nodded. "Sophomore."
"Speeding ticket?"
Another nod. "In a school zone."
"Ouch."
"My fifth ticket. My dad'll go apeshit 'cause they'll raise my insurance premiums … again. He said one more ticket, and he'd take the car back. It's a Z."
"Coupe?"
"Roadster. Graduation present."
"You're only a sophomore."
"High school graduation."
Her proud parents had given her a $40,000 Nissan Z Roadster convertible for getting through high school; she wanted desperately to keep her fine ride. Which presented Andy with an ethical dilemma: he could represent Britney Banks pro bono , get her ticket dismissed, and possibly snag a date with her; or, he could charge his standard fee—$100—and be that much closer to a replacement trail bike. On the one hand, she would be the most beautiful girl he had ever dated; on the other hand, he could not bear the thought of being on the trail-biking sideline for long—by Sunday, he'd be suffering withdrawal. He pondered the possibilities for a moment. What were the odds that she would actually go out with him, considering that (a) she drove a Z, and he rode a Huffy; (b) she was probably a regular at the trendy lounges downtown, and he wasn't allowed past the red velvet ropes; and (c) she had a rich daddy, and he would be a poor date? He sighed then doubled his fee. Her daddy could afford it.
"For two hundred cash, I'll get your ticket dismissed."
She turned that stunning face his way.
"You can do that?"
"Yep."
"And what if you don't?"
"No charge."
She smiled. "Okay."
"When did you get the ticket?"
"Spring semester. I couldn't let my dad find out, so I called the number on the ticket and asked if they could postpone the hearing until this semester. The cop had gone on maternity leave, so they said okay."
"Would you recognize the cop who gave you the ticket?"
"Sure."
"You see him here?"
"Her … maternity leave. And no. So what do I do now?"
Andy held out his right hand again. She took it with her left hand and smiled at him, as if they were sweethearts holding hands. Okay, Britney probably wasn't on the Dean's List.
"No. Pay me the two hundred."
"Oh."
She removed her hand and pulled her wallet out of her purse; it was thick with green bills. She gave him two brand new $100 bills sharp enough to slice a brisket. He stuffed the bills into his jeans. He was now two hundred dollars closer to a replacement trail bike.
But her legs were incredible.
Britney Banks had stumbled onto the secret behind a successful traffic ticket defense in much the same way Andy Prescott had: by necessity. Back during his first year of law school, he had gotten a speeding ticket driving Tres' Beemer. Much like Britney's father, Tres also would have gone apeshit if he had found out, and Andy had had no money to pay the fine. So he had studied the Rules of the Municipal Court of the City of Austin. Then he had requested a trial and was informed that there would be a minimum one-year delay due to the heavy backlog of cases; a trial by jury would be a two-year delay. He immediately requested a jury trial. When his case finally came to trial in his third year of law school, Andy went to court prepared to lose; but the cop didn't show. Without the cop's testimony to prove up the ticket, the prosecution failed. His ticket was dismissed.
And his career was born.
Now, for $100 cash, Andy guaranteed his clients a dismissal of their tickets; if he failed, he would pay the fines. In every case, he requested a trial by jury; he asked for continuances; he delayed the trial date for as long as possible. Two years later, when the trial date arrived, the cop always failed to show, for any number of reasons: he had died, retired, or quit the force; he was ill that day; he was working overtime on real crime; or he had just forgotten. No cop, no testimony, no conviction, no fine, no ticket on his client's record, no increased insurance premium. Case dismissed. Andy had handled over six hundred traffic tickets. Not once
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