But he’s right. I shouldn’t just let this go by the boards. I don’t know exactly what this is I feel for her – nor how to define that spark and chemistry that exists between us – but it’s not something I should give up on so easily. There is something that exists between us – I know Berlin feels it too – and I think we’d be doing ourselves a terrible disservice to not at least explore it with each other.
I look over to Rider and nod. “I’m going to need your help.”
Chapter Eleven Berlin
“It’s the best deal you’re going to get in light of these charges,” I explain.
My client, a nineteen-year old kid named James, leans back in his seat. He’s been charged with battery after a bar fight left a man bloodied and concussed. The prosecutor, Archie Denton, is thankfully a longtime veteran and a reasonable man to work with. But my client is a knucklehead who thinks the world owes him something.
“You’re my lawyer, right?” he asks. “And you gotta do what I tell you to do?”
“Yes, I’m your lawyer,” I reply. “And ultimately, I do have to do what it is you want me to do. But I have to tell you, if you push this and insist on taking it to trial, you are going to lose. And when you lose, you’re going to do some time. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Maybe not, though,” he sits back in his seat with a smug look on his face.
I sigh and drop my pen on the file in front of me. I lock eyes with him, hoping my expression conveys the gravity of his situation.
“They have you on video, James. They have you starting the fight, throwing punches, and hitting the man in the head with the beer bottle. You shouldn’t have even been in the bar in the first place,” I tell him. “The evidence against you is irrefutable, and I promise you that if you insist on going to trial, you will lose.”
He scoffs. “You don’t sound like my lawyer,” he spits. “Sounds like you’re with the cops.”
I roll my eyes. “Do what you want, James. But I negotiated a deal with the prosecution that lets you off with probation,” I tell him. “That means no time in jail. But if you’d rather throw that all away and go to jail, that’s fine. It’s your life.”
I gather my things and shove it all into my bag, probably more irritated than I should be about this. But this kid is as dumb as he is ungrateful. I could have mailed it in and let him do the two or three months he likely would have been sentenced to. Not only will I get paid the same, but I also wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep about it. After all, he put himself in this position.
I get to my feet and head for the door before stopping to turn back to him. “There’s a clock on his deal,” I inform him. “The prosecutor wants a decision in forty-eight hours. Think about it and call my office.”
Without waiting for him to reply, I walk out of the conference room and slam the door behind me. I know I shouldn’t be as upset about this as I am. In the grand scheme of things, this is meaningless and isn’t some outrageous travesty of justice. Whether James does probation or spends a couple of months in jail doesn’t matter. Hell, maybe he’ll learn something if he gets locked up for a bit.
As I walk out of the conference room, I head back to my office and glance at my watch. I give thought to digging into my next couple of cases, but it’s not only closing in on six, but I’m salty as hell, so I decide to call it a day. I tidy up my desk, grab a couple of things from my drawer, then head for the elevators, avoiding all eye contact with the others in my office who are staying late.
The doors slide open. I step out into the lobby and head for the front doors, anxious to get out of here.
“Berlin.”
I don’t recognize the voice and consider pretending I didn’t hear him and just keep moving, but when he calls my name again, I sigh and turn around. I blink at him stupidly a couple of times when I see a familiar face standing there smiling at me.
“Berlin Roth,” he says. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Rider Douglas,” I respond.
Back in college, Rider was Sawyer’s right-hand man. And given the fact that I saw them together at the borough board meeting, I’m assuming that job description hasn’t changed.
“Still cleaning up Sawyer’s messes, I see?” I start. “That must be a full-time job.”
He flashes me a grin. “Hey, it’s a living.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want, Rider?”
“I’m here to escort you to dinner,” he announces like it’s obvious.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sawyer would like you to have dinner with him,” he replies. “He’d like to talk to you about the Atwell project.”
“Tell him he can do all of his talking in court.”
“He’s actually hoping to avoid going down that path,” he tells me. “And frankly, I think both you and I know that going to court is a losing proposition for you.”
I narrow my eyes as I stare at him, my blood starting to burn with anger. The worst part of it is that I know he’s right. I can file for all the injunctions I want, but at the end of the day, the decision will come down to a judge to make the call on whether to grant it or not. And dishearteningly, most of the judges in the city have been growing
