Dead Ringer

“How bad were they? Did you distribute Prozac?”

“No, they’re fine. It’s good to share information like that with them. They’re old enough, they should know the kind of pressures that the firm is under.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one I’m worried about. They said you didn’t eat di

“I worked late, and I wasn’t upset. I wanted to draft that complaint. I’m fine.”

“You can’t do everything alone, Be

“God knows,” Be

A half an hour later, she had arrived at the United States Courthouse, which rose like a red-brick monolith among the historic halls and the new Constitution Center. Lawyers, court employees, jurors, and judges flooded into the courthouse this morning, typically busy for a Monday, when new juries were impaneled. Inside, new security measures had forced the slicing up of the courthouse’s formerly generous marble lobby into glass chutes that fu

“Long time no see, Chief,” Be

“Good morning, Be

“No, not really. Why do you say that?”

“Your conduct last night.” The chief judge leaned over, scented with Shalimar and a

“What?” Be

“Please. You disappoint me. Judge Eadeh told me he saw you, in the crowd at the bar. You made quite a scene. He told me they asked you to leave.”

“That’s not true!” Be

“I’m not going to argue with you about it.” The chief waved hello at a passing group of lawyers, then returned her attention to Be

“But, Judge, I didn’t get thrown-”

“Judge Eadeh saw you, and so did Judge Sherman. Are you saying they were lying?”

Judge Sherman, too? “No, of course not, but they must have made a mistake. The bar was crowded. Maybe it was someone who looked like me, but it wasn’t me, I swear it!”

“Be

Be

Be

Be

Be

She reached the office of the district court clerk and opened the double doors into the large office, buzzing with characteristic activity. Facing the entrance was a long Formica counter of fake wood, and behind it fifty-odd court employees hustled back and forth with court documents or keyboarded at their desks in maroon cubicles covered with American flags and Eagles calendars. Be

“Yo, Joe,” she said, settling when she reached the front of the line. Joe Grimassi, the clerk at the counter, greeted her with a smile. He was a twenty-five-year-old in a blue oxford shirt and khakis, and he attended Temple Law at night.

“Hey, Be

“Good.” She reached into her briefcase, slid out a manila folder containing the complaint, the civil cover sheet and the other papers, and her check for the filing fee. “How was your Civ Pro exam?”

“Last semester? I got an A! Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Res judicata’s a bitch.”

“Tell me about it. If it weren’t for you, I’d be screwed. So, what do you have for me today?” Joe held out his hand, and Be

“A class-action complaint. I’m an old dog, learning new lawsuits.”

“I recognize this defendant.” Joe nodded, skimming the caption. “I heard this case is go

Huh? “Already? You’re kidding. From who? Whom?”