Read Online In My Dark Dreams by JF Freedman - Free Book Online

in these circumstances is important.
    I look around. Except for the regular court personnel, no one else is here. “Is anyone else coming? Any friends, or members of his church?”
    She shakes her head. “No. Work.”
    That’s understandable. For people in the Salazar’s financial bracket, missing a day’s pay would be a hardship. “Well, you’re here, and that’s going to make a difference,” I assure her. She needs all the assurance she can get.
    I lead her to the front row and show her where to sit. Then I cross to the other side of the partition. Deputy Ike escorts me to the holding room where Salazar is waiting for me. He looks the worse for wear.
    “How are you?” I greet him.
    “Will I be able to leave today?” he replies, question to my question.
    “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I hope so.”
    He groans. “Why can’t I?”
    You were arrested with stolen goods, pal. This isn’t parochial school, where Sister Mary Martha raps you across the knuckles with her ruler and keeps you in at recess. “It’s up to the judge,” I explain. No matter how many times you tell them the facts of life, it doesn’t penetrate. Like that dumb ass Reggie Morton, whose trial starts tomorrow. “If she gives you bail on your own recognizance, you’ll be out. That means free,” I explain; he’s not going to understand legal terminology. Against my better judgment, I add, “I think she will. She seemed sympathetic yesterday.”
    I have to stop doing that—giving clients hope when I shouldn’t. But I need him to be in a positive frame of mind during this hearing. If he comes in with a hangdog attitude, the game will be over before the opening whistle.
    “Did you talk to Armando?” he asks.
    “No. His cell phone is out of order. Not in service.”
    He jerks, an involuntary spasm. “Really?”
    Christ, he sounds like a kid. “Really.”
    “But I just talked to him, two night ago,” he says.
    “And one night ago, when I tried to talk to him, his phone was no longer connected.”
    He’s completely bewildered at hearing that. “Do you think he knows?” he asks. He sounds like a little lamb who’s lost his mother.
    “That you were arrested with his televisions?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m sure he does,” I answer. Only a man grasping at straws, or a dupe, would ask such a question. Of course Gonzalez found out—either because whoever he was supposed to deliver them to called and asked where they were, or because he (Gonzalez) heard about Salazar’s arrest through the grapevine. Whichever reason it was, he’s nowhere to be found. If I were a private lawyer, and my client had money, I’d hire a detective and track Gonzalez down. But I’m not, and he doesn’t.
    Deputy Ike sticks his head in the door. “Ready?” he asks rhetorically.
    I take Salazar’s arm and pull him to his feet. “You’re humble, but not meek,” I prep him, like a trainer giving a boxer last-minute instructions before the opening bell. “If the judge asks you a question, answer precisely and look her in the eye, but don’t stare. And only answer questions; don’t give opinions. The judge doesn’t care about your ideas on life, liberty, or anything. Leave the driving to me, okay?”
    “Okay,” he parrots. “I trust you.”
    Great.
    We follow Ike into the courtroom. As we walk to the defense table, my counterpart representing the state gives me a perfunctory nod and turns away. He’s going to hang tough. He knows he’s holding the cards and that I don’t have a strong enough hand to bluff him.
    As I guide Salazar to his seat next to mine, I look behind me to make sure his wife is where I left her. She is, but now she isn’t alone. Another woman is sitting with her, holding her hand for support.
    I walk to the railing. The second woman stands to meet me. She is dressed modestly and her makeup is minimally understated, but nonetheless, she is very attractive, in a highbred, almost old-fashioned Katharine Hepburn way.