don’t mind, if you feel uncomfortable telling him to fuck off.”
“I don’t want you to do my job. I’ve been around here long enough to handle things on my own. I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”
“Go with your gut. If he was really your friend, he wouldn’t put you in this posi—”
“Hey, Sully.”
Connie turned to see a tall, beefy, red-faced Peter Fitzpatrick coming out of the second session. The man’s gym membership had obviously expired some time ago.
“Let him know how things work around here,” Connie said under his breath, through a forced smile of greeting. “Tell him that you don’t hand out favors.” Connie could feel the muscles in his jaw tensing up. The thought of someone using a friendship, trying to curry favor, using political connections for personal gain—all of it went against everything he believed in, everything the system stood for.
Brendan stepped toward Fitzpatrick to shake hands. He was just as tall as the senator’s son, but Brendan was thick with muscle, not bloat.
“C’mon, Sully, do me this one,” Connie heard Fitzpatrick say.
“You know I can’t do that, Pete,” Brendan said. “I have to treat every defendant the same, no matter who his lawyer is.”
“It’s not like that, Sully. My client’s not a bad guy. If he gets a conviction, it’ll end his career. He’s a union carpenter. Needs his car and license to get to work. A cocaine distribution and they’ll yank his license. It’s a felony conviction. Sully, he shared some coke with a friend and an undercover saw it go down. I’m just asking you to cut him some slack and break it down to a straight possession, a misdemeanor. Then maybe I can get the judge to let him plead to sufficient facts. I don’t want him to end up with a guilty on his record.”
The two men exchanged a few words Connie couldn’t make out, and then he heard Brendan, his voice louder, firmer. “This is a legitimate distribution case. It doesn’t matter if he sold the stuff or shared it, it’s still a distribution. How can I reduce it to a possession?”
“In order to distribute it, he had to have possessed it first. It’s not illogical.”
“I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.” Brendan shook his head. “If my supervisor found out I did something like that for an old friend from Southie, she’d stick me in arraignments for a year. If the judge figured it out…”
Connie admired how Brendan looked directly at Peter Fitzpatrick, how he kept his hand on the man’s elbow, how he sounded pained to deliver the bad news. Here was a man who knew how to avoid an ugly confrontation. Most of all, he was a man of principle.
“Sully, I’ve never asked you for anything before,” Fitzpatrick said.
“I like it that way.” Brendan let go of Fitzpatrick’s elbow and took a step back.
“This guy is popular in the union.” Fitzpatrick nodded his head toward his client—a tense, wiry man, uncomfortable with his combed hair and his shirt and tie—who had come out of the courtroom and was standing by the balcony glaring at them.
“Gee, I wonder why?” Brendan said sarcastically.
“It’s not because of the drugs. He’s not a dealer. He’s a regular guy with a habit. And the union leaders like him. They actually hired me to help the kid out. They want him to get help. If I can get him off without a guilty, it makes me look good. The guys at the union are going to hear about what a nice job I did. Bring more work in for me and the old man.”
“You’re not the one that’s going to lose your career.”
“But it’s not going to make you look bad for your boss or for the judge either. They’ll think you’re being reasonable.”
“Sorry, Pete,” Brendan said firmly. Connie could see that he felt bad saying no to a friend.
“C’mon, Brendan,” Fitzpatrick said, almost begging. “Do the right thing. He’s not the typical guy you see in this court. He’s like you and me,
“I don’t want you to do my job. I’ve been around here long enough to handle things on my own. I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”
“Go with your gut. If he was really your friend, he wouldn’t put you in this posi—”
“Hey, Sully.”
Connie turned to see a tall, beefy, red-faced Peter Fitzpatrick coming out of the second session. The man’s gym membership had obviously expired some time ago.
“Let him know how things work around here,” Connie said under his breath, through a forced smile of greeting. “Tell him that you don’t hand out favors.” Connie could feel the muscles in his jaw tensing up. The thought of someone using a friendship, trying to curry favor, using political connections for personal gain—all of it went against everything he believed in, everything the system stood for.
Brendan stepped toward Fitzpatrick to shake hands. He was just as tall as the senator’s son, but Brendan was thick with muscle, not bloat.
“C’mon, Sully, do me this one,” Connie heard Fitzpatrick say.
“You know I can’t do that, Pete,” Brendan said. “I have to treat every defendant the same, no matter who his lawyer is.”
“It’s not like that, Sully. My client’s not a bad guy. If he gets a conviction, it’ll end his career. He’s a union carpenter. Needs his car and license to get to work. A cocaine distribution and they’ll yank his license. It’s a felony conviction. Sully, he shared some coke with a friend and an undercover saw it go down. I’m just asking you to cut him some slack and break it down to a straight possession, a misdemeanor. Then maybe I can get the judge to let him plead to sufficient facts. I don’t want him to end up with a guilty on his record.”
The two men exchanged a few words Connie couldn’t make out, and then he heard Brendan, his voice louder, firmer. “This is a legitimate distribution case. It doesn’t matter if he sold the stuff or shared it, it’s still a distribution. How can I reduce it to a possession?”
“In order to distribute it, he had to have possessed it first. It’s not illogical.”
“I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.” Brendan shook his head. “If my supervisor found out I did something like that for an old friend from Southie, she’d stick me in arraignments for a year. If the judge figured it out…”
Connie admired how Brendan looked directly at Peter Fitzpatrick, how he kept his hand on the man’s elbow, how he sounded pained to deliver the bad news. Here was a man who knew how to avoid an ugly confrontation. Most of all, he was a man of principle.
“Sully, I’ve never asked you for anything before,” Fitzpatrick said.
“I like it that way.” Brendan let go of Fitzpatrick’s elbow and took a step back.
“This guy is popular in the union.” Fitzpatrick nodded his head toward his client—a tense, wiry man, uncomfortable with his combed hair and his shirt and tie—who had come out of the courtroom and was standing by the balcony glaring at them.
“Gee, I wonder why?” Brendan said sarcastically.
“It’s not because of the drugs. He’s not a dealer. He’s a regular guy with a habit. And the union leaders like him. They actually hired me to help the kid out. They want him to get help. If I can get him off without a guilty, it makes me look good. The guys at the union are going to hear about what a nice job I did. Bring more work in for me and the old man.”
“You’re not the one that’s going to lose your career.”
“But it’s not going to make you look bad for your boss or for the judge either. They’ll think you’re being reasonable.”
“Sorry, Pete,” Brendan said firmly. Connie could see that he felt bad saying no to a friend.
“C’mon, Brendan,” Fitzpatrick said, almost begging. “Do the right thing. He’s not the typical guy you see in this court. He’s like you and me,
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