“You a lawyer?” One guy asked at the bar. He was tall, skinny, and looked like he hadn’t slept a solid eight hours for most of his fifty years on the planet.
I nodded my response.
“I haven’t seen you here before. Who are you working for?”
“I usually work out of Manhattan,” I lied. “West and Wilson Criminal Law Firm.”
“Big firm.” He nodded. I’d deliberately chosen a firm with more than fifty lawyers on the books. “What are you doing out here? Working a case?”
“Scoping the place out. I had to meet a client, so I thought I’d see what happens out here. I’m only in town for a few days, but this seems like a good place to set up shop. I love the city of Chicago, and everyone’s so friendly. It’s like the mid-west and Manhattan were put into a shaker and this is the result.”
“Hey, don’t you New Yorkers think about stepping foot on our turf.” He jested. His eyes stared at his whiskey. “But I mean, if you wanted to volunteer to do some of my workload, go right ahead.”
“They say that hard work never killed anyone, but I say, ‘Why take the chance?’”
He smiled but didn’t laugh. He looked like he hadn’t laughed much in the last few years.
“Could be some work out here,” I said in a hushed tone. He was two stools down at the bar. I picked up my drink and moved to the stool next to him. “A few high-profile lawyers have disappeared over the last year and a half out here. Those big names need replacing. So, what’s going on there? Something in the water?”
“Yeah. It’s happened to a few guys.” His voice was solemn. “It’s a bit of a disease at the moment. It was a cold winter this year, I think that has something to do with it. It makes it harder to deal with the downsides of being a defense lawyer. It was a big artic blast this year. Bone-chilling. When it’s so cold that you can’t even catch the bus, that can break someone already close to the edge. Anthony Waltz was the latest.”
“Did you know Waltz?”
“I did.” His glum facial expression didn’t change. “I defend people charged with sexual assault, just like he did. We had some crossover with work. And I get it, you know? Sometimes, you feel like you’re doing the wrong thing. Sure, the guy pays you, and you’re obligated to do your job as part of the system, but there are times when you know the client is guilty. You know it in your heart, but you have to do your job. The system falls apart if defense lawyers don’t do their work. The system needs us to defend the guilty, whether we like it or not. That’s the oath we take.”
“And if you’re good at your job then sometimes the guilty walk free.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I have a daughter with my first wife. Barely get to see her, only five nights a month, but she’s still my flesh and blood. How would I feel if someone assaulted her? How would I feel if that person walked away free from punishment?”
“That’d be hard.” I matched his tone, his posture, and his body language, creating a rapport between us. “That’d be really tough.”
“If that happened to my daughter, I’d feel like a failure. I’d feel like I’d failed as a man.” He shook his head. “But to watch the justice system rape these victims again, well, man, I don’t know how I’d take that. I’d be angry, as well. Really angry.”
“Waltz didn’t have any kids.”
“I know, but it’s still got to play on your mind. We’ve all got that one case that sticks in your head, that one where we can’t forget the pictures of the assault, that one where we can’t break free of the images. There’s always one case that’s burned into your memory and you just can’t shake it anymore. Looking at the photos of assault can’t be good for anyone’s mental health and we do it week in, week out. You feel like you’re immune, but the truth is there’s a limit to how much you can take.”
I nodded and sipped my Basil Hayden bourbon. It was a sweet bourbon, an easy drink for the early evening. “Any trouble I should be aware of, if I decide to move out here?”
My new friend sipped his martini. “Apart from me?”
“Apart from you.” I smiled and humored him.
“Terrance Marco Jr.” He turned to me and offered his hand. “Of Spencer, Ford, and Marco.”
“Jack West,” I lied and shook his hand. His handshake was weak. I hated that. “Are you any relation to Jonathon DiMarco?”
“You’ve heard about Jonathon DiMarco all the way over there in Manhattan?” Terrance raised his eyebrows.
“Any time someone is that vocal about hating defense lawyers, it tends to get around. He’s said some nasty stuff about our profession,” I responded. “And that man has vocal cords big enough to shout his message across the country.”
“That’s true.” He sighed. “My last name is spelled without a ‘Di,’ not like that scumbag. Jonathon DiMarco is no relation to me. I would hate it if he was. Could you imagine sharing some DNA with that guy? It’d be disgusting.”
“Is he that bad?”
“Are you kidding? The guy wants us all dead. He’s always protesting, always yelling, always telling the city how bad defense lawyers are. He even runs a website called D-TAL: Death to All Lawyers. He’s more aggressive than a linebacker on fourth down.” He sighed. “He’s a former police captain but the rumors are that he was corrupt. He resigned before they could prove anything. I think he runs the protests so that he can listen to his own voice. Every defense lawyer in Chicago knows to
