Blue Bloods of Bois D’Arc

by Brown,Dick

  The mayor and city council members, along with Randolph Worthington III, attorney Reginald Winthrop, and assorted other members of the blue-blood community were present. Washington rose from his seat at the long dining table after everyone had finished eating. He tapped his knife against a water glass to get everyone’s attention.

  “Gentlemen, I am Lamarque Washington, President and founder of the Dallas Chapter of the Democratic Cause for Justice. We have come to Bois D’Arc today to honor one of your own local heroes. You know his football history better than I, but I have come to know TJ in recent years from another perspective.” He took a sip of water, looking around the table trying to read the crowd’s response. “Not only is he a football star, but he is a leader and philanthropist as well. This young man, without headlines or fanfare, helped hundreds of young children in their formative years in California through his foundation, Kidbackers of America.

  “Now he is on a new journey in his life after football. He deserves our help and support as the next Fourth District Congressman in Washington to bring a fresh identity and leadership to the nation’s capital.”

  The announcement caught the group by surprise. They weren’t aware that there was to be a political agenda. There already was a formidable candidate, Bubba McGee, well-organized and well-funded. They listened politely as Lamarque turned the floor over to the Dallas chapter’s president, DeAndre Gilbert.

  “I have no illusions that electing an African-American to Congress will be easy—especially since Mr. McGee has such a big head start. But in the past decade, we have experienced great strides in civil rights. It is important for Texas to support a new voice who is tired of the poor Washington leadership that led to a divisive war, Russia’s iron grip on Eastern Europe, and a sluggish economy. We have had enough of politics as usual and of nothing getting better.” DeAndre’s voice rose. “Now is the time for us to take charge and make America better.” He paused for a moment, then continued in a tone appealing to the gathering of Bois D’Arc’s top business leaders. “That is why we have come from our headquarters in Dallas to ask for your help. Gentlemen, we would greatly appreciate your endorsement of Thomas Earl Jefferson, Jr. as Bois D’Arc’s favorite-son candidate to carry your message to Washington and make a difference.

  “This is our campaign kickoff for TJ’s candidacy and we would like to establish the base of our fight right here in Bois D’Arc. And I can’t think of anyone better to lead that effort than Mr. Rod Miller.” He gestured toward Rod, clapping his hands.

  Rod was stunned speechless as the group applauded. He quickly recovered and rose to his feet. “Gentlemen, I appreciate your confidence in me to establish viable campaign headquarters in such an important undertaking, but I’m afraid I have to decline the honor. My commitment to RJ Systems, especially at this juncture, is such that I would not be able to dedicate the time and energy it would require in such an undertaking. However, I have complete confidence that my good friend TJ is qualified to represent Bois D’Arc and this district.”

  Rod looked at the guests around the table and continued his impromptu endorsement speech. “I believe TJ will take our message to Washington and I will support his candidacy any way I can as time permits. I knew I could always depend on him when we needed a first down or touchdown in a tough game. I believe we can count on him to come through for us in the tough game of politics being played in Washington. Join me in raising your glasses to TJ, our next Congressman from the Fourth District of Texas.” Everyone joined Rod in his toast to TJ the newly christened candidate for the U.S. Congress with rousing applause.

  Breaking the silence after the applause, Randolph Worthington III said, “I have office space available in the bank building and will donate it in-kind to the campaign. I will also allocate a member of my staff to man the front desk telephone for up to four hours a day. Perhaps a member of your organization’s staff will be available to handle the political aspects of the office.” He directed his comment directly to DeAndre.

  “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Worthington. We will certainly have someone available to manage the political effort from the office. Thank you again for getting our campaign off to a much needed running start.”

  Other members of the group volunteered in-kind donations of printing services, loan of a pickup truck to put up yard signs, and business supplies to run the office. Before leaving, DeAndre and Lamarque worked the room, shaking hands and schmoozing the crowd who were putty in their hands—all but Randolph, who pulled Rod aside.

  “What do we know about these people and their organization? I didn’t like the way he always referred to the campaign as our campaign, not TJ’s. Where did TJ find people who were willing to finance the campaign of a heretofore non-political professional football player with so little time before the primary?”

  “I don’t know anything about their organization,” Rod said. “TJ told me they basically recruited him. I’m a little concerned about that and will check into it. I’m truly sorry I’m so busy. I would feel more comfortable if I could keep tabs on what’s going on.”

  “Don’t worry, that’s why I offered the office and an employee to keep eyes and ears on the situation. We will talk later. Give Cass my love.”

  The two men parted and rejoined the group to shake hands with their new congressional candidate and his advisers before leaving.

  Chapter 58

  Winthrop, Biggs, and Bartholomew

  Reginald Winthrop, founder of Winthrop, Biggs, and Bartholomew, Bois D’Arc’s most powerful and prestigious law firm, was having a conversation with his son that wasn’t going too well for Eddie. They were in Eddie’s corner office, the newest and one of the nicest in the firm. Being the son of the founder of the firm that rivaled some of Dallas’s better firms had its privileges. Eddie wasn’t the aggressive new attorney in the number of hours he billed, to the angst of the older more experienced members of the firm. He came and went as he pleased and hadn’t handled anything more complicated than a speeding ticket, bungled Cass’s divorce, and sat second chair with his father on a couple of minor criminal cases.

