Battlemind

by Michael Waddington

  "Call and let him know I'm here," I said. "I'm flying back to South Carolina this afternoon."

  The sergeant called someone. I could hear him explaining the situation. A minute later, he hung up. "Have a seat. Colonel Paine will be with you shortly." He motioned to a waiting room with a few chairs and a small TV playing Fox News. Typical Army bullshit. Hurry-up-and-wait.

  "What about my client?" I said. "Can I meet with him?"

  "Transport got delayed. They should be here soon."

  I snapped. "Soon? How soon?"

  "I don't know."

  "I'll call him then. What's the number?"

  "I cannot help you with that. You'll have to talk to Colonel Paine."

  I sat in the waiting area. Sixty minutes later, Paine had not appeared. Across the room, I saw the sergeant standing with two other enlisted soldiers. They were bullshitting. I heard the sergeant say, "...after my tenth shot, the room got a little fuzzy..." That is as far as he got.

  "Sergeant." I got up in his face. "Where's your fucking boss?"

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  "I'm flying back to Fort Arnold if he's not here in 10 minutes. You got that?"

  "Roger, sir," he said, as he hurried to his desk. Two minutes later, the sergeant walked toward me as though crossing a minefield. "He'll be here in 30 minutes," he said.

  I didn't respond and walked out of the building. I texted Annabelle that I'd be home by midnight, cranked the ignition, and left Fort Custer. My phone rang 10 minutes later. It was Paine. I declined the call, and he left a voicemail.

  Paine's voice spoke with all the sincerity of someone reading the operating manual for a lawnmower. "Captain O'Donnell, Colonel Covington Paine. Sorry about the mix-up. I did not know you had been waiting for so long. Tell you what. To make up for my absence, I'll make your client a one-time offer. Jefferson pleads guilty to manslaughter and does a 10-year bit. Good behavior, he could be out in less. I must be crazy for doing this but consider it an early Thanksgiving gift. I need your answer in 72 hours. That is all."

  The guy dismissed me over the phone. Incredible! Still, I'd reduced my client's sentence from life to 10 years without a single meeting. Not bad for a day's work. I ordered a Dos Equis at the airport bar, sat back, and waited for my flight.

  Chapter 18

  Two days later, after an uneventful weekend, I arrived back at my office. Jules saw me in the hallway. "Jefferson called this morning," she said, rolling her eyes. "Ten times." She handed me a stack of yellow sticky notes.

  They all read the same: "Sergeant Jefferson - call back immediately."

  This guy is going to be a pain in the ass, I thought as she walked away. I booted up my computer and sat down at my desk. Seconds later, my phone rang. I took a deep breath and answered. "Hello. This is Captain O'Donnell."

  "Where have you been?" The voice sounded strident and loud.

  I decided to irritate him further. "Who's calling?"

  "This is Tyler Jefferson. Why didn't you call back?"

  I waited for about 20 seconds.

  "Hello?" he said. "Can you hear me?"

  I kept my voice even. "You done?"

  "What?"

  "That's 'Sir' to you," I said.

  I heard a sharp intake of air. Then Jefferson figured out what I meant. "Sir, this is Sergeant Tyler Jefferson, sir."

  "Sergeant, in the future, call me once and leave a message. Don't call 10 times in two hours unless you're trying to piss me off."

  "I'm sorry. I'm in solitary confinement at the Brig. You got to get me out of here."

  I cut to the chase. "Sergeant, you're sitting in jail because you are accused of beating a shackled prisoner to death. In the Army, believe it or not, murder is a bad thing. There is no way in hell you're getting out of jail any time soon."

  "Sir, I didn't kill nobody." He wasn't yelling, but he was getting close.

  "Well, they usually don't charge innocent people with murder. Based on what I saw in the file, the evidence against you is strong." He didn't reply. Now was my chance to mention the deal I had already worked out. I figured he would weep tears of joy when he heard the offer. "Sergeant Jefferson, I've got some good news."

  He stayed silent.

  "First, as soon as we finish, I'll make a call and try to get you out of solitary. No reason you should be in there."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "There's more," I said. "What if I told you I could have you back to your family in less than 10 years?"

  "Sir?"

