by Martin Clark
“How are things not?” Evers repeated.
“You could fall into my office like a drunken sailor, spewing non sequiturs, and it wouldn’t matter to you one way or the other, I suspect. I have a feeling you probably have a certain measure of disdain for women like me.” “Non,” when Pauletta said it, rhymed with “bone;” it had a long, hard “o.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I’m sorry that’s the way things are.”
“Why are you being so confrontational?” Evers asked. “Are you this senselessly militant with everyone?”
“I think it’s important that you and I know how we stand. I’m just very plainspoken. Things work better that way. It’s a trait that I also admire in others, even when I’m on the receiving end of unvarnished thoughts. It’s not any sort of hostility, Mr. Wheeling; it’s simply that you don’t have to fight through a lot of hulls and rinds to get to the center with me.”
“Oh. Okay.” Evers looked at Pauletta. There was a window behind her desk, and he suddenly wanted very much to be outside, to be walking between the buildings and shops in the morning air. He picked up a pencil from Pauletta’s desk and leaned back in his chair. Evers rolled the pencil in his hands. “I’m glad you’re so candid. I’ll be candid as well. I’ve seen your résumé, read it in Martindale-Hubble along with everyone else’s in the firm before I came up. In my opinion, and I hope you won’t take this personally, part of the reason you’re sitting in a comfortable office in the top law firm in this state is because you are, number one, black and, number two, a woman. So I suppose part of what you said makes sense. But that doesn’t mean, of course, that you’re not a good lawyer, not at all. I’ve discovered that people who have been given things without earning them—black women in government jobs, doctors’ sons in Ivy League schools, dairy farmers sucking up subsidies—are always on the defensive. I don’t know why you want to take it out on me, though, to think poorly about the kind of person I might be. You should be happy that you’ve gotten a break—at least I would be. And I don’t think any more or less of you than I do anyone else. I don’t begrudge you your good fortune.”
“You’re exactly right, Mr. Wheeling. I was given a history of slavery and illiteracy, and I was given a white-oriented society, and prejudices, beatings and laws and courts which discriminated against me. Quite a cornucopia, and it was all mine for the taking.” Both of Pauletta’s hands were still, lying on top of her briefcase. Evers thought it strange that she didn’t gesture while she spoke.
“Maybe them, but not you. You weren’t around when that happened.” Evers wanted the last comment. “Anyway, I don’t hold any of it against you personally.”
“Nor do I hold the injustices you’ve done my people against you, Mr. Wheeling.”
“You pretty much take the shackles-and-chains hard line, don’t you?” Evers tried to relax in his chair and rein in his breathing. “No gray areas in your world.”
“No, things are pretty much black and white for me.”
“Clever but untrue, I’m afraid. Erasmus said that—”
“I’m not impressed by quotes from writers who died in Europe before Jamestown was settled. For that matter, you could make up any quote you wanted. The effect is lost on me.”
“That’s a shame. Perhaps LeRoi Jones is more to your liking. He’s still alive, isn’t he? The angry black poet? Though he’s changed his name, I understand.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have more time to discuss this with you, but I’ve got to be in court and I’m sure you need to leave here in time to get back to North Carolina for the John Birch smoker. Here is Ruth Esther English’s offer.” Pauletta cleared her throat and folded her hands together. “You will be entitled to one-fourth of any recovery she makes relative to the hundred thousand dollars in currency which was removed from Lester Jackson’s antique business. You will be responsible for your own expenses, and you will be allowed to accompany Miss English as she and her brother search for the money. In return, you must see to it that her brother, Artis English, is not convicted in the case pending in your court in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. That is her offer. Do you accept?”
“I’m not exactly sure what it is that you’re talking about.”
“Then why, Mr. Wheeling, are you here in my office, hundreds of miles away from home?”
“Miss Qwai, your client approached me one morning on my way to work. She attempted to bribe me and wanted me to make sure her brother would not go to jail. I told her that I would not help her. I reported the contact to the district attorney’s office and to my chief judge. I followed up—”
Pauletta shook her hand at Evers and interrupted him. “You don’t need to detail the steps you’ve taken to cover your ass if this endeavor proves to be a sting or if it falls apart. I would do the same things.”
