his friend, Ruffles.”
“
Mister
Ruffles,” protested Mr. Ruffles, flapping his wings.
“Ms. Lord doesn't understand creative lawyering,” Steve said.
“Mr. Solomon doesn't understand
ethics.
”
Judge Gridley exhaled a long sigh. “When I checked my calendar this morning, it said, ‘State versus Pedrosa,' not ‘Solomon versus Lord.'” He leaned back in his leather chair. “You two remind me of a couple beagles I have on my farm outside Ocala. One male, one female, always yapping and nipping, raising general hell. Tried keeping those two apart, but they'd just yowl. See, they couldn't stand each other, but couldn't stand to be apart. They just loved the fight.”
“Loved the fight!” Mr. Ruffles said.
“Then one day, it all stopped.”
“Did the female kill the male?” Victoria asked, hopefully.
The judge cleaned his trifocals on the sleeve of his black robe. “I came out to the barn and found the male humping the bitch, just pumping away on a bale of straw.”
“Humping the bitch,” Mr. Ruffles said.
“If that's the court's order,” Steve said, “we have no choice but to comply.”
“You see what I have to put up with.” Victoria felt her face redden.
“After that, those two dogs stayed as close as hog jowls and black-eyed peas,” the judge said. “Now, I'm not gonna referee you. Y'all want to rut around, find your own barn on your own time.”
“Six o'clock works for me,” Steve said.
He's a juvenile delinquent, Victoria thought. A spoiled brat. She turned her back on him.
“As for the pending issue,” the judge continued, “no dad-gum animal's gonna testify in my courtroom. I'm warning you both. Any attempt to elicit information from the bird will be considered a contempt of court.”
Victoria felt herself exhale.
Ye-ssss!
Solomon wanted to give her trial tips?
Here's a tip for you. Don't mess with Victoria Lord.
“Now, git on back to your places and let's hang the ham in the smokehouse,” the judge said, then gestured for the bailiff to bring in the jury.
On the way to her table, Victoria smiled at Pincher, letting him know she'd won the motion. He nodded his appreciation. Then she felt Steve alongside her.
“Another trial tip, Lord,” he whispered. “In law and in life, sometimes you have to wing it.”
“Thanks a bunch,” she said.
“I have to wing it right now. You know why?”
“I don't care.”
“My client's guilty.”
She stopped short. “What?”
“He imports illegal birds, snakes, big cats. Sells them to zoos and collectors.”
Now she was confused. “You want to plead him out?”
“No way. Pedrosa gives people work, and the animals are healthy and happy.”
“What he does is a crime.”
“A victimless crime,” Steve said. “Pedrosa came to this country with nothing. He's put two kids through college. He's good people.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So you can dismiss the case and spare yourself embarrassment.”
“Forget it.”
“Then I'm not responsible for what happens.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You're going to be a fine lawyer someday, Lord. But not until you find your heart.”
Victoria felt dizzy as she sat down, as if she had plunged through the rabbit hole and just kept falling. Hoping to stem the vertigo, she tried focusing on the sign above the judge's head.
We Who Labor Here Seek Only Truth.
Sure. Solomon seeks to beat her brains in, the judge to beat the point spread, and the jurors to beat the traffic home.
Amancio Pedrosa swore to tell the truth and Steve started asking questions.
“What's your occupation, sir?”
“I run an animal shelter for poor, injured creatures,” Pedrosa said.
And Fidel Castro runs Club Med, Victoria thought.
“So you have birds on your property?” Steve asked.
Pedrosa's eyes welled with tears. “Flamingos with broken legs. Pelicans with fishhooks in their beaks. Egrets that swallow beer-can tabs.”
The jurors seemed stricken, Victoria
“
Mister
Ruffles,” protested Mr. Ruffles, flapping his wings.
“Ms. Lord doesn't understand creative lawyering,” Steve said.
“Mr. Solomon doesn't understand
ethics.
”
Judge Gridley exhaled a long sigh. “When I checked my calendar this morning, it said, ‘State versus Pedrosa,' not ‘Solomon versus Lord.'” He leaned back in his leather chair. “You two remind me of a couple beagles I have on my farm outside Ocala. One male, one female, always yapping and nipping, raising general hell. Tried keeping those two apart, but they'd just yowl. See, they couldn't stand each other, but couldn't stand to be apart. They just loved the fight.”
“Loved the fight!” Mr. Ruffles said.
“Then one day, it all stopped.”
“Did the female kill the male?” Victoria asked, hopefully.
The judge cleaned his trifocals on the sleeve of his black robe. “I came out to the barn and found the male humping the bitch, just pumping away on a bale of straw.”
“Humping the bitch,” Mr. Ruffles said.
“If that's the court's order,” Steve said, “we have no choice but to comply.”
“You see what I have to put up with.” Victoria felt her face redden.
“After that, those two dogs stayed as close as hog jowls and black-eyed peas,” the judge said. “Now, I'm not gonna referee you. Y'all want to rut around, find your own barn on your own time.”
“Six o'clock works for me,” Steve said.
He's a juvenile delinquent, Victoria thought. A spoiled brat. She turned her back on him.
“As for the pending issue,” the judge continued, “no dad-gum animal's gonna testify in my courtroom. I'm warning you both. Any attempt to elicit information from the bird will be considered a contempt of court.”
Victoria felt herself exhale.
Ye-ssss!
Solomon wanted to give her trial tips?
Here's a tip for you. Don't mess with Victoria Lord.
“Now, git on back to your places and let's hang the ham in the smokehouse,” the judge said, then gestured for the bailiff to bring in the jury.
On the way to her table, Victoria smiled at Pincher, letting him know she'd won the motion. He nodded his appreciation. Then she felt Steve alongside her.
“Another trial tip, Lord,” he whispered. “In law and in life, sometimes you have to wing it.”
“Thanks a bunch,” she said.
“I have to wing it right now. You know why?”
“I don't care.”
“My client's guilty.”
She stopped short. “What?”
“He imports illegal birds, snakes, big cats. Sells them to zoos and collectors.”
Now she was confused. “You want to plead him out?”
“No way. Pedrosa gives people work, and the animals are healthy and happy.”
“What he does is a crime.”
“A victimless crime,” Steve said. “Pedrosa came to this country with nothing. He's put two kids through college. He's good people.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So you can dismiss the case and spare yourself embarrassment.”
“Forget it.”
“Then I'm not responsible for what happens.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You're going to be a fine lawyer someday, Lord. But not until you find your heart.”
Victoria felt dizzy as she sat down, as if she had plunged through the rabbit hole and just kept falling. Hoping to stem the vertigo, she tried focusing on the sign above the judge's head.
We Who Labor Here Seek Only Truth.
Sure. Solomon seeks to beat her brains in, the judge to beat the point spread, and the jurors to beat the traffic home.
Amancio Pedrosa swore to tell the truth and Steve started asking questions.
“What's your occupation, sir?”
“I run an animal shelter for poor, injured creatures,” Pedrosa said.
And Fidel Castro runs Club Med, Victoria thought.
“So you have birds on your property?” Steve asked.
Pedrosa's eyes welled with tears. “Flamingos with broken legs. Pelicans with fishhooks in their beaks. Egrets that swallow beer-can tabs.”
The jurors seemed stricken, Victoria
Similar Books