  I had his attention. This would be an easy sell. "I talked to the prosecutor," I said. "I think I can cut your sentence to 10 years." I was waiting for a "Praise Jesus" or a "Thank you, sir." No dice.

  "Ten years for what?"

  "For manslaughter."

  "Hell no." Now, he shouted. "I'm not going to jail for some shit I didn't do."

  "Sergeant, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you can get paroled after you serve one-third of your sentence."

  "Didn't do nothin' wrong. Not gonna say I did."

  "If we lose at trial, it's a mandatory life sentence."

  "Whose side are you on?" he asked.

  "I'm on your side. I was appointed to defend you."

  "It doesn't sound like much of a defense to me. Sounds like you're fuckin' me over."

  I decided to let the language and the attitude go. "This deal is in your best interest. They've got a stack of evidence, and a line of witnesses that'll go around the courthouse. Plus." I paused for effect. "They have your confession."

  Jefferson went ballistic. I put the phone down while he cursed and screamed. I didn't bother to follow his rant, but I got the gist, "I didn't fuckin' kill fuckin' nobody."

  I picked up the handset. "Sergeant, go back to your cell and think about it. Talk to your wife. Better yet, talk to the chaplain."

  "What if I want a different lawyer?" he asked.

  Ah - the light. "You can hire anyone you want."

  "How am I supposed to pay for a lawyer?"

  "That's your problem."

  "I can't afford no lawyer."

  "I guess you're stuck with me." I hung up then reached for the intercom. "If Jefferson calls back, tell him I am out for the rest of the day."

  Chapter 19

  Cherry paneling lined the office walls. Real wood, not the flimsy veneer. Law books rested in scrupulously arranged rows. Only three items hung on the walls: a diploma from the University of North Carolina - Chapel Hill, a degree from the UNC School of Law, and a certificate declaring L. Edward Williams as a member of the prestigious American Board of Criminal Lawyers, a small, exclusive fraternity of the nation's top defense attorneys.

  The walls lacked decoration, but not the shelves. Row after row of barrister bookcases displayed beautifully framed photographs (many signed) of L. Edward Williams on the golf course, at dinner, hoisting a toast, or in full formal attire with former presidents, sports figures, captains of industry, and celebrities (both beloved and despised). In each, Williams grinned like Lewis Carrol's Cheshire Cat. With a bush of graying hair, he'd begun to look like Harrison Ford at 77.

  "Mr. Williams, you have a call on line two." Gladys had a great voice. It was husky, sultry, and downright sexy.

  "Who is it?" Williams drummed his fingers on his desk.

  "He won't say."

  Williams's eyes wandered across the room to the golf bag propped next to his private exit. "Gladys, I'm teeing off at the Governor's Club in an hour. I don't have time to talk to anyone, especially someone I don't know."

  "Yes, sir. I know, sir."

  Williams was three steps from escape when the intercom buzzed again. He moved closer to his desk to avoid yelling. "Yes?"

  "He says he's a family friend."

  Williams clenched his teeth. The Governors Club was the premier Jack Nicklaus course in the area. Despite his prominence, Williams did not get to play often. Apparently, many people didn't like associating with criminal defense attorneys, esp
ecially those who could get an NFL player (with a dead wife in the trunk) set free. "Well, what's his goddamn name, Gladys?"

  The speaker went dead, then buzzed again. "He said, 'tell Terrance,' that's what he said, 'Terrance,' that he was an old friend from home, from Bass?"

  "Vass," Williams said. "It's in Moore County."

  "You've never mentioned that," she said. "I thought you grew up in Chapel Hill."

  "Put him through. Come get me if I'm still on in five minutes."

  "Yes, sir."

  Williams picked up the phone and waited to make sure Gladys was not on the line. "This is L. Edward Williams. Who is this?"

  "Well, she-it, this is your ole buddy, Ollie. Ollie Cullen, from Vass. Ya remember Vass? Lil' ole town where you and I used to get fucked up and do shit? Ya know, shit ya don't want no one to know about."

  Williams could feel the pulse in his neck. "What the fuck do you want, Ollie?"

  The voice continued, "Well, my boy's in some deep shit, and I believe ya owe me a big fuckin' favor." The next morning, L. Edward Williams was on a plane bound for El Paso, Texas.