Evers continued. “I followed up the first meeting with another contact to find out if perhaps I’d misconstrued Miss English’s proposal. I’m distressed to have to say that your client offered me the same bribe that you’re offering me now. I’m convinced that this is a serious bribery attempt and, of course, will have to respond accordingly. And I certainly plan to notify the SBI, unless, of course, you are the police and this is some sort of scam. If that’s the case, you can close your file. The bottom line is that I’m not going to do anything illegal to help Mr. English. I’m not.”
Pauletta leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. “I see,” she said, without looking back down.
“And what is it that you want from me? Why did I drive up here to have the same offer repeated to me by another person? Do you want me to sign a contract or some sort of agreement? Is that it? Do you think that I’m a lunatic? It doesn’t make any sense to me that Ruth Esther wanted me to drive to West Virginia to see you. This whole thing seems pretty crackpot, all leprechauns and snipe hunts.”
Pauletta was still focused on the ceiling. “Not a written contract, just your promise. I guess in that regard I’m both the messenger and the witness. It shouldn’t surprise you that Ruth Esther would like a little leverage in this deal. Certainly you can understand that she doesn’t want to pay you, get nothing in return and have little to show for her investment beyond a swearing contest.”
Evers squinted at Pauletta; she kept her head tilted and ignored him. “Well, of course, I’m not going to take a bribe … but if I were going to—help me with this now—Ruth Esther wouldn’t be paying me until after her brother is freed and then only if she finds her money. I’m the one with complete exposure, right? Am I missing something here? I would be the vulnerable party, not your client.”
Pauletta finally looked at Evers. “Ah, you’re right. Most important in all of this, Ruth Esther thought that you might be … concerned. She wants you to know that she has faith in you and wants to protect your interests. It goes without saying that you could let Artis go and never get either your payment or the trip. You would have a pretty difficult time enforcing the agreement if Miss English decided to renege.” Pauletta moved closer to her desk, closer to Evers. “It would be hard to recover your twenty-five thousand, given the consideration for your payment.”
“And you’re going to eliminate that problem?” Evers was careful with his words.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I am going to give you collateral, around twenty-five thousand worth of gemstones. That’s your security.” Pauletta opened a drawer in her desk and took out a bag with a drawstring across the top. The bag was red and smooth; Pauletta set it on top of a file, closer to Evers than to her. She had to reach forward when she placed the sack on her desk. “Mostly emeralds, from the Bahamas. The stones are—obviously—not set and not distinctive. Nor are they stolen. If Ruth Esther fails in any way to honor her end of the agreement, you will be made whole by keeping these gems. If you complete the agreement, you may keep them or exchange them for your share of the currency.”
“Oh.”
“And of course
it’s to our advantage to have you on board before the trial, committed now—not worrying about whether or not the money exists, or if you’ll ever see your share.”
Evers stared at the bag. He was having more trouble breathing, getting enough air in, and his chest and belly were moving and struggling so much that he folded his arms to keep Pauletta from seeing the fit going on underneath his shirt and tie. He was trying to breathe without panting, and he opened his mouth, gapped his teeth and lips and pressed the point of his tongue down hard against the bottom of his gum. He noticed that some of the plants almost touched the office ceiling. Evers reached out, and he watched his hand and fingers catch the bag and wrap it up, and then everything stalled, quit for a moment, and the tableau was there for everyone to see: still life with hand and red velvet bag. He pushed down harder with his tongue … and he thought about the bursting deadness that hangs in important hitches, in the pause while the clerk of court unfolds a jury verdict or a physician—Dr. Rudy at the Tri-County Hospital—turns to the second page of a pathology report, quiet providence suspended on a spider’s string. Evers shook the stones out of the bag onto Pauletta’s desk; there were ten or twelve gems, mostly green, with a few that appeared to be diamonds.
“Payment in advance,” Pauletta said. “We trust you.”
“So why is it so important to Miss English to recover twenty-five thousand dollars, given all the risks involved and given the fact that she seems fairly wealthy? For all you know, I could just keep these emeralds and you’re out a lot of money. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to risk twenty-five thousand on a fifty-thousand-dollar long shot.”
“With Miss English, it’s principle.”
Evers heard quick footsteps, and suddenly the door to Pauletta’s office opened. He spun around in his chair, and a man in a suit was coming up fast behind him. The man had come through the door without closing it. He was walking down the path through the plants, taking long, agile strides, so that after about three steps he was beside Evers, and Evers’ breath just stopped in his stomach and he closed his eyes. “Shit.” The man took another step, halted right in front of Pauletta’s desk.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had someone with you.” The man turned to Evers. “I apologize for barging in.”
“Where’s my secretary?” Pauletta asked.
“I’m not sure. There was no one at her desk. You said we had to get these requests for admissions in the mail today. When you get a chance, look at them and sign them if everything’s okay.” The man handed Pauletta a folder. Evers exhaled and felt his senses start to return.
“Thanks. Ray, this is Evers Wheeling. Judge Wheeling, this is Ray Watson, one of our newest and most gifted associates.”
Ray and Evers shook hands and talked about law school and baseball for a few minutes before Ray left.
“You look a little pale again.” Pauletta was trying not to smile.
“Ray startled me, coming in like that, without knocking.”
“I bet he did.”
“So what were you telling me, what were we talking about?” Evers asked. “Damn.”
“Principle. The reason Miss English feels so strongly about recovering her money.”
“Right. Exactly.” Evers took his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and held it in his hand. “You know, Miss Qwai, there are three red flags for a lawyer. The first comes when your client begins your initial meeting by saying, ‘My other lawyers told me….’ The second comes when there’s a Camaro or a Rainbow vacuum cleaner involved in a divorce. And the brightest and biggest red flag appears when someone says, ‘It’s not the money, it’s the principle.’ Especially in this instance, where the morally aggrieved party is a thief.”
“I’m not here to talk you into anything, Mr. Wheeling,” Pauletta replied. “And I have to leave for court.”
“What sort of case is it?” Evers asked.
“Assault and battery.” She stood up.
“Is that the sort of work you do most of the time?”
“You mean helping poor black people not to get screwed by old white men with shriveled scrotums?”
“I suppose poor white people have no problems with the judicial process? The miners and hillbillies never get screwed?”
“Not by white judges they don’t. I’ll bet Judge Rieckert hasn’t convicted a white woman under thirty in the last year.”
“How about by black judges? No racists among their ranks?”
“Black judges? In West Virginia?”
“All I meant when I asked you the question was, do you do primarily criminal litigation? That’s all. Everything isn’t cocked and armed. I feel like I’m talking to Angela Davis.”
“Yes. I do mostly criminal work. As a matter of fact, Mr. Wheeling, I do more than I can handle. I’m overworked. And you can go ahead and wipe your hot, shiny forehead with your handkerchief if you’d like.”
“I hear a lot of criminal cases, too. Maybe we have one common denominator,” Evers said. “The handkerchief, I just took it out to wave at you—white flag, truce, that sort of thing.”
Pauletta laughed. It surprised Evers that she had such a pleasant face and striking smile. “You’re pretty oblivious to a lot of things, aren’t you? Either that or you just don’t care.”
“Probably a little of both,” Evers answered.
“I have just the case for you.”
“Oh?”
“Black man accused of murder.”
“Great. Is he guilty?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Judge Wheeling. You’re a different sort of fool, I’ll give you that.” Pauletta’s voice was still emotionless and her diction perfect. “His name is Marvin Ross; he killed his wife. Perhaps we can discuss it when we continue our dealings. I’ve heard that you’re a better-than-average judge. I’d be interested to hear what you have to say, although I guess that I’ll have to catch you on a day when you’re a little healthier.”
“Continue?”
“Yes.”
“What else do we have to do?” Evers wondered.
“I’ll be going with you, Mr. Wheeling. With you and Ruth Esther to recover the money.”
“No shit? Really?”
“Really.”
“Damn. Huh. You know, I’m still not sure why I’m dealing with you. Ruth Esther could’ve handed me these stones, and I doubt that you’d be in any position to support her story if I backed out of the plan. Not that I’d do anything wrong, of course. But you’d end up in jail and disbarred.”
“I’d end up in jail if I had tried to bribe you. I wouldn’t end up in jail for merely giving you gems that I bought with my own credit cards to settle a dispute you had with Ruth Esther. Let’s see, you were going to sue her for an injury you claimed you received on a test drive. She was afraid of losing her job. You demanded cash. That’s what the file memo would say. I think we’ll be able to show that you got the stones from me, and that you came here to get them. You’re all over the security cameras by now. I didn’t know anything about a bribe, but I know you got the gems. Like I said, Ruth Esther wants me to be in a position to reassure both sides.”
“I see.” Evers dropped the bag of stones into his inside pocket. He felt the Newsweek article he had put back into his coat; the magazine page was slick when it touched the back of his hand. “Then I’ll have to include that in my report to the detectives. And I’ll need these gems as evidence.”
When Evers returned to the hotel, he discovered that there was a motorcycle convention lodged there. Large, bold men and women with jean vests and chains on their wallets were everywhere. They were in town, according to the desk clerk, to kick off “Wheels for Seals,” a charity event for abused animals. Evers extended his stay by a day—he did not feel like traveling back to Norton—and was informed by the clerk that because of the bikers, she’d decided to buy some “maize” for herself. “To protect me personally,” she said.
“It’s mace, isn’t it? Maize is the stuff the Indian lady in hip-hu
ggers on TV used to talk about.”
“Well, I’ve never seen none of it advertised on TV.”
“Whatever,” Evers replied, using his brother’s omni-response.
He rode the elevator to his room and lay down on the bed to take a nap. Before falling asleep, he decided to call Naomi. N. Hankinson was the listing in the phone book. Evers made a note to mention to her that only women listed their last name and first initial. “Not many trolls and panty sniffers are put off by that trick, Naomi.” Evers talked to her even though she wasn’t there. He picked up the phone and held it between his ear and the pillow. When he dialed the number, the phone rang several times, then an answering machine came on. Evers hung up, didn’t leave a message.
“Damn.” He really did not want to spend the entire evening alone in West Virginia, cooling his heels, watching TV, brushing his teeth over and over again, trying to find something to do. He wanted to call the twenty-year-old waitress who’d served him lunch after he left Pauletta’s office, but, of course, he couldn’t do that. He was sure that he didn’t want to try the Ramada Inn Lounge again, and he was sure he didn’t want to watch in-room movies and eat room service food. “So.” So Evers called Pauletta, first at her home on Harnette Circle and then at Sparkman, Roberts, Plunk and Small, where he found her working. She could go for a drink with him, but, because of her workload, not until nine-thirty. Evers thought to himself when he hung up the phone that it had been odd for him to call Pauletta. He wondered why she was going to go somewhere with him.
Evers left the hotel and drove out MacCorkle Avenue to a shopping mall. He parked his car well away from the mall’s entrance, in a space fifty yards or more away from the nearest vehicle. Evers thought that walking in the mountain air would be good for him. He got out of his car and walked, very slowly, to the doors opening into the building. The evening was cool, cooler than normal for June, and the mountains and hills had become smudges, almost disappeared into the dark. When he reached the entrance, Evers turned and traipsed back to his car, paused and touched it with his hand, then returned to the mall. This time he went inside. At a drugstore, he bought a pound bag of M&M’s and a gallon of sweet milk, which he took back to the Ramada Inn room to eat and drink while he was waiting for Pauletta to pick him up. A biker and his girlfriend—all leather and inked-up arms—got out of the elevator on Evers’ floor; he offered the couple some M&M’s, and the woman reached in the bag and grabbed a handful of candy.