John Stone Law

by Dave Derin

  “Good morning, Mr. Stone,” Margie bubbled as I barreled past the reception desk and down the hallway.

  “Morning, Margie,” I said over my shoulder as I opened the door to my office and sat my briefcase on the round meeting table that was still covered with Ames’ old files.

  I plopped down in my leather desk chair, did a quick internet search, and discovered they were holding Susanna at the North Tower Detention Center. I had a few friends over there who worked in administration, so one of them might be able to help me arrange a brief meeting with her. I got up and shut my office door, then pulled out my phone and dialed my friend Stu Bishop who worked at North Tower. Because I wasn’t listed as her attorney, I wouldn’t be able to get in to speak with her. I hoped he’d at least know who I should speak with to make the meeting happen. I paced around my office as the phone rang.

  “Well, hello there, John Stone. It’s been a while,” a cheery baritone voice answered.

  “It sure has, Stu. How’s the family?” I asked.

  “Everyone’s great, yeah, super good. Uh huh. How about you?” Stu asked cautiously.

  “Oh, I can’t complain,” I retorted with a chuckle.

  “That’s great, man. Glad to hear it,” he responded with a sigh of relief. “So, what’s up? I’m sure you didn’t call just to shoot the breeze.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, you’re right. Stu, I need a favor. You know that CUSA bombing suspect they’re holding down there, Susanna Jenkins?” I asked and held my breath.

  “Yes,” Stu said slowly and softly.

  “I need to speak with her,” I replied quickly.

  “You what? Why? You aren’t her attorney, are you?” He inquired with a hushed voice.

  “No, not yet at least,” I said as I released the remaining breath I still held in my lungs with a loud sigh. “I just need to talk to her for a few minutes. How can I make that happen?”

  “Well, honestly, what I think I can do is--” he started, then paused. “Hang on.”

  I heard him set his cell phone down and a few fast footsteps before a door clicked shut. I waited nervously as I heard him shuffle back over and pick up the phone with a loud scratch.

  “Okay, so what I would do is just have her add you to her family visitation list,” the bailiff whispered. “Those all go through me today, so I’ll just approve it, and you can come on in. You just got lucky, ol’ boy. The guy that usually handles the visitation lists is a total hardass, but he’s out on vacation for the next week so we’re all rotating his duties.”

  I couldn’t believe my good fortune. “Okay, so how do I get a message to her to have her add me?” I asked optimistically.

  “Oh, dagnabit,” he muttered. “Yeah. About that. How about I’ll just go ahead and add you to the list, then after you visit and seduce her, as I’m sure you will, she can file to have you listed as her attorney.”

  “Oh, give me a break, Stu,” I replied and chuckled at his assumption. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do want her to hire me, but I don’t plan on using my powers of seduction on this one.”

  “Yeah,” he snorted. “Good luck with that. Okay, so I’ll have you all set up by ten o’clock this morning, but make it quick okay? I don’t want anyone asking any questions about why you’re here.”

  We said our friendly goodbyes and made empty promises to grab drinks one day soon, and then I ended the call. I had no way to determine how long the meeting would take, or where that afternoon could take me. I checked my phone, saw that it was only 9:20 a.m. and I had a few minutes before I needed to leave the office for the detention center, so I perused the stack of case files on my desk to kill time.

  Eventually it was time to leave, so I jumped in my car and headed toward the North Tower Detention Center. I cruised down the bustling downtown streets and arrived at the detention center at 10:05 a.m. I’d called Stu’s cell phone on the ride over, and he’d promised me again that it was all squared away. I was familiar with the area and knew that there was a small parking lot tucked behind the massive complex of tan buildings that comprised North Tower.

  I pulled into the nearly full parking lot and finally found a tight space that was, unfortunately, far away from the buildings. I took a deep breath to steady my pounding heart, then strode confidently toward the cream-colored structure.

  The impressive stone archway at the entrance towered above me as I walked through the corridor to the front doors. I made my way through the lobby and headed back to the detention center screening area.

