if, I could remain a lawyer.

  One night, I had a strong burst of SOS pings starting at eleven, but then they stopped abruptly at midnight. I was so concerned that I called the school first thing the next morning. The woman at the administration mumbled something about a brief incident. Marley had been taken to the infirmary, but now was fine.

  “Why was he taken to the infirmary?” I asked.

  “It was nothing.” I recognized the mellifluous accent of the creative arts teacher, Ms. Castaneda. They must really be short staffed. Her voice was soothing.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “You don’t want to be one of those helicopter parents, do you?” she said. “He’s all good.”

  All good? Marley’s texts stopped for a few days after the incident, then I got a pic of his completed cratercross. The text showed a beautiful machine made of wood and silver. I could see Legolas and the Elves of Middle Earth triumphing over Sauron with such a weapon. Hell, I wished I had a cratercross to deal with my life.

  everything is going to work out just fine, he texted. can’t wait to—

  I waited a few moments for him to finish his thought, but no words came. He couldn’t wait until what? I had a minor panic attack. If anything bad had happened the school would tell me, right? My gut instinct was that they had taken his phone. I was going to see him in a few days anyway. It would be okay.

  Chapter 20

  Breakdown Docket

  Launch day/Showcase night came at last on September 22, the equinox—the date when both light and darkness were equal. After a rainy September night, I left before dawn to make it down to the Spaceport. The Lincoln felt sluggish today, and for some reason I couldn’t even get it up to seventy. It took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t paying attention to the beeping.

  I pulled over, turned off the music, and found the emergency brake engaged. It only took a moment, and soon I was going seventy-four miles an hour, one mile per hour under the limit. I didn’t want to risk anything.

  I had a very simple plan, an excellent plan. I would see the launch at eight in the morning and congratulate Luna on achieving orbit. By noon, Luna and I would be headed down to Las Cruces to see Marley perform his magic act at the Freshman Showcase and get a tour of the school. He’d pick the three of clubs, maybe from me, maybe from Luna. Luna and I would then fall back in love again and after a night of passion at the Blackstone, I’d ask her to represent me at the D-Board hearing. She’d win the D-Board or negotiate a settlement. By Thanksgiving, we’d be back together and remediate my home in Albuquerque, while Marley finished up at Albuquerque Academy.

  At sunrise the sun’s rays illuminated the Promised Land sign at Lemitar as if it was a burning bush. The weather was odd for early fall in New Mexico. As the sun rose, the full moon was setting over some mist. I had called this phenomenon a “dragon moon” once. It looked like the moon had turned into a dragon and was belching fire over the puddles in the middle of the freeway.

  I passed the Santa Fe Diner exit. A crew was erecting something big and dark against the tan desert floor. Maybe they were putting up a new courthouse to take over the overflow from the other districts, as this was the halfway point between Las Cruces and Albuquerque.

  A
fter passing the exits for Elephant Butte and then Truth or Consequences, the Lincoln picked up speed until I reached the Upham exit, Exit 32. As I drove on the dirt road through the desert toward the spaceport, I heard intense thunder. It must have rained earlier, because the dirt was muddy. A majestic purple rain fell over the desert mountains of the eastern horizon.

  I showed my ID to a guard at the South Gate who wore a Spaceport America uniform. I was relieved that there was some security here for a change. Unfortunately, the ancient guard looked like he had retired from the military after the hundred years’ war and was collecting a second paycheck for his next few decades. He gestured for me to wait as he called in. “Good to go,” he said.

  I liked being good to go. Besides, what was the alternative?

  “Do you recognize me?” he asked. “I’m Jose Gardea, I used to work down in Aguilar County Detention Center.”

  It took me a moment. This was once the young guard back at Aguilar County Detention Center. He was all skin and bones now.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  I didn’t say anything, took a deep breath as I drove past Gardea. I was afraid to face my family now. I wouldn’t tell anybody about the disciplinary complaints. Even if I did, they wouldn’t care, would they? Would they still accept if I was officially a failure?

