Mistaken Identity

“Warren, this is Be

“The Be

“I’d be honored,” Be

“We know that. We’re objecting.”

“What? You can’t object.”

“We’re opposing, then.”

“You can’t do that either.”

“Well, we… intend to continue our representation.”

“Who’s ‘we’? And why?” Confounded, Be

“Jemison has represented Ms. Co

“Warren, I don’t get it. You want to keep this case? Are you even a criminal lawyer?”

“I attended Yale Law School, where I was a member of the Law Review. My comment, a review of current search and seizure law, was the most requested reprint last year.”

“Last year? Are you a first-year associate?”

“I’ve already taken several depositions and I’ve had an arbitration. Ms. Co

“We’re talking about someone’s life here, Warren.” Be

“That’s just my specialty, one of the services offered by Jemison, Crabbe,” Miller said, but Be

“How did you get on the homicide list anyway, child?”

“There’s no need for that. The captain of our trial team is a former district attorney, Henry Burden. He receives many court appointments. I’ll be trying the case with his guidance.”

“Aha, so Burden is the one on the homicide list and he’s delegated this case to you, is that it?” Still, Be

“I… guess so.”

“Lock and load. I’m looking forward to it.” Be

“Be

“I thought I’d visit you, instead of having you in my office.” Be

“Thanks.”

“Enough small talk?”

DiNunzio smiled. “Yes.”

“Good. How busy are you?”

“I’m in the middle of a Third Circuit brief in Samels. It’s due on Friday, and I have another motion due to Judge Dalzell in Marvell.”

“They’re writing assignments. You got any trials?”

“No.”

“Arbitrations or hearings? Any stand-up time at all?”

“Not recently.”

“You’re starting to sound like a big-firm lawyer. You want trial experience, don’t you? I thought that was the reason you and Carrier came here.”

“It was. I just haven’t felt… ready.” DiNunzio colored slightly, and Be

“You’re ready, Mary. I wouldn’t ask you to do more than you could. You want to be a trial lawyer, don’t you?”

“Yes,” DiNunzio answered quickly, though she had spent most of the morning thinking of new careers. She could be a cat-sitter, a pastry chef, a teacher. Daydreaming about other jobs had become her full-time job. Somebody had to do it. “Sure, I want to be a trial lawyer.”

“Then you can’t keep doing clerk work, can you?”

“No,” Mary answered, though clerk work sounded fine to her. Law clerks never left the library, which cut down significantly on the opportunities for them to sleuth around or get shot at. Clerk work sounded great, even without dental. “I’d love a new case.”

So Be

12

The computer lab at the prison was a shoebox of thick cinderblock, windowless and painted the standard washed-out gray. Inmates sat at the counter of computers and bent over the smudgy keyboards. Alice stood behind them as they powered up the ancient machines, since her gig was to teach computer technology. To Alice, anybody who would give up dealing smoke for word processing needed a course in economics, not computer tech.

A guard stood at the door, his arms linked behind his back, but for the first time it didn’t bother Alice. In the upper corners of the room hung large curved mirrors that hid the surveillance cameras, but even they didn’t bug her anymore. Rosato had called and said to expect an emergency hearing today. Things were starting to happen on her case and happen fast. She was on her way out of this hellhole. Good fucking bye.

Alice folded her arms in satisfaction over the V-neck of her blue cotton top. Navy-blue pants hung loosely on her thin frame, ending in white Keds she’d bought at the shop. Keds had the lowest street-status in the joint, but Alice didn’t give a shit about the things the inmates cared about. One of them had been caught after a family visit trying to smuggle a pair of Air Jordans in her bra. Shouldn’ta pumped it up, Alice had cracked.

“This computer ain’t workin’!” an inmate called out from the seat nearest the door.

Alice ignored the outburst. She had a rule against calling out but the inmates called out all the time. They couldn’t follow basic rules, yet they were supposed to master Microsoft Word.

“Hey, I said, my computer ain’t workin’,” repeated the inmate. It was Shetrell Harting, the leader of the Crips, in a blue do-rag.

Alice pretended not to hear her. She didn’t like Shetrell. Shetrell made her own rules.

“Piece a shit!” Shetrell shouted, and suddenly slapped her monitor with a loud thwap! The monitor wobbled on its base, and the other blue do-rags laughed. The red do-rags frowned, and the Muslims, their heads covered in short white keemar, suffered in holier-than-thou silence. They were all dummies to Alice, who walked over to save Shetrell’s ski

“You gotta problem?” Alice asked, and Shetrell’s banda