  Before I was even allowed to walk through the metal detector, I had to fill out a visitation information card and have it verified. Fortunately, everything went smoothly, just as Stu had promised, and I walked problem-free through security and was led to a large, concrete room with two rows of ten rectangular tables that had attached blue plastic chairs, similar to what you’d find in an old elementary school cafeteria.

  One of the guards, a thick-necked white man with dark features, deep-set eyes, and a cleanly shaved head, led me through the room to the farthest table.

  “Please wait here while I retrieve the inmate,” the guard demanded, so I nodded at him, then sat down on a blue stool and waited. He walked through a security-controlled door at the end of the room, and several minutes passed before I heard the door buzz to unlock, then swing open.

  The first thing I saw was a glorious mane of curls that the natural redhead had tried to sweep back into a low ponytail, but tiny strawberry tendrils framed her angelic, porcelain face. Her thin frame was engulfed in the standard-issue, baggy canvas jumpsuit, but she still managed to look stunningly beautiful in orange, which should not have been her best color as a redhead. As she limped closer, I saw that light brown freckles were sprinkled across her naked face, and her green panther-like eyes were fringed with long, black lashes. Her knee was wrapped tightly over the jumpsuit with what looked like an Ace bandage, so I hoped her injuries weren’t too severe. She looked at me with a combination of apprehension and curiosity as the guard led her toward the table.

  I met her eyes with a somber expression. She sat down at the table slowly and was careful not to take her eyes off my face the entire time. The guard nodded at me, and I nodded back, then he crossed the large room to stand at the far exit. I turned to face Susanna, who had placed her elbows on the veneer table top and gave me a strange smile.

  “Cooper sent you, didn’t he?” The redhead whispered hastily with a strong Southern twang.

  “I’m sorry?” I questioned. I recognized the name as her ex-boyfriend’s, but why she thought I knew him was beyond me.

  “Yeah, I know he must have sent you,” she stated, then turned to the side and crossed her bandaged knee over her other long leg while she simultaneously crossed her arms under her generous breasts and gave me a defiant glare. “Some hot, big shot, fancy attorney comin’ to visit me with no warning? Yeah. I know it’s him, so don’t even bother lyin’ about it. What the hell does that loser want anyway?” She rolled her eyes and looked away from me.

  I cleared my throat and placed both hands palm down on the table before I met her eyes, took a deep breath, and chose my words carefully, “Miss Jenkins, let me be perfectly clear. Cooper most certainly did not send me.”

  “Who are you?” Susanna’s voice became stronger as she sat forward, drew her eyebrows together, and narrowed her emerald, cat-like eyes.

  “My name is John Stone, and I work for Swinger and Ames. We represent Central US Air,” I began.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupted and held up a svelte hand to stop me. “Why would I want to talk to someone who works for them? Besides, I’ve already been assigned a public defender, some guy named William Markson.”

  Shit. Bill Markson was a notoriously lazy public defender.

  “Well, Susanna,” I looked into her eyes and spoke confidently. “This case has the potential to evolve into an incredibly complicated one, and the minimal evidence I’ve been allowed to review so far becomes more bewildering
each day.”

  “Okay, and?” She raised an eyebrow and stared at me with her arms crossed.

  Then I did something I’d hoped I would never have to do in my legal career, but had already anticipated this case would push my comfort zones. I threw Bill Markson under the bus.

  “To be brutally honest with you, off the record, of course,” I whispered while I kept her gaze and watched her emerald eyes widen. “I would hesitate to trust Mr. Markson with a case of this magnitude. He always has such a huge caseload, and I would hate for you to be put on the back burner.”

  Her eyes lit up when I started to defame her public defender, and she uncrossed her arms and leaned one elbow on the table, “That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here, Mr. Stone.”

  “I’m here because I’m interested in your case and want to learn more about your alleged involvement,” I replied bluntly. “However, I can’t do anything to help you if I don’t know anything about you. Why don’t we start with you telling me your version of events during the flight, if you don’t mind sharing?”

