The Common Lawyer (45 page)

They had been gone two hundred and three days now.

He let Max out the front door and waved to Liz walking her dog, then showered and dressed. He brushed his hair back; it was long again, almost to his shoulders. He went outside and saddled up on the Stumpjumper, the last remnant of that life, and rode down the porch steps and then the front sidewalk to the street. He didn't turn north to Nellie for a morning adrenaline rush. Instead, he turned south and glided down James Street to Jo's. He noticed a familiar Cadillac Escalade parked at the curb. Lorenzo Escobar was standing in line.

"Lorenzo."

The PI gave him a big smile.

"Andy, my man." They fist-punched. "How you doing, brother?"

"I'm good. How's business?"

"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 Güero'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 Güero'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?"

Andy nodded. "It's called the 'privilege.' Your secrets are safe with me."

"Good."

The girl named Cassie said, "Can we go see Paul?"

"Yes, you can. And he can see you." He turned to Connie. "My dad—"

"Got his liver."

His father would wear the black elk boots. But who had died so Paul Prescott could live? Who had not been saved so he could be? Had Russell Reeves pulled some strings to move Paul Prescott to the top of the list? Had he bought a longer life for Andy's father? Andy didn't want to know the answers. All he knew was that he still had his father—and that Paul Prescott had finally gotten his big break.

"How'd you know?"

"Your mother."

"You called her?"

Connie nodded. "At her office."

"She never told me."

"She said she could keep a secret … and that you could, too."

"How's
your
mother?"

She pointed inside Ramon's shop. Andy looked closely and saw that the customer was Colleen O'Hara. She was thumbing through Ramon's flash.

"She's living with us now. When we left here, Marty O'Connor sold her house, put her on a plane to Phoenix. I figured she couldn't wander off a seven-fifty-seven."

"That's where you've been living, Phoenix?"

"Sedona."

"Good art there."

"I quit smoking there."

Ramon poked his head out. "Connie, your mother says she wants a heart on her butt—you okay with that?"

Connie shrugged. "She's one of the tribe now."

"Andy," Cassie said, "give me a ride."

Her mother said, "Put the helmet on," then held the key out to Andy. He removed the
Chronicle
from his back waistband and tossed it into the trash can then handed the boot box to Connie. He took the key. He threw a leg over the Slammer and started the engine. He stood the bike straight, kicked the stand back, and revved the engine. He felt the big S&S Sidewinder rumbling beneath him. He looked over at Connie; her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her words over the engine.

"What?"

She stepped closer. "I said, I like your hair long."

"The Samson theory."

And she kissed him. On the lips.

Cassie wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly. He shifted into gear and drove down the sidewalk and onto South Congress. He accelerated and felt the wind on his face, and he heard the girl scream with delight. And Andy Prescott thought,
I might not be much of a lawyer, but I'm her lawyer. And her secrets will always be safe with me.

BOOKS BY MARK GIMENEZ

Available now in e-book:

The Color of Law

The Abduction

The Perk

The Common Lawyer

Accused

Available in e-book on December 1, 2011:

The Governor's Wife

And Mark's first children's book,

Parts & Labor: Book One of the Adventures of Max Dugan

Praise for Mark's books

THE COLOR OF LAW

No. 6,
Sunday Times
paperback list (UK)

No. 28,
New York Times
hardback list

Amazon's Top 10 Mystery & Thriller List, 2005

Finalist, 2005 Thriller Award for Best First Novel

Finalist, 2005 Gumshoe Award for Best First Novel

Alan Cheuse's (NPR/All Things Considered) 2005 Holiday Booklist.

Top 10 of 2006, CrimeSquad.com (UK)

"First novelist Gimenez draws on his experience as an attorney in this taut legal thriller that echoes
To Kill a Mockingbird
. With fast-paced and edgy prose, dramatic tête-à-têtes between attorneys, and an explosive courtroom conclusion, Gimenez effectively weaves elements of race, class, and justice into a story of a lawyer who rediscovers the difference between doing good and doing well."

-
Library Journal
(starred review)

"Gimenez delivers an authentically creepy debut novel. A big part of this thriller's appeal is its moral backbone… . This is a well-calibrated contemporary morality play, set in get-rich-quick Dallas, with tours of country clubs and gated communities, and knowledgeable forays into Darwinian legal tactics. Gimenez also gives us a hateful character who becomes more sympathetic the more he fails. Fast-paced and thought-provoking fare."

-
Booklist
(starred review)

"
The Color of Law
is an unbeatable legal thriller with a lot of heart."

-
Texas Monthly

"Gimenez makes his debut with a legal thriller based in Big D that will keep you on the edge of your seat… . 'The Color of Law' is full of twists and turns into the dark side of human nature with a final courtroom scene straight from 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' "