by Chad Zunker
Seeing Benny’s familiar messy handwriting nearly made David tear up. He quickly flipped through the Bible and found that dozens of the pages had been marked with a pencil or pen, where it looked like Rebel had either circled or underlined different passages and even made notes in the margins. It surprised David that the man sitting in jail had so thoroughly engaged with the Scriptures.
In the bigger section of the backpack, David mostly found clothes. As Moses had suggested earlier, Rebel owned a few long-sleeve button-down Western-style shirts, all with fancy pearl snaps. Two clean white undershirts. A couple of pairs of underwear and socks. A black raincoat. Several plastic bottles of water were in the bigger section. There was also a small bag of dog food. David poured a bowl full for Sandy and filled up the other silver bowl with a bottle of the water. Shifty set down the dog, who raced over and immediately began devouring the food.
“Hungry mutt,” Shifty said.
Finishing off his backpack search, David found a pair of Wrangler jeans. He stuck his hands in all the pockets, pulled out a couple of receipts from various stores, as well as a few business cards. The first card was for an auto shop on South Congress. The second was a pawnshop on Riverside.
The third card was like a sudden punch to the jaw.
Luke E. Murphy, Assistant District Attorney, Travis County
TWENTY-TWO
David paced in a tight circle around the table in the private jail room, waiting for his client to arrive. His mind was spinning sideways. Rebel had Murphy’s business card. Had he lied to him about everything? A jail deputy finally led his client into the room. Rebel looked pleased to see him, a small grin on his face, an easygoing demeanor about him. Was his client pleased because he knew he’d managed to play his own lawyer? The deputy unfastened Rebel’s handcuffs and left them alone. David dropped in the chair opposite Rebel, immediately pulled out Murphy’s business card, and placed it on the table in front of his client.
“What the hell is this?” David asked, pointing at the card.
“Good to see you, too, Lawyer.”
“Just answer my question, Rebel.”
Rebel glanced at the card, eyes squinting, shrugged. “Why you acting so pissy all of a sudden?”
“Because you’re lying to me.”
“I ain’t lying to you.”
“I found this in your backpack.”
Rebel perked up, eyes flashing. “You find my dog?”
“Yes, but—”
Rebel interrupted him. “He hurt? He hungry? Did anyone mess with him?”
“The dog is just fine, okay?”
“Where is he?”
“Back at my office. Can you forget about your damn dog for just a second? You told me you didn’t know Murphy. You said it right to my face.”
“I don’t,” Rebel insisted, nodding at the card. “That ain’t mine.”
“Come on, Rebel, stop it already. It was inside your blue jeans pocket.”
“I ain’t never seen it before.”
David’s frustration began to boil over. “So, what, now you’re telling me someone planted it there? It took us two days to find your hideaway camp. But now you’re trying to tell me someone else waltzed right up there, unzipped your backpack, and dropped this business card inside your pocket?”
“I don’t know how it got there. Stop calling me a liar.”
“Were you going to settle a score with Murphy the other night?”
“What . . . ?”
“I spoke with your buddy Moses. He said you bolted early on him that night, saying you had to go settle a score with someone.”
“Moses said that?” Rebel asked, looking confused.
“Was it Murphy? Was he that someone?”
Rebel stared at his calloused hands, as if trying to think hard about it. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. But I do remember being at the pool hall with Moses.”
David carefully watched his client. If he were in the middle of an ongoing charade, then Rebel was a damn fine actor. Still, David couldn’t be sure, so he wanted to push at him from every angle. He had to get to the truth already.
“Your ex-wife says you usually had these blackout spells right after you were engaged in a violent incident. Like a bar fight.”
Rebel’s eyes were slits. “You talked to my ex?”
“Yes. Is that what happened? You shot Murphy and then blacked out?”
“I don’t want you talking to that woman anymore!”
“Look, Rebel, everything is pointing right at you. My whole case was built on wrong place, wrong time.” He put his finger on the business card. “But then I find this in your things. I can’t defend you if you won’t even tell me how this ended up in your backpack.”
“Wait a second,” Rebel said, as if something had crystallized for him. “I see what’s going on here. They finally got to you, too, didn’t they?”
“What are you talking about?”
“CIA flipped you against me.”
David sighed. “Please stop already.”
But Rebel didn’t stop. “You wearing a wire right now? Are they listening to us?”
David put his face down into his hands, shook his head. Under his breath, he muttered, “Crazy.”
Rebel heard it and was immediately up out of his chair, hurling himself across the table at David, his strong hands clutching him around his neck. David’s chair flipped over backward, tumbling them both to the floor. Rebel was on top of him in a flash, the wildest look David had ever seen running through the man’s eyes.
“I didn’t do it, Lawyer!” Rebel yelled, hands still around David’s neck.
“Rebel . . . please . . . stop . . . ,” David managed, feeling the oxygen beginning to cut off.
“I didn’t do it!” Rebel repeated, squeezing even harder.
The door to the room flung wide-open. Within seconds, three deputies were inside, grabbing Rebel from behind, yanking him off David, who immediately gasped for breath. The deputies pinned Rebel to the floor, slamming his client’s head hard, and then they dragged him kicking and screaming out of the room.
