Charlotte Rogan - Now and Again

It was the first time in her life Maggie had made a promise to God and the first time she had felt him so near. As she waited, a little awed by the solemnity of the occasion, the tiredness lifted from her mind and body. She felt happy and hopeful and filled with certainty that she was exactly where she was supposed to be and doing exactly what she was supposed to do. “I won’t rest until I free Tomás and George,” she whispered. Then she found some cushions and lap blankets in the choir stalls, poured some of the kibbles onto the stone floor, and filled the complimentary adopt-a-thon dish with water from the sacristy bathroom before settling herself and Dino for the night.

The next day, Maggie took Dino with her and sought out the attorney, who assured her he had once been an actor and knew exactly how to play these things. “Ha, ha!” he chortled when Maggie failed to respond. “It’s just a little joke — never mind. But it’s true that actors make great lawyers. Frankly, it’s the secret of my success. Sometimes I feel sorry for my opponents, but not too sorry, of course — that was another little joke.”

Maggie had expected someone young and vigorous, but the man’s hair was white and he leaned heavily on a gnarled stick. “Experience,” he said. “That’s the thing you’re paying me for.”

“I’m not actually paying you,” said Maggie. “I’m working for you and devoting half of my paycheck to Tomás’s fees. That was the deal.”

“Ah, yes,” said the attorney. “That’s something anyway.”

“You told me that the arresting officer made a string of false arrests.”

“Now I remember!” said the attorney. “Now I know exactly who you are. I don’t mind saying that I’m very glad to see you. I’ve been without an assistant for weeks.”

He took a stack of files from his desk and handed them to her one by one. “This man is serving twenty-five years for breaking into a church kitchen that had once given him food,” he said. “And this one stole some videotapes for his nieces and nephews, and this one helped two girls shoplift a set of sheets, and, well, the point is, they were all handled by the same dirty prosecutor. One of the defendants was just granted a new trial, so now is the time to strike! Unfortunately, none of them can pay. It would help your man if we pursued all of the cases together and tried to establish a pattern, but I have to take three paying clients for each person I represent for free. So if you could contribute anything in the way of fees for the others…”

“I have a little cash,” said Maggie, and without thinking it through, she opened her backpack and handed over the entire packet of rainy-day money she was saving for her ticket home.

“Hmmm,” said the attorney as he counted out the bills. “It’s not much, but I guess it’s a start. Yes, we’ll establish a pattern of prosecutorial misconduct and see how it goes.”

The attorney showed her to a desk that was overflowing with loose papers and articles of clothing and unopened mail. “Why don’t you start here,” he said. “I have to be in court, but if the phone rings, answer it and write a note on this pad. I’ll be back around noon.”

Maggie left Lyle and Will a message saying she had arrived safely. Then she set to work imposing order on the chaotic office. When the attorney returned, he gave her two files and asked her to decide which case he should take.

“Can’t you take them both?” she asked.

“He who takes on too much accomplishes nothing.”

“That’s the way it is, isn’t it?” said Maggie. “The minute you choose a person to help it means you’re not helping someone else.”

“Yes,” said the attorney. “That’s the way it is.”

Maggie spent the morning reading through the files and couldn’t see that one defendant had a better claim than the other. First she thought it was the soldier who had given so much for his country, and then she thought it was the father who had five children to support.

“Let me show you a useful trick,” said the attorney. He took the files and hid them behind his back. “Which hand?” he asked.

After choosing, Maggie put the files in the proper stacks and didn’t look at them. That way, she wouldn’t know which person she had consigned to unrepresented limbo. “There are other attorneys who might help him, aren’t there?” she asked.

“That’s what we have to believe,” said the attorney. “Otherwise we’d shoot ourselves.”

“And of course he might be guilty.”

“Most people are guilty of something. Reminding yourself of that is another useful trick.”

Before Maggie left for the day, she asked the attorney if he knew Sandra Day O’Connor.

“Who doesn’t?” he replied.

“I was thinking she could help us.”

“Darn right she could.”

Maggie pulled the map of Phoenix out of her pocket and asked, “Do you know where she lives?”

“Somewhere around here.” The attorney poked a bent finger at the map. “One day I was walking along the sidewalk right about there”—he poked the map again—“and what do you know? There she was, surrounded by people who wanted her autograph! Of course, that was a few years back.”

Maggie used a pencil to mark the places on the map. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “What time should I be here?”

“Eight-thirty sharp,” said the attorney. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“I do for now,” said Maggie.

“And if you see Justice O’Connor, make sure to give her my regards.”

“I realize it’s a long shot,” said Maggie.

“Everything’s a long shot,” replied the attorney. “Unless you have money.”

“I’m afraid I gave you what I had,” said Maggie.

“In that case,” said the attorney, “what we need is luck.”

9.3 Lyle

Lyle was alone when the police stormed up to the door with determined looks on their faces. He recognized the shorter of the two men, and it was obvious the man recognized him too, for his face flushed in embarrassment when he saw Lyle. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rayburn, but we need to speak to your wife.”

“It’s Lyle, Ben. It’s Lyle from church.”

“I know it’s Lyle,” said Ben. “But this is official business. The sheriff doesn’t like us to use first names when we’re on duty.”

“Mrs. Rayburn isn’t here,” said Lyle stiffly. He didn’t say, She got out in the nick of time, but that’s what he was thinking when the taller of the two officers said, “You don’t mind if we take a look around, do you?” He took a step closer as he said it, which had the effect of pushing Lyle into the glassed-in alcove where he and Maggie and Will hung their jackets and stored their muddy boots. When the man took another step toward him, Lyle didn’t say yes or no; he merely shifted to one side as the two men barged past him and stood with their hands on their hips surveying the living room. Maggie’s bill-paying desk was pushed against the far wall, and the man who wasn’t Ben said, “You take the desk, Ben. I’ll look in the back.”

Lyle was vaguely aware that some defensive action was required of him, but he stood with his fists in his pockets and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as Ben pawed through the neat stacks of bills and receipts. It finally occurred to him to call Jimmy Sweets for advice. When Jimmy didn’t pick up, he called Lily De Luca and said, “Lily, it’s Lyle. The police are here, and my house is being searched.”

“Do they have a warrant?” asked Lily.

“Do you have a warrant?” asked Lyle, but Ben appeared not to have heard him. “Do you have a warrant?” he asked again.

“It’s best not to make trouble,” said Ben.

“Are you under arrest?” asked Lily.