Mark Gimenez: Accused

Option B, he could embark on a new life as a federal judge and a $169,000 salary-a professional life of seeing justice done-and a personal life of financial security, life and health insurance-including dental-paid vacations, and a fully-funded pension. He could be proud of his life and provide for his daughters. It would be a good life. A perfect life for United States District Judge A. Scott Fenney. Option B, however, required the support of the two Republican U.S. senators from Texas and Senate confirmation. Even with Judge Buford backing him, it was far from a sure thing.

Option C, he could continue his current life of losing lost causes and not making enough money to pay the mortgage, cover the office overhead, take the girls on vacation, save for college, or buy braces for Pajamae.

He crossed out Option C.

Scott had often driven around Dallas in the Ferrari whenever he needed to think things out. Funny, but he didn't seem to think as well in a Jetta. He parked and walked into the law offices of Fenney Herrin Douglas, an old two-story Victorian house located just south of Highland Park, and found the firm's entire staff gathered around the front desk. They looked like the cast from Lost: Bobby Herrin, thirty-eight, the short, chubby character with thinning hair and a pockmarked face, always handy with a witty remark… Karen Douglas, Bobby's whip-smart and very pretty love-interest character (and now spouse), ten years his junior and seven months' pregnant with their first child… Carlos Hernandez, twenty-eight, the Latino character oozing machismo from every pore of his tattooed brown skin, six feet tall and two hundred pounds of muscle, dressed in black leather pants and a black T-shirt tight around his torso, studying to be a paralegal and the firm's Spanish translator… and Louis Wright, thirty years old, the gentle giant black character with the gold-toothed smile, the firm's driver and the Fenney family's self-appointed bodyguard. Their expressions were somber, as if they had just been told they would never get off this island.

"Hey, guys, it's not the first case we lost."

"We lost?"

Scott sighed. "Yeah, Bobby, we lost."

"Guess we don't get paid this month," Carlos said.

Louis shot Carlos a sharp look.

"Don't worry, Carlos, I'll figure something out."

No one said anything.

" What? "

The others glanced at Bobby as if he had drawn the black bean then abruptly turned and headed to their respective offices. Before disappearing around the corner, Louis said, "Mr. Fenney, appreciate the new book."

Pajamae would not call him Dad, and Louis would not call him Scott.

"That Fitzgerald dude," Louis said. "He's pretty good." Louis stood tall and recited like a Shakespearean actor: " 'So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.' "

F. Scott had been right: life seemed to beat A. Scott back into his past.

"Very good, Louis."

Louis seemed proud as he walked out of the room.

"What's this month's book club selection?" Bobby said.

Louis's formal education had ended with ninth grade, but he yearned for knowledge. So Scott had introduced him to books. Louis had developed a real passion for reading. Each month, Scott gave him a new book. Last month it was The Great Gatsby. This month it was-

" No Country for Old Men. "

"Good book. Movie, too."

Scott climbed the stairs to his office. Bobby followed, smacking the gum he had taken to chewing to quit smoking now that he was going to be a father.

"Billy," he said.

Baby names. They were going to have a boy.

"Billy Herrin," Scott said. "Sounds like a shortstop."

"Joe?"

"Maybe."

"Sid?"

"No!"

Scott and Bobby had grown up together, two renters in Highland Park. Scott's football heroics had opened the door to success in Dallas for him, at least for a while. Bobby hadn't been a football star, so the door had been shut in his face. After SMU law school, Scott had gone on to a partnership at Ford Stevens, Bobby to a storefront in East Dallas. After eleven years on career paths heading in opposite directions, they had reconnected two years ago for the McCall murder case. They had practiced law together since. They now entered Scott's office.

"Uh, Scotty, on the news this morning-"

"Bobby, you're not going to believe what Buford wants to do."

"What?"

"Put me up for federal judge, to replace him."

" No shit? Wow, that's, uh, that's great, Scotty."

Bobby had stopped smacking his gum. Scott saw the concern on his friend's face. Bobby was about to become a father and the "Fenney" in "Fenney Herrin Douglas" might leave the firm. They were barely making it now; without their lead lawyer, they wouldn't make it at all.

"Bobby, a federal judge gets to hire his own staff attorneys, like you and Karen. And a paralegal like Carlos and a… well, I'll have to figure out a position for Louis."

"So we'd be federal employees?"

"With benefits."

"Maternity?"

"I'm sure-it's the federal government."

"I've never had a job with benefits. Course, I've never had a real job."

"Well, you will now."

"If you get confirmed."

"A minor obstacle."

"With two Republican senators? I won't count my benefits just yet. What about our clients?"

"Civil rights claims are federal cases tried before federal judges."

Scott settled in behind his desk, leaned back in his chair, and kicked his feet up. Bobby sat across from him. They were quiet, both considering their legal futures. Scott gazed at the gleaming downtown skyline framed in the window like a portrait. Once again, downtown Dallas beckoned to A. Scott Fenney. But would he return to a corner office on the sixty-second floor or to a judge's chambers in the federal courthouse? To $1 million or $169,000? To Ford Fenney or as Judge Fenney? To money or justice? Two years before, he had faced the same choice; he had chosen justice. Which decision had cost him everything he had once held dear, including his wife. Everything except his daughter. But it had given him another daughter and another life, if not another wife. He would make the same choice again. And he would make the same choice now.

"You'll be a good judge, Scotty."

"Thanks, Bobby. So what were you saying?"

"Oh… yeah."

Bobby's jaws worked the gum hard again. He exhaled heavily.

"There was a murder down in Galveston and she's been arrested and charged-"

"She who?"

Bobby opened his mouth to answer, but Scott's phone rang. He held up a finger to Bobby then put the receiver to his ear and said, "Scott Fenney." He heard a heavy sigh, almost a cry, then a voice he hadn't heard in twenty-two months and eight days.

"Scott-it's Rebecca. I need you."

They would spend their summer vacation on Galveston Island.

It was the following Monday morning, and Scott wasn't thinking about Ford Fenney or Judge Fenney. He was thinking about Rebecca Fenney. His ex-wife was sitting in the Galveston County Jail, charged with the murder of Trey Rawlins. The man his wife had left him for was now dead.

Scott was driving the Jetta south on Interstate 45 through East Texas. Consuela was sitting in the passenger's seat and quietly saying the rosary-she was deathly afraid of Texas highways-and Boo and Pajamae were watching a Hannah Montana DVD on their portable player in the back seat while little Maria sucked on a pink pacifier and slept peacefully in her car seat between them. In the rearview Scott saw Bobby and Karen in their blue Prius, and behind them, Carlos and Louis in the black Dodge Charger.

"Good God Almighty, Mr. Fenney, what the heck is that?"

Pajamae was pointing out the left side of the car at a six-story-tall white statue overlooking the interstate like a giant observing his toy cars speeding past.