William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

Jones stood at attention. “I have something I want to discuss with you, Ben. We all do, that is.”

“I don’t like the sound of this already.”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase. We want you to go back on the billable hour.”

“No.”

“Ben, everyone does it.”

“My mother used to say, if everyone jumped off a cliff-”

“Oh, spare me the homilies and look at it from the standpoint of your office manager. You’re a U.S. senator. You’ve defended cases that received national attention. And we still barely make ends meet!”

“The billable hour is the worst thing that ever happened to the legal profession. All it does is stir up a lot of dissatisfaction and suspicion. And it destroys lawyers’ lives. Leaves them no time for pro bono work or mentoring. Drives women out of the profession. Justice Breyer wrote, and I quote, ‘The profession’s obsession with billable hours is like drinking water from a fire hose. The result is that many lawyers are starting to drown.’”

“Excuse me, did I ask for a Ben rant? I’m just trying to put a little change in the Christmas fund.”

“Lawyers got along fine without the billable hour until the nineteen-fifties. They will again. Many corporations are refusing to pay them, demanding flat fees. Consequently, the smart up-and-coming firms are giving them what they want and stealing business from the old guard. Pretty soon-”

“We’ll all live in Cloud-Cuckoo-Land and eat bonbons all day! Honestly, Ben, when are you going to get a clue?”

Ben assaulted Jones with his deadliest weapon, the raised eyebrow. “I think the firm is doing just fine. We charge a fair fee without milking clients with billable hour charts. We make ourselves affordable to those who need help.”

“Oh, I give up!” Jones said, throwing his arms into the air. He marched back to his desk, the usual exasperated expression on his face.

Ben stared at his wake. “He seems upset.”

“Yeah,” Loving agreed, “but he’s happier that way.”

“Think I’ve heard the last of this?”

“Sure. Till tomorrow.”

“Ben,” Christina said, tapping him on the shoulder, “Harvey wants to talk to you about the campaign.”

“Ugh. Can’t I just be a lawyer for a little while?”

“For a very little while, yes. But he has to start making plans.”

“Have him do that. And send me a memo.”

“Also, there’s a client waiting for you in your office.”

“More Legal Services referrals?”

“No. This guy has a little money.”

“How refreshing. Know what he wants?”

“Nary a clue.”

“Well, life is either a great adventure or it is nothing at all. Want to sit in?”

“No, I think the distinguished senator from Oklahoma should meet clients on his own. Besides, I have an appointment to see my personal shopper.”

Ben blinked. “You have a personal shopper?”

Christina took his arm and rubbed her nose against his cheek. “Just since I married you, my little sugar daddy.”

Loving bristled. “I’m so outta here…”

“Why do you need a personal shopper?” Ben asked.

“Because I’m a busy important lawyer woman. Besides…” She grinned. “You think I could pick out clothes like these on my own?”

Ben peered through the window in his office door, stealing a look at the client before the client saw him. His first impression was favorable; the man was not wearing orange coveralls. In fact, he was well dressed and groomed neatly and seemed like a perfectly normal urban professional, the sort you saw hustling about downtown all around Bartlett Square, even now that they had removed the fountain and allowed traffic to drive through it. Ben got the impression that he was smart and educated, which would be a refreshing change of pace.

Too bad Christina hadn’t come in-she was always so good at sizing people up. Then again, he had been practicing law for-how many years now? He was not without intuition. Perhaps he had become too dependent on her. Perhaps it was time he flexed his own muscles…

The man sitting in his office had an air of confidence about him, which suggested that he was not here on a criminal matter. Some sort of business affair. Judging from his dress, his briefcase, and especially his shoes, Ben surmised that he owned his own business. He was wearing glasses and had two pens in his shirt pocket. No pocket protector, but still, he screamed computer industry. A software company, probably. That was the avenue many young go-getters had traveled to recent success. So what was his problem?

If he wasn’t in trouble, it must be an employee. Contract dispute? Sexual harassment? No, Ben had it-immigration law. Not long ago, Oklahoma’s extremely conservative legislature had passed the strictest immigration laws in the country, much to the dismay of most local businesses. Thanks to 1804, as the law was called familiarly, it was a felony to transport or shelter illegal immigrants. Employers could have their business licenses revoked for hiring illegal immigrants, even if they subsequently became legal to work. They were forced to fire employees, even when they weren’t sure if they were legal. Since the law passed, more than twenty-five thousand immigrants had left Tulsa County alone, many of them legal citizens with illegal family members. With a smaller pool of workers, higher prices and wages soon resulted. Some predicted this would spur the greatest economic disaster for the state since the Dust Bowl.

Yes, that had to be it. And that was fine. Ben would be happy to deal with anything as calm and rational as an immigration problem. It would be a welcome change of pace, in fact.

“Good afternoon,” Ben said as he entered the office, extending his hand. “I’m Benjamin Kincaid.” They exchanged introductions.

“How can I help you?” He grinned a little. “An immigration difficulty, perhaps?”

The client leaned forward. “I was wondering if you could arrange a pardon for me.”

Ben stared at the man. “You say you want-a pardon?”

“Yes. Someone killed my wife. And no one is doing anything about it. So I wondered if you could arrange a pardon in the event that… someone does.”

Ben fell into his chair. Maybe it would be better to leave the character assessments to Christina, after all.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thomas, but I don’t have the power to grant pardons.”

“I thought maybe you could put in a good word with the governor who appointed you. Or the president. You worked with him on that constitutional amendment, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t think he liked the way it came out.”

“The governor would be sufficient.”

Ben stared at the man, wondering where to begin. He had been right on one point-Dennis Thomas was smart and was well educated. He taught Victorian literature at the University of Tulsa, which had one of the finest English faculties in the nation. But on this subject, he was clearly not objective. Possibly not even rational. “I hope you’re not contemplating doing something… extreme.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not here to help people get away with crimes of revenge.”

“Aren’t you a lawyer?”

“Yes…”

“And you handle murder cases?”

Ben felt his heart speed up a beat. “Well, yes…”

“You got that senator off.”

“He was innocent.”

“Yeah. Look, all I want is a pardon. I don’t think I should have to spend the rest of my life in jail because some bastard cop killed my wife.”

“Cop?” Ben took a deep breath. “In the first place, Dennis, you won’t get life. You kill a cop, you’ll almost certainly be executed. In the second place, what are you talking about? I haven’t heard about any cops out on murder sprees.”