  Reginald was sitting in the client’s chair. Eddie was comfortably seated behind his desk, rocking in his high-back executive chair. “Edward”—he never called his son Eddie—“as part of our firm’s duties and expectations there are certain requirements which each member of the firm is expected to fulfill.

  “You have assisted me on some misdemeanor criminal cases. But”—Reginald paused, smiling—“it is time for me to cut the cord, so to speak, and let you join in the routine obligations of the firm. As a public service and as responsible citizens, we take on a certain number of pro bono cases each year. I want you to take a case that was sent to me this morning by Judge Wade Hamilton.” He laid a manila folder on Eddie’s desk and slid it across to him. “It’s a small misdemeanor case, but it will get you some criminal case experience on your own. You should be able to plead it out without a trial, which is what happens in eighty percent of the cases that go through Judge Hamilton’s court.”

  Eddie opened the case folder and skimmed through the papers and then slammed it shut. “You mean I have to defend this lowlife for nothing? I didn’t go to law school to come home and plead out a punk who is so dumb he got caught with marijuana in his pocket visiting a friend in jail. I won’t do it.”

  “Yes, you will, and you will successfully plead him out,” said Reginald in a firm voice. “Your reputation as well as the firm’s depends on it. We all started out on insignificant cases, Edward. No one starts out as a Percy Foreman. You have to work your way up to that position. And the way you do that is by winning every case you take on. You will learn the ones to pick and the ones to pass on, that’s how you establish a winning reputation and attract the more profitable high-profile cases.”

  Reginald pushed his chair back to leave, but he had one last bit of informati
on for Eddie. “Troy Blackmon will be here at eight o’clock Monday morning. Make him believe you are his best friend and plan your strategy thoroughly before you leave this office. Then meet with Judge Hamilton in his chambers before court convenes and work out the plea deal. Do not leave without a plea deal,” he emphatically instructed Eddie, then left him to his own thoughts.

  Monday morning

  Troy Blackmon nervously waited in the outer office of Winthrop, Biggs, and Bartholomew for his meeting with Eddie Winthrop, his court-appointed attorney. It was already past eight o’clock. Eddie finally breezed through the office front door into the clients’ waiting room. He immediately picked out his client by his disheveled appearance and grubby clothes. He went directly to him.

  “Are you Troy Blackmon?”

  “Yes, sir, are you going to be my lawyer?”

  “Yeah, follow me,” Eddie said.

  Troy leaped from his chair and almost had to run to keep up with Eddie on his way to the back corner office.

  “Have a seat, Troy, we need to talk.” Eddie dropped the case file on his desk and unbuttoned his suit coat while Troy sat in the client’s chair across from him.

  “Are you stupid or just don’t give a shit?” Eddie snapped at his stunned client. “I can’t believe you walked into the county jail with marijuana in your pocket, knowing they would search you. What the hell were you thinking?” Eddie demanded, angry for having to take the case.

  “Uh . . . I guess I wasn’t thinking, sir.” Troy said.

  “Don’t call me sir. My name is Edward . . . forget it, just call me Eddie,” he said, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry, Monday mornings aren’t the best times for me.” He opened the file, glanced through it and looked up at Troy. “You’re looking at some hard time and a big fine unless we can convince the judge you deserve leniency. Do you have a thousand dollars to pay the fine? Do you have a job? Maybe being dressed like a homeless person will work in your favor. Talk to me, man—give me something I can use for a defense.”

  “No, sir . . . uh, Eddie, I don’t have no money ’cause I ain’t got a job.” Troy said. “And I’m sorry, these are the best clothes I have.” Then he added apologetically, “But I did get a haircut; it used to be down to my shoulders.”

  “Good for you,” Eddie snapped. “Listen, this is what we’re going to do. Go in the men’s room, wash your face and hands and comb your hair. Then come back here and tell me why you had marijuana in your pocket.”

  While Troy was in the men’s room freshening up, Eddie opened his desk drawer and pulled out a can of room deodorizer to fumigate his office before his client returned. Troy sauntered back toward the corner office with a freshly washed face and slicked-back hair. He was awestruck by a beautiful, young lady using the copy machine in the outer office. She caught him staring. He blushed, ducked his head, and continued on to Eddie’s office. He arrived back at the newly scented office and resumed his comfortable slouch in the overstuffed chair.

  “Are you wearing some fancy shaving lotion?” Troy commented as Eddie scribbled notes on his yellow legal pad. “Man, you sure got some pretty girls working here,” he said, trying to get Eddie’s attention.

  Eddie ignored the comment on the gardenia scent in the room, but responded to the second one.

  “Come on, Troy, you need to concentrate on your defense. Now, tell me how that marijuana got into your pocket and why you didn’t remove it before you went to the county jail to visit your friend.”

