“They always do. But the fact is your guy is a career crim. And I’ll get a jury who’ll put him away for a long time.”
“So why waste the taxpayers’money, then?”
“What’s your deal?”
“Plead to the burglary, possession of stolen property. Drop the nasty little firearm count. We end up with five years with credit for time served.”
Janet started walking. “See you in court.”
“Okay, okay, eight, but I need to talk with my guy.”
She turned around and ticked off the points on her fingers. “He pleads to all of it, including the ‘nasty little firearm’ count, he gets ten years, forget the time served, and he punches the whole ticket. Probation for another five after that. If he pees funny, he goes back for another ten, no questions asked. If he goes to trial you’re looking at a slam-dunk of twenty. And I want an answer right now.”
“Damn, Janet, where’s the compassion?”
“Saving it for somebody who deserves it. As you can probably guess, my list is very short. Besides, it’s a sweetheart deal. Yes or no?”
Fiske tapped his fingers against his briefcase.
“Going once, going twice,” Ryan said.
“Okay, okay, deal.”
“Good doing business with you, John. By the way, why don’t you call me sometime. You know, off hours?”
“Don’t you think there might be a conflict lurking there somewhere?”
“Not at all. I’m always hardest on my friends.”
She walked off humming while Fiske leaned up against the wall and shook his head.
An hour later, he returned to his office and tossed down his briefcase. He picked up the phone and checked his messages at home, listening to the recorded voices at the same time he wrote down notes for an upcoming hearing. When he heard his brother’s voice, he didn’t even stop writing. One finger flicked out and erased the message. It was rare but not unheard-of for Mike to call. Fiske had never called him back. Now he thought his brother was doing it just to antagonize him. As soon as he completed this thought, he knew it was not true. He rose and went over to a bookcase jammed with trial notebooks and legal tomes. He slid out the framed photograph. It was an old picture. He was in his policeman’s uniform, Mike stood next to him. Proud little brother just entering manhood and stern-faced big brother, who had already seen a lot of evil in life and expected to see a lot more before he was done. In reality he had experienced firsthand the ugly side of humanity, and was still, but now he did so without the uniform. Just a briefcase, a cheap suit and a fast mouth. Bullets exchanged for words. Till the end of his days. He put the photo back and sat down. However, he looked over at the photo, suddenly unable to concentrate.
* * *
A few days later, Sara Evans knocked and then opened the door to Michael Fiske’s office. It was empty. Michael had borrowed a book and she needed it back. She looked around the room but didn’t see it lying anywhere. Then she spotted his briefcase underneath the kneehole of his desk. She picked it up. From the weight, she knew there was something inside. The briefcase was locked, but she knew the combination from having borrowed his briefcase a couple of times before. She opened it and immediately saw two books and the papers inside. Neither book was the one she was looking for though. She was going to close it back up but then stopped. She pulled the papers out and then looked at the envelope they had come in. Addressed to the clerks’ office. She had just glanced at the handwritten page and then the typewritten letter when she heard footsteps. She put the papers back, closed the briefcase and slid it back under the desk. A moment later Michael walked in.
“Sara, what are you doing here?”
Sara did her best to look normal. “I just came looking for that book I had lent you last week.”
“I’ve got it at home.”
“Well, maybe I can come over for dinner and get it.”