  As I parked in the muddy parking lot I saw the sky was still gray, as if the light had been drained out of the desert as well as the sky. The purple rain was gray as well. Even the main terminal blended in with the sky

  Another ancient security guard, this one with a clipboard, directed me to a grandstand near the hangar after he checked my ID.

  I shouldn’t be so excited about my status. Everyone was on the VIP list, as there was only one grandstand. This felt like a small high school football crowd. Wagatsuma Industrial Concern, a Japanese company, had a big banner with kanji and English characters on the side of the stands. I recognized the names of the few other contractors, but their banners were small, as if they didn’t want to take responsibility if the launch went south.

  The rocket itself would be launched in the empty desert about a mile away. I had expected the rocket to be taller, more majestic. Some of the model rockets we launched in my youth had more style than this squat body with two booster rockets. Luna had mentioned that they had bought the boosters from Russia. I wondered if she bought the booster rockets on Amazon or bid for them on E-bay. They looked cheap, used even.

  Allegra Kunis was there, a camera crew of one. She swore loudly when she spied yet another delay on the scoreboard. “I’ll just have to fix it all in post-production,” she said to a startled onlooker.

  I had a vague recollection of seeing Cape Canaveral with my parents when I was around seven. This was no Cape Canaveral, Cape Kennedy, or even Cape adjacent. Since we were so close to T or C, this must be Cape Consequences.

  As I walked up the steep grandstand aisle, I recognized some of the people in the bleachers in the second to top row. Denise was relatively subdued in a windbreaker and headphone. She sat with her mother, Luna’s half-sister Jen Song and Jen’s cousin, Susie Song, the former professional golfer. Denise must have reverted to her inner twelve-year-old because she was sitting close enough to be visibly embarrassed by her mother.

  Luna, Jen, and their other half-sister, Selena, had once deemed themselves the Laser Geishas, after an animated TV show of their youth. Jen Song, the original Laser Geisha Pink, was now over forty. Laser Geisha Pink was middle-aged. I couldn’t wrap my head around that. She and Susie had some relationship to the corporate overlords of the base and sported black business suits and pink blouses.

  I hadn’t talked to Jen or Susie since Luna took over Dragon Moon. When I sat down in the top row right above them, Susie shook my hand politely, but Jen came over to give me an enthusiastic hug. She let it linger for a moment longer than I expected.

  “We’ve had even more adventures the last few years,” Jen said, excited. “Somebody should write about the Laser Geishas in space!”

  That sounded like an intriguing story. I wished I had time to write it.

  Denise gave her mother an embarrassed look, and then looked down at her watch.

  “So, are you and Luna back together now that she got divorced from Sir Nathaniel Asshole?” Jen asked.

  “We’re playing it by ear.”

  “Let me know if it doesn’t work out,” she said with a laugh. I had dated Jen back when I had a conflict contract and went all over the state to try cases for the public defender. She was Luna’s half-sister, and while Luna was the smart one, Jen had a wild side.

  I couldn’t help but wonder, “what if?” What if Jen and I had stayed together? Could she have been the right sister? Luna had lived a life of responsibility, but Jen had lived a life of adventure.

  The third laser geisha, Luna’s other half-sister, Selena, sat there with her wife, Heidietta Hawk. Selena had grown up in Mexico (long story) and the former Laser Geisha Verde, had once walked with a cane. Now she looked stronger than ever and the cane was gone after she had gone to Susie’s doctor. She wore an olive business suit, and by the looks of the way she typed on her phone and tablet simultaneously, was still on one of the corporate boards.

  Selena stayed in her seat, lost in her devices, but Heidietta came over and shook my hand. Heidietta was a dead ringer for her late sister, Heidi and wore traditional Navajo garb weighed down with squash blossom jewelry. If Selena was all business, Heidietta was the artist in the couple. Her black hair was pulled back in a tsai, the traditional Navajo hairstyle, but it was looser than the one worn by Jane Dark.