  “I’m not so sure I feel like sharing,” the redhead responded slowly and shook her head. Her golden red curls shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the wall of barred windows against the left side of the room. “I still want you to explain why you’re here to see me. I didn’t ask for any new attorney,” she added with a frown.

  “Do you remember a guy named Roland Dodge?” I inquired after I’d taken a deep breath to steady my nerves. I hadn’t expected this to be an easy conversation, but she seemed to want to make it exceedingly difficult.

  “Uh, yeah,” Susanna replied with a slight humph and raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, kind of, I guess. I know he’s an attorney in town. He was on the flight with me, the one they say I planted a bomb on.”

  “Listen,” I explained and lightly placed a hand on the orange canvas that covered her forearm. “Roland is a close friend of mine, and between him and another source, I’ve discovered some new information that the FBI doesn’t seem to want to investigate. I really think we have a chance to blow the top off this thing, but you have to trust me first.”

  The redhead jumped slightly when I touched her arm, then pulled both arms close to her and placed them under the table as she looked up at me with wide eyes.

  “What new information?” Susanna leaned forward against the edge of the table.

  “You tell me yours, then I’ll tell you mine?” I offered with a small grin.

  A smile flashed across her face, then disappeared as she shook her head quickly and explained, “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money to pay you, Mr. Stone.”

  “We can figure something out,” I responded quickly. In my mind, I’d planned for a colossal settlement payment to come out of this eventually if we could prove that Tranquility Air’s president was indeed behind it. I would take my standard twenty-five percent of the settlement, much lower than most other litigators, which would be plenty.

  “What kind of girl do you think I am?” Susanna gasped and looked at me with alarmed eyes.

  “Wait, what? What did I--” I recoiled, then realized what I’d said had been greatly misconstrued and let out a small laugh. “No, no, nothing like that, Miss Jenkins. I just meant that I’ll take a percentage of the settlement money.” I chuckled again. “What kind of attorney do you take me for, Miss Jenkins?”

  “I-I, oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, Mr. Stone,” her pale face flushed tomato red as she stuttered an apology. “It’s been a rough couple of days. I’m terrified of Cooper and his gang of thugs. I just don’t know where my mind is right now.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” I said with a wide smile. “So, you were about to tell me what happened on July third?”

  “Oh, right,” she said, then looked down at the table and bit her bottom lip nervously. “So, as I’m sure Roland told you, he was tryin’ to flirt with me the whole flight. It was honestly really annoying.”

  “I understand,” I replied softly. “I’ve seen him in action, so I know what an ass he’s capable of being sometimes.”

  “Yeah, to say the least,” she flipped her red curls over one shoulder and twisted the ends. “I’ve dealt with some dirty dogs in my day and usually brush them off easily, but that man was 1940s-level aggressive.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with men like that,” I tried to console her, but knew from conversations with my sister and female friends that violent sexual advances were something women had been taught to expect and avoid at all costs. “Please continue.”

  “So, after I’d finished serving the snacks and drinks to everyone,” she waved her hands as she relayed the story, then froze and shot daggers at me with her green eyes. “Roland grabbed me around the waist and pulled me in the bathroom with him. I was tryin’ to just keep my cool and not cause a scene ‘cause I know sometimes when men are drunk and you refuse or get short with them they get angrier and more violent.”

  I glanced across the table because her voice had trailed off inaudibly and saw that she’d looked down at her hands.

  “So, you were in the bathroom,” I changed the subject as I placed my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand. “Then what happened?”

  “Well, actually,” she let a small giggle escape her bow-like mouth. “This lil’ ol’ white lady with this crazy neon green streak in her hair started banging on the door and demanded we get out, thank goodness. She was a hoot, and my guardian angel that night.”

  “I’ve actually heard about her,” I chuckled. “So, you left the bathroom, and then what?”