  Chapter 20

  By 5 p.m. that same day, the loud buzz and click of the heavy metal door woke Jefferson. A prison guard pulled the door open. "Jefferson, follow me," the guard said. "Bring your gear." Jefferson grabbed his personal hygiene kit, which consisted of a shortened rubber toothbrush, a tiny tube of Colgate toothpaste, and a bar of soap. He ducked his head as he passed through the small portal and followed the guard. He was feeling disoriented. Even a brief stay in solitary confinement can do that to a man. "They're moving you to general population. You'll like it better over there."

  "This is bullshit," Jefferson grumbled.

  "It's a shame they are treating you guys like this. To us guards, you guys are heroes. Don't nobody care about those terrorists you killed."

  Jefferson gritted his teeth. "I didn't kill nobody."

  "I hear ya." The guard smiled and winked.

  "Can I call my wife?" Jefferson asked.

  "Now that you're out of solitary, you can pretty much do what you want, like the others. You just can't leave." The guard led Jefferson through a maze of corridors with walls painted flat white. At the end of the hallway, they stopped, and the guard spoke into an intercom. "I'm moving Jefferson to gen pop." Buzz, click. The heavy metal door opened. Once they passed, the greased bolt locked again.

  Finally, Jefferson made it to his new home: Cell 12 of the Fort Custer Military Confinement Facility. It was an upgrade compared to where he came from. At least there were other humans to talk to. Guards kept watch from a control booth perched above. Below, prisoners played cards on glossy blue metal tables bolted to the floor. A small TV encased in plexiglass blared Fox News 24/7.

  The guard recited the prison rules. "You're allowed a religious book, writing materials, and five photos." The guard held up five fingers. "Questions?"

  "Where am I going to get pictures?" Jefferson snorted.

  "Family, I guess."

  Jefferson stepped away from the guard and cursed under his breath.

  "Hey, Tyler," a familiar voice said. Jefferson turned around and saw Cullen standing behind him. "Where've you been, man?" Cullen asked.

  "Fuckin' solitary."

  "How was it?"

  Jefferson scoffed. "How the fuck you think it was, asshole?"

  "Well, I got some good news." Cullen smiled. "I talked with my dad, and he's working some things to help us out."

  "Yeah? Like what?" Jefferson narrowed his eyes.

  "He's got some heavy-hitting lawyer lined up," Cullen said. "He said he'd do whatever it takes to beat these charges."

  "Shit. I can't afford no baller attorney. I got a wife and two kids."

  "This guy and my dad are old friends. He'll defend us for free."

  Jefferson stared at him in disbelief. "You think some big-time lawyer is going to take our cases for free?"

  "Yeah. That's what my dad said. They're tight. Everybody knows we're getting a raw deal, so he'll hook us up."

  "Thank God," Jefferson said. "The lawyer the Army gave me sucks." Both men laughed. For the first time in a week, Jefferson saw a glimmer of hope.

  Chapter 21

  I strolled into my office earlier than usual and checked my email, hoping I would hear back from some of the law firms I'd applied to. Unfortunately, my inbox remained empty. So, I called Jefferson at the Brig. I wanted to make sure he was released from solitary confinement.

  This time, Jefferson's voice was different, lighter, damn near happy. A strange tone for someone looking at life in Leavenworth. "Morning, sir," he said. "I'm glad you called." He cleared his throat. "I'd like to start with an apology. The other day, on the phone, I was an asshole. Beg your pardon for the language."

  "Apology accepted. I'm ready to move forward. If you want to fight, we will fight this."

  "I appreciate your willingness to help, but there is something I want to tell you."

  "What's up?"

  "Well, I've been talking to Cullen, and . . . uh, well . . ."

  "And what?"

  Jefferson continued, "I think I need a different lawyer." This sounded like the song of the angels. I perked up. "I need someone with a little more firepower," he said. "No disrespect."

  "Okay. The Army can appoint someone else."

  "Nah. We got a real a heavy hitter in our corner now. We don't think we need any help from the Army."

  Annabelle would be thrilled, but something didn't sound right. "Jefferson," I said. "Who's 'we?'"

  "Me and Cullen."