Rebel’s voice echoed in the hallways. “I didn’t do it!”
TWENTY-THREE
David wandered the streets that night. He wanted to give himself a chance to clear his head, to think, and to figure out his next move. If he turned over Luke Murphy’s business card to Mason—which he would eventually have to do as part of case discovery—it would seal his client’s fate. David could offer a jury no plausible explanation for why it had been in his client’s belongings. Was he supposed to claim someone else had planted it there? Surely he’d come off looking as foolish as his client.
Feeling stuck, David walked several blocks away from his office and made his way down Congress Avenue toward the river. He hoped Rebel was okay. The deputies had been rough on him. David felt terrible about that, especially because the whole incident was his fault. He should have never provoked his client. Hands in his jacket pockets, David strolled past the front entrance of the palatial fifty-six-story Austonian, where he used to live. He paused and watched as a sharply dressed man and woman exited the building together and climbed into a shiny Mercedes sedan a valet had waiting for them along the curb. Damn, they sure looked happy. Had he been that happy eight months ago? He already knew the answer to that. He’d been miserable. And yet it felt so tempting to just go back to that world. Maybe it was easier working for corporate clients he cared nothing about than staring into the eyes of a vulnerable man.
David stepped into Caroline’s, a popular dining spot. The restaurant was nearly empty—it was almost closing time. Finding a table near the back, David ordered a slice of blueberry cobbler, Benny’s favorite dessert, from the friendly waitress. The booth was the exact same spot where David had had his first real conversation with the old man last year. Staring at the empty seat across the table from him, David could still see Benny sitting there in his black trench coat, smiling ear to ear, while they talked about life and munched
on two pieces of delicious blueberry cobbler. It seemed like yesterday.
“My name’s David.”
“Like the shepherd,” Benny replied.
David tilted his head. “Sorry?”
Benny smiled again, pointed at the small Bible sitting on the table. “From the Scriptures. David was a shepherd. First, with the animals. Eventually, he was a shepherd to God’s people. You have a distinguished name, my friend.”
David shrugged. “I guess. But I’m no shepherd.”
“Not yet, maybe.”
David’s reflective moment got interrupted by the voice of a man who was suddenly standing near him. “Most lawyers I know head to the bars for a drink after work. You come here to get dessert?”
David looked up and noticed Keith Carter, the fiftysomething man with the crew cut who worked with the Texas Veterans Legal Assistance Project.
“I’m too broke to drink right now,” David replied.
“I hate to hear that.”
“You following me around or something?” David asked. “Are you that desperate to find poor veterans to help?”
Carter smiled, adjusted his square-framed brown glasses. “Nah, just spotted you while passing by outside. Mind if I sit?”
David shrugged, held out a palm. “Suit yourself.”
Carter sat opposite David. The waitress immediately came over to take his order. “I’ll have what he’s having,” Carter told her, nodding at the cobbler.
“Best in town,” David said. “Trust me.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Carter put his elbows up on the table. “You look like you’ve had a rough day. Things not going well on the Roger North case?”
“Let’s just say I got thrown a major curveball today.”
“Curveballs were always my nemesis. Could never hit them.”
“You played baseball?”
“Yep, a lifetime ago. Spent two years in Double-A ball with the Richmond Flying Squirrels. I could crush a fastball but could never hit the damn bender. What about you? You play any ball?”
“Football. Until my knee gave out.”
The waitress quickly returned with another slice of cobbler. Carter took a big bite and made a humming noise like he really enjoyed it.
“Can’t argue with you,” Carter admitted. “This is really good.”
David finished off his piece, put the fork down, sat all the way back in the booth, feeling satisfied. “So how long you been with this veterans’ organization?”
“About five years, give or take. I was an English professor at the University of Houston for twenty years. I got a call one day from a guy I served with way back who was down on his luck and needed some help with a precarious legal situation. I stepped in and helped walk my friend through a complicated legal matter. I liked the feeling of helping an old vet like myself so much that I left my teaching gig and got a job with VLAP. So here I am.”
“Badgering strangers?”
“Strangers? We’re sharing dessert together. Are we not friends yet?”
They exchanged a quick grin. David liked Carter’s easygoing way.
“So how long you been a lawyer?” Carter asked.
“About a year.”
“And you’re already handling a murder case? How does that happen?”
“Dumb luck, I think.”
“Did you know Roger North before becoming his lawyer?”
“Nope. Just met him.”
“So why take the case?”
“I blame the ghost of a street preacher.”
“The ghost of who?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have all night. I love ghost stories.”
“I don’t, sorry. I’m tired. Maybe another day.”
David stood to leave, but Carter stopped him.
“Hey, you think I could talk to him, David?”
“Who? My client?”
“Yeah. Maybe I could stabilize the situation for you. You know, vet to vet. We tend to speak a different code than other people. It might calm him down and be a help to you.”
“What makes you think he needs to be calmed down?”
Carter shrugged. “I heard he tried to choke his lawyer an hour ago.”
