Kelly followed me into my office and closed the door.  I was about to offer her a raise, thinking that she was going to tell me she was quitting.  Why else would she close the door?  But, she said in a whisper, “There’s a woman out there,” nodding toward the waiting room.  “She didn’t call to make an appointment; just showed up wanting to see you.  Do you know anything about this?”

“No, did she tell you her name?”

“Yeah, Taneesha Rickins.  You know her?”

“Never heard of her.  Do I have anything scheduled in the next half hour or so?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s Monday and the country club is closed, so send her in.  But if I call you and ask if Judge Crater called, tell me I have to go see him right away, got it?”

“Who’s Judge Crater?”

“Oh, he was just some judge in New York ... Joseph Crater ... disappeared without a trace in 1930 ... nobody’s seen nor heard from him since.”

She just shook her head from side to side as she left the room.  Kelly returned ushering a light-skinned, well-endowed African-American woman with a serious attitude into my office.  Her dyed-blonde hair was done up in cornrows; she was wearing tight-fitting jeans and very high, spiked heals.  Her tight fitting top was a perfect display case for her bountiful chest.

“Hi, Bruce West ... how you doin’?” I said as I reached out my hand to her.

“I be ahright,” she responded, but didn’t extend her hand.

“You’re Taneesha Rickins, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a seat, Taneesha.  What can I do for you?”

“I be here ‘bout my son, Deon,” she began as she was sitting down.  “I were sent by Davon Johnson.  He be ma cousin.  He tol’ me youze a good lawyer and da’s what I be needin’ ... a good lawyer.”

“Oh yeah, he called and told us he was referring you. How are Davon and Tavon?  I haven’t seen them for a while.  They staying out of trouble?”

“Yeah, far as I knows dey is.”

“So what kind of trouble is your son in?”

“He been ‘rested fo’ breakin’ in some lady house and stealin’ her money.  Dey said wid a knife.”

“When did that happen?”

“I thinks it were like April fourth, or fifth.”

“Where is he now? … Deon, right?”

“He be locked up at de city jail.  Sheeyt, he on’y be outta jail ‘bout a couple a weeks and now he done landed hisself right back in.”

“How long had he been in?”

“I think he got sentenced ta three years and got out afta ‘bout eighteen muntz.

“What did he do to get sentenced to three years?”

“Same kinda shit.”

“Has he had a bail review hearing, or is one scheduled?”

“Don’t matter none.  We ain’t got no money for no bail, so he gonna jus’ haffa rot dere ‘till he go to court.”

“Do you have his charging documents?”

“Uh-uh ... he still got ‘em.”

“You know, if he’s found guilty of an armed robbery, he could get twenty years of hard time ...  especially as a second offender.  How old is he?”

“He jus’ turn twuny, an’ he already been locked away twice.”

“So what would you like me to do for him?”

“I wants ya to git ‘em off.”

“How do you suppose I’m going to be able to do that?”

“Sheeyt, you be da lawyer.  Youze sposa be good. My cousin tell me you da best lawyer in town. Davon say you always wins.”

 “That’s because all of my client’s are innocent.”

“Sheeyt, Davon wunt innocent.  Dey caught his ass runnin’ out da sto’ wif a whole rack a clothes.  You got him off.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t have a prior record and his crime wasn’t nearly as serious as breaking into somebody’s house and using a weapon to rob them,” I replied with a smile on my face.

I smiled, remembering the Johnson twins, Davon and Tavon.  They came to the office dressed in purple suits.  When Davon told me he thought he’d get off because nobody would be able to figure out whether it was him or his brother who got caught and I told him the judge might put both of them in jail, he said, “He can’t do that, can he?” I had replied, “You bet your purple ass he can!”

“Well, dey din’ even ketch Deon doin’ nuffin’.  He were in his bed sleepin’ when dey busted in and ‘rested him ... tore up bofa ma doors in a middle a the night ...  come crashin' in an' I don’ know what I s’pose a do ‘bout that.”

“So then why do they think he did it?”

“That’s wha’ I don’ know.  Dat lady say it were him, is why, I guesses.”

“What time was this robbery supposed to have happened?”

“I ain’ sure zackly … I thinks maybe the same  night they ‘rested ‘um. You gotta aks Deon.”

“Well, I can’t ask him, because he’s not here.”

“Den I guesses you gotta go over to the jail and’ aks ‘em.”