  “My sister once did a blessing way ceremony over this very spaceport,” she said, shaking her head. “They didn’t ask me to do one.”

  “That sounds like a mistake,” I said. “I didn’t know that your sister was a—” I didn’t know what to say, a shaman, a medicine woman, a professional blesser? “I saw that urn your sister Heidi made over at Luna’s house,” I said to Heidietta. “It was beautiful.”

  “She would have been flattered,” Heidietta said. “I just hope you never have to use it for the near future.”

  “I hope so too.”

  Just then, the security guard from the front gate set up a microphone in front of the stands. We hurried back to our seats and looked at the rocket far in the distance. The Shoftim satellite was riding on top. More thunder in the distance. I couldn’t tell if the booms were getting closer or staying away. The base of the rocket was smoking, and I hoped that was a good thing. The digital countdown clock looked like it had been pilfered from a high school football stadium. The clock hadn’t started yet.

  Technically, September was the end of monsoon season in this part of the desert, so we shouldn’t have been surprised by the storms. I didn’t know much about rocket science, much less about geometry, but lightning couldn’t be good for a missile filled with electronics.

  I looked at my watch and glanced at the empty microphone stand. Luna didn’t come out at eight, so we all sat in silence until eight-thirty. When she finally emerged, I almost didn’t recognize her. Her blond hair was now dark again. Her heels were low, and she wore a blue blazer over a turquoise blouse. With her stylish horn-rimmed glasses, she could be a rocket scientist for reals.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we’re delaying the docket due to the lightning,” she announced.

  I laughed as she said docket instead of rocket and called us ladies and gentlemen of the jury. So much for being a rocket scientist. Maybe she would end up as a lawyer after all.

  “We should be launching in about an hour.” She walked back and didn’t take any questions.

  One hour? Nine-thirty in the morning? We would still be good to go to Las Cruces and to Caldera for the Freshmen Showcase. The unflappable Denise grew a bit oodgey but nodded at me.

  Nine in the morning soon turned to ten, and then
to one in the afternoon. I hung out in the bleachers with the extended family for the first delay, the second, all the way to the fifth. The thunderstorms never made it to us, but never left us either. They just hung out on the far side of the horizon over the mountains.

  Denise materialized with burritos for the entire clan in the mid-afternoon. I don’t know where she got them from, as there didn’t appear to be any kitchens in the launch zone. Had she created them out of thin air, or hitched a ride down to Cruces on one of the other rockets?

  Luna came out every hour on the hour to make an announcement at the mike. Her voice faltered more with every trip. Was this thing ever going to launch? Denise looked at her watch at Luna’s five o’clock news feed, touched her head and pointed south. She was going to save us seats at Marley’s Freshman Showcase. We nodded at her as she left.

  The countdown clock was still running with a little over an hour to go. More lightning. We seemed to be in the eye of the storm, but was the eye getting bigger or smaller?

  I checked my watch at six. The sun was about to set soon on this equinox day. It would take me an hour to get to Caldera Academy if I went four miles over the speed limit. I could leave at 6:15—at the latest.

  After a while, the eye of the storm grew bigger and there was no lightning. For one moment, I felt that everything would be okay, I would see the launch, watch the rocket leave the atmosphere, maybe see it do an orbit or two, and then congratulate Luna. We’d still be able to get to the showcase, together.

  I took a deep breath. Luna was smiling with her scientists off to the side. But then I heard thunder, even though I hadn’t seen lightning. The countdown clock stopped again at two minutes to go. Luna was now cursing instead of smiling.

  I felt a pounding in my head, the worst ever, as if someone was jamming all three cratercross arrows in and out of my temple. I knew something was wrong with Marley. I made my choice and would miss the launch to see my son.