David gave him a quizzical smile. “Just walking by, huh?”
“We just want to help, David. I think you could use it.”
Unfortunately, David needed more help than Carter could give him.
“Have a good night,” he said.
TWENTY-FOUR
David returned to his office around eleven that night. Standing outside the main door to the suite, he could hear the mutt yapping away in the back room. He’d put the dog back there with a bowl of food and water. There was no telling what all Sandy had destroyed over the last few hours. Pulling his key out, David noticed the front door to their office suite was unlocked, which was unusual. He was certain he’d locked up everything before leaving earlier that night. Maybe Doc was waiting for him inside? When he opened the door, David found that all the office lights were off. Then he heard a clanking noise come from somewhere in the darkness of the suite—it wasn’t from the dog in the back room.
“Doc?” David called out. “You in here?”
No response. No other sounds. Maybe he was hearing things. Stepping fully into the front entry room, David reached for the light switch on the wall. Before getting there, he heard shoes shuffle on the hardwood floor behind him. David turned, searched. A figure suddenly appeared from the dark and tackled him hard to the floor. David felt the air go right out of his lungs. What the hell? The strong figure was directly on top of him. Struggling, David reached up, stuck his hand in a bearded face. Then a swift punch hit David’s left cheek, knocking his head sideways, sending a jolt through him. David swung wildly in return with his right fist, hitting the intruder in the rib section. The man grunted in pain, rocked back, and David took that opportunity to shove him off.
Picking himself up off the floor, David rushed toward the man, driving him into the table, sending both of them flipping over it and then splattering onto the floor again on the other side. Another hard punch found David’s left ear, making him dizzy for a second. A second punch grazed his jawline. Feeling around on the floor beside him, David’s fingers came across a bottle—probably the empty bottle of Guinness he’d left on the table earlier that night. Clutching it, he swung and smashed the bottle against the man’s head, shattering it and sending glass flying. The man let out a yell, fell backward. David tried to push himself up, but his hand landed square on a shard of broken glass on the floor, puncturing the skin, and he dropped again in pain.
Instead of another attack, the intruder tried to escape out the front door. David lunged after him, grabbing the man by one of his combat boots, trying to stop him. But that only got him a quick kick to the stomach from the man’s opposite boot, which left David curled up and gasping for air. The man bolted out the door into the hallway. Picking himself up, David staggered forward into the hallway. He could hear the intruder bounding down the stairwell around the corner. David chased as best he could, descending three steps at a time, and pursued the figure out of the building. When he hit the main sidewalk, David whipped his head back and forth in both directions.
The man was gone.
TWENTY-FIVE
Pounding on the main office door woke David from sleep. It wasn’t so much the steady knocking out front as it was the dog now growling on the sofa at his feet. David reached down, snagged his phone from the floor. Six forty-five? Who was out there this early? He tried to shake off the fuzziness of his mind, which was probably more a result of the punches to his head last night than the early hour. Although he’d taken a handful of Tylenol, his head was still throbbing. Had he walked into the middle of a robbery? Had one of his street clients gotten that desperate? Or was it something else? His gut said it was something else. Although his personal office was a bit ransacked, David couldn’t find a single valuable missing. He’d thought of calling the p
olice but decided against it. What would be the point? He couldn’t identify the guy in any significant way.
More knocking out front. Whoever was out there had to know David had been sleeping at the office, or they wouldn’t go to so much trouble. Probably one of his street friends, hoping Lori had put something new to eat in the mini fridge. A couple of the guys seemed to watch their office night and day in anticipation of Thomas’s wife showing up with a fresh batch of homemade goodness. David couldn’t really blame them—Lori was one hell of a cook.
Cursing, David swung his bare feet to the floor. He looked down at his right hand, which was wrapped in white bandages. Although the cut from the glass shard hurt like hell, he didn’t think he needed any serious medical attention. He certainly didn’t want to spend money on an emergency room visit right now. He grabbed his jeans, pulled them on, and then stumbled down the hallway to the front room, the dog following at his heels.
More steady knocking, which was really annoying him.
“Hold on!” David yelled, unlocking the door.
He swung it wide-open, ready to berate whoever thought it was a good idea to come by the office at this ridiculous hour. However, his anger was quickly replaced by shock. Neil Mason was standing in the hallway, wearing his usual high-dollar suit, hair done perfectly, as if he’d already been at the office for several hours.
“Morning, sunshine,” Mason said with a snarky grin.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Waking you up, clearly. We need to talk.”
“You couldn’t call first?”
“We need to talk in person, David. Can I come inside?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”
Opening the door, David allowed Mason into the entry room, offered him a chair at the round table. The dog began investigating the man’s ankles. David wouldn’t mind if Sandy raised a leg on Mason’s shoes.
“They let you keep a dog in here?” Mason asked him.
“Belongs to a friend. You want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
Walking to the back room, David stepped up to the coffee maker on the foldout table and found the glass carafe still half-full from the previous day. It would do. He poured the remains of the container into two small mugs, stuck them both in the microwave for a few seconds, and then returned to Mason.