  “So, then,” she twisted her red curls between her long, slender fingers faster and faster. “Roland went to go sit back down, and I was tryin’ to get back up to the front of the plane to prepare for landing, but he kept, like, grabbin’ me, and pullin’ me in his lap, and tryin’ to get me to sit with him. I told him to stop, or I’d have to tell the captain, but he kept sayin’ I was just playing hard to get.”

  I nodded at her silently while I kept my dark green eyes trained on her emerald ones that were round with apprehension.

  “I remember seeing the green-haired woman coming back up the aisle, so I slid over away from him to let her pass by, and that jerk just reached across the aisle and pulled me into the seat next to him,” she frowned and looked down at the table.

  “So you saw the woman with green hair twice?” I confirmed.

  “Yes,” her eyes grew dim, and she stared blankly at the wooden laminate table top and began to tear up. “I should have been more firm and told him no, but I was just so tired, and I’ve seen how those situations go. I didn’t feel like fighting him anymore, so I just sat down and waited for one of the other flight attendants to come rescue me.”

  “It’s okay,” I comforted her softly. “Take your time.”

  “So,” she cleared her throat before she continued. “Right after I sat down, all I remember is this deafening noise behind me, and then I blacked out. I don’t remember anything else until I was in the back of an ambulance, and then I was in a hospital room handcuffed to the bed with an armed guard watching my every move.”

  She broke down and sobbed into the sleeves of her orange jumpsuit, so I motioned over to the guard and asked him if we could get some tissues. He nodded silently, then radioed another officer to bring a box of tissues to the meeting room. Susanna bawled into her hands for another minute before a female guard with a blonde pixie cut appeared with a small travel package of tissues.

  “Thank you,” I nodded at the female officer, then took the tissues and handed them to my potential client as the khaki-uniformed guard left out of the same door she’d entered through.

  “Thanks, Mr. Stone,” she blew her nose loudly into a tissue, then used a clean one to wipe the tears from her face. “I really appreciate it. I’m just losing my mind in here. I don’t know what’s going on or what to expect. I’m just stuck in here all alone.”

  “I understand it must be very difficult,”
I replied. “But I am willing to help you through the process and explain everything as we go.”

  She sat perfectly still and studied me for a split second, then finally admitted, “My public defender is a total doofus. He’s been tryin’ to convince me to plead guilty already, even though I told him I’m completely innocent.”

  “Well, without a retainer fee being an issue, what do you think about me representing you?” I finally summoned the courage and asked outright.

  “So, you really believe me?” The redhead asked, then pulled out another tissue and wiped her nose again.

  “I do believe you, Miss Jenkins, and I’m determined to prove that in court,” I declared and held her steady gaze.

  “Do you really think you can help me?” Her green eyes sparkled with optimism as she leaned forward on the table and chewed her bottom lip anxiously.

  “I really do,” I responded firmly, even though my heart raced, and my chest was tight. “All you have to do is declare me as your attorney of record, and I can get to work.”

  I explained the fairly simple process of filing the change of attorney motion to her, and she promised to get it done that day. After we’d spoken for about twenty minutes, the guard sauntered back over to our table.

  “Time to go, Miss Jenkins,” the guard said gruffly.

  “Alright,” she responded with a loud sigh as she looked up at him, then turned to face me again. “So, I’ll see you soon, then?”

  “Just as soon as the motion is filed, I’ll schedule a client meeting,” I assured her with a warm smile.

  We shook hands for the first time, and her slender hand felt warm in mine. She gave me a small smile before the guard guided her back through the door they’d entered, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. I’d officially landed my first case as a senior associate. I smiled and looked out of the window. The dreary weather had cleared up, and bright pink and purple cotton candy clouds filled the light blue sky.

  I exited the detention center and briskly walked to my car. After I left the crowded parking lot, I rolled down the beemer’s window as I drove down the highway and let the warm midday air flow over me as I headed back toward the office. The car’s display read 11:45 a.m. as I pulled into the downtown parking garage and made my way down the humid Dallas street toward Swinger and Ames.