The Common Lawyer

'Wives are still cheating, so business is good.'

Lorenzo filled his coffee with sugar then walked over to his Escalade. He turned back.

'Andy… you call me anytime you need someone to watch your back. No charge.'

'Thanks, Lorenzo.'

Andy watched the Escalade cruise south on Congress then grabbed a Chronicle off the rack and walked up to the window.

'Large.'

'Like I don't know.'

Guillermo Garza handed him the coffee and two banana nut muffins. Andy had told Guillermo only that he no longer worked for Russell Reeves and that he had wrecked the Slammer. Guillermo knew not to ask questions.

'Keep the faith, bro.'

Andy sat at a table and placed Max's muffin on a napkin on the ground. He poured the dog some coffee then acknowledged the other regulars: Ray, still working on that novel; Darla, still dishing ice cream across the street; Oscar, still working at Guero's; George, still playing for tips; and Dwight, still blogging his life away.

Andy Prescott's life had changed and changed back again, but SoCo had remained unchanged-except for the new low-income housing. Russell Reeves had completed the three projects in SoCo: eight hundred town houses for low-income residents. But Russell had not come to SoCo for the grand openings; and they had never again spoken. Russell Reeves was seldom seen in public these days. Word was, Kathryn Reeves had been in and out of psychiatric hospitals around the country. It made Andy sad. He had never been able to work up any anger at Russell because he had never walked in Russell's shoes.

What would Andy have done to save his son?

Andy ate the muffin then bought Floyd T.'s breakfast and rode down Congress Avenue to his office. He found Floyd T. sitting on the stoop of the tattoo parlor with his grocery cart parked next to him. The parlor was closed, so Andy couldn't check his email. He had hoped every day for an email from Frankie, but none had ever come. He handed Floyd T. his breakfast and put a $5 bill in Floyd T.'s cigar box. Then he went upstairs to his office. He got that day's traffic tickets, his backpack, coat, and clip-on tie, folded the Chronicle lengthwise and stuck it in his back waistband for some courtroom reading. Max decided to visit with Floyd T., so Andy rode the bike to traffic court.

Judge Judith now looked upon him as one would a tragic fallen figure, the same way people with homes viewed Floyd T.: 'He was once somebody-now look at him.' The municipal prosecutor, Ms. Manning, ignored him. They had never banged out a plea bargain in her office. Andy could barely work up the interest to hand out his business cards on the way out.

He rode over to Whole Foods for lunch. Team Members Brad and Charlene still treated him the same, but (a) Suzie was dating Rich Olson (he still drove a Porsche, the bastard), (b) Bobbi no longer even acknowledged his existence, and (c) Spandex did not seem like the most incredibly marvelous invention in history anymore. Okay, it was still in the top ten.

He still had $20,000 of the fees Russell had paid him, which could have kept him in the life and Suzie and Bobbi for a few more glorious months, but he had lost interest in all that, too. If he wasn't just thirty years old, he'd be worried that he might be suffering some kind of midlife crisis.

He stopped in at REI just to say hello to Wayne then rode south down Lamar Boulevard across the lake to Texas Custom Boots. His father's handmade black elk cowboy boots were ready. He paid the final installment then rode back over to Congress Avenue with the boot box under one arm. He called out to Ronda sweeping the front porch at Guero's; Andy and the guys still met there for their Sunday night beer bash. Dave and Curtis remained without female companionship, and Andy had rejoined them in their misery. Curtis was now Dr. Baxter and would be teaching at MIT in the fall. Dave had gotten out of real estate and now sold women's lingerie at Victoria's Secret. He offered the employee discount to potential dates.

Tres and Natalie had married and their baby boy-Arthur Thorndike IV (apparently there was a naming rights stipulation in the trust fund)-was due any day now. They had already reserved personalized license plates for his sixteenth-birthday Beemer: CUATRO. Tres had quit the IRS and hired on with a big downtown law firm, Natalie was banking that her morning show series- Baby Watch with Natalie — would be her ticket to the networks, and their nanny-to-be was a sensuous nineteen-year-old Mexican girl.

Andy was a half-block down from his office when he noticed a crowd gathered in front of the tattoo parlor. And he knew: Floyd T. had suffered another heart attack. He rode fast then jumped off the bike and pushed his way through the crowd.

'Floyd T.!'

'What?'

Andy turned. Floyd T. was sitting there on the tattoo parlor's stoop.

'You okay?'

Floyd T. shrugged. 'For a homeless person.'

'What's going on?'

'I like her.'

'Who?'

Ramon turned from the crowd.

'Andy.'

He was grinning. But he grinned often these days. He had a new love interest who had granted him free artistic expression with her flesh canvas. Ramon Cabrera was a happy man.

'What's going on, Ramon?'

Ramon stood aside to reveal a shiny black American IronHorse Slammer. A cute red-haired girl sat on the seat; her pretty red-haired mother stood next to it. Andy Prescott always had a thing for redheads.

Ramon slapped Andy on the back. 'Got some tickets for you, bro.' He went inside his shop where a customer was waiting. Andy turned to the red-haired woman.

'I'm Connie Cantrell,' she said. 'And this is my daughter, Cassie.'

'Connie and Cassie. Nice names.'

'We thought so.'

'So what brings you to my part of the world?'

'I need a lawyer.'

'Are you in trouble?'

The woman named Connie nodded. 'I got a traffic ticket. A big one. I heard you were the best traffic ticket lawyer in Austin.'

'Well, I don't like to brag, but…'

'Will you be my lawyer?'

'Are you guilty?'

'Completely.'

'Well, see, the thing is, I'll have to appeal it. And that'll take a year and a half, maybe two, before it comes to trial.'

Connie shrugged. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

'You sure about that?'

'I'm sure. Cassie is enrolled at St. Ignatius in the fall-'

'Fourth grade,' Cassie said.

— 'And I'm enrolled at UT. Art department.'

'Really?'

'Yep. I know people.'

'So you're an artist?'

'Yes, I am.'

'I'm a trail biker myself.'

'I'd like to try that.'

'I could teach you.'

'Okay, then. But one question: If you're my lawyer… our lawyer, anything you know about us, that's our secret, right? You can't tell anyone?'