“I don’t go to the jail until I’ve been paid to represent him.”

“Ha much dat gonna cost?”

“Without knowing more than what you’ve told me and without having seen his charging papers, I would estimate about six thousand dollars.”  I thought to myself that she doesn’t have any money anyway, so I might as well start high.  I could always come down.  I was starting to learn.

“Six thousan’ dollars!  You outta yo’ fuckin’ mind?  Where da fuck you think I’ze gonna come up wit dat kinda money, Sheeyt!”

“What did you think it would cost for the best lawyer in town to represent him for a serious felony charge?”

“I sure as shit din’ think it woul’ cos’ nuffin’ like dat.  Sheeyt, you on’y charge my cousin a thousan’.”

“Oh, I didn’t have to worry about getting him off, because he wasn’t charged with a serious felony and he had no prior record.  So, I didn’t have to worry about him.  But, your son is a different story.  He could get twenty years for an armed robbery and I would have to worry a lot about him if he got found guilty.  You’d want me to worry about him, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, but six thousan’?”

“I charge a whole lot more for worrying. The more I’ve got to worry, the more I’ve got to charge.  How much did you pay for the lawyer that represented him the last time?”

“Nuffin’. . . we used de public ‘fender.”

“See, you got what you paid for—nothing!  He sure as hell didn’t worry about your son.”

“Yeah, but ain’ no way I can come up wit no six thousan’.”

“How much can you come up with?”

“Sheeyt, man. I be on welfare, an’ my bruva hep me out some, but I cain’ come up wit nuffin’ like dat.”

“Where does your brother get his money?  Does he have a job?”

“I dunno and I doesn’ aks.”

Umhumm, I thought to myself. That means he’s a drug dealer, so if I play hardball, they’ll come up with enough for me to worry about Deon.  “Well, we got some time to figure this out,” I said. “So why don’t you talk it over with your brother, see what you can come up with and let me know?”

“You take payments?”

“Sorry, I don’t take payments.  My payment plan is a hundred percent down and no monthly installments.  I don’t move from behind this desk until my fee is paid up front—in cash.”

“Let me aks you sumpn’?”

“What?”

“You married?”

“No and I’m not looking for a wife either.”

“Can I be frank wit y’all?”

“Sure.”

“Ya’ll be a good lookin’ man—fo’ a white dude, I mean.”

“Thanks.”

“You likes ma tits?”

“What?”

“You ain’ deaf is ya? I aksed if you likes ma tits?”

“Well I’ve never seen them, so I don’t know.”

“Well, you sho’ been starin’ at ‘em, but I be glad to show ‘em to ya.”

“I’d love to see them, but not right now ... I mean ... not while it’s still light out.  What do your tits have to do with this, anyway?”

“How ‘bout I gives ya  a blow-job an’ pay ya out dat way?”
         Are you fucking kidding me? I thought.    “Are you Jewish?” I asked.

“Sheeyt,  de on’y Jew nigga I eva heard a was Sammy Davis, Jr.  You knows damn well I ain’ no Jew.”

“Oh, well I’m really sorry, because I only let Jewish women give me blow-jobs,” I lied, feeling instant pangs of guilt for lying to Taneesha.  It wasn’t like I was suffering from a memory lapse. It had only been two days since I let Megan do that.  “But I am curious; how much do you charge for that service?” I asked.

“Twuny-five.”

“Twenty-five,” I repeated. “Lets see, if you raised your fee to … let’s say ... fifty ... ” I divided six thousand by fifty on a piece of scratch paper and continued, “You’d only have to suck one hundred-twenty dicks to make six thousand dollars.  So, why don’t you find a hundred and twenty guys and give them blow-jobs? Then, you’d be able to pay my fee.”

“You be missin’ out.  I gives good head. I suck yo’ dick once, you keep comin’ back fo’ mo’.”

“I’ll bet you do and I probably would. I’m going to give it some serious consideration.  In the meantime, you go talk to your brother and think about what I told you.  Call me and let me know if you want me to represent your son.  Please tell your cousins, Davon and Tavon, I asked about them.”

I escorted her out to the elevator.  On the way back to my office I asked Kelly to get Jerry Sanders on the phone.  A few seconds later, she called me on the intercom.  “Jerry on line two.”

I picked up the phone.  “Hey, Jerry, let me ask you something.  Can you get AIDS from a blow-job?”

“Depends—you givin’ or gettin’?”