Rough Justice

'Uh, no. I mean, it's started, but it's not finished. I was doing the computer search. I found out that—'

'I didn't mean you should stop work on the motion!' Marta checked the thug's expression, and he seemed to be listening. In front of him on the coffee table lay the discarded dog magazine. It bore a battered subscription label, and Marta squinted discreetly to read the name. BOGOSIAN. 'What happened to the motion? We have to file it tomorrow!'

'We do? We are?' Mary stammered. 'Well, uh, I have the research, but I didn't write—'

'The research? Am I supposed to hand your research to the judge? Get started on it right now. I want it done by the time I get there.' From the other end of the line came the sound of an associate sucking wind. Good. All according to plan. Marta hung up the phone, crossed her arms, and frowned at Bogosian. 'Houston, we have a problem,' she said.

'Huh?' He let his receiver clatter onto the hook.

Marta decided against explaining popular culture to a primate, especially one with felonies on the brain. 'I have to go in. You heard her. She fucked up. I have to write that brief.'

'I don't give a fuck.'

'It's an important brief,' Marta lied. 'It has to be filed. I have to get to the office.'

'You're not goin' nowhere.'

'If I don't file a response, Steere's fingerprints will go to the jury. That evidence shows the placement of his fingerprints. It could put him in jail forever, maybe get him the death penalty. You want to tell him that or shall I?'

'You playin' games with me?' Bogosian's eyes flickered with malice, sending an undeniable tremor down Marta's spine.

'No. I'm just trying to do what your boss pays me to do.'

'I don't have a boss, I'm self-employed.'

'Fine. Steere, then. Whatever. This is no game.'

'Oh yeah? Should I call Steere and find out if you're bluffin'?'

Marta laughed. 'Steere's in a holding cell. You can't call him.'

Bogosian smirked as he lifted the receiver, his pinky finger extended absurdly. 'Oh yeah? Why do you think they call it a cell phone?'

* * *

Elliot Steere was dozing in his cell when the flip phone in his breast pocket began to vibrate. His eyes flew open in alarm and he snapped his head to the corner of the cell, deftly slipping the phone from his pocket. 'Don't call me,' he whispered into the phone.

'Sorry, but I'm at the hotel babysittin' your lawyer. She wants to go to the office. Says she has to work on some motion. What do you want me to do?'

Steere glanced over his shoulder, where a black guard sat reading a paperback at his desk near the door. He was one of the night crew and never said two words to Steere. Steere's guard, Frank Devine, was on the day shift, and Steere hadn't gotten to any of the other guards. It was risky to deal with too many, and Steere hadn't anticipated the snowstorm, so he didn't know he'd need somebody at night. Another mistake. How annoying. 'What motion?'

'Something about fingerprints. It's 'in somethin'.' Sounded like a foreign language.'

Steere realized Bobby meant the motion in limine. The defendant's response had to be filed, they'd talked about it. But why did Marta want to work on it now? Why wouldn't she let it pass and fuck him up? It wasn't that important, was it? Steere paused, wary. 'A motion, you're sure?'

'Sounds like the real deal. She talked to the other lawyer, a girl. On the telephone.'

Steere thought a minute. What was Marta up to? He wanted to find out. 'Let her go, Bobby, but go with her. Don't let her out of your sight. Do it.' He hit the END button and returned the phone to his pocket just as the guard peeked in, his attention drawn by the movement in the cell. His scowling face loomed close to the bulletproof window.

'You say something?' the guard asked, rapping the window with a thick knuckle.

'Just talking to myself,' Steere said. The guard turned his back, and Steere closed his eyes and rested his head against the unforgiving cinderblock. The wall was hard and scratchy, but in time Steere didn't feel it; he was weightless. The fluorescent lights were harsh and bright, but soon Steere didn't see them; it was pitch black. Steere sat very still, relaxed. Slipped back inside.

What could Marta be up to? It didn't matter. Even if she wasn't going to the office to prepare his motion, she wouldn't get away with anything. Bogosian would have her in control. She was way out of her depth with him; the man was a killer. Steere felt confident he'd made the right decision to let her go. Sun-Tzu would have said, Make the enemy take a chance; Elliot Steere would have said, Give Marta the rope to hang herself.

Steere considered the jury. He wondered if they were still deliberating and was satisfied that everything was in order there, too. He had specified that they not take long to acquit, and Steere's juror would obey him. After all, he had paid a substantial sum for a verdict of innocence. Justice didn't come cheap. Freedom can't be bought without foresight. It was a matter of taking the ceiling off your thinking, a vision thing, and all great leaders had it. As Sun- Tzu had said:

The victor first achieves victory, then conducts battle.

13

'AARRGHHH!' Mary DiNunzio had finally lost it. 'AAARGH!' She buried her fingers in her hair and considered ripping it all out. She would perish from the endless work, and when they found her body, dirty-blond strands would be scattered around her like hay in a manger. The coroner wouldn't be able to explain the phenomenon, but any