The Simple Truth

Just a little pretrial motion in a dime-a-dozen case. The big man has better things to do with his time, dont you, Bobby? said Fiske.

Maybe I had an inkling that you were going to chew up and spit out one of my baby lawyers. It wouldnt have been so easy if youd been up against a real attorney.

Who, like you?

With a wry smile, Graham put the unlit cigarette in his mouth. Here we are, living in arguably the damned tobacco capital of the world, the biggest cigarette manufacturing facility on the planet just a spit on down the road, and one cant even smoke in the halls of justice. He chewed on the end of his unfiltered Pall Mall, noisily sucking in the nicotine. Actually there were still designated smoking areas in the Richmond court building, only not where Graham happened to be standing. The prosecutor let slip a triumphant grin. Oh, by the way, Jerome Hicks was picked up this morning on suspicion of murdering a guy over on Southside. Black on black, drugs involved. Wow, what a surprise. Apparently he wanted to increase his inventory of coke and didnt want to go through the normal acquisition cha

Fiske wearily leaned up against the wall. Court victories were often empty, particularly when your client couldnt keep a lid on his felonious impulses. Really? Thats the first Ive heard about it.

I was coming down here anyway for a pretrial conference, thought Id fill you in. Professional courtesy.

Right, Fiske said dryly. If thats the case, why did you let Paulies motion go forward? When Graham didnt respond, Fiske answered his own question. Just making me jump through the hoops?

A mans got to have some fun with his work.

Fiske balled up a fist, and then just as quickly he uncurled it. Graham wasnt worth it. Well, as a professional courtesy, were there any eyewitnesses?

Oh, about a half dozen, murder weapon found in Jeromes car, along with Jerome. He almost ran down two policemen trying to get away. Weve got blood, the drugs, the whole candy store, really. Guy shouldnt have been granted bail in the first place. Anyway, Ive a mind to drop this rinky-dink distribution charge youre representing him on and just focus on this new development. Got to maximize my scarce resources. Hicks is a bad one, John. I think were go

Capital case? Come on, Bobby.

The willful, deliberate and premeditated killing of any person in the commission of a robbery equals capital murder equals death penalty. At least thats what my Virginia statute book says.

I dont give a shit what the law says, hes only eighteen years old.

Grahams face tensed. Fu

The laws a sieve I have to slip my facts through, because my facts always suck.

Theyre scum. Come out of the womb looking to hurt people. We oughta start building baby prisons before the sonsofbitches can really hurt anybody.

Jerome Hickss entire life can be summed up

Right, blame it on his piss-poor childhood,

Graham interrupted. Same old story.

Thats right,sameold story. Graham smiled and shook his head. Look, I didnt grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth, okay? Wanta know my secret? I worked my ass off. If I can do it, they damn well can too. Case closed.

Fiske started to walk off and then looked back. Let me take a look at the arrest report and Ill call you.

We got nothing to talk about.

Killing him wont get you the AG slot, Bobby, you know that. Aim higher. Fiske turned and walked away. Graham twisted the cigarette between his fingers. Try getting a real job, Fiske. *����*����* A half hour later, John Fiske was at a suburban county jail meeting with one of his clients. His practice often took him outside of Richmond, to the counties of Henrico, Chesterfield, Hanover, even Goochland. His ever-expanding pool of work was not something he was particularly pleased about, but it was like the sun rising. It would continue until the day it stopped for good.

Ive got a plea to talk to you about, Derek.

Derek Brown or DB1, as he was known on the street was a light-ski

ACAs offered malicious wounding, Class Three felony.

Why not Class Six?

Fiske stared at him. These guys were in and out of the criminal system so often they knew the criminal code better than most lawyers.

Class Six is heat of the moment. Your heat came the next day.

He had a gun. I aint going up against Pack when he got his shooter and I aint got mine. What, you stupid?

Fiske wanted to reach across and wipe the mans attitude right off his face. Sorry, the Commonwealth isnt budging from Class Three.

How much time? Derek said stonily. His ears were pierced, by Fiskes count twelve times.

Five, with time already served.

Bullshit. Five years for cutting somebody a little with a damn pocketknife?

Stiletto, six-inch blade. And you stabbed him ten damn times. In front of witnesses.

Shit, he was feeling up my bitch. Aint that a defense?

Youre lucky youre not looking at murder in the first, Derek. The docs said it was a miracle the guy didnt bleed to death right there on the street. And if Pack werent such a dangerous slimeball you wouldnt just be looking at malicious wounding either. You couldve been looking at aggravated malicious wounding. Thats twenty to life. You know that.

Messing with my bitch. Derek leaned forward and popped his bony knuckles to emphasize the absolute logic of both his legal and moral positions. Derek had a good-paying job, Fiske knew, albeit an illegal one. He was a first lieutenant for the number two drug distribution ring in Richmond, hence his street name of DB1. Turbo was the boss, all of twenty-four years old. His empire was well organized, discipline enforced, and included the facade of legality with dry-cleaning operations, a caf�a pawnshop, and a stable of accountants and lawyers to deal with the drug funds after they had been laundered. Turbo was a very smart young man, good head for numbers and business. Fiske had always wanted to ask him why he didnt try ru