by Chad Zunker
David sighed. He felt horrible for Thomas. His partner had already used his own savings to give their firm a year to get on its feet. It wasn’t fair for David to add more financial pressure on him. At H&K, money had been everything. To the firm, to the client, and certainly to him. It was the golden calf to which they all bowed. Like a vortex, the pursuit of the almighty dollar had sucked the life right out of David and had damn near taken his life off the rails. Until Benny and the boys at the Camp had rescued him. And now, ironically, money had once again become central to everything in his world—only in a polar-opposite way.
Where was the balance? While his intentions were good, David had put their firm into dire financial straits over the past six months. Had any of it really been worth it? Was he making any real difference by keeping a couple of street friends out of jail for a few extra days? He couldn’t be certain of it anymore. It was one thing for David to sleep on a sofa most nights and eat ramen noodles every day. He could manage that for a while. But it was another thing altogether for him to inadvertently put Thomas’s family on the line. David had to start carrying his own weight. He owed Thomas that.
“I’m real sorry to hear about Luke Murphy,” Thomas mentioned. “I know you guys were friends.”
“Thanks. It’s all a bit of a blur right now.”
“Doc said you went to talk to this Rebel guy last night.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you make of him?”
“He needs some serious help.”
“I hear he needs serious psychological help.”
“Probably true. But he also needs a good lawyer.”
David didn’t expound. He didn’t really know what else to say at the moment.
Thomas studied him. “Look, we’re full partners, okay? So I will never tell you what to do or not to do. We’re in this together. But just know that an unwinnable juggernaut case like this could completely break our firm right now.”
On the way back to the office, David was waiting for a walk sign to cross an intersection when a shiny black Porsche 911 convertible with the top down pulled to a stop right next to him. David let his eyes take in the beauty of the vehicle. Six months ago, he could have purchased a similar ride. He certainly missed the plush leather seats and fancy dashboard of his Range Rover. He had to admit he missed the stare of strangers when sitting behind the wheel. Hell, he missed a lot of niceties about his old life.
David’s eyes drifted over to the driver, and he cursed. Behind the steering wheel sat William Tidmore, his former rival at Hunter & Kellerman. The lanky lawyer with the pale skin and perfectly sculpted blond hair wore a sharp-looking gray business suit. David tried not to make direct eye contact, but it was too late. Tidmore had already spotted him on the sidewalk and seemed pleased to catch David gawking at his sports car. Tidmore peered up at him with the same cocky smile that always made David want to punch the guy right in the face.
“Hey, Trailer Park,” Tidmore said, using the nickname he’d created because of David’s humble upbringing. “How are things over at county court?”
David tried to keep his cool. “At least I still have my soul, Tidmore.”
Tidmore laughed. “You can have your soul. I’ll take the Porsche.”
Tidmore then raised his right hand, casually flipped David the bird, spun the tires, and left David standing there on the sidewalk in a cloud of exhaust.
SIX
That evening, David grabbed a booth in the back of Midnight Cowboy, a narrow under-the-radar speakeasy-style bar on Sixth Street. It was happy hour, and the sidewalks outside were already buzzing as crowds of people escaped from nearby office buildings and found solace inside the city’s popular hotspots. Midnight Cowboy was not David’s regular place—the bar had no outside sign and was by reservation only—but his drinking partner was a bit uneasy about sitting down with him today. So he’d promised her something private, where they could talk freely without anyone from her office catching wind of it.
David had spent the afternoon pulling together more information about Rebel’s case. An online criminal background check showed nothing, not even a misdemeanor, which took him a bit by surprise. He’d also privately secured the toxicology report through Lolita over at the county jail. Another surprise. No traces of drugs and only minor traces of alcohol.
David watched as a hostess led Dana Mitchem from the front. A tall black woman wearing a sleek brown business suit, Dana was an assistant district attorney who, like Murphy, had graduated from Stanford Law a year before David. Dana had had her sights set on prosecution from the beginning. Her father was a longtime judge in Louisiana, so she was comfortable in a courtroom. It was easy imagining Dana also wearing a black robe one day. She used to beat David’s socks off in mock trial competitions. She was a damn good lawyer and an even better friend.
Looking weary, Dana slid into the booth across from him.
“You look like you could use a drink,” David offered.
“Maybe two or three. Been a rough day. I still can’t believe Murphy is gone, David. I keep expecting to wake up from this nightmare.”
“Me, too. Doesn’t seem real. Murphy had texted me a couple of times the past month, wanting to grab beers and catch up, but I kept pushing him off. Just been busy. Now I’ll never get the chance again.”
“Yeah, I keep reliving his final words to me last night as he passed by my office. There’s more to life than the law. Get out of here and go have fun. He said that to me nearly every time he found me working late hours—which was always, of course.”
“What was he doing in that alley last night, Dana? It’s not like Murphy to hit the bar district after work.”
“I have no clue. No one seems to know.”
“Have you talked to Michelle?” David asked.
She shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t even know what to say to her.”
