Dead Man's Thoughts Read Online Free Page A

keeping them out of jail isn’t enough.”
    â€œHell, Nathan, I’ll settle for that. But I see what you mean. I just think you go too far. Having clients come to your apartment isn’t the smartest thing to do.”
    â€œI don’t do it often. But the office isn’t open on weekends, and sometimes that’s the best time to get a kid and a program together.”
    â€œHave you had much luck?”
    â€œHad a case recently. Di Anci,” Nathan gestured toward the now-empty bench, “was going to put my kid in for six months. Horrible probation report. The worst. But I convinced him to let me work on a program.”
    â€œFound one yet that’ll take him?”
    â€œNo, but at least the kid’s out of jail while I look.”
    â€œUntil he gets busted again.”
    â€œCynic.”
    â€œBleeding-heart.” We both smiled. It would have been a moment to end with a kiss if we’d been alone.
    Di Anci burst back into the courtroom, took the bench, and said, “All right, let’s go. Haven’t we wasted enough time?” Dick, the bridgeman, gave him a sour look; it hadn’t been his idea to take a break. Then he called my 730. It took less than thirty seconds to convince Di Anci that the guy was a wacko. The cop took the guy back inside to wait for the padded wagon. He was still singing his little song.
    Boynton came out next. The little man looked even smaller flanked by a court officer. He was trembling, his hands in fists inside his pockets. The court officer behind him said nastily, “Take those hands out of your pockets.” Boynton jerked them out as though his pockets were on fire and let them hang at his sides as if they belonged to someone else. I whispered to him to be cool and stepped up to the bench. I started my pitch for an ACD, told Di Anci he’d move out and leave his wife alone, the whole bit. Then the little D.A. piped up, “Your Honor, this man had a gun. I don’t intend to reduce this case unless he gets jail time.”
    Di Anci gave me a bland look. “Ms. Jameson, what do you have to say to that?”
    I was pissed. The D.A. was being serious in her dumb way. She just didn’t know the score. But Di Anci was playing games, and it was late and I was tired. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Judge, there was no gun. The cops never recovered one. All his wife wants is for him to move out, and he agrees to do that. Give him his ACD.” I knew it was a mistake the minute I’d said the words. I’d made the same dumb move the D.A. had made earlier—telling Di Anci what to do.
    â€œMs. Jameson, it is not necessary for you to talk to this court as though I didn’t know what was what.” Di Anci’s face was rigid with anger. “I understand a lot of things you don’t, like the fact that this man put his wife in fear of her life. Now step down and address yourself to bail.”
    I knew Di Anci’s mood had shifted against me, but I wasn’t sure how far he’d take it out on Boynton. The D.A. pulled out all the stops. The wife was “adamant” about prosecuting. Boynton had a “long record.” He faced “substantial jail time.” The usual litany.
    Finally I got a word in. I pointed out that Boynton’s record was all several years old, that he had a job now, that the gun hadn’t been seen by the cops. It cut no ice with Di Anci. “Bail one thousand dollars.” Boynton sucked his breath in sharply and turned to me, panic on his face.
    I tried another tack. “Judge, this man works. He could lose his job. Can we have a cash alternative?”
    â€œCash alternative is one thousand dollars, Counselor.” He said it as though he were talking to a child, as though it wasn’t obvious.
    Boynton burst out, “Your Honor, I can’t make no thousand dollars. If I don’t be at work tomorrow morning, I won’t have no job. Please