  “I take a hit once in a while. It gets pretty lonesome and Janett, that’s my friend Haskel’s girlfriend, don’t mind. She smokes a joint with me sometimes. She gets lonesome waitin’ for Haskel to get out. But we’re just friends—”

  “Stick to the question.” Eddie cut him off. “I’m not interested in your love life. How long have you been smoking pot?”

  “Since high school off and on. Don’t smoke a lot, can’t afford it.”

  “Ever done any hard drugs?”

  “Nah, can’t afford that either.”

  “For the last time, why did you have marijuana in your pocket? Were you high?”

  “Maybe a little. Me and Janett had smoked a joint before I left the house to visit Haskel.”

  “So you were high and forgot it was in your pocket, that about right?”

  “Yeah, I just didn’t remember I had it in my pocket or I would have left it at home.”

  “Where is home, Troy? You live with your parents? Have your own place? Where?”

  “Nah, my parents kicked me out two years ago. I live with Haskel and Janet. I do little odd jobs and stuff around the house and they let me stay there. He’s my best friend.”

  “How long is your friend in for?”

  “Ninety days. He drove off and forgot to pay for his gas. When he got home, he found the five-dollar bill in his pocket he was supposed to pay for the gas with. He turned around and went back to pay the man. When he drove up, the cops were there and the service station man pointed at him. The cop came over, asked him his name. When Haskel told him who he was, the cop put the cuffs on him. Haskel explained what happened, but the man still wanted him locked up. That bastard took Haskel’s money and still filed charges.” Troy chuckled.

  “You think that’s funny?” Eddie said.

  “Kinda. Don’t you think it’s funny the man took Haskel’s money then told the cop to arrest him instead of just lettin’ him go?”

  “Not my call,” Eddie said.

  “Anyway, the judge must have kinda believed Haskel’s story because he only gave him ninety days, some public service, and told him not to do that again. He gets out in a couple of weeks.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “A couple of real geniuses here.” He paused, then said, “One last question. Did the jailer say anything about you being high or smelling like you’ve been smoking pot?”

  “Nah, I was pretty straight by the time I got there. It’s a pretty long walk to the courthouse. I don’t have gas money for my old truck.”

  “Okay, let’s go over this real quick. We need to get to the courthouse and talk to the judge before court convenes. Here’s your story. You wanted to go visit Haskel in the county jail and didn’t have any clean clothes. So . . . you borrowed a pair of his jeans because you’re living with him. The marijuana was already in the pocket and you didn’t know it was there. That’s a real stretch, but maybe the judge will feel sorry for you. Can you remember that story if the judge asks you about it?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not exactly how it happened. Won’t that be perjury or somethin’?”

  “No, we’ll be in the judge’s chambers, not on the witness stand. Just let me do the talking. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t ask you anything. I have an idea that just might keep you out of jail so you can pay off the fine. Trust me on this, okay? Let’s go, we need to be at the courthouse in ten minutes.”

  Chapter 59

  Judge Hamilton’s chambers

  “Good morning, Your Honor, I’m . . .”

  “I know who you are. What have we got here, Mr. Winthrop?”

  “A simple case of a careless mistake, Your Honor. Mr. Blackmon didn’t know there was marijuana in those jeans he borrowed to visit his friend in the county jail.”

  “That so? Why did he have to borrow someone else’s jeans?”

  “He’s had a tough time getting a job and had to move in with his friend until he can find employment. He was embarrassed about his clothing, as you can see by the clothes he’s wearing now.” He nodded his head toward Troy. “He needed some decent clothes to wear to visit his friend, so he borrowed his friend Haskel’s jeans. His friend hasn’t needed them for a while since he’s in jail. Your Honor,” Eddie said in a sincere tone, “if this young man could get a job, and I have a good lead on one for him, he wou
ld be able to have a steady income and pay his fine instead of being in jail for a year. Your Honor, look at this man. He just needs a chance. I beg the mercy of the court to give this man that chance to prove he is a good citizen and this was just an unfortunate accident.”

  “Mr. Winthrop,” Judge Hamilton said, “this is a most unusual request and an even more unusual story. Since he has no priors and this is our first encounter, I’ll tell you what I’m willing to do. You have made a reasonable plea for this young man. I’m going to waive his jail time and set his fine at one thousand dollars. This is contingent on him getting a steady job. I want you back in my chambers in sixty days with verification he is gainfully employed. If he is employed, this case will be expunged from his record, but if you can’t produce evidence of full-time employment, this plea bargain will be vacated. He will serve a year in the county jail and pay the fine of a thousand dollars. Is that clear, Mr. Winthrop?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. We will return in sixty days with a copy of his paycheck. Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Blackmon, do you understand your sentence and your responsibility to this court?”

  “Yes, sir, Your Honor, I do. Thank you, sir.”

  “Very well, I’ll see you both in sixty days. Don’t let me down, young man. And Mr. Winthrop, welcome to my court. If you are as good a lawyer as your father, I’ll expect to be seeing more of you in the future. Now if you will excuse me, I have other cases to hear. Good day, gentlemen.”