  "Sergeant Cullen? Your co-defendant?" This was bad. I was familiar enough with the case to know the prosecution could turn Cullen against Jefferson.

  "Yes, sir," Jefferson said. "His dad is tight with a famous lawyer, a guy like Johnnie Cochran. You know, 'If it don't fit, you must acquit.'"

  "I'm familiar," I said. "Why are you talking to Cullen about your case?"

  "We've been friends since we were kids. He wants to help."

  "He's charged with the same crimes as you. How is he going to help you?"

  "His dad has connections. He got this big-time lawyer guy. He's going to represent both of us pro bono." Jefferson's voice grew more excited.

  "Who is it?" I asked.

  "L. Edward Williams."

  I knew Williams. Knew of him, at least. "How did someone like Cullen get L. Edward Williams to defend him for free?"

  "Cullen's dad and this guy go way back. High school ball and shit. Cullen said all his dad had to do was call, and it was all set."

  Something wasn't right. "The judge won't allow the same lawyer to defend both of you," I said.

  Jefferson snapped. "Man, you are so fuckin' negative." Then he caught himself. "Sorry, sir. Williams says we're getting railroaded. So, he's happy to help. Thinks this is a show trial. It's all politics. Williams plays hardball, you know, and he's all about helping the troops."

  Relief slid across me like a freshly laundered sheet. "Easy enough. To release me, you need to fill out a form and sign it. I'll fax it over as soon as we hang up. By the way, I still owe the prosecutor an answer on the plea deal."

  "I ain't cuttin' no deal," he said.

  "Well then, Sergeant, I wish you luck." Time to get off the phone and let this guy sail away into the sunset.

  "Could you do me a favor?" Jefferson said.

  The phone was already halfway to the cradle. I had to snatch it back just before I hung up. "Sure. What do you need?"

  "Could you call my wife, Gabby. Tell her what's going on and that I'm okay."

  "Why don't you call her?"

  "I got no money," he said. "Inmates can't call anyone but their lawyers unless they buy a calling card?"

  "Then buy a calling card."

  "Can't, got no money."

  "How much is the card?"

  "The cheapest card is $30, and it's five bucks a minute."

  "Alright, I'll call her."

  Jefferson gave me the
contact information, thanked me again, and signed off. After I hung up, I knew two things for sure. One, Williams would ride the free publicity as long as he could. Then, he would plead Jefferson out, and move on to whatever case would put him in front of the most cameras. Two, at that exact moment, I did not care.

  Chapter 22

  The moment Jefferson's signed release printed out of the fax machine, I drove to Major Dill's office and dropped it in his inbox. My children were playing on the living room floor when I got home.

  Annabelle hoisted herself off the couch. "How was your day?" Her tone could not have indicated any less interest.

  I tried to kiss her, but she turned her head and let me peck her cheek. "Great, actually," I said.

  Sarcasm dripped from her next question. "Did you get a break in your big case?"

  "Something much better," I said. "I'm not on the case anymore."

  "What happened?" A bit more inflection.

  "Jefferson called and fired me. He got another lawyer, some media hound civilian lawyer."

  She narrowed her eyes. Skeptical, at best. "Did Major Dill approve your release?"

  "Not yet. He'll sign it when he comes back from vacation."

  "That's great, Max." A smile began to creep across her face. Then it broke into full bloom. "Now, you can focus on finding a job." Annabelle reached for her cell. "I'll call Uncle David right now."

  After dinner, I read the kids some bedtime stories. This was always the best part of my day. I kissed them goodnight and tucked them in. Downstairs, I found Annabelle on the living room couch, reading a book. I sat next to her and sighed.

  "What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

  "My now-former client asked me to call his wife."

  "How'd it go?"

  "Haven't done it yet."

  "Max, you get on the phone right now and call that poor woman. Think how crazed I would be if you were in jail." She caressed my thigh. "I'll make it worth your while." She gave me a wink and the first full-blown kiss I'd gotten from her in a long time.

  "Yes, ma'am." I picked up the phone and called his wife. The phone rang three times.

  "Hello."

  "Ma'am, my name is Captain Max O'Donnell," I said. "I'm an Army lawyer. I am calling on behalf of Sergeant Tyler Jefferson."