“Same here.”
They ordered a couple of drinks from a waiter.
“How’s everyone doing over there at the DA’s office?” David asked.
“We’re all reeling a bit. I think it’s easy for us to disassociate ourselves from the violence and death of our day-to-day caseload until it happens right inside our own personal circle.” She frowned at him. “You’re not really going to represent this guy, are you, David?”
“Probably not. But I haven’t made a decision yet.”
“How could you? We’re talking about Murphy here.”
“It’s complicated.”
David didn’t really know how to explain it all to her at this point, so he didn’t even try.
“Whatever,” Dana said. “Jordan’s going to push for a quick indictment and trial, and he’ll get it. He wants this wrapped up before the end of the year. I’ve already heard talk of going after the death penalty. He wants blood on this one.”
Jeff Jordan was the Travis County district attorney, a pit bull of a man who played rough inside both the courts and politics. David was not a fan.
“I’m sure everyone is a bit emotional over there today.”
“It’s more than that,” Dana countered. “He’s up for reelection. Jordan hasn’t exactly gotten a lot of good press this past year, if you hadn’t noticed. The Malchado case was a complete disaster. There have been other foul-ups and missteps, all of which have made Jordan suddenly vulnerable. I’ve heard the talk around the office already. I think Jordan sees this as a chance to create some good vibes with the public that he can ride straight through an election victory.”
“I hate politics.”
“But this is our world, and you know that.”
“Who’s he putting on it?”
“Neil Mason.”
“That guy’s an arrogant jackass.”
“But he’s Jordan’s number one, and he never loses.”
“What if I wanted to plead out?”
“I thought you hadn’t made a decision?”
“Hypothetically speaking,” he clarified.
“Listen
to me. Jordan needs this to go to trial. He wants the platform and the media spectacle. So I wouldn’t expect any kind of plea offer on this case.”
“What about an insanity plea?”
“Come on, David. Don’t be a dumbass. You know that’s like playing the lottery, because even if this guy is crazy—and from what I’ve read so far, that’s a given—Mason will bring in every necessary medical expert to prove otherwise and get this guy to trial.”
David cursed. “Did we realize how screwed up the system really was when we were back in law school?”
She smiled. “I did. I grew up in it. You guys were all naive.”
“No, we just went after the money.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“Touché. But I’ve got stories to tell.”
The waiter returned with their drinks.
Dana raised her glass. “To law school dreams.”
“To Murphy.”
He clinked his glass with hers. She downed hers in one gulp. He barely sipped his.
“You really should quit your job and come work with me,” David said. He made the same playful offer every time they met up for drinks.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re so broke, you have to sleep on your office sofa every night.”
“It’s true. And becoming more broke by the day, it seems. Thomas just informed me that I only bring in thirteen percent of the firm’s monthly income. How pathetic is that?”
“Quite pathetic,” she teased.
“I’m working more than I did over at H&K. Just with clients that can’t pay. That’s why I need you. If I put your face up on our crappy website, we’d have paying clients lined up out the door. All my problems would be over.”
They shared a quick laugh. Something they needed right now.
“Is that why we’re talking about this case?” Dana asked, turning serious again. “Is this about lawyer fees? Does this guy have money hidden somewhere?”
David shook his head. “Not that I know about.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Wait . . . Please tell me you don’t actually think he’s innocent?”
“Of course not. Just playing devil’s advocate.”
He didn’t feel like explaining Rebel’s connection with Benny and the strange pull David felt inside to somehow help the guy—even if he was guilty. He’d come across so many new friends during the past year who operated in a different mental reality because living out on the streets over time had brutally assaulted their once-stable minds.
“Good,” Dana replied. “Because we already have everything we need. We’ve got his prints on the gun. We have a witness who saw him toss the weapon and run. We have him admitting he fired the weapon in the alley. We even have sidewalk security video showing him following Murphy into the alley only moments before he was shot.”
“Really?” It was the first David had heard of a security video. “Have you seen this sidewalk video?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Does it show his face? Can you definitely say it’s him?”
“Well, no, not exactly. It was taken from behind. But he’s wearing the same green jacket and black hat that witnesses saw him wearing when he fled the scene.”
“I see. So someone else could have worn it into the alley?”
“You’re buying the whole blackout thing?”
“Just humor me, okay?”
“Fine, but this is getting annoying. Yes, someone else could have worn the outfit into the alley.”
“And the guy has no criminal record,” David added.
“True,” Dana said. “But a jury won’t care. There’s a first time for everything.”
“Have you established any connection between Murphy and the accused?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Not sure we even need to do that.”
“What about the toxicology report?”
“No traces of drugs,” she admitted.
“And only minor traces of alcohol,” he followed up. “What about Murphy’s possessions? Did you find anything belonging to Murphy on him? Wallet? Watch? Anything?”
“No,” she replied.
“So why did he shoot him, Dana? For fun?”
She shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Maybe the CIA told him to do it. Or perhaps it was the Russians. Better yet, it was the aliens. They told him to do it. We’ve got a lot to choose from, believe me. Besides, I’ve seen a lot of people do really violent things for no good reason at all over the past two years.”
SEVEN
David was led to the same private jail room where he’d met with Rebel the previous night. Sitting in the chair opposite him, Rebel seemed much more subdued—even defeated. The wild look that had been so prominent in his eyes last night had all but disappeared. Instead, he seemed foggy and disengaged, and David wondered if a jail doctor had sedated him. He wouldn’t be surprised, considering Rebel’s frantic state of mind at the tail end of their last meeting. There was a swollen bump above his right eye and a few scrapes on his right cheek that weren’t there the last time they were together. Was that the work of jailhouse deputies or inmates? Could a guy like Rebel even survive a lengthy jail stay?
David asked the deputy to remove the handcuffs. The deputy seemed reluctant, but David assured him he’d be fine. He hoped the move would show Rebel a bit of trust, and in return, Rebel might open up to David. When the deputy left them alone in the room, David finally sat across the table from the man.
“How’re you doing, Rebel?”
Rebel shrugged, kept his eyes on the table. “Been better, Lawyer.”
“They treating you okay in here?”
“Don’t matter. They taking me back to the dragon’s lair soon.”
His speech was slow and lacked any real punch, which was opposite of how he’d been talking last night.
“Where is this dragon’s lair?” David asked.
“Can’t talk about it. That would only make it worse for me.”
“Who said you were going back?”
“No one had to tell me, Lawyer. I just know. This ain’t my first rodeo. I’ve been a cowboy a long time. I can tell by the way everyone looks at me. This deal has already been done. Might as well give ’em what they all want and get this whole thing over with more quickly.”
“What do they want?”
“My confession.”
“Why would you confess to something you say you didn’t do?”
Rebel put his hands on the table, touched his fingers together. “Maybe I did do it.”
David tilted his head. “Did you?”
Rebel gave a nonchalant shrug, didn’t elaborate. “Don’t even matter anymore.”
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“You can’t help me anyway, Lawyer. I done told you that already. You can’t stop it. No one can stop it. I already seen a couple of spooks wearing trench coats in here, watching me through the bars, talking to the uniforms, working it all out. They taking me back to the dragon’s lair soon.”
Easing back in his chair, David tried to see if he could get Rebel talking about something else, an effort to distract him, maybe pull the truth out another way. Although David couldn’t be sure if the man even knew the truth.
“Why do they call you Rebel?”
For the first time, the man’s eyes lifted. A small grin appeared, a hint of a spark. “You ever seen that old James Dean movie?”
“Rebel Without a Cause?”
He nodded, the grin firming up now. “You see, I was trying to date this girl back in high school. Well, she was in high school. I was a bit older. Norma Jean. Man, was she ever a looker. But her granny didn’t like me too much. Wanted me to stay the hell away from her. Always chasing me off with a broomstick. Don’t blame her. I was a real troublemaker. She said I reminded her of James Dean in that old movie, so she started calling me Rebel.”
“Did you stay away from the girl?”
The grin eased into a sly smile. “Whatcha think, Lawye
r?”
David laughed. “I had a feeling.”
“My idiot buddies all thought the nickname was funny, so it kind of stuck around. Funny how nicknames can come about.”
“Benny called me Shep. Said I reminded him of a shepherd in the Bible. So now everyone on the streets calls me that.”
“Rebel is a helluva lot better than Shep, I tell you what.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
They shared a quick laugh. Rebel’s was more of a loud cackle—a sudden burst where his shoulders bounced up and down. He looked so free when he let it out. For a moment, David could see what Benny must’ve seen in this man. If you could somehow get past the conspiracy chaos, there was something endearing about him.
Rebel seemed to still be thinking more about his youth. “Those were the good old days, Lawyer, I tell you what. Fast cars, lots of smoking, drinking, and having a good time. I rode up the California coast once with James Dean. He had himself a fast little sports car. The girls actually liked me more than him, but that was before he became a big movie star.”
David pinched his mouth. James Dean had died more than thirty years before Rebel was even born. What kind of wires were crossed up in his brain that placed thoughts like that inside? He didn’t bring it up since the conversation had lifted Rebel’s spirits.
“I went to law school in Northern California,” David mentioned.
“I love that place. Beautiful beaches and gorgeous women. I would have stayed in Cali a long time if I hadn’t joined the program.”
“What program?”
He looked over at David, as if catching himself. “Can’t talk about it, Lawyer.”
“Seems there’s a lot of things you can’t talk about.”
“Not unless you want to go where I’m going. Trust me, you don’t.”
“Okay. What about family? Got any brothers and sisters?”
“Nope. Mom had trouble at my birth. Couldn’t have more kids after me.”
“You got any kids? You mentioned being married once.”
“A son,” Rebel revealed, before a bit of sadness returned to his eyes. “I ain’t seen the boy in a long time.” He stared at his hands, seemed to be counting his fingers. “Hell, he